Testing Audio -DK Principessa

by kibass91

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26. The scents of longing

Summary:

Colin Bridgerton embarked on a grand tour with high hopes of triggering his first rut and presenting as an alpha. Despite his efforts and newfound experiences, he returns at the start of the new season unchanged—except for a bit more worldly wisdom. While the Ton spreads whispers that he is a beta and his family assures him of their support no matter his status, Colin cannot shake the feeling that something more lies dormant within him. His draw to Penelope Featherington and her scent only adds to his confusion.

With the season ahead, perhaps Colin will finally uncover the answers he seeks.

Dearest Gentle Readers,

It should come as no surprise that a certain Bridgerton has finally returned from his tour abroad, mere days after the start of the season. It may puzzle the omega debutantes, however, that Mr. Colin Bridgerton still has yet to present, as evidenced by his weak scent. His neck remains strictly covered by clothing, but it is almost certain that one would not see a mating gland. This author knows of the rumors flying around the ton about his potential beta status, as the man is two-and-twenty with no outward sign of anything different. I should remind you all, however, that in the last hundred and fifty years, the Bridgerton men have presented as nothing but the strongest of alphas. Might I remind the gossip-mongers among us that it is not rare for one to bloom years later than his peers?

Perhaps we should not be so quick to assume a young man's status and instead focus on more pressing matters, such as Mr. Bridgerton's dashing new figure and wardrobe, straight from the streets of Paris.

~

Colin chose to ride from the docks to Mayfair rather than confine himself to a carriage. The weather held up nicely, the sun shining through spotty white clouds and warming his face as he loaded the cart that would carry his trunks home. Once he saw his belongings off, he hopped on a horse, his long brown coat and leather boots a bit dirty from the journey, and began the slow walk home, enjoying the slight breeze that ruffled his shirt. It was halfway undone down his chest for comfort, drawing more than a few lady's eyes and smiles which he met with a smirk.

Despite the outward appearance of a pleasant mood, he needed to brace himself for the pitying looks from his mother and brothers and wished to have as much time as possible to prepare. They would know the moment he arrived that he still had not presented as an alpha, and he did not wish to hear their reassurances. For a few years now, any time someone's status came up in conversation and his face looked even the slightest bit sour, one of his siblings or his mother would rub his shoulder and tell him that he would present as an alpha eventually, and these things just take longer for some people.

This time, his biggest fear was they would no longer be so sure of his dormant alpha status, and instead tell him that he was likely a beta and spend the next several months of the London season telling him it was perfectly acceptable.

He would have to leave again. While his tour was not exactly fruitful in the manner he wished it to be, it was a welcome change to be away from their well-meaning but overbearing and anxiety-inducing support at the end of last season. If he decided it was imperative to his mental state and sanity, he would leave again before this season was over should their reassurances grow too constant—if he still did not present in the next several months.

Colin set off many months ago with the goal of triggering his rut, and therefore his status as an alpha. After speaking with other alphas in the ton and abroad, and remembering how his older brothers presented, he thought one of the better approaches to be—personal contact—with women, omegas specifically. He kissed them, usually at brothels, occasionally at a tavern or inn, and he touched them, learning how to pleasure them with his fingers or his mouth, and a few times with his cock, but not often. He thought perhaps one of them would incite something inside of him, capture his attention and his heart. Instead, he returned more confused than ever, because despite his new knowledge of the womanly form, none of them inspired any sort of romance, and certainly nothing close to a rut as he knew it to be.

No unimaginable lust, no unbearable arousal, no inability to resist temptation for days on end.

He started to think something was wrong with him.

The only spark of joy on his travels was writing to Penelope. His family would respond to him occasionally and only perfunctorily, but Pen shared his exuberance for writing and would comment on his adventures before providing him with detailed descriptions of her day. He learned more about his family's activities from her than anyone else. Whenever one of her letters arrived, he snatched it from the courier, the front desk of his lodgings, or the postbox of whatever small cottage he leased for a week or so with a few acquaintances. He would quickly break the wax seal and devour the words she had crafted so carefully for him. Occasionally, he would find a correspondence waiting for him upon his arrival to the next city on his itinerary, and rather than go out for an evening of revelry, he would spend it at his desk, responding to her.

He looked forward to reuniting with his family, of course, but he also longed to see Pen again. Writing was enjoyable, but it was nothing compared to looking at her in person, something he had not done in months—a thought that confounded him. This added to his confusion surrounding his presentation because Penelope was an omega. It had surprised him when she first presented during her debut season, only because he'd known her since they were children, and part of him expected that he would be the one to present first, as he was a few years older. Overnight, she changed from Pen, his little sister's best friend and one of his favorite people, to…Penelope. She was still one of his favorite people, of course, but now she had her status attached to her name, something he did not yet have himself. Since she had yet to find a husband, he could dance with her as often as he liked and as was socially acceptable, something he greatly looked forward to now that he was back in London. He felt drawn to her, enjoyed her company immensely, and cared deeply for her happiness.

And her scent.

It drove him a bit mad sometimes. She smelled like a bright summer day, like blooming flowers and sunshine. Occasionally, he could catch the barest whiff of her on her letters, perhaps enhanced by his imagination, as if the paper absorbed a bit of her essence from her hand. He could sense any room she was in just by following his nose and that enticing scent of a garden—of lilacs, lavender, and roses. He so badly wanted to present as an alpha, just to experience the full scope of how she smelled. He wished he would just present, so all this confusion would dissipate.

In his wandering thoughts, he nearly missed that he had arrived at Bridgerton House. Most of his belongings were already inside, with only one trunk still waiting on the cart. A footman came to greet him, and once Colin's feet touched the ground, the servant took the reins and led the horse away. Colin took the front steps two at a time into the foyer, striding past Humboldt, who looked as if he might have a conniption at the dirt left on the floor, and made his way upstairs to the family drawing room.

He could hear the commotion in the hallway, the familiar sounds filling him with comfort and ease after all these months abroad. Francesca must be home, as someone was playing the pianoforte. Hyacinth and Gregory were squabbling over something trivial, Benedict acted as their mediator, and several quieter voices filled in the gaps. He inhaled deeply once and immediately concluded that Penelope must be one of them, even amongst the nearly overpowering scents of the rest of his family. He could pick out Anthony and Kate, their quarreling scents of his leather and bergamot with her peppermint and honey somehow melding together into something pleasant, along with Benedict's floral amber, Eloise's herbal scent, his mother's sugary lavender, and one other that was entirely new, something slightly like vanilla but with a very soft musk.

As he rounded the corner, his eyes searched for Pen's red hair or a yellow dress. Anthony and Kate sat on a settee, holding hands and chatting with his mother on the sofa across from them. Francesca serenely played her music, almost oblivious to the two youngest children circling her, with Gregory holding a box of chocolates over his head in an effort to keep them away from Hyacinth. Benedict stood at the other end of Francesca, both hands held out as if to wrangle the unruly monsters should they step further out of line, shouting various versions of, "Stop it! Just share, please! For the love of God!"

He looked to his left, where Eloise sat at a table, holding a book but conversing quietly with—

"Colin!" Penelope exclaimed, and then he was overwhelmed.

"Brother!"

"Colin!"

"You're back!"

It was a chorus of his family welcoming home. They pulled him into hug after hug, patting him on the back cheerfully.

"We were not expecting you until next week," his mother said as she embraced him tightly.

"My ship caught a favorable wind and arrived early," he explained. "Apologies for my disheveled appearance. I missed you all and did not wish to waste time."

"I missed you too, my dear," his mother said, patting his cheek lovingly.

"You look…interesting," Anthony pointed out, gesturing to his long coat.

"This hair is something different, isn't it?" Benedict said, and Colin dodged his hand as it came up to ruffle his head.

"I think it looks nice," a small voice piped up from behind the group of his siblings. He peered around Eloise's head to see Penelope, her red hair curled softly and pulled back from her face on one side, wearing a sea-green dress. No wonder he could not see her when he walked in, for she looked quite at home with his family rather than standing out in her usual bright garb. Colin's first instinct was to bring her in for a hug as well, but it was not appropriate, of course.

"Pen! I—"

—was hoping you would be here when I arrived.

"—thought you might be here."

"It is so good to see you, Colin," Pen said quietly, smiling wide. "Are you hungry?"

"Aren't I always?"

Someone handed him a plate, and while he filled it with scones, biscuits, and small pastries, they all sat down. The only seat left was one of the chairs by the time he was finished procuring his snack, so he regrettably sat down alone. He would have much preferred to sit by Penelope, but she was between his mother and Eloise on the settee. He could still smell her, her scent standing out even amongst his family, and he inhaled, enjoying the strength of it compared to the faint whispers left on her letters.

"I trust your journey home was uneventful?" Kate began. "We have not heard from you since you departed for England. Your letter from Spain arrived only days ago."

"It was as pleasant as one can expect on a boat. Living so close to so many other men—mostly alphas—can be quite noisy and cramped, though one never wants for a partner in a game of cards," he chuckled, taking a bite of a biscuit and letting out a satisfied moan.

"If I had known you were coming, I would have told Cook to make triple the shortbread," Violet said.

"Eat as much as you like, Colin," Kate insisted. "I know quite well how awful the food was for you this last week. I shall have more prepared posthaste."

As Kate rang for a footman, instructing him to bring more biscuits and to inform the cook to prepare a feast for supper, Anthony turned to Colin. "So, there's no news of any…changes?"

Suddenly, the sugar in his mouth tasted like paper. "No. Nothing."

Here it was, the uninvited pity and sympathy. One of Anthony's brows rose, his lips in a sad, tight smile. Benedict looked genuinely sorry for him for once, and his sisters all looked like they wanted to pat his cheeks and kiss his nose. His mother's reaction was by far the worst—behind her compassionate façade, he thought he could detect a tinge of disappointment.

Yet, all of that faded into insignificance when he looked at Penelope. Her dejected frown tore at him, and he thought ripping his heart out of his own chest might hurt less.

"There's nothing wrong with being a beta, Col," Benedict assured him. "I know many a good man that is—"

"Can we not speak of this right now?" Colin said, perhaps a little too sharply, silencing the room.

And then Pen kindly broke the awkwardness for him. "Colin, I remember you telling me that you picked up a few things for your family."

"When did you tell her that?" Eloise scoffed incredulously.

"In one of his letters," Pen said, blushing.

Anthony looked confused, and then his brow furrowed. "You two wrote each other letters?" he asked tersely.

"Anthony," Kate placed a hand on his arm, "Penelope is a family friend. I see no harm in it."

"Yes, but—"

"Colin, you can fetch the gifts you so thoughtfully brought home," Kate interrupted her husband's impending chastisement. Colin did not need to be told twice, and retreated to his bedroom where his trunks sat in a haphazard pile as his valet started to unpack them. He rifled around until he found the wrapped parcels and carefully placed them on his neatly made bed.

He also took the opportunity to change into something not covered in road dust, sea salt, and sweat. Opening his wardrobe, he marveled at the abundance of clothes, a stark contrast to his limited options while traveling, even with the new items he found while in Paris. He chose a fresh pair of trousers, shirt, and waistcoat, opting to forgo a jacket, gathered his bundles in his arms, and returned to the parlor.

Much to his disappointment, he noted the fading scent of a blooming garden on his way in.

"Did Penelope return home?" he asked first before placing the gifts on one of the tables near the sofas.

"She thought it would be best for you to spend time with your family, with you bringing us treasures from your travels," Violet informed him.

"I see," he mused. He would have to present her with her gift some other time. He found himself already looking forward to the next afternoon tea when he picked up on that strange new smell again. "What is the new scent? I noticed it upon my arrival," he asked.

After a slightly long pause, it was Francesca who spoke up. "We did not wish to mention it unless you brought it up, but…I presented as an omega."

More shame, anger, and disappointment unwillingly bubbled up inside of him, and he immediately felt awful for it. He had no right to be so selfish in his feelings for what should be a celebratory matter for his sister.

"I am so happy for you, Fran," he tried to sound cheerful, hiding his face in her hair as he brought her to him for a tight hug.

"We did not want you to—"

"Do not quell your happiness on my account," he insisted. "Truly, this is wonderful news. I am positive you will have a successful season. I hope you will find your mate, unless you are like Eloise and you wish to hold off?"

"No," she responded immediately. "I am quite ready to find someone I am compatible with."

Colin very much felt the same.

~

After a few hours amongst his siblings, Anthony gestured for Colin and Benedict to retreat to his study. The viscount was eager to break the seal on the bottle of brandy Colin had gifted him before supper, despite the impropriety of drinking something so strong before supper.

"Perhaps one of the best aspects of travel is the relief upon one's return," Colin remarked, taking the crystal tumbler from his brother. "I feel as though I have never been so clean and full in my life, and I fear I may cry at the sight of a drink that is not weak ale or watered-down rum."

"If I see tears, I will take that back from you," Anthony declared, earning a laugh from his brothers. He finished pouring and distributing a glass to Benedict and taking one himself before they settled around the card table, sinking into their chairs.

Colin nearly lifted his glass to drink, but Anthony raised his own in a toast. "To Colin's safe return," he proclaimed grandly. "It never feels quite right until all us brothers are together once again."

"Do not mention to Gregory you said as much without his presence," Colin quipped.

"Only a few more years and he can join us," Benedict smiled. They clinked glasses and downed the slightly burning liquid in one gulp, prompting Anthony to pour another round for sipping.

"So," Anthony began, and Colin tried not to tense in anticipation, "I trust your travels included a bit more than staring at sculptures and walking along beaches?"

"A bit more than that, yes," he began. "I spoke with many alphas and asked what triggered their presentation. I received a variety of answers, but there was a common thread of—intimacy," he relayed with a bit of a blush. While he often found himself privy to his brothers' discussions on such matters, speaking from his own experiences felt somewhat awkward

"Was one of the suggestions some sort of manual labor?" Benedict needled mischievously, gesturing to Colin's figure.

"It was, actually," Colin retorted sarcastically. In truth, the change had occurred naturally after his laborious work on various boats during his travels, and assisting his companions on the road. Perhaps the fresh country air and continental cuisine had also played a role. More than any visible change, Colin was grateful he could now lift heavy objects over his head and transport them effortlessly around the room.

"But there were other…suggestions?" Anthony prompted.

Oh, there were plenty, ranging from logical to tempting to downright ridiculous. He thought these alphas might be leading him on a fruitless journey, but when pressed, they insisted they were serious. They suggested new diets consisting solely of meat or vegetables, consuming various fluids—both alcoholic and bodily—reciting incantations upon waking and before sleep, wearing shoes made from unidentifiable leather, and all sorts of dubious tricks and remedies. Amidst the outlandish suggestions, however, there were a few reasonable ones that had some semblance of logic.

"Many of the alphas also mentioned that— carnal experiences—triggered their rut. Either with an omega or a beta. I received various answers, but that one seemed very common," Colin blushed.

"That is what happened for me," Benedict interjected. "But you knew that."

"Mine came about quite naturally, not long after Father's death," Anthony reminded them. "Clearly, Benedict's strategy did not work for you, though."

"Are you suggesting that I wait for someone to die?" Colin said facetiously.

"Colin," Anthony warned with a glare, only met by Colin's grin as he took another sip of brandy.

"But yes, I made several attempts. Some were more successful than others, and only a few ended well for both parties."

"What does that mean?" Anthony blurted out.

"It probably means he only managed to make the beast with two backs on fewer occasions than he can count on one hand," Ben supplied. "Was it nerves?"

"At first. But—I just did not like the idea of sharing something so intimate with a stranger. I learned—several other things—and they were enjoyable to an extent, but the act itself I found difficult."

Colin wished he would stop fumbling over his words, but discussing such matters with his brothers was more challenging than he expected, especially with their grinning, impish faces staring at him with rapt attention.

"But you did do it," Anthony smirked, raising his glass. "Cheers, brother."

"I hardly think that, of all I did on my tour, having sex is worth toasting, but thank you."

"But there was no change? No feeling of desire or romance at all?" Benedict prodded.

"None. I thought even if I was a beta, I would find something to enjoy in— physical relations—but I felt very little. There was intimacy, to be sure, but it was so hollow. Surely that cannot be what it is meant to feel like?"

"Hmm," Anthony grunted. "Well, you can certainly keep trying. You are young still, and there is no reason you should not sow your wild oats."

"Right," Colin replied. He had no intention of doing so, however. When any act from the simplest of kisses to the joining of his body with another caused no reaction in him—no passion or excitement—he did not wish to continue. If he was indeed a beta, finding his future wife in a brothel was highly unlikely. And if he was an alpha, clearly trying to force his body into presenting through such acts was folly.

"It is difficult to know you are so vexed by this, brother," Anthony smiled. "I can relate a little bit to the expectations placed on a man by society, the fear of failing your family for not living up to them. Not as an alpha, but as the head of this family, trying to take up our father's legacy not long after I presented myself. I hope you know we would never look down upon you should the day come to pass when it becomes obvious that you are a beta."

A moment that grew nearer with each passing day, Colin thought. "It is not the societal expectations that truly bother me. It is—I want to be an alpha because—" he struggled to find the right words, to articulate that he wanted to be an alpha to see if that would explain this attraction and confusion he had regarding Penelope without revealing the fascination itself.

"Because you want to find your mate?" Anthony supplied for him.

"Something like that, yes," Colin sighed. "I just…I have this feeling, that I am more than a beta. I do not know how to explain it. Deep down, I know it cannot be true, even if I have so few indications otherwise."

"We will love you no matter what you are, Colin," Benedict assured him, throwing an arm around his shoulders and kissing him on the cheek as he always did when he had a drink or two.

"You know, it's not all wonderful, being an alpha," Anthony interjected. "It's rather inconvenient to find oneself suddenly in a rut."

"They do not come on as quickly as that, do they?" Colin cocked his head.

"Not usually, no, but on at least two occasions I left a ball early because I could feel it starting. Every omega's head in the ballroom followed my every move," Anthony chuckled.

"They are not particularly nice when one must be alone, either," Benedict pointed out. "It is not a simple task to find someone willing to assist an alpha in rut. Often it is better to lock oneself in a room than attempt it."

"Perhaps you should attempt to find your mate, brother," Anthony prodded him, smirking over the rim of his glass.

"I do not think you have any room to speak on finding one's mate when you and Kate spent two months sniffing each other and denying the inevitable," Ben rolled his eyes and finished his drink slamming it down on the table.

"The situation was more complicated than that, and you know it."

"Everyone in the vicinity of the two of you could tell something was amiss, more than what one might expect from Kate protecting Edwina from a suitor."

"Again, no one said anything to us, so how would we know that?"

"No one remarked on it because you constantly looked as though you might bite our heads off at the mention of her."

"It is difficult to accept what one has denied for weeks, but I am married to her now."

"Thank God," Benedict sighed and grinned, inciting Anthony's lips into a thin line in irritation.

"One day, brother, you shall know the pain of love," Anthony ribbed, then turned to Colin. "And you shall as well. Even if you are not an alpha, betas find love just as strong and sincere."

While Colin appreciated their support, their words still felt hollow, as if it would never be enough for him. Something about Anthony's words struck him, however. After their conversation, he could not determine if there was truly more in store for him and a potential mate, or if he was deeply in denial of his nature because he did not want it to be true.

"Perhaps I shall continue my endeavors to find a match, whether that be an omega who can bring out my presentation or…a beta I can live comfortably with," Colin resigned, growing weary of the discussion of his status. Changing the subject, he added, "I fear I have not been kept abreast of the social calendar. When is the next ball?"

"You had the great misfortune of missing out on Lady Danbury's ball a few days ago, but the Queen is throwing her own tomorrow evening. I'm sure the debutantes will be thrilled to have a new specimen to flirt with," Anthony jested.

"As if I am some prey animal in a cage," Colin grumbled, downing the last of his brandy.

"A very attractive, eligible bachelor, fresh off a boat from his tour around the continent, looking sturdy and disheveled? They will be hovering around you like flies, your presentation status notwithstanding," Ben chuckled.

"You are also unmarried. Why should they not treat you like a new conquest?" Colin challenged.

"I am old news. I am a known rake, an artist, and a second son who does not dance with anyone at balls. You, however, love dancing, and looking as you do, you will surely have ladies flocking to your side, batting their eyelashes and fluttering their fans to draw attention to themselves," Ben predicted.

"He's right," Anthony agreed. "Ladies adore a man who will dance with them."

Colin could only think of how much he wished to dance with Pen.

The brothers parted ways to ready themselves for supper. Colin lost himself in thought as he changed into more formal attire, his belongings mostly unpacked except for the small bag resting on the bed that he carried on his person for his entire journey. Inside, along with his bag of coins, his journal, his writing utensils, and small mementos that reminded him of his family, he also kept his letters, including the well-worn bundle from Penelope.

He briefly considered taking out the letters to see if her scent still lingered, but then he reminded himself that he would see her again the next day. Unsure if she would be around for afternoon tea, he knew her unwrapped gift awaited her in the family drawing room. Anticipating her next visit, he couldn't help but long for the chance to experience her scent in person once more.

It would not be so tortuous to wait.

Notes:

Up next: The Queen's ball

Chapter 2: The Queen's Ball

Summary:

Colin faces society for the first time since his return, dances with Pen, and has a much-needed conversation with his mother.

Notes:

Happy Saturday!!

Once again I had so much fun writing this, I'm flying through chapters because I love it so much and so I can get to the 'good bit' faster

I hope you enjoy it!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Dearest Gentle Readers,

After the spectacular of Lady Danbury's annual opening ball, the Queen certainly has much to live up to. With a theme as simple as "The Dawn of Spring," one can hope there are a few surprises in store to liven up the festivities. Perhaps the musicians might play more than one Viennese waltz, or there is a new chef under our esteemed monarch's employ who will provide us with more exciting fare than the traditional biscuits and petits fours.

This author promises to report on the most scandalous gossip in the shadiest of corners and backrooms, though if one knows the extensive guest list, that should not be too surprising. The Queen's Ball has become much less exclusive these last few seasons, has it not?

~

The cravat around Colin's throat choked him.

Well, not really, since his valet tied it no tighter than usual, and it felt fine when he departed Bridgerton House, but now that he was here in this ballroom, it may as well have been a noose.

It was because the moment he walked inside, even through the thousands of fresh-cut hothouse flowers filling the room, a smattering of pinks and purples and whites among the green leaves decorating every inch of the walls, he could smell Penelope. There was no music yet, and laughter flittered around the air along with the click of heels and the sound of crystal glasses on metal trays. The Queen sat on her perch on a balcony, high above the rest of the ton so she might observe their every interaction. Footmen carried trays full of glasses and strange assortments of hors d'oeuvres, newfangled recipes from the continent that most would turn their nose at even if Colin did not mind them. Ladies wore shades of pastels like something out of a Leighton painting, and gentlemen turned out in their finest coats, their shoes shined to perfections as if that would be the thing to impress the Queen. The ballroom was already filled to the brim with partygoers despite more and more guests continuing to file in, and Colin found himself pushed along even as he desperately wanted a moment to catch his breath.

Even through the controlled and pre-arranged chaos, he could clearly pick out the floral garden scent tinged with enough sunshine to be distinctive amongst the bouquets—the familiar scent of Pen. Colin scanned the crowd, looking for a flash of yellow before recalling the dress she wore at tea the other afternoon. His eyes shifted, instead seeking her familiar red hair.

His mother used to ask him to dance with Penelope, especially in her first season as a debutante. He was always happy to oblige, as Pen was a fantastic dancer and he enjoyed speaking with her on the dancefloor about her keen observations. Now he sought her out without prompting, simply for an excuse to talk to her without anyone questioning the propriety of it. Benedict usually danced with her as well, when he decided to make an appearance at a society event.

Tonight, it was only Colin, Eloise, Francesca, and their mother. Anthony stayed at home with the pregnant Kate, and Benedict disappeared not long after luncheon, probably to paint some naked woman or whatever it was he enjoyed, leaving Colin to escort his sisters. He would have to focus most of his attention on Francesca since Eloise did not care to attract suitors at all, and Frannie was looking to marry as soon as she could, so he would need to make some introductions for her, but first he wanted to see Pen—

There, just by a heavily decorated column in the corner, a rose among the peonies, hyacinths, and daisies.

He spotted her between bodies, holding a glass of lemonade that she must have picked up for herself rather than a suitor fetching it for her, because she was completely alone, her mother nor her sisters anywhere in sight. She wore blue again, a shade so light it was nearly white, covered in slightly darker floral beading. She adorned her hair with pearl and gemstone pins, the curls swept off her shoulders and giving the room a view of the mating gland on her neck, as was the style once an omega presented.

He strode forward a few paces, hoping to reach Pen before—

"Mr. Bridgerton!"

That.

Like a flock of buzzards around a carcass, a group of ladies gathered around him, waving their fans and fluttering their lashes, dressed in shades of rose and sage and lilac. Eloise rolled her eyes, Frannie looked surprised, and Violet held onto his arm tightly, clinging to her son amidst all the sudden attention on him.

"Good evening, ladies," he greeted them politely with a nod, placing his hand on top of his mother's, both as a gesture of protection and selfishly for the comfort her presence provided.

"No one was sure if you would return in time for the rest of the season after you missed Lady Danbury's ball," one of them said—a Miss Barragan if he remembered correctly—as she blinked rapidly in some attempt at flirting.

"You look quite well after your tour," Miss Stowell smirked, glancing up and down at his form, her eyes blatantly lingering on his covered neck.

"Very refreshed," Miss Evans agreed, though Colin suspected she wished to attribute another, more suggestive adjective to him if the way she bit her lip was anything to go by.

"My travels were enlightening," he replied diplomatically. "Though I am thrilled to return to good society among such lovely ladies. There is nothing quite like the familiarity of the ton, is there not?"

The group of women giggled, and more than one blushed. As a practiced flirt, Colin did enjoy eliciting such reactions, as shallow as they may be. He did miss hearing his favorite laugh among them, however, and once more glanced behind them to Pen, still standing next to the wall, her gaze fixed on the chandelier in an attempt to look interested in anything at all. Her mother must be around somewhere, along with her sisters and their husbands—it was odd that she was left alone for so long.

"You are as charming as ever, Mr. Bridgerton," Miss Goring said. "You remain quite—unchanged."

There was that word again—unchanged, unaltered, unaffected, whatever other synonym society could come up with to describe his lack of alpha status. The purpose of their hounding suddenly became obvious to him. "Perhaps the only difference in myself from last season is my new fashions, straight from the streets of Paris," he plastered on a tight smile. It was not exactly polite to ask directly about one's status or presentation, but these ladies were skilled in skirting around the topic while gaining the information they desired, just as Colin was very confident in his ability to recognize and reply to their veiled inquiries.

"My brother very thoughtfully returned with gifts from the continent for all of us siblings," Francesca interjected. "His French waistcoats are merely the surface of his good tastes and generosity."

Bless his sister for trying, but already the ladies' interest waned, their concerns of a lack of presentation from him now confirmed. Their faces fell, they stopped fanning their bosoms and batting their eyes, glancing at one another as they searched for an excuse to take their leave of him.

"Pardon me, I find myself growing parched," he stated. "Would you like anything, Mother?"

"Thank you, dearest, but I am well for now," she assured him with a pat on his arm.

She introduced Fran to the other ladies as Colin departed, weaving his way through groups, his eyes trained on the refreshment table. He snatched a glass of champagne and downed most of it in one gulp, wishing for a larger glass or even the entire bottle to distract from the whispers that followed him. The band began to play a quadrille, and he watched as Fran accepted a dance from a gentleman. As he loved his sister dearly and knew her quite well, he recognized the smile that masked her nerves, the determined and unyielding gaze meant to project confidence. His unease with the rumors of his beta status made him flee when she needed support during her first season out, contributing to his grim and melancholy thoughts about his situation. If he were a better man, an alpha or a beta accepting his nature, perhaps he would be at her side supporting her and she would not be so fraught with apprehension—

"You are clutching that glass awfully tight."

Colin looked to his left and smiled brightly when he saw the source of the voice. Wrapped up in his own anxieties, he did not notice Penelope's approach, though her scent certainly overwhelmed him now that he felt like he could finally take a full breath, his cravat a little less noose-like. He relaxed his white-knuckle grip on the champagne flute, placing it down on the table and grabbing another full one.

"I was simply testing the strength of the Queen's crystal. I'm happy to report it passed," he raised his new glass in a slight toast before taking a sip. Pen laughed, the sound sweeter than that of any random debutante, his chest puffing out slightly in pride. "Good evening, Pen."

"Good evening, Colin. I see Francesca is enjoying success in her first season so far," she pointed out, looking to the dancefloor and following his sister's path as she spun in the gentleman's arms.

"She is, despite her chaperone failing her at the moment," he muttered sullenly.

"What can you mean?" Pen questioned.

"Anthony is at home with Kate, and Benedict made himself scarce earlier in the day, so I am in charge of my sisters. I was bombarded by questions about my tour and my—status—upon my arrival, and left them to find refreshment so they would not be pestered by those asking me veiled, invasive questions," he explained.

"Francesca is doing quite well, so I would say you are performing admirably, even now. Any lady would appreciate a protector like you," she praised him.

"Only because I left them alone, when what she truly deserves is someone to support her at this critical moment in her debut. My protection is best served from afar, at the moment," he sighed.

"You cannot mean that."

"But it's true, isn't it? You've heard the rumors. Everyone wants to check that they are true, and when they discover that they are true, and I have not presented as an alpha, they smirk behind their hands. I would hate for my sister's prospects to be affected because I am probably a beta," he said resentfully.

"Those are mere speculations, Colin. Even Lady Whistledown said to pay them no heed in her last issue," she insisted.

"Easier said than done, I'm afraid," he replied with a sad smile. He wished he could put feelings of his status aside to help his sister, but the idea of debutantes questioning him further when he was at her side made him feel frustrated and disappointed.

"It should not matter so much what you are, anyway," she continued earnestly. "You are kind, and generous, and humorous, and care deeply for those you are close to. It is frustrating how much weight society puts on status."

"Thank you for comforting me, Pen. I appreciate it," he assured her even if his insecurities and guilt lingered. He knew she believed her words, and he truly did value her for it.

"Just look at what good it's done for me," she mumbled bitterly.

Her tone puzzled him. "What do you mean?"

"My status. Despite being an omega, I am in my third season out with no suitors to show for it," she sighed. "My mother grows weary of my evasion of her matchmaking efforts. Now that my sisters are married, I fear she may turn her full attention to me. I hoped for a match based on more than just money and social standing, but it looks as though I have no other choice."

"She cannot force someone on you, Pen. Your sisters married for love, did they not? Why should you not be afforded the same opportunity?" he asked.

"It's just that—" she paused, furrowing her brow, "—what is the point of all this if it still means I will not end up with a true mate?"

Colin had to agree because he longed for the same thing—love. He saw what his siblings had, remembered what his parents had, and he could not see himself settling for anything less. He yearned for a person who shared his soul, loved him unconditionally, a companion he could spend his life caring for. He could have something like their love and passion if the day arrived and it became truly obvious that he was a beta, but he could not shake the desire for the sense of completeness having a mate by his side would bring.

"You will find your mate, Pen, I am sure of it," he reassured her. "One of these days, an alpha will come to a ball and sweep you off your feet."

"I hope that day is not so far off. I would hate for it to be too late," she replied sadly, looking into the crowd. He chanced a glance at her neck, the mating gland a faint red mark. He inhaled deeply, her comforting scent filling his nose, nearly drawing him in to leave a kiss on her skin. His eyes drifted downwards, lingering on her enticing neckline and the swells of her bosom, her short stature providing him an excellent view.

"I meant to ask you," he swiftly changed the subject, "what caused this shift in your fashions this season? Normally, I can spot you easily in a crowd, but it was slightly more difficult this evening because you blend in more than I anticipated."

Pen smiled gratefully before replying, "A very convenient shortage of yellow dye, according to Madame Delacroix, and perhaps a strongarmed suggestion from her to my mother that lighter, cooler colors would better match my complexion."

"Well, the colors suit you," he complimented. "Not that I thought yellow didn't, though. I did like the yellow—do, actually, if you would ever want to go back. But this is nice, too," He stumbled over his words embarrassingly the moment she started to smile at him, a blush spreading over her cheeks.

"Thank you. In truth, I believe she noticed just how miserable I looked in yellow, and wanted to pick something more fashionable for me. She's become something of a friend and wanted to advocate for my personal preference," Pen explained.

"I'm glad," he said. "I love her dearly, but it must be tiring listening to Eloise drone on and on about the rights of women all the time."

"Do not ever tell her I said so, but yes," Pen giggled. "It's not that I do not agree with her about most aspects of her convictions regarding women—omegas, especially—but she can be quite steadfast in her opinions, even when some of us do not have as much say in our marriage prospects as she does."

"Speak of the devil," Colin leaned down to whisper to her as he noticed his sister sliding her way across the room to them, looking very intent on stealing Pen away, her eyes narrowing as they met her brothers. "Would you care to dance?" he offered his hand.

Colin's heart fluttered when her face lit up. "I would love to."

He tugged her to the floor moments before Eloise could arrive and effectively end his conversation with Pen for the rest of the night. He wasn't ready to give her up yet, and his mother would be happy to see him dance with her. Eloise could wait her turn.

"She looks put out," Pen remarked on her friend's face. Indeed, Eloise stood at the edge of the dance floor, an expression of disbelief and annoyance all over her features.

"She probably thought she was saving you from me," he chuckled.

"Don't you know all women must be rescued from men? They have nothing but lechery and subjugation on their minds," Pen jested.

"Even her own brother is not safe from her ire," he agreed.

Colin glanced to his right as he spun Pen around in a twirl, catching Portia Featherington's hard gaze fixed on her daughter dancing with him. She never cared before when he danced with Pen, so he was not sure what had changed now, why she suddenly disapproved so plainly. Perhaps she was truly serious about Pen's marriage prospects and thought that her time would be better spent around other potential suitors. He could not blame her for thinking a match between an omega and a (likely) beta to be inappropriate, but one dance would not ruin Pen's chances of matching with an alpha.

"That is interesting," Pen stirred him from his thoughts, nodding in the direction of another couple. Lord Fife danced with Margaret Goring, though he paid no attention to his partner as they waltzed. Instead, his focus seemed to linger on Miss Stowell, who stood with her group of debutante friends, making eyes at the man and smirking. Fife suddenly trod on one of Miss Goring's toes, and her mother, Lady Goring, gasped as Fife barely noticed his misstep and the grimace of pain on the young lady's face.

"He must be courting Miss Goring after the scandal with the closet last season," Colin suggested, "but he does not seem very interested in her, poor woman."

"If Miss Stowell is his mate, they can hardly fault him for straying, though I do not know why he would hide from his mate unless he continued to hold fond feelings for Miss Goring," Pen noted.

"If I know Fife at all, the reason is likely much less romantic," Colin speculated.

Pen laughed softly. "I did not wish to say so first, but Miss Stowell is not exactly the picture of virtue, either."

"They would make quite the pair. She is a far better match for him than Miss Goring, anyway."

"Quite."

Sooner than he would've liked, the dance ended. Just as he finished bowing to Pen, they were interrupted.

"Finally," Eloise plowed between them, taking Pen's hand. "I have much to tell you. Come with me."

"What could you possibly have to say to her that is so important you must steal her away?" Colin argued.

"Nothing that you need to hear," his sister retorted. Pen looked at him apologetically as she was dragged away out of the ballroom, her scent growing fainter with each step.

He sighed, scanning the room and finding his mother standing with Francesca. It was time to resume his chaperone duties, even if he thought Frannie would be better off without him.

"It was kind of you to dance with Penelope," his mother remarked upon his return.

"It is no trouble at all. I enjoy her company, and is a pleasure, really," he replied before turning to Francesca. "I'm sorry I left you to flounder earlier, but I thought it best at the time to remove myself from such captious attention."

"I did not mind," she assured him, linking her arm with his. "I know why you had to leave. I would not wish to linger in the presence of such pestering and judgment, either."

With her warm smile and genuine affection for him, he could not help returning her love grin. "I am so happy you've returned from Bath, my favorite sister. If you will still have me, I would like to introduce you to a few acquaintances of mine."

"I would be delighted."

~

Francesca danced with a half dozen more gentlemen, and Eloise with none at all, both women leaving the ball delighted. Pen did not dance again either, but she was stuck in conversation with one very old Lord most of the night from what Colin could discern from across the ballroom. The sight set his jaw clenching even as his eyes continued to flit over to check on his friend. He was unable to do anything about it with her mother standing next to the unexpected couple, facilitating the meeting. Pen did depart early, separate from the rest of her family, which he supposed was a small mercy for her even if it meant he could not dance with her again. He missed her scent the moment she left, and immediately the pressure of his formal clothing around his neck felt overwhelming once again.

Upon his family's arrival home, Colin immediately shucked off his jacket and tugged off the cravat from around his neck.

"Are you well, my dear?"

After losing himself in his thoughts the entire carriage ride home, Colin paused on the stairs as he turned around to look at his mother. "I am fine. Why do you ask?"

"Since returning from your tour, you have been rather introspective," she said. "It is unlike you."

She picked up her skirts and sat down on the marble steps, patting the space next to her. Colin folded his jacket over one arm and placed his bottom on the uncomfortable stone, the cold seeping through his trousers.

"Could we not exploit Anthony's study?" he asked, shifting and arranging his feet so his knees were not near his chin, but the height of each step made it awkward.

"I believe Anthony to be working at the moment. He's stayed up late nearly every night this week because Kate cannot fall asleep with him in their bed. Pregnancy does that for some women," she chuckled, patting his leg lovingly. "I am growing more tired by the moment, so this shall not take too long. I am merely curious about the cause of this glum air hanging about you, instead of your usual cheer and mischief."

"Perhaps I am just a new man," he replied as he picked at his fingernails, "coming to terms with the fact that I might be—a beta."

"I still do not believe you should accept that as fact just yet, as bleak as it may seem now after you tried so hard to bring your presentation on yourself on your tour," she soothed him, rubbing a hand on his back.

"Only a beta would cower from whispers as I did this evening, leaving his sister to fend for herself at one of her first balls," he muttered bitterly.

"It is not a manner of presentation, but pride," she pointed out, "and any man would have difficulties with gossip and rumors about his character spreading around the room."

"I should be better than—"

"It's not as though you left the ball entirely, Colin," she interrupted his self-depreciation. "After several debutantes inquired after a potential presentation while you were abroad, and providing them with an accurate answer, they were impolite in their sudden disinterest. You took a moment to gather yourself, and a bit of time to dance with Penelope—a gesture I am certain she appreciated—and returned to introduce Francesca to eligible alphas of honor. You did not abandon her so callously as you believe."

"But she required more support—"

"She will not always have you, or Anthony, or Ben, or me by her side. She must conquer her nerves, and she's done admirably so far. I could say you need to do the same," she suggested gently.

He took a shaking, shuddering breath as his eyes grew heavy with unshed tears. "It is one thing to be abnormal. It is another challenge entirely for society to notice."

"You are not abnormal, my sweet son, but I am so very sorry society caused you to think you are," she pulled him into a hug, his head resting on her shoulder. His nose was next to her neck, the scar from his father marring her mating gland, and she smelled like sugared lavender tea, calming his thumping heart slightly. "If I could help you more, I would, but I'm afraid all I can offer is words of reassurance and motherly wisdom."

He did appreciate it, even if it was not exactly what he wanted. While it was not an answer to his problems, the comfort of his mother brought him some sort of ease and clarity to his mind. "Thank you, Mother. If you have any thoughts as to how I might find more answers, I hope I will be the first to hear them," he joked.

Violet chuckled softly, resting a hand on his head. "Sometimes it takes the right person to help you find your true self. It is never your mother, however," she smiled as she stroked his cheek.

"But when will the right person come along? Could it be too late? Will I know?" Colin spiraled, allowing himself to voice his influx of anxious thoughts to one of the only women who would not judge him for them.

"It is certainly not too late yet," she reassured him quickly. "And one might not always know the person. It might be someone new, yes, but it could also be someone who has been around before. I knew your father as a child, you know, but it was not until he presented and I danced with him that I had my first heat and we recognized each other as mates."

"So you are telling me I need to dance more?" he jested, attempting to add some sort of normalcy to cut through his gloominess.

"I am telling you these things happen when you least expect them," she playfully frowned and tugged his earlobe, causing him to chuckle. "Live your life, Colin. Ignore the whispers by those who do not deserve your attention in the first place, and enjoy the season. You have tried gaining life experience to bring on your presentation, and now there is nothing left to do but leave it to fate."

Fate. Colin exhaled in a little laugh. Fate, he thought, must be a little bit of a jokester, with how long he's been left to ponder what his might be. After spending months trying to bring on his fate himself, he must conclude that there was no point, and he would present—or not—whenever he was meant to do so. It frustrated him to no end that he had no control over this particular aspect of his future. He could plan more tours, he could try to find a wife, he could set out to fall in love, he could buy a home and live in seclusion in the countryside forever, and yet none of those choices would influence when or how he would present as an alpha or otherwise.

His mother was right, of course—she usually was, even if he did not want to hear it, or she was a bit obvious in her meddling.

As Colin sighed and struggled to find another quip to break the tension, the front door opened and one of the footmen ushered Benedict inside. Not expecting them to be sitting on the stairs, his brother fumbled around with the cravat hanging undone around his neck, scratching at his mating gland and further unbuttoning his waistcoat in haste. He smelled like a dozen other alphas and omegas, and Colin could only guess what sorts of amorous activities he was participating in. His usual excuse of a late-night painting session with his artistic friends would not explain the lack of paint on his hands, nor the stench that emanated from his person.

Ben exposed nearly half his chest from his undershirt shirt and started to remove his jacket before he looked up and jumped at the sight of his mother and Colin with smirks on their faces, immediately pausing his undressing in the foyer. "What are the two of you doing?"

"It's good to see you too, Ben," Colin replied sarcastically.

"Can I not have a talk with my son on my own stairs?" Violet bantered.

"I suppose it is as good a place as any to have a chat at two in the morning," Benedict paused before them, offering his hand to his mother and assisting her to her feet.

"What, nothing for me?" Colin teased, hoisting himself to his feet as well.

"I could push you down and try again, if you like," Ben answered cheekily.

Violet merely rolled her eyes, taking her skirts in hand. "Goodnight, my children. Please do not injure each other so grievously that you require a doctor."

"Goodnight, Mother."

"Sleep well."

Once she turned the corner, Ben grasped Colin's shoulder, stopping him from departing. "What issue was so pressing that it required parental intervention?" he pressed, his head cocked in concern.

Colin smiled tightly. "Nothing that can be fixed at the moment. It simply requires…time," he stated.

"Well, if there's nothing I can do…" Ben trailed off.

"I will see you in the morning," Colin waved as he turned and resumed his journey toward his bed.

As he reflected on the events of the evening, he felt slightly better even with the looming question mark hanging over him. If he thought about it too much he would begin another spiral, his nerves overwhelming him to the point of tears once again. If he lingered on the idea of giving up trying to induce something for too long, he would drive himself mad with frustration.

Perhaps that was the key. He thought about it too much, and he needed to…stop.

He spent so many months trying and failing, and now it was time to try something different. He would heed his mother's advice, and try to wait for his time to come.

Other issues, more…fixable problems were close at hand. He thought of Penelope and that man her mother insisted she speak with earlier that evening. Penelope was not interested in him in the slightest. If her mother wished for her to marry soon, and if Pen wanted to as well, he could facilitate more appropriate interactions for her with better intentions. She said earlier she wanted love in her marriage, and perhaps he could help her find that, and gain a little more confidence in himself and his abilities unrelated to his lack of alpha status in the process.

The thought of Pen marrying did unsettle him slightly, even more than the thought of Francesca doing the same. His sisters he always expected would marry someone and leave him, but for whatever reason it never quite connected in his mind for Penelope. It's not that she was not marriageable material, of course, because she was very accomplished, intelligent, and more than a little pretty. He knew she was an omega, of course, and the evidence was as plain as the mating glands on her neck, but he had not seen her before a heat, and it was difficult to imagine her so—instinctual.

Obviously her heats occurred, as they did for his sisters. They would sequester themselves in a room in a separate wing, the windows shut tightly and rags tucked around the door to hide their scent. He was away when Pen presented, and had heard from Eloise that she experienced heats since, but never when he was around. Perhaps she now took suppressants during the London season, as Eloise did, just to prevent any disasters.

He could not picture the type of man—the type of alpha—she would end up with. She could not settle for the first to attempt a courtship with her, nor for the first lord with full pockets to set his cap on her affections.

Or, worse, an alpha who would not consider her affections at all.

As he closed the door to his bedroom, his next step grew clearer. She had no father to assist with selecting potential matches, and her brothers-in-law were a little useless if he remembered Albion Finch and Harry Dankworth at all. If he were to attempt to help Penelope evade a marriage for a title and money, he would need to speak with her to learn more about her opinion on who she might fall in love with.

He would have to visit her at her home first thing in the morning.

Notes:

Up next: Colin speaks with Pen, and faces Portia.

Chapter 3: A Promenade

Summary:

Colin speaks with Penelope about his plan. She accepts, but things quickly go awry.

Notes:

I have more Sad Boi Colin for you!! Poor guy is really going through it in this fic I swear he'll get his happy ending soon enough, we're getting closer with each chapter!!

I love everyone's predictions for what will trigger his rut as well! I did want to drop a tiny disclaimer (because I've seen this guessed a lot) that jealousy won't really have a big part in this fic, so if that's what you were really really hoping for I'm sorry to disappoint. I promise what Aux and I have planned is AMAZING and will be well worth the wait and satisfying!!

Anyway, I hope you like the new chapter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Rather than the usual quiet strolls, leisurely wanders, and peaceful ambles one normally experiences while out for a promenade, this author can report a bit of a disturbance in Rotten Row. Perhaps more surprising are the participants in the disagreement: Mr. Colin Bridgerton—usually quite level-headed in the face of conflict, so his participation is particularly puzzling—along with Lady Portia Featherington and her youngest, unmarried, omega daughter, Penelope. While the nature of their heated conversation is known only to the small group, one can assume its tone from how Mr. Bridgerton burst forth and seemed to defend Miss Featherington from her unyielding mother. One might even say it was a lover's quarrel if there were any indication of feelings other than familiarity and respect existed between the young pair. Alas, it is more likely to do with their friendship, but I can tell my readers no more for I would hate to supply you with misinformation. With Colin Bridgerton still unpresented, and Penelope Featherington an eligible omega, a romantic relationship between them would be nearly unheard of, and if it were to come to light, it would likely be the scandal of the season.

Rest assured, dear readers, I shall be watching these two with rapt attention henceforth so I might provide the ton with any relevant updates to their attachment, including if Mr. Bridgerton experiences any changes to his status.

~

Colin woke up, ready to face the day for the first time in months.

He was not known to be an early riser, especially after a ball, but he sat up in bed quickly and rang for his valet to help ready him. He only hired him at the insistence of Anthony, who always said a man was never more sharply dressed than when someone else chose his clothes and groomed his beard for him. Colin did not ring for Dunwoody before noon this past week, so the man must not have expected him so early after such a long night. It took several more minutes than usual for the knock to sound at his door, and Colin was already in a pair of trousers and a shirt.

"Ah! There you are," he greeted Dunwoody as he carried in a bowl of water, shaving soap, and a straight razor in a sleeve. "You shall have to excuse my haste this morning. I have plans."

"My apologies, sir. I did not anticipate you would require my services at this hour," Dunwoody replied, setting his supplies on a table next to a chair.

"It's ten in the morning, Dunwoody, a perfectly normal hour to ready oneself for the day," Colin pointed out as he sat down.

Instead of responding to his cheek, Dunwoody prepared Colin's face with a warm towel and began to shave. While abroad, Colin had learned that he favored sideburns, and it always took ages to sculpt them evenly just below his cheekbones by his own hand. Dunwoody, perhaps by virtue of looking at Colin's face from the front or due to years of practice in his profession, only needed moments to perfectly carve the hair. Colin would never say it to Anthony, but employing a valet was worth it simply for that time saved alone.

Before he knew it, Dunwoody wiped the rest of the shaving soap off his face, and Colin was standing up and rifling through the wardrobe, unfolding jackets and waistcoats as he searched for the items he had in mind. "Sir, I can assist—"

"No, no, I have an idea of what I would like to wear. Thank you, Dunwoody."

His valet raised a brow but allowed him to hold up various fabrics to his person, testing them in the mirror before Colin decided on a dark green jacket, cream brocade waistcoat, and matching cravat. Dunwoody nodded his approval as he tied a neat knot around Colin's neck. When Colin finished scarfing down his hearty breakfast of ham, eggs, and toast brought into his room by a kitchen maid instead of picking at his plate like the last few mornings, Dunwoody looked a little befuddled but did not mention his confusion.

"You mentioned your intentions of going out, sir," the valet inquired after spending fifteen long minutes fixing Colin's hair. As he handed him his pocket watch, he asked, "Shall I inform the stables to ready a horse or a carriage?"

"No, that's quite alright," Colin insisted. "I am merely walking across the street."

"Across the street? To Featherington House, I presume?" Dunwoody pressed knowingly.

Colin squinted. "Yes. If you are finished with your inquiries, I believe the calling hour will begin in about five minutes."

"Of course, sir."

"And I should like to speak with Pen—Miss Featherington, that is."

"Yes, sir."

"Something that I do not wish to reach the ears of anyone outside of you—and perhaps my mother if she asks for my whereabouts."

"As you wish, sir."

His mother and sisters were breaking their fast in the parlor, but Colin did not stop to tell them of his departure. He hoped to avoid any chance of Eloise showing up and interrupting while he was visiting Penelope, and certainly did not wish for her to follow him over and ruin his plans completely. He slipped out the front door, walked across the road, and rang the bell to Featherington House.

Varley showed him into the drawing room, promising to fetch Penelope as he sat down on a settee. He prayed that meant only Penelope, and not Portia as well. Colin had not met with Pen alone in her home in the past, and he was not certain if her mother would decide she required a chaperone. It would be the proper thing, of course, but Colin was not an alpha close to a rut. Perhaps it was to his advantage that most of the ton thought him a beta, and he would be afforded a bit of privacy with Pen.

He sighed in relief when Pen arrived, leaving the door open behind her. Varley followed, but only to place a full tea tray down before returning to her work. They were effectively alone except for a few servants milling around in the hall.

"Good morning, Colin," she greeted him warmly, her scent filling his nostrils, her sunlit garden comforting him. A green dress today, he noted, her hair half-pinned and swept over one shoulder, one of her mating glands a slight mark on her creamy skin. She seemed to glow as she grew nearer, her scent stronger, and he nodded as their eyes met. It should not have surprised him as she was in her own home, but he saw she wore no gloves as she began to pour tea into two cups, preparing his with two lumps of sugar and a dash of milk, just as he preferred.

"Good morning," he replied. "I apologize for the surprise visit. I know I did not mention it when I saw you last night."

"It is quite alright. I would never be unhappy to spend more time with you," she smiled, their fingers brushing sending a shock up his arm as she handed him a cup and saucer—and a plate with several biscuits—and took a seat in a chair across from him with her own drink and snacks balanced in her lap.

"Is your mother here? It is only that I wish to discuss something with you I would rather she not be privy to," Colin explained, dunking a piece of shortbread in his tea for a moment and taking a bite.

"She is not. I believe she is at the modiste with Prudence and Philippa. Their husbands cannot afford some of my sister's more—extravagant tastes," she replied carefully, picking up a tart filled with strawberry preserves and cream, and pushing it into her mouth whole. Her pink lips parted and accepted the pastry, a bit of the white cream catching, her tongue slipping out and licking it clean. She had a bit on her hand as well, and he watched with rapt attention as she licked that off, too, sticking her fingers into her mouth and sucking them clean.

Colin tore his eyes away from her and cleared his throat. "You mean their penchant for ostrich feathers and bright orange dyes?" he finally replied, his voice only a little hoarse.

"Exactly," she giggled. "What is it you wish to discuss?"

He gathered himself and began the propositional speech he had prepared all morning. "Well, I was thinking last night about our conversation at the ball, about your mother's pressure to find a husband, and your marriage prospects, and my own lack of purpose, and I came up with an idea, so I wished to hear your thoughts as soon as I could. I believe it would be mutually beneficial should you agree," he grinned eagerly.

Pen looked surprised, her eyes wide and her mouth open. "Colin—"

"I could help you find a husband, Pen!" he blurted out. "I spoke with my mother last evening, and she told me I should stop trying to force my presentation to happen, and instead focus on finding a purpose elsewhere. I then began to think of some of the pressing problems around me, and ways that I could help, and you came to mind since you are so dear to me and I want to see you happy."

"I—I came to mind when you thought of someone with a problem?" she asked, maybe a little offended.

"Because of the pressure from your mother to marry this season, and your desire to marry for love that seems to contradict the matter," he rushed to expound. "I know you do not have any gentlemen in your life who could help—well, I suppose Harry or Albion could, but they are not as well-connected as I am. I can make proper introductions to respectable alphas, and you could still please your mother with a good match, and the man would not be nearly on his deathbed. You may come to realize that one of the gentlemen is your mate, once you spend more time with them since one often does not realize at first sight."

"Oh," she seemed to process this information, staring at the floor. Colin's heart fell when she did not smile back at him right away, and when she did, it was tight, her lips pressed together, her eyes still conveying her uncertainty.

"Why do you look so discouraged? I thought you desired to marry this season," he questioned, his earlier confidence and optimism faltering. He assumed Pen would react with a similar keenness, perhaps informed by his own enthusiasm, so her reluctance disarmed him.

"It is not that. I do believe it would be best for me to marry soon," she replied, her crystal blue eyes meeting his once again.

"So, why do you hesitate to accept my assistance?" he asked nervously. "Is it because you think I could be of no help at all?"

"No! Not at all, Colin," she reassured him. "It is—my mother is quite determined to make the match for me. She is very pragmatic because of her marriage to my father, as you know."

Of course he knew. Everyone in the ton knew the story of Portia and Archibald, how they were supposed to be mates, but Lord Featherington never claimed her. He sired his daughters without ever marking Portia as his, preferring to remain unattached so he could indulge in his vices of gambling away their money and spending anything left on whores. He died in Penelope's first season, and though the family was unsure of the exact nature surrounding his departure from this mortal plane, Colin assumed it had something to do with his debts that likely remained unpaid—further supported by Portia's obsession with marrying Pen off to someone with money or a title, considering her sisters both mated with unlanded gentlemen.

"Yes, I know," he replied with a sad, sympathetic smile.

"She also believes that because it is my third season out and I have not found a mate that it will likely never happen at all. She will not be receptive to the idea of your assistance in the matter, I fear. I would not want you to waste your time, or face my mother's ire," she said softly, resigned.

"I see no reason why we must work in opposition. We both want the same thing for you, Pen, to see you happy. It's just that we have different ideas of how best to go about it," he said, trying to convince her.

"What do you mean?"

"I know your mother just wants to see you safe and secure," he continued, "but I know you want more than that. And you certainly deserve better than whatever lord will enter a contract with her. You deserve someone who will truly care for more than just your basic well-being, Pen, and I think I can help facilitate that, more than she can. If—if it is such a sure thing that you will be married by the season's end, that you must take a husband, then you should be happy with your choice."

"But my mother will try to force my hand into that of her choice, Colin. What will you do when she will not accept my decision over her own?" she worried.

"There is no reason for her to reject any man, as long as he is not destitute or title-less, correct?" he queried.

"I suppose not. That is her foremost reason for encouraging me to marry," Pen acquiesced.

"And perhaps one of these gentlemen will be your mate. If that is the case, there would be no reason to reject the match, and any respectable alpha will come to love his mate when he finds her, as I know you would him," he reassured her.

"You wish to see me married to someone I could love?" she asked softly.

"I told you as much last night at the ball. We all deserve to marry for love, even if we cannot find our mate," he affirmed.

"I—I guess so," she mumbled before clearing her throat and steeling herself. "Yes. If you wish to help me, I will accept. I do not think we should tell my mother just yet."

"I do not either. She does not need to know at all if you do not want her to," he grinned, elated. "We shall begin now."

"What? I—ah—" Pen stammered, unready for his questioning.

"What sort of man would you want to marry?" he prodded.

She hesitated for a moment before replying, "Well, I do not believe I am in a position to make so many demands—"

"But if you could," he interrupted gently. "Just—if you could fall in love with someone, even if they were not your mate, what are they like in your mind?"

"He would be kind, foremost," she began. "I think—I think he would be generous, as well. Not with money, necessarily, but with his time and attention. I should like someone willing to listen to me, though I know as a woman most men do not heed our opinions until it is too late, and the mistake is already made."

"So a man with several sisters, then," Colin chuckled. "I find that listening to them has saved me from fumbles in many parts of my life."

"A wise man indeed. Perhaps you might add that to my list of very important requirements as well," she smiled cheerfully.

"Of course," he grinned before biting his lip and looking into his mostly empty cup of tea. The leaves made a distractingly amusing pattern that looked like a frog, but he realized his mind was finding ways to avoid his next question, important and awkward as it was. He needed to gather himself and focus. "I hope you would not think me improper, but I feel as though I should ask because it should factor into any good marriage…are there any—physical attributes that you find attractive? Or would it be better to ask if there is anything you find unattractive? Anything you absolutely cannot abide?"

Penelope blushed very prettily, the pink in her cheeks spreading slowly down her neck and chest. "Once again, I do not believe I am in a comfortable enough position to be making such demands. Though—" she paused, considering if she truly wished to continue.

"What is it?" Colin encouraged her.

"Is 'not old' too vague?" Pen asked, and though her tone was meant to jest, she blushed impossibly pinker.

His cup clattered on his saucer as he nearly doubled over in laughter. "Pen—'not old' is the most basic of requirements, and why I am striving to find you a suitable husband. I was more thinking of hair color, or height, or—I don't know, if you had something against pointy noses."

"Oh, well, then no. I find I do not mind the look of most men."

"So, there is nothing in particular you…like? Or even something you appreciate a bit more from certain men? A type of physique, a manner of dress, or an eye color you prefer?" he pressed. Colin, even with his lack of presentation and failure to find any sort of romance while abroad, did have a certain type he preferred, usually shorter women with ample bosom. It was not a conscious thing on his part, and he still did not find his time with them quite what he wanted, but he did appreciate how they filled out their stays.

Pen grew very shy. "I suppose—there is something I like—it is only—well, there is one—"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bridgerton!" Portia Featherington suddenly greeted them, shooting into the room like a firework and effectively ending their discussion.

"Good afternoon, Lady Featherington," Colin greeted her politely, standing up and bowing. "I was just talking with P—Miss Featherington."

"And what brings you to our home on this fine day?" she replied in that light, airy way of hers that she used when trying to seem innocent. Now he wondered how long she was waiting outside the doorway, listening to their conversation.

"I simply sought out your daughter's company. She is a dear friend of mine, and I wished to catch up more thoroughly since my return from abroad over a week ago now," he lied even though she likely knew his true intentions.

"I see," Portia's eyes narrowed before she smiled tightly. "Penelope! You must ready yourself to go out for a promenade this afternoon. I am so sorry to cut your visit with Mr. Bridgerton short."

"Of course, Mama," Pen nodded slightly. "Colin, will I see you there as well?"

He had no plans to promenade until that moment, but he replied, "Of course. I hope you shall save a few moments to walk with me."

As he departed, the plan formed in his mind. Plenty of gentlemen would be out in the fine weather, giving Colin ample opportunities to make introductions for Pen and prove to Portia Featherington that she had just as good of a chance at finding a husband—or better yet, her mate—with someone who would not leave her a young mother and a widow in several years.

~

The moment Colin returned home, he told his mother of his plans to promenade—tactfully omitting his true intention to meet with Penelope for the second time that day. She immediately insisted the whole family attend as well, always willing to take an opportunity to be out in society with her unwed daughters when one presented itself. The outing soon became an event as she asked the servants to prepare a tent and a spread of light refreshments, delaying their departure for an hour. By the time they arrived at Rotten Row, the sun was at its highest point in the sky and the park was crowded with other families, alphas peacocking for the groups of omegas fluttering their fans across their bosoms and hiding their giggled behind parasols.

He initially had trouble spotting Penelope First, he saw Prudence, then Philippa, each of their husbands, and Lady Featherington. Finally, he located Penelope, standing between her mother and Lord Calloway—an exceptionally old widower who had never sired an heir to acquire his barony upon his passing, a day that grew nearer with each passing moment. Though he dressed in finely patterned linens and silks, gold rings on many of his fingers, and a beautifully decorated cane in his left hand, he was old enough to be her grandfather—a fact in contradiction with the way he ogled her bosom in her low, scooped neckline.

"Mother, I am going for a walk," Colin informed Violet, already striding away from their party. The tent was barely set up, and Eloise was engrossed in a deep and passionate discussion with Benedict about the use of women's nudity in painting. Colin needed to speak with Penelope before his sister inevitably interrupted them.

"Do you not wish to eat first?" his mother asked, puzzled.

"No, no, I shall eat later, once I have worked up more of an appetite," Colin replied, moving out of earshot to avoid further inquiries.

He decided against approaching Pen directly at the moment, especially since she was conversing with—an eligible gentleman? Lord Calloway was certainly not who Colin would want for his friend, and based on her sour expression, she likely agreed with his sentiment. The old Lord was probably one of Portia Featherington's schemes, a man desperate enough to make a deal with her.

Colin reasoned that if he loitered nearby, Pen might see him, make her excuses, and come to his side to join him. As he approached, he once again caught her soothing scent, though it did seem slightly different than this morning, tinged with something sour, her anxiety expressing itself in something other than the nervous wringing of her fingers. She wore a different dress from the one in her drawing room earlier in the day, this one clearly designed to entice and tantalize if his reaction was indicative of the other men around her. While its light pink linen fabric was simple enough for an afternoon outing, the scandalously low neckline highlighted Pen's best—assets. Her hair was swept up in a pretty mess at the back of her neck, leaving her mating glands prominently displayed on the sides of her neck. She wore little white lace gloves and a shawl draped over her shoulders to fend off the slight chill.

Unfortunately, because of the crowd in the park, she did not seem to see him from twenty feet away—as close as he dared to stand—despite the intense gaze he used to will her to look in his direction. He could not interrupt, as he was not well-acquainted with Lord Calloway. Even if Colin did not approve of the match, Portia Featherington did, and Colin thought it best to steer clear of her for now, as Pen suggested earlier that morning.

He could not hear any of their conversation, other than Lady Featherington's shrill and unendurable laughter that punctuated Lord Calloway's every remark. It might have looked a little odd for him to stand in one place, so he acted like he was observing the ducks as they swam about in the pond, checking on his quarry out of the corner of his eye every few seconds.

As Philippa and Albion left first, citing Philippa's tiring pregnancy as the reason, Prudence and Harry quickly followed suit. This left Pen alone with her mother and the man vying for Pen's hand. Colin tried to recall more of what he knew about Lord Calloway from his years of eavesdropping at White's. The man was rich and spent so much of his youth indulging in excesses that he never managed to impregnate his omega wife. Though he claimed her, they were not true mates, and he preferred to spend his ruts in brothels rather than sharing her bed, creating an inheritance issue when his wife grew too old to bear pups. She passed away last year, and now Lord Calloway appeared desperate for a son.

With their group reduced to three, Colin could distinguish Lord Calloway's scent—sharp whiskey with dirty smoke, reminiscent of a gentlemen's club with low standards and a cheap membership. Colin did not see him as an option for Pen, could not even fathom what their marriage would be like, how awful it would be for her to be chained to him for however many years until he died, maybe even giving him a pup and an heir—

Finally, Lord Calloway stepped away, perhaps to fetch a glass of lemonade or some other refreshment. Colin saw this as his chance to approach Penelope, but just as he was about to make his move, he heard Portia start to hiss at her. He failed to catch the first part, but then he heard his name.

"—Colin Bridgerton. As my daughter, you should know better," she seemed to chastise Penelope, her distinctive voice clear even in the murmuring around the park.

"I think I know Colin better than you," Pen snapped sharply. Colin smiled, choosing to remain hidden behind a tree but listening closely.

"You should not be associating with that boy, Penelope," Portia continued to chide her.

"He is my friend, Mama. Why should I not—"

"Because you are meant to be finding a husband. If you are too busy dancing with betas, then you will not catch the eye of a much more suitable alpha."

Even if Colin had no respect for Portia Featherington, the insult still stung, perhaps even more so because she said it without knowing he could hear. It was a window into what everyone in the ton whispered about him when he was not listening.

"It was one dance, and he is my friend. Is it not good for us to be seen associating with the Bridgertons?"

"Not if it causes the ton to believe you to be so on the shelf that we are ready to marry you to any regular man. You are an omega, Penelope, and you should be looking to alphas for your match."

"Colin would not want me like that anyway, Mama," Pen replied bitterly.

That's not true, Colin thought, his brow furrowed. With a foundation of friendship, their marriage would be quite happy. If he were a different sort of man, and if Penelope was a beta, he would not be helping her to find a husband. Instead, he would offer for her hand himself, if only to remove her out from under her mother's thumb. Unfortunately, he was not an alpha—yet, he added hastily in his mind—and her mother would never approve of him, so all he could do was try to ensure his friend's future happiness by the end of the season.

"So why bother?" Portia continued. "You are not suitable for him. It is not as though you have alphas fighting each other to call upon you, and I need you to marry well to repair this family's reputation and finances after all your father did to destroy them."

With her demeaning words, Colin could no longer stand by and listen.

"And what of Penelope?" he strode forth, startling them both. "What of her wants and desires?"

Portia bristled. "Mr. Bridgerton—"

"It would be one thing if Penelope were seeking marriage for security, money, or a title. But she isn't. Despite what she has just told you, you seem indifferent to what she requires in a marriage. She is your daughter, and yet you're ready to hand her off to any man who will take her—"

"And why does this concern you, Mr. Bridgerton?" Portia interrupted. "You are not a relation of her. You are not an alpha. You have no say in her marriage. Why are you here now, inserting yourself into our family matters when surely you have much more important, personal concerns to worry about?"

"Because she is my friend, Lady Featherington," Colin replied firmly, "which is exactly why I want to dance with her at balls. I enjoy spending time with her, as anyone who cares for her should. She is kind, and witty, and deeply empathetic, and any man would be lucky to have her by his side. She should not be sold off to the highest bidder as you seem so keen to do."

"Not all of us have such heavy pockets, Mr. Bridgerton," she spit out his name in disdain. He was aware of this, of course. As a third son, he did not have to worry about money as much as others, but he was not ignorant of the financial struggles faced by many. As his sister, Eloise was not afraid of constantly reminding him of his privilege as a man, even without presenting as an alpha.

"That may be so," he fumed, "but I am not the only wealthy gentleman with the capacity to care for Penelope once he becomes acquainted with her. If you were to introduce her to someone closer to her in age, someone she might have any sort of chance at falling in love with—"

"Love? Hah," Portia laughed sarcastically, shaking her head. "Love only exists in bedtime stories and songs for some of us, Mr. Bridgerton, if it truly exists at all. Perhaps if she were to come across her mate such a thing might be possible, but for some of us, even that was not enough. I will not wait around any longer under the assumption that the day will come when an alpha will claim her for himself."

"But she has not spent enough time with—"

"She is out of time," she hissed, trying to prevent more heads from turning their way in the crowded park. "Every passing day brings her closer to being labeled a spinster—a mateless omega destined for easy claiming. Marrying her to a man with money or a title is all she can hope for now. An established alpha with a title and money will provide her with security and protect her from lesser men who would take what she does not willingly offer."

"But I could—"

"You are of no relation to us, and therefore are under no obligation to do anything at all," she stated firmly.

"Mama, please," Pen interjected, desperately trying to stand up for him. "Colin only wants to help me. He is—a dear friend."

"I understand your affection for each other, to some degree," Portia said dismissively, "but you two are no longer children. The time for games is over. Penelope must marry, and associating with a beta—dancing with him publicly at balls—will not help her prospects. She needs to focus her time on alphas who will take care of her."

Lady Featherington's words held merit. Colin was acutely aware of the judgment he received for his lack of presentation, despite his family's reassurances that societal opinions should not matter. He would hate to damage Pen's marriage potential because society began to think less of her by associating with him.

He selfishly did not wish to distance himself from her, though.

But if she were to marry, she would leave him anyway. She would no longer live across the street, no longer be a short walk away, no longer be his favorite dance partner who smelled of sunshine and flowers.

If helping her was hurting her, even by no fault of his own, perhaps it was best to let her go.

"I—I understand, Lady Featherington. Forgive me for inserting myself where I am not wanted," he bowed slightly, signaling his departure from their discussion. "I will leave you to the rest of your afternoon."

He turned on his heel quickly and began to make his way back to his tent. As self-loathing began to churn in his mind, he walked quickly, eager to return to his family, but not before he heard Portia hiss, "Penelope!"

Despite her mother's protests, Penelope called out after him. "Colin! Wait!" she called out urgently, her voice piercing through his turmoil. Colin spun around to see her chasing after him hastily. Portia did not go after her, perhaps to prevent even more of a scene than what already occurred, choosing to shake her head and laugh it off as though it was a mere whim of a girl she could not control completely.

Colin found his feet halting for Pen as she drew closer, holding her skirts in her fists so she would not trip. As she stood before him, more than a head shorter, he was afforded a wonderful view almost directly down her dress, her bosom heaving as she panted. She smelled so lovely, so fresh compared to Lord Calloway or even her mother—whose scent gave the impression of a stale bouquet of roses—and it pained him to see her so distressed by his doing.

His neck began to itch, so as he tugged at his cravat he tried to brush her off. "I will just take my leave of you before anyone notices us together, Pen—"

"Pay no heed to my mother," she said, catching her breath. "She does not truly know you and only speaks out of concern for my prospects, which she seems to believe should involve men twice or thrice my age with heavy pockets and a title, as you can see."

"I am sorry, Pen, for making things worse for you," he apologized.

"They are no worse than they were this morning, Colin, I assure you," she replied earnestly.

"When I proposed my plan, I did not consider how it would look for you to—to dance with me. Since everyone thinks I am a beta, you know. I merely thought of how much I enjoy dancing with you and did not stop and think that spending more time with you at balls would bring up questions from the ton and potential suitors who might turn away when they knew of our—attachment."

"Even Lady Whistledown has criticized the ton for gossiping about your status, Colin," she pointed out. "Please, know that I am listening to her, even if others are not. You cannot be certain that you are a beta yet."

"The day grows ever closer when it might become fact," he muttered.

"But that day is not here yet," she reassured him. "I hope—I hope you will not stop asking me to dance at balls just because of what she said."

"Would that not be better for you, though?" he asked.

"Perhaps," she acquiesced, "but I do not care to give up my favorite dance partner, my friend, for prospective alphas whom I do not, and could not ever, like. And, one day, you will present as an alpha, and it will not matter that I danced with you at all."

He smiled. She always knew what to say to him. Even if the day came where it was clear he was truly a beta, she would still reassure him of their friendship. In this moment, however, she knew he wanted to hear that was not an inevitability just yet. "Thank you, Pen, for having faith in me."

"You are my—my friend. I know you would do the same for me," she smiled. "I must return to my mother and Lord Calloway, but please do not think I want to spend more time in that abhorrent man's presence. My mother insists, even after I told her he never looks me in the eye and does not seem to listen to anything I say because he is staring at my bosom," she tried to make light of her predicament. Colin was a man, however, and though he could criticize old Henry Calloway for not listening to Pen and for his previous life decision, he could not fault him for drinking up the sight of her in that dress.

"You should not bend to your mother so easily," he said seriously. "When she speaks of you so callously, so critically, you can tell her it is—it is wrong. I know she cares for you, but she has an awful way of showing it. That man—he is not right for you."

"I know," she sighed. "I promise, I am trying to be as uninteresting and unenticing as possible, with all of these suitors my mother is considering for me."

"Is it working?" he asked, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

If she continues to wear dresses with necklines like that, it won't be enough.

The thought came to him unbidden, and he inhaled sharply even as Pen replied, "I believe so. Lord Calloway, at least, has stopped trying to engage me in discussions about the language of flowers. I think he assumes all ladies enjoy discussing the topic in detail because it was the only thing his late wife enjoyed. Lord Braitman seems to appreciate dullness and quiet, however, so I might try speaking about everything and nothing the next time he calls on me. Thankfully, Lord Tenworth does not seem interested in marrying me at all, and is only entertaining the idea to appease his mother who still desires grandchildren."

So many men, and all of them ancient and awful, and she would likely marry one of them, or some other man more than double her age by the end of the season. She was so much better than them and deserved so much more. Once again, he wished he would just present, so he could help her, so he could fix this, but as it was he could only watch from the sidelines, aimless and mateless and helpless. He hoped Pen would find her mate before she was contracted to marry any of these lords. He wished he could do more, be more for her, but if her mother wanted him to stay away, he could only try to assist from the shadows, if assisting was the best course of action at all. He was beginning to think it might be better to stop trying altogether.

"Well, continue your efforts, I suppose," he forced out as he very pointedly looked in her eyes even as he fought the urge to glance downward. "If you require a reprieve, I shall send Eloise in your direction. She has no qualms about interrupting, as you know."

"Will I—see you soon?" she asked, unsure.

"I will save a dance for you at the next ball, as long as you will have me," he promised.

When he returned to the tent, he told Eloise right away that Penelope required rescuing from Lord Calloway, who did return but only with one glass of lemonade for himself. On such a warm day, a more considerate man would have offered refreshments to both Penelope and Lady Featherington, forgoing his own drink. He watched as Eloise ran up and whisked Pen away to sit beneath a tree, leaving Lady Featherington flustered and frustrated, and Lord Calloway indifferent.

Colin ate grapes and cheese from his plate, trying not to think about just how pretty Pen looked in that shade of pink.

Notes:

Up next: a very normal update with nothing climatic occurring at all.

(I already have 2k words written and, I have to say, it's gonna be a banger)

Chapter 4: One More Dance

Summary:

Pen tells Colin some unfortunate news. He doesn't quite know how to handle it.

Notes:

This chapter basically fell out of me I wrote it so fast I loved reading everyone's theories about how this might go, but only one of you got it right. I'll give them a little shoutout in the endnotes!

Enjoy this very normal and not at all interesting or dramatic chapter

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Dearest gentle readers,

It is not often that a wallflower finds her way to the dance floor, but it seems that Miss Penelope Featherington is the exception to the rule. At the Trowbridge Ball, she could not seem to find reprieve from the music, her dance card overflowing with gentlemen asking for a turn. Unfortunately for her, her partners were not exactly spry or sprightly—they were, in fact, quite the opposite, and Miss Featherington was not afraid to make her dissatisfaction known on her face. Lady Portia Featherington looks to be pushing every ancient alpha with full pockets in her direction, and one cannot help but feel sympathy for the poor girl. Colin Bridgerton, ever the gallant knight like ages of old, snuck in his usual dance with her, though rumor says it may have been his last. Miss Featherington is not far off from an engagement, though whomever the gentleman might be is still up for debate. Lord Calloway does seem very likely, considering his frequent visits to Featherington House and despite his lack of dances with the young lady.

I certainly hope Miss Featherington has not resigned herself to a life of caring for an elderly, outdated match. Perhaps she might find her true mate soon if Lady Featherington is kind enough to delay any arrangements.

~

Another ball, another night watching Penelope dance with men other than himself.

Lady Trowbridge continued to display her affinity for the extraordinary and wanton through her themes, this year focusing on the animal kingdom. Performers dressed as lions, tigers, exotic birds, and fish displayed their talents throughout the room on platforms and in the air on hoops and trapeze fly bars. Imported fruits from the Caribbean were laid out on platters along with intricately decorated pastries shaped like bugs. Instead of champagne, Lady Trowbridge served rum, brandy, and whiskey, all drinks usually reserved for men. Many ladies chose to partake in the lemonade alone, but Colin spotted more than one woman sipping from a tiny glass of liquor. The invitation explicitly stated to dress darkly, so he wore navy blue and brown with a dark eggplant cravat at his neck. Pen was in emerald green, and he admired how the color looked next to her pale skin and red hair, even as she was hauled around the room from alpha to alpha.

Even after two and a half glasses of whiskey, Colin thought he was still quite sober and would perform better than Lord Braitman, a known supporter of temperance. The man continued to inelegantly spin her around in a farce of a quadrille, tromping on her toes every few moments.

Colin had endured two weeks of this—watching her from the edges of ballrooms, waiting for his single opportunity of the night to dance with her. The two or three minutes they shared together were often their only interaction the entire evening because Lady Featherington forcibly occupied the rest of Pen's time, dragging her into conversation with one of her potential matches. During one of their prized few dances, Pen informed Colin that she had no dowry at all. Instead, these men were essentially bidding for her hand in marriage. Portia waited to see who would be willing to pay the highest of them all, dangling Penelope in front of them like some sort of prize.

Though Colin cherished his two minutes every few evenings with Pen, each conversation revealed her situation growing more dire and grim. It pained him that he could not help for fear of making things worse, more than he did already by his harebrained plan to help her. He hated the guilt that overcame him each time they danced—an activity that used to bring him so much joy and comfort—because he feared it would drive Portia to hasten Pen toward a marriage she did not want if only to prevent him from 'ruining' her further.

Despite her mother's concerns, Penelope was not as spoiled by associating with him as Portia assumed. She danced with other gentlemen who offered, young alphas with perhaps less prestige or money than an older man, but Colin could admit that Pen might grow fond of them given time for their courtship to take shape. They asked her questions, seemed interested in her hobbies, and did not stomp on her feet or shove her around the dance floor like a wet rag. Perhaps most importantly, however, they were not seeking Pen out because of any influence from her mother, and truly took an interest in her. None of them were her mate or swept her off her feet, but in Colin's opinion, they would make for a comfortable couple if only Portia would allow Penelope to explore a courtship with them.

As the dance ended, Pen graciously nodded and thanked Lord Braitman before making her way to the drinks table. The band of strings took a few moments to rosin their bows, and Colin decided he wanted to waltz with her, Lady Featherington and propriety be damned. He usually chose a quadrille or a simple country dance that allowed for conversation, since the still new and slightly scandalous waltz was reserved for courting or married couples, but he did not want her to be forced to endure it with whichever lord wanted to secure his deal with Lady Featherington.

The band struck up once more, a relatively slow number, and Lord Calloway swooped in to present Penelope with his hand. As far as Colin knew, he'd only danced with her once these last few weeks—probably because of his leg that sometimes required him to use a cane—but he seemed especially eager tonight. Pen hesitated, not immediately taking him up on the offer, and Colin guessed she was contemplating the liver spots that decorated the thin skin on his fingers as she stared at them for a few moments too long. She glanced to her mother for guidance, though Portia only smiled threateningly and nodded. Pen forced herself to look happy as she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.

Defeated, Colin continued to stand in place, watching as the couple conversed between steps. Pen's tense smile never left her face, as if it was plastered on to hide her unease.

Eloise, probably evading gentlemen who wished to try their luck at charming her, sidled up to him quietly. She wore a deep purple gown, her hair down and almost wild, covering the mating glands on her neck. There was no jewelry anywhere on her ears or wrists, and no gloves on her hands. She was always excited for Lady Trowbridge's balls each year, using the unconventional themes as an excuse to express herself more boldly than she was allowed at usual society events.

"Enjoying your evening?" she asked cynically, taking a sip of the liquor she must have stolen from a passing tray without their family noticing. Not that Colin would say anything, but young, unmarried ladies generally stuck with lemonade, even at more loose balls such as this or what one might experience at Vauxhall—but this was Eloise, and their mother likely expected her to deviate.

"I am not, thank you for asking," he replied bitterly, finishing the rest of his drink. He buzzed pleasantly, and if he were out with friends, he might have indulged further to numb himself. But at a society event, it was a terrible idea to be in one's cups.

"Does it have anything to do with that spectacle?" she inquired, gesturing to Pen on the dance floor, hauled around by the great oaf who enjoyed pushing her around more than leading her in the movements as a proper partner should.

"It has everything to do with it," Colin admitted, knowing Eloise was thinking exactly as he did regarding this situation with Penelope and these so-called suitors. "Pen deserves better."

"I know she does," Eloise sighed. "I offered to run away to the countryside with her, but she thinks that would be a mistake."

"She would not do well in the country. She enjoys society too much," he pointed out.

"You always shared that with her more than me," she remarked. "You both like to whisper to each other in corners. I can always count on finding the two of you snickering by the wall if I cannot find you."

"Do you know if Lord Calloway would expect her to live in the country?" he prodded. He assumed Penelope and Eloise spoke more closely of such matters, so his sister would know more of the fine details of their courtship and potential relationship. He already hated the man just for being a terrible sort of alpha, but he wanted to find more reasons to despise him.

"He will have to take his place in the House of Lords with everyone else when Parliament is in session. She hopes he will not sequester her away in her country home," Eloise supplied.

"I suppose he will not stick around for so many more years if he does force her to stay away from the city," Colin mumbled.

"I may have told Pen I would help her poison him if she wished, as well," Eloise confessed, smiling.

Colin laughed before returning to his solemn stare at Penelope. She looked miserable, even as she tried to make conversation with a man who had no shared interests with her, and far too much in common with her dead father. "I wish there was some way out for her that did not involve murder. Or, better yet, if she did not have to marry that man at all," he pondered.

"I hate that she is forced to endure this mockery of a courtship," Eloise muttered. "I wish she would find her mate if only so she would not have to marry one of them."

"I thought you would not want her to marry at all," Colin queried, almost in jest.

Eloise shot him a cutting look. "I do not, of course, but her mother—you know how Lady Featherington is. She is determined to see Penelope married by any means necessary."

"She needs someone to come to her rescue, if only for her toes," Colin remarked. Lord Calloway did not seem to know the steps of the dance and continued to run into Pen every other turn. Whether it was true ignorance or on purpose, Colin could not determine.

"You could," Eloise turned to him.

Surprised at his sister's approval, Colin asked, "You would not hate me for it?"

"If it has to be anyone," she said, "then I would not mind sharing her with you. Only to keep her away from them, of course."

"Unfortunately, I fear I would only make it worse." Eloise was not aware that he already tried and failed.

"Why? Because you do not meet all of Lady Featherington's requirements? You and Pen are friends, so why should she—"

"It is because I only meet one of her three requirements. I may have more money than most of the lords she entertains as matches for Pen, but I have no title, and—perhaps worst of all—I am still not an alpha. Even if I am not actively pursuing Pen as a suitor, by associating with her at all she seems to think that will hurt Pen's potential by causing others to assume that they are not able to secure a match and have lowered their standards to include the likes of me," Colin explained, his tone laced with loathing for Portia Featherington and himself.

Eloise was silent for a few moments. Colin began to regret revealing his insecurities to her if she was so confused as to how she should respond, but then she said, "You know that even if you are a beta, you are just as worthy of love as anyone else, right?"

"Yes, I know that, in theory," he uttered. "It is one thing to hear it, and another to believe it. I am still coming to terms with the possibility."

His sister looked at him, her expression gentle. "The whole thing is ridiculous, but you already know my feelings on the matter. I shall not talk your ear off about the rights of omegas—and betas—in a society dominated by alphas," she sighed. "If you would like to contribute to the cause, it looks like the dance is ending."

Indeed, the music finally stopped. It looked like Pen tried not to throw Lord Calloway's hands off her body, but she took several steps away. Her mother stared in the opposite direction, pointedly ignoring her daughter as the suitor continued to leer at her. He favored one foot but still did not use the assistance of a cane. When Lord Calloway took several steps toward Pen, she continued to walk in reverse, but he was undeterred by her hesitance, backing her up into a group of debutantes whose circle did not open for her despite her need for a respite. He looked to be trying to offer her his elbow, probably under the guise of assisting him with his balance.

A surge of protectiveness overcame Colin. "Excuse me, El," he said, not taking his eyes off Penelope.

"You are excused," Eloise replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Without overthinking, he strode forward, jostling groups as he determinedly and single-mindedly headed for Penelope.

He would help her. It was what friends did for each other.

As Colin approached, he overheard Lord Calloway say, "Perhaps another, Miss Featherington?" as he attempted to take her gloved hand.

"So soon?" Pen smiled awkwardly as she tried to evade him. "Perhaps we should wait—"

"I see no reason to," the man leered at her, grasping her wrist, just where her bare skin began.

Colin fumed.

"Miss Featherington!" he interjected, and their heads snapped to him. Lord Calloway looked rather annoyed, but Pen's relief was evident.

"Yes, Mr. Bridgerton?" Lord Calloway replied, bristling. "I was just about to—"

"Would you like to dance with me, Miss Featherington? I believe you save at least one for me—your dear, old friend—at every ball," Colin rushed to ask her before the lord could finish.

"Of course, Mr. Bridgerton. I would be delighted," Pen accepted his hand gratefully, allowing him to lead her to the floor.

"Thank you," she whispered the moment they were out of Lord Calloway's earshot. "I fear for my sanity and my toenails should I have to dance with him again."

"What sort of friend would I be if I did not protect—your feet," he fumbled.

"I shall have to ice them later this evening if I would like to walk tomorrow," she tried to laugh, but her face quickly fell as she struggled to gather her emotions, finally able to release the mask now that she was with someone she trusted.

"What is the cause of this despondent expression of yours? Other than your previous dance partner, that is," he asked gently.

"My mother confirmed with me this morning that Lord Calloway intends to ask for my hand in three days," her voice trembled.

Colin, usually a very adept dancer, nearly tripped over his feet. "What?"

"I am to be engaged to Lord—"

"No, I understood that part. I supposed my surprise is because—well, it's quite fast, is it not? I thought that you only needed to marry by the end of the season," he explained, his brows furrowing in confusion as he tried to stop his racing heart.

"My mother is under the impression that sooner is better in this matter. I suspect there is something else she is hiding from me, but I have yet to discover it."

"That's why the bas—the man has been so smug all evening. He's made a deal with your mother," Colin thought aloud. He would not be surprised if Lord Calloway—and the other, older lords who vied for her hand—offered to pay off Lord Featherington's old debts entirely. Or, worse, if the debts were with the lords themselves, and Pen was the asking price to wipe them away.

"I know he has," Pen admitted. "He wants a young omega wife to give him an heir, and…well, he seems to have been willing to pay my mother's high price. My father did not exactly leave our finances in good standing upon his passing, as you know."

"But there are so many other ways a good man could turn that around, with or without his own money contributing to the Featherington estate. And surely there is some distant male relative who inherited the title upon your father's death?" he asked, trying to puzzle together a hole in Lady Featherington's plan.

"Unfortunately not. There is talk of one of my sister's sons taking over, but nothing is set in stone yet. My mother meets fairly regularly with some solicitor employed by the monarchy who oversees such matters," Pen explained.

"You—and your son—would not be considered?" Colin inquired.

"Not if I marry another lord. My sons would inherit my husband's title should I marry someone like Lord Calloway. When I marry Lord Calloway, I suppose," she said, resigned.

"So this is not a case where you can simply co-exist in the same house. You will have to—to consummate the marriage, and give him pups—" Colin said, his voice growing lower as the anger surfaced.

"This is not a proper conversation to have in public," she interrupted him, a light blush across her cheeks.

She was correct, and already Colin's mind searched for a solution. They were spinning, whirling around the dancefloor, and he spotted a gap in the bystanders just next to a secluded doorway in a dark corner.

"Come with me," he rumbled, twirling her off the dancefloor and slyly taking her hand as he secreted her out of the room.

The mysterious doorway led to a hall, and he picked the first door on the left to hide. Inside was some sort of study or library, the walls lined with books and the windows uncovered to reveal the bright moon outside. Lady Trowbridge, growing ever stranger in Colin's mind, decorated with macabre paintings of skulls and mysterious rituals, animal bones on tables in each corner of the room, and animal furs on the floors. He glanced at some of the titles on the shelves and saw they were a mix of medical texts, and romances—though not the sort one would usually find out in the open.

He began to pace the room as his heart raced, blood roaring in his ears as he fought to think of some solution, some magical answer that would save Penelope, take her from a loveless, horrendous marriage—

"Colin?" she tried to stir him from his panic.

"Perhaps you should run off to the country," he blurted out. "I know Eloise offered to go with you, and perhaps you thought it a jest, but she would do it if you asked."

"I do not want to go to the country. I cannot run away from this problem. My family will still have no money when my mother inevitably finds me and drags me back to London, and who knows what will befall me then," she tried to smile.

"You cannot be resigned to this, Pen," he pleaded, taking her hands in his. "You have to try something, you have to have a choice—"

"You should know as much as I do that not everything in this life is a choice," she said softly.

He knew that. Of course he knew that. If everything was a choice, he would be an alpha, and Pen would not be nearly engaged to Lord Calloway. "My lack of presentation and your marriage are entirely different."

"One is ordained by fate, sure, but my mother is as good as the hand of God in that regard," Pen remarked. "Eloise is correct that young, unmarried, omega ladies are somehow considered incredibly valuable and yet have nearly no say in their lives unless they are blessed with a mate and have the decision taken from them anyway. In either situation, the choice comes from their family or whatever divine entity governs our souls, and it feels like no choice at all. However, what she fails to understand is that not all of us are afforded families who will take our hearts into consideration when making decisions about our futures, no matter how hard we fight."

"I'm sorry, Pen," he said, tears welling in his eyes and clinging to his lashes as he willed them not to fall. He turned away from her so she would not notice, gazing at the full moon outside the window. "I know I cannot offer much, but I will do whatever I can to help you. I will pay for a carriage to Scotland for you, or a passage to the Americas, or hide you in my wardrobe for as long as you need."

She laughed a little, the sound a balm to the hurt in his heart. "I would say the servants might question the excessive amount of food brought to your room, but perhaps not with your voracious appetite."

"One more plate would be a drop in the bucket," he replied with a half-smile.

They shared another brief chuckle before falling into silence. Pen stepped away, her hands slipping from his. She glanced around at the bookshelves, scanning the titles on the spines for something to do as Colin watched her, his mind racing for something else to say. He wanted to lighten her mood or reassure her that everything would be fine—even if it meant lying—because he could not think of anything he could do to make it better.

She could not marry Lord Calloway. The thought was ridiculous and unfathomable to him—Pen, shackled to a man who was not her mate and did not love her, simply because her father left debts behind and her mother had no other means to pay them. Her sister's husbands would never be able to contribute, because they were untitled alphas—still wealthy to a degree, but certainly not the wealthiest of the gentry, and they would never match the aristocracy in money. He wanted to tell Pen to leave her mother to fend for herself, to let the title fall into the hands of some distant relative, to remove herself from the family that only wanted her for what she could provide for them.

At the same time, Colin the weight of obligations and loyalty towards one's family. He did not care for Lady Featherington, but she was not his own mother. Pen was bound to her by blood, and while it was easy for him to imagine running away, what would Pen run away to, exactly? She had never mentioned an estranged aunt in the country or a cousin she was fond of who would take her in. As an unmated, unmarried omega with no paternal figure or male relatives, she was forced to listen and obey her mother, even if the woman had the larger picture of her family's best interests in mind, with no regard for the individuals in it.

Colin did not know what to do, or how to help, and it crushed him.

Pen froze, forcing him out of his mild panic and frantic, unsuccessful problem-solving. He looked at her, concerned as she bit her lip in deep thought.

"Colin," she whispered, catching his gaze.

"Yes?" he replied.

"Would you—would you kiss me?"

Of all the things she might have asked, Colin would never have expected—that. "What?" he blurted out, stupefied by her for the second time in less than fifteen minutes.

"It's only that…with all this talk of choice, I realized—I might never have the chance to kiss a man of my choosing," she said, gathering her courage. The moonlight reflected in the clear blue of her eyes as she continued, "And I think I would like to, even if it is just this once, before I am attached to someone by an engagement. But do not feel obligated. I know you see me as just a friend, but it would not have to mean anything—it cannot mean anything—"

"Why me?" he interrupted her rambling, his voice tinged with sadness and confusion. The thought, which might have remained unspoken had he not been so overcome by emotions, slipped out before he could stop it.

"Because I trust you, Colin," she replied with conviction and vulnerability. "Because you are my friend, and I—I like you. I will never like any of these men my mother chooses for me, but I like you, and I would like my first kiss to be with someone I know and care for."

"I—do you really—" he struggled to think clearly, grappling with the mix of astonishment and confusion swirling around inside him.

"I just thought—there are so few choices that we can make, and—I want this to be one of them," she stated, her gaze unwavering as she waited for his answer, which he struggled to form in his mind.

Did leaving his presentation to fate mean that he could not choose?

He chose to travel, to kiss and fuck women to attempt to bring on a rut and his presentation. He chose to listen to his mother's advice and focus elsewhere when that did not seem to work. He chose to help Pen find a respectable alpha for a husband, even if it came to naught quicker than he expected. He took charge of the parts of his life where it was possible, even if so many things were in the hands of fickle fate.

Pen chose to ask him to kiss her because she wanted it, because it was something she could control.

As he looked at her, standing openly before him, determined and nervous and trusting, Colin realized he wanted it, too.

He took one step, and then another. Pen's eyes widened in shock and her breathing quickened as she realized what he meant to do, that this was his answer.

This was beyond merely helping a friend. He wanted this for himself. He chose this, just as Pen did.

Colin leaned forward and watched as Pen's lashes fluttered against her cheeks, her lids closed when his hand touched her chin. He bent at the knee slightly, adjusting for her very small stature, his face hovering inches before hers, moving closer and closer as they shared breaths. He could smell a bit of lemon on her now, likely from the lemonade, but he still inhaled the floral aroma from her body, her omega scent he found so enticing and distracting. He held one of her hands, and the pad of his thumb stroked her chin, holding it in place lightly. The tips of their noses brushed, and Pen breathed sharply, gasping at the contact just as Colin's lips slid against hers.

Without warning, his legs turned to jelly, and he had to brace a hand on the shelf behind her so he would not fall. Pen whimpered just once, and he let out a deep, guttural groan pulled from the depths of his heart.

He'd fucked a few women, learned how to please them even when he was not sure how he wanted to be pleased himself. He'd kissed a couple dozen more, desperate to find someone who stirred something inside of him, if not a presentation, then some kind of feeling of romance or passion, anything that might lead him to find his true partner in life.

None of that compared to this sweet embrace with his oldest friend.

Colin suddenly remembered that this was her first kiss, and he wanted it to be unforgettable at the same that he did not want to let her go. Pen, probably full of nerves, started to pull back slightly, so his hand on her chin opened up to slide across her jaw and neck, his fingers winding into her pinned hair as much as he dared to disturb the complicated coiffure. He slanted his lips against hers, not increasing his pace but chancing a lick at the seam of her mouth. She gasped so he did it again, just teasing her with each push and pull, enjoying the little whimpers she tried to hold back. Her palm moved to lay flat on his chest, like she wanted to feel the thumping of his heart as he fell into a delirium, like she wanted to make sure he felt the magic, too.

When he was sure he would not faint, he took the hand that was on the bookshelf and grasped her waist, the beading of her dress rough under his palm. He did not want to risk propriety by pulling her closer, did not have the nerve to press her body flush against his—as much as he wanted to feel her completely against him, he did not want to scare her—so he contented himself with the heat of her warming his fingertips through the silk fabric. His skin buzzed with excitement, with the lightness of kissing her, shocks like lightning zipping through his limbs.

It was only seconds, but he lived an entire lifetime with his lips on hers, pillowy and lush and yielding, allowing him to lead her. Kissing never felt so—fun, so easy, so new, even after trying to bring his rut on with a different omega every week for several months. He could have stayed in that moment forever, in their own world in Lady Trowbridge's strange library, just his heart touching Pen's through their mouths.

She gently pushed on his chest, and he pulled away, breaking the spell placed over them. When he opened his eyes, she was already looking at her feet. He leaned his forehead against hers, one hand still on her face though his other slid from the dip of her waist. They stood silent for several moments, just a few breaths while Colin tried to think of something, anything he could say to tell her how lovely she was, how much he wanted to kiss her again, how he wished he was an alpha more now than ever—

"Thank you," she whispered, and she quickly turned away, fluttering out of the room and shutting the door behind her. Colin, stunned and silent and wanting, still had his hands reaching out for her.

Was his kiss not to her liking? Why would she depart so quickly, if not? Or, was it simply nerves from the chance of being caught alone together in such an embrace? Caught with him?

Colin's mind, though momentarily eased by the few precious moments during their kiss, plunged back into turmoil as he peeked out the door to check the hallway. Finding it clear, he quickly left the room, still somewhat dazed. He was caught between confusion over Pen's abrupt departure, disappointment that he hadn't persuaded her to stay and discuss their kiss, and a desperate need to find her alone so he could attempt to recreate it.

When he could not locate Pen, he assumed she had left the ball immediately. Realizing he would be of little use for the rest of the night and dreading the inevitable questions about his strange mood from his family on their way home, he resolved to do the same. Informing his mother he was feeling unwell, he took a carriage home, struggling to keep his thoughts from racing as the streets of Mayfair passed by. His longing for the comfort of his bed and the escape and nothingness of sleep grew stronger with each passing moment.

Upon his arrival, he barely undressed, not bothering to call for Dunwoody at the late hour. The remnants of earlier alcohol made his eyes feel heavy as he tore off his cravat and rubbed at the tension in his neck, trying to alleviate the persistent ache and soothe some of the itch.

He didn't know what to do or think anymore. Pen was going to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather and he could not do anything to fix it. He kissed her because she asked him, and he wanted to do it again, but she fled the moment it was over.

He hoped that once he closed his eyes, even if only for a few hours, he would stop thinking at all.

~

He could tell immediately it was a dream.

Pen walked toward him in a dressing gown reminiscent of something his sisters might wear, though this one was sheer, the delicate fabric floating as if stirred by an invisible breeze. Beneath it, he could see a nightdress, made of light blue silk and clinging to her curves. Her hair was completely unpinned, the red curls cascading around her face and shoulders, covering the mating glands on her neck. Colin glanced at his own attire as he strode towards her—he was dressed in plain trousers, a white shirt, and nothing else, not even shoes on his feet. They were…somewhere, some ever-shifting room as his mind pieced the scene together, settling somewhere between his bedroom and the library from earlier that night. Pen stopped, standing next to a wall between two shelves filled with books and unidentifiable trinkets. Candles lit the room, their warm glow reflecting off her skin and casting soft shadows from the tables and chandelier.

"Colin," she breathed, reaching for his hand. He entwined their fingers together, bringing her hand to his lips for a gentle kiss.

"I am so glad to see you, Pen," he replied. "When I am not near you, my mind thinks of nothing else but the next occasion I might find you."

"I long for you, Colin, every moment of every day," she said desperately, her free hand now clutching at his shirt, bringing him closer.

"Truly?" he asked, pressing her against the wall.

"I need you, Colin, please," she pleaded, her eyes searching his intensely.

And then he kissed her, almost as he did in the library, but with…more. More tongue, more hands, more pressure, more taking because he wanted. He only heard her whimper and moan a few times earlier, and she bit them back so they would not be heard, but here in his dream she did not hesitate to release her sounds, crying out with every touch and graze and press of his lips, wanton and begging for more.

This was not his regular sort of dream, he realized.

They were never like this, filled with lust and arousal and his hands sliding down her neck and touching the bare skin of her chest as he imagined it. Even when he woke with a cockstand, it was always a bodily function, a response to waking rather than any stimuli. He never experienced anything like this in his subliminal mind, images of women flashing across his closed eyelids, feeling their bodies against his, smelling their scents, touching their mating glands like they were real. He fantasized when he indulged himself, of course, but he was always awake, and it was always faceless figures, nameless ladies.

This was not just any woman who clung to him and slid her lips over his in this dream, this fantasy conjured by his most basic mind.

It was Pen, and she felt so, so good.

Perhaps he should have felt shame over thinking of her in such a lascivious manner, but her weight in his arms pushed any thoughts of regret from his mind. Her nails against his scalp, pulling at his hair, sent shivers up his back and heat settling in his groin.

He wanted her.

"You smell so good," he growled, leaving her lips and inhaling deeply at the base of her neck. "Like sunshine and flowers and grass and dirt and heat—I've wanted to drink you in like this for so long," he admitted, palming her through her dress.

"You've consumed my every thought for weeks," she breathed, craning her neck to one side so he could continue kissing and sucking just next to her mating gland.

She rolled her body against his, and he hoped the real Penelope would feel just as good because he moaned, her curves soft under his palms and her back arching to touch as much of him as she could. Her cries filled his ears, tiny whimpers and gasps that tumbled into moans as he pecked and laved and worshiped her.

"Pen," he panted, his mouth against her collarbone as he blabbered in his lust, "this feels—this is so right—"

"Colin," she whined as his tongue licked her neck, dragging it along her mating gland. "Alpha."

Even in the haze of the dream, her words caused his pride to swell and spill over. "My sweet little omega," he purred, "you taste so lovely."

"More, more," she begged him, scratching his back through his shirt frantically as he trailed his lips down her chest, biting at the swells of her bosom and preventing him from saying anything else.

Everything quickly turned intangible as dreams always do once the subconscious acts out the main scene it wishes to explore—no more conversations, only undistinguishable actions filled with overwhelming, all-consuming, unbearable emotions. Colin was falling, tumbling down to earth in a blaze of fire like a shooting star, but he never wanted it to end, never wanted to let go of her, never wanted to leave her side, never wanted to stop—

"My alpha, my alpha—"

~

He woke with a start, and his body burned.

The room was bathed in a soft grey light, indicating that dawn was well underway but not yet fully arrived. Sweat coated his skin and drenched his sheets and undershirt, his trousers too tight on his body as his cock ached and strained in his pants, fully and painfully erect, even more than his usual morning wood. It felt like bugs crawled through his veins, itching and creeping through him as he tried to catch his breath. Scents overwhelmed him, everything from toast burning in the kitchen four floors away, to the shaving soap Anthony used in his room down the hall, to—to—

Bright sunshine in a garden fully bloomed, filtering in from somewhere out his window and across the road.

His head spun. He flung off his blanket and crawled out of bed, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. Frustrated with their unusual lack of finesse, he abandoned the attempt to undress further. His neck hurt and he reached his hand to touch it, to rub the pain away, but instead, the moment his fingertips touched the hot skin a shock shivered through his limbs and settled in his member, somehow filling it even more with heat and longing.

That scent, like a summer day at Aubrey Hall, like his childhood, like the most perfect day he could imagine—

Omega.

He inhaled sharply.

Pen.

It was Pen. His omega.

His omega?

Oh.

"Oh," he moaned, loudly enough that he heard stirring in the bedroom next to him, a door creaking open. He touched his neck again, this time with the lightest graze he could manage, tracing the outline of the lump.

He stumbled over to a mirror, clutching the frame as his haggard and feverish face looked back at him, his skin glistening with sweat and two mating glands on his neck, purple and red and throbbing.

"Colin?" Eloise called to him from outside in the hallway, hesitating outside the door. "Is everything alright? You—your room stinks like—like you have started—"

"Go away," he rasped unsteadily, searching his wardrobe for a waistcoat and jacket to cover his damp shirt, only to think that it was rather pointless. He continued to shout at his sister, trying to find the word to explain what was happening to him, that he desperately needed to speak with Penelope, to kiss her and ask her to relieve him, to put him out of this misery. "I need—I need to go. I need to—to find—"

"I'm fetching Anthony and Mother," Eloise said hurriedly, and he heard her footsteps retreating.

Colin clutched at his chest and staggered over to the window, looking out toward Featherington House, toward the source of her scent that had plagued him for months, for years. The kiss they shared, his dream that he wanted to be real, that he wanted to make a reality, they replayed over and over in his mind. He decided, in this lustful haze he determined was his first rut, that he could not wait for permission from anyone, except maybe Pen. It was only her who mattered anymore, anyway.

He needed Pen.

He was in a rut.

He was an alpha.

The only person he wanted to see was Penelope.

She was meant for him, and he for her, after all this time, and he did not wish to waste another moment. He was not thinking clearly, could not think of anything but his best friend and her lips and her laugh, but he knew for certain that he could have no one else, that he wanted no one else, that this desire was only for Pen.

He needed her, and only her.

Pen, Pen, Pen…

He ran over to his door and tried to open it, but it seemed to be stuck.

"Let me out," he growled, rattling the handle, trying to force it.

"We've barred the door, Col," Anthony told him, his voice muffled. "You need to stay in there. Someone will bring you food and—something to help you, in twenty minutes once we procure it."

"No!" he raged, clawing at the wood, taking a bit of the varnish off. "I need to go! I have to go to her!"

"Her? Her who?" his brother pressed urgently, confused. "Colin, what do you mean—"

"Ahhrgh!" he yelled in his fury, his frustration that they could not understand him.

He needed Pen.

Colin looked around his room, and spotting his way out, moved to the window again. He looked outside and determined it was manageable. He was on the second floor—it did not seem so far.

He unlatched the panes, threw them open to the brisk morning air, and jumped.

Notes:

Congrats to Lindz4567 who was the only commenter to guess that it would be a kiss to trigger Colin's presentation/rut!

Up next: THE MAN'S GONE FERAL

(He makes it to Pen's room I swear he didn't hurt himself going out that window LMAO)

Chapter 5: Chaos

Summary:

Colin finds Pen, and Portia is not happy about any of this at all. Colin does not care.

Notes:

Content Warning: Mating bites but there is no major graphic description, and there is explicit consent

People were about to start beating down the metaphorical door because of the cliffhanger I left you all on for a month I hope the wait was worth it!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

My dearest readers,

I am certain this brief missive will come as quite a surprise, for you have grown accustomed to receiving delightful whispers and tantalizing tales from this author on a precise schedule. Fear not, for I shall return to you very soon with more scandalous secrets. However, I find myself presently ensnared and held hostage by unforeseen circumstances beyond my control.

Rest assured, I hope to present the Ton with a full issue of their favorite scandal sheet as soon as these pesky personal matters are resolved. Perhaps more than anyone, I am aware that the gossip in Mayfair will not pause in the absence of someone to report it. When this short, necessary pause is complete, I shall return with every scandal and rumor I missed.

Do not be lulled into a false sense of ease or relief—though momentarily occupied, I remain ever vigilant. Your secrets are still far from safe when they reach my ears.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

~

Had he been in his right mind, Colin might have anticipated more difficulty entering Featherington House. As it was, he found himself halfway up the ivy trellis, believing the easiest entry to be through Penelope's window—a sure sign that his focus on Pen and his rut had entirely overridden any sense of logic.

Thankfully, the early hour meant few people were lingering on the road outside. After flinging himself out his own window to evade his brother wrangling him into a room for the remainder of his rut, he landed in a manicured hedge that was not quite so manicured anymore. It broke his fall nicely, however, and allowed him to sprint across the cobblestones with little more than a slight twinge in his left ankle. He did receive a few strange looks from a few maids out running errands, and from a carriage driver as he rode past, but he didn't bother stopping to provide them with an explanation before starting his journey up the side of Pen's home. In all likelihood, they knew exactly what was happening based only on his scent. He could not tell exactly what he smelled like now, but ruts always caused alphas to stink more sharply than usual.

He wished to ponder on his new, alpha scent a little longer, the idea so novel and almost unfathomable that he still tried to wrap his mind around it, but he needed to focus on his current quarry.

He hoisted himself a little higher, trying not to think about what would happen if he chose the wrong window. He thought he knew which one was Pen's, relying on memory and the strength of her scent to guide him. Peeking over the windowsill, his fingers dug into the wood, ready to sink back down if a maid—or, worse, Lady Featherington—happened to spot him. But when he caught sight of a ladies' desk, a large wardrobe by the door, a green rug laid out across the floor, a four-poster bed with pink trimmings, and the small figure resting on top of it, he exhaled and relaxed.

Pen, still sound asleep at this hour, wore a white nightdress, one of her legs sticking out from her quilt and her red hair in a braid that draped like a rope across her pillow. She slept on her stomach, her face turned away from the growing light of dawn.

He really hoped that she would not scream after what he was about to do.

"Penelope," he called, his voice just loud enough for her to hear through the glass—he hoped—and knocked thrice.

To his relief, she began to stir, shifting over to her back and wiping at her eyes, confused and still groggy with sleep. He could not help but notice the absence of a corset—because why would she wear one to bed?—and the sight of her unbound breasts shifting beneath the thin linen sent his heart racing. He could see the mating gland on one side of her neck, too, a bit more purple than usual.

Her scent hit him stronger than ever, and now he could clearly pick out specific flowers among the warmth of her—lilacs and roses and lavender and lily-of-the-valley and freesia, a bouquet he longed to bury his face inside for the rest of his days, to claim as his.

The horrid, awful thought suddenly struck him, as he clung to the side of her family home, staring at her through a window as she blearily looked around her room, sniffing the air and clutching her chest, that she might not want to be claimed.

The idea of not smelling her beautiful, perfect sunlit garden scent every morning for the rest of his life clawed at his heart, threatening to tear him to pieces. This desire for her went far beyond simple infatuation, beyond the lust of his rut that he knew clouded his mind. There must be a reason why he presented after he kissed her, why her affection—after dozens of kisses and much more from women on his travels did nothing for him—finally allowed his alpha to come forth.

She had to want him too.

He might die if she did not.

The moment she spotted him, a range of emotions flickered across Pen's face. She looked delighted at first but then seemed to remember that she was on the second floor as her brow furrowed before the panic developed and she rushed over to the window to fling the panes open for him.

"Colin!" she hissed. "What are you—oh," she exhaled, backing away to allow him to clamber inside.

"Pen," he breathed, landing on his feet as quietly as possible. She seemed to float before him, the hem of her nightgown fluttering around her ankles as she shifted back and forth. Colin was very aware of the urgent and eager erection tenting in his trousers, growing harder yet at the sight of his omega in her nightgown, her bosom attempting to spill out of the tied neckline, her small hands playing with the string as her petal pink lips parted in astonishment. "I needed to see you, to speak with you. You probably can tell why—"

"Colin, you smell—" Pen interrupted him and paused, inhaling deeply. A red flush grew from her chest and rose onto her cheeks, her bosom heaving with each breath.

"What do I smell like, Penelope?" he prodded her, blood pounding in his ears. "I cannot tell for myself. I need to hear it from you."

"Like old books and tea on a rainy day. Like a cold drizzle while sitting in a library. Like—like alpha," she said, the last word devolving into a needy whine, the realization of what he was now—an alpha, mercifully, finally—crashing over her.

"Because I am, Pen," he growled, trying to restrain himself by just taking her hands but quickly failed when he ran his palms up her arms to her neck and face, holding her gently. "Our kiss last night—I have never felt anything like it before, never felt so drawn to someone after such a display of genuine and true intimacy. While I slept, my thoughts were so consumed by you that I dreamt of kissing you again, holding you in my arms, being your alpha, and—and when I woke, I was feverish, and I could smell you across the road, and I—I need you. I want you. I finally presented, and I am your alpha, and if I cannot have you I feel as though I may perish."

As he spoke, her scent shifted to something headier, stronger, and he realized that she was moving and wriggling around so she could rub her slick thighs together as her arousal grew. She grasped for words for a few agonizing moments, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to find the right thing to say. When she failed, the anxiety of waiting nearly bringing Colin to his knees, she pulled him closer to her by his hair and kissed him.

Colin could not imagine there was any alpha in the world who was happier than him at that moment. Pen inhaled and moaned into his mouth, rolling her body against him, fisting her hands in his shirt so he could not pull away. His fingers trailed along the sides of her face and down across her mating glands, the skin hotter and redder there, the wanton cry coming from her throat going straight to his cock. He pushed a sleeve down her shoulder, revealing more for him to touch and feel, his thumb just barely grazing a pebbled nipple beneath the thin linen, Pen's sweet moans filling his ears—

And then he paused.

Pen whined as he pulled back, wrenching his lips away from hers and stilling his ministrations even as she tried to thrust her breast into his hand, clinging to his body and tilting her face up to reach for another kiss.

"Do you want this, Pen?" he panted, trying to keep some kind of composure as she continued to touch and feel him through his clothes. "Do you want me? If you say no, I can be back out that window and across the square and no one will know about this, even if I might throw myself into the Thames instead—"

"I want you, Colin," she said, her chest heaving and her hands on his arms, squeezing his muscles. "I've wanted you for years, longed for the day you would present as an alpha because maybe—if fate was kind to me for the first time in my life—you would be my mate. Even when it seemed like the day would never come, I dreamed of running away with you to Gretna Green and marrying you anyway, our statuses be damned."

Colin stood in silence for a few long moments, simply stunned at her confession. When her face fell at his lack of reply, he kissed her reassuringly, affectionately, lovingly, and she melted against him like chocolate—slowly, and then before he knew it he was covered in her, slick soaking his pant legs when she ground herself against his thigh that somehow made it between her parted legs, her hair suddenly unbound and flowing like a red waterfall when he sat down on her bed and allowed her to hover above him. He started to unbutton himself, worried that he might rip the fabric if he did not free his erection soon.

"I need to marry you," he mumbled against her eager and pressing lips while she tugged at his shirt, trying futility to take it off over his head without parting from their embrace. "My brother will have to help us with a special license."

"Oh," she said as she sat back, remembering something. "I—I don't have a dowry."

"I do not need to be paid to wed you, Pen," he breathed. "I love you."

Perhaps it was too soon to say, and Colin regretted it a little when Pen looked like she might cry. "I love you, Colin, so very much," she replied, releasing his unease and growing it into joy. "I love how deeply you feel, how you listen to me so thoughtfully, how you always want everyone to laugh even when you are torn to pieces and bleeding inside, how you support and protect those you care about, and how you are determined to accomplish a goal once your mind is set. I am so happy that I am your mate."

"You are sweet when it matters, and still never afraid to whisper gossip in a corner with me," he smiled, so happy he could return her kind, tender words. "You somehow support me unfailingly and still manage to tell me when I'm wrong. You forgive easily when you care too much, when you know the person is a true friend. You save the best parts of yourself for those you love. You are my favorite person, Penelope, and I am glad I can finally see our relationship for what it always was—unconditional devotion."

As she sat on his lap, his omega, his alpha rut coursing through him, it felt as though his life finally opened up into what it was meant to be. After so many weeks—years, if he wanted to count the last couple of seasons that were only mildly less anxiety-filled—he knew who he was. He found his place in life, and it was with Penelope as her mate, her alpha. Their hearts were drawn to each other for so long now, and their souls were ready to be joined forever, loathe to be parted again.

Pen kissed him again, and he loved that she was not afraid to initiate affection. She eagerly slanted her lips along his, tugging one into her mouth with her teeth, frantically pressing herself against him as her body longed for more. He grazed her mating gland and she whimpered, tensing and exhaling heavily as a wave of pleasure floated through her body and Colin smirked. He hadn't expected her to enter a heat when she scented him, especially if she was on suppressants as he suspected earlier in the season, and would have been content with Pen staying with him through his rut, helping him in whatever way she felt comfortable. However, based on the amount of slick coming out of her center and dripping onto his pants, and how quickly her hands were becoming less gentle and more desperate, his scent had caused a heat the moment she smelled him.

He tugged the bow tied at the neckline of her nightdress, the pretty pink ribbon falling across her breasts as the fabric parted and the sleeves fell down both of her arms. She worked at his shirt again, finally tugging it free from his waistband just as he started to slide his hands up her bare, creamy thighs, her nightgown gathering at her hips before he pulled it up and over her head. He did not have time to take in her figure before her lips were upon his again, just once while she lifted his shirt up by the hem and then that was gone, too.

Her little cries as they kissed and she pawed at his naked chest went straight to his cock, so he tried to help her with the seemingly infinite buttons on his trouser fall. He would have to stand up again to take them off, and Pen might have to stand up too, but he didn't want to let her go, didn't want to be parted from her, but he wanted to be naked with her, but maybe it would be his opportunity to take all of her in, to see her standing before him like Venus stepping out of the sea, her red hair and full breasts and soft stomach—

There was a new scent. It was almost imperceptible among their own smells mingling around the room, but with his rut heightening all his senses he could immediately tell it was something different, and it was growing stronger. He pulled away from Pen immediately, her kiss-red and puffy lips still parted and glistening with his saliva as he stared at the door.

"What is it?" she asked, dazed and sniffing and still fumbling with his pants, torn between finishing with the buttons and stroking his member straining for freedom.

"Someone's there," he hushed her with a finger to her lips, listening carefully.

Footsteps. Quiet and slow at first, and then hurried as they quickly ran back down the hall.

Pen froze and stiffened, her hand that was palming him with only a few more buttons that needed to be undone going completely still. "Colin, my mother," she breathed, panic setting in as she checked the clock on her fireplace mantle. "My maid always wakes me at seven-thirty. She must have heard us and left to fetch her."

Colin gently pushed her off him and to her feet, standing up and striding across her room. "Can you unlock this door from the outside?" he inquired, turning the key stuck in the mechanism and listening to it latch before he removed it completely, throwing it to the floor and testing the knob.

"You can," Pen supplied, watching him from the bed. "What are you doing?"

"I do not wish for interruptions before we are finished," he explained. "Who else has a key?"

"Just Varley. Mama will ask her to unlock anything if she needs to. She hates when my sisters and I lock our doors against her—when they used to live here, anyway, but it's only me now—so we rarely bother—Colin, what are you doing?"

He'd just stood up and picked up her writing chair from her desk. "Taking additional precautions," he muttered, tucking the top rail beneath the doorknob. He glanced around the room, and when he spotted her wardrobe, an idea formed. With an amazing show of strength and not much pondering of his thought's feasibility or effectiveness, he dragged the whole thing a few feet across the room and pushed it against the hinges as a barrier should the lock and the chair fail.

"Will that hold?" Pen asked, taking his hand once he finished.

"Probably," he said, finally allowing himself to stare at her body, "but we shall have to make a bit of haste this first time, unfortunately."

"I think we would be doing that even under ideal circumstances," she replied, her shaking, short exhales breezing over Colin's chest hair, her touches growing bolder as she ran her hands from his arms up to his shoulders and down, down, down until she pushed his pants off his legs, the fabric puddling on the floor after he stepped out of them. Pen continued to try to explain, "I find I cannot—I can't—I have no restraint. This heat is unlike any of the others before, though I've only had a few because of suppressants. Before, I was always miserable, begging for something I could not name, begging to be filled but nothing provided to me satisfied this unimaginable longing for more. Now that you're here, that you're my mate, it's more like…anticipation."

"Like yearning, but with the knowledge that it will soon be relieved," he added, understanding exactly what she meant. They were both naked now, and his eyes lingered on her breasts, more gorgeous than he ever could have dreamed, with pink puckered nipples he wanted to play with using his tongue, and a thatch of ruddy curls begging for his fingers—

"Like reading a favorite book and knowing how it ends," she brightened at his attentions, smiling and walking him back toward her bed again with both hands on his hips.

"I did not think you would be in heat," he admitted. It was almost automatic, the way his hand slid down her soft stomach to her folds, relishing her gasp at the barest ghost of a touch against the magic pearl at their apex, enjoying the feeling of her slick coating his fingers.

"Yes," she replied, almost laughing, growing delirious with desire and lust. She lay back on the sheets she was sleeping on mere moments ago. He crawled on top of her, between her legs, his member bobbing against her stomach like it was telling him where it wanted to be. Pen continued, "I went off my suppressants."

"I do not know what I would be doing with myself if you didn't. I am so glad to have this with you," he whispered, taking himself in hand and directing his member to her entrance.

And then Portia Featherington attempted to open the door.

"Penelope! Open this door this instant!"

"Bloody fucking hell," Colin cursed and groaned, pressing his face into Pen's neck.

"Go away!" Pen shouted sharply, holding onto Colin's head and not allowing him to leave her.

The door jiggled again, and they heard the snick of the tumbler as Portia used her key to unlock it, but when she tried the handle and it did not budge at all, she screeched, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE THAT REQUIRES A LOCKED DOOR?"

"I am—in heat, Mama," Pen panted, leaning her head against his chest, trying to arrange her hips so he could insert himself but between the stress of their potential intruder and the panic at trying to get him inside of her with so much haste, she could not quite line herself up as Colin tried to help. As his rut came to a peak, he could not keep his hands away from her, allowing them to grope her breasts, his fingers sliding into her hair at the nape of her neck for a moment before drifting down again, teasing her mating gland on his way to run the pads of his fingers over her nipples. He was slipping and sliding all around her center as he moved his hips, trying to thrust into her but he definitely needed to use a hand to direct himself.

"What about your suppressants? Penelope? Penelope!" her mother's anger shifted into panic, the wood shaking as she tried to shove the door open. Thankfully, the chair held strong.

"I missed the dose last week, remember? You told me to stop them. You said—you said it was for Lord Calloway," Pen struggled to explain, pushing her hips into Colin, pressing against his member and whimpering.

At the mention of the other alpha, that ancient degenerate attempting to use Penelope for her womb, Colin saw red.

"Your heat is for me," he growled to Pen, the arm around her waist pressing her fully against him, allowing her to absorb his warmth and feel the hardness of his erection against her dripping wet center. His tone surprised him, as he'd heard other alphas use their so-called "alpha voice" before, usually to compel their omega mate to do something, but for Colin, it was another thing he never expected to have himself, did not know how to invoke in the hour since becoming an alpha. Now that he knew Pen wanted him before, even when he was effectively a beta, and his instincts truly began to take over, he followed what his heart told him was right, and enjoyed the shift in Pen's face, her sharp intake of breath, and the scent of slick dripping down her thighs that filled his nose.

"Yes, it is," she replied to Colin, sweetly touching his cheeks. "But Lord Calloway was supposed to call on me later this afternoon—"

"I do not care a wit for what that man plans to do with you, because it no longer matters, and I will not allow him within a hundred yards of you," he interrupted her. Portia must know he was here by now, and could likely hear him through the door, but he wanted her to listen to exactly what he thought about that awful, poor excuse for an alpha who dared to think he was worthy of Penelope. "I am your alpha, now."

"WHO IS THAT? MR. BRIDGERTON? HOW DID HE ENTER YOUR ROOM? WHY DOES HE SMELL LIKE AN ALPHA?"

"Because, Lady Featherington, despite everyone telling me otherwise, it turns out I am one," Colin smirked. "And your daughter is my mate."

"This will not stand, Penelope!" Portia shouted. "Colin Bridgerton, if you ruin my daughter, there will be hell to pay! I am fetching someone to open this door, and I will send a note to Lord Calloway, and he will be here very, very soon! When he scents you, Penelope, this infatuation with Mr. Bridgerton will cease!"

By the sound of her footsteps, she departed, but it would only be a few moments before she returned with reinforcements. A sense of urgency still filled Colin with a mild panic. "I am sorry, Pen, but we need to be quick. I shall try to make this as easy as I can," he tried to reassure her.

"I need you now, Colin, please," she begged him, rolling her body on his as her own dread set in, amplified by the heightened emotions of her heat. "I cannot be with that man, I can only ever be yours, I cannot marry him, I cannot mate him—"

"I will make you mine," he growled, and then softened. "Are you ready, Pen?"

"More than ready," she replied, and he tried not to grunt when she grabbed him in her small hand. "Please, Colin."

He could have finished right there, he was wound so tightly. He felt feverish, and hot, and it took so much control to not push himself into the hilt once his tip was finally inside of her. She was still a virgin, and even in the midst of his first rut, he was a gentleman enough to remember to go as slow as he could. He might not have to, because her heat thoroughly prepared her to take him, but it still felt like the right thing to do. They would have several more days of this, and he could allow himself to be rougher later. Her fingers dug into his ass, urging him forward and holding him in place as she adjusted to his girth stretching her wide.

"Is this fine?" he exhaled, still moving achingly slowly. She felt so tight around him that it constricted his chest as he tried to remember to breathe, like he was surrounding all of him, not just his cock.

"So good," she moaned, already clenching and fluttering around him deliciously.

The moment he settled his hips against hers, fully seated in her warm, welcoming cunt, the pounding on the door started.

It shook the windows, the glass rattling in the panes, and surely the neighbors could hear as something—someone—tried with all their might to force their way into Pen's bedroom.

"Go, Colin, please," she begged him, and he did not know if it was because of her mother still threatening to tear them apart or her own lust urging him to satiate her.

It did not matter the moment he saw her back arch and her eyes nearly roll back into her head the first time he pulled out and pushed back in sharply.

Nothing mattered but her.

His rut fully took hold of him, the growing inferno inside of him spilling out after he'd pushed it down for too long. It was inadvertent, but his hips moved in time with the rhythmic pounding on the door. Each time Pen's head turned to check on the chair under the handle and the status of the wardrobe—which had not budged an inch—he wrapped his hand under her jaw and turned her face back to his, distracting her with a kiss.

All his previous experience with women could not have prepared him for how perfect this was—how perfect Pen was—and the marvel that was making love and mating someone so deeply connected to you, someone you knew and cared for and truly wanted. His world, once so large and vast, full of beaches and islands and foreign countries to lose himself in, shrunk down in that moment to a single point—just him and Pen, together on her bed, bringing her to great pleasure and ecstasy as he thought only of the moment he could make her his forever, mark her with his teeth on her mating gland as his knot filled her up and joined them for a few minutes and a lifetime.

Despite her inexperience, she seemed to be enjoying herself, moving with him and rolling her hips in search of her orgasm. A flush spread across her chest, loud cries falling from her lips that her mother and whoever was trying to break the door surely could hear. He buried his head in her hair, waiting for the moment he would make her his forever, confirming for all to see what they already knew—they were mates, and no one else would ever compare.

Pen was so wet he could hear their joining each time he moved, her cries and whimpers sprinkled in between thrusts, creaking of wood from both the bed and the door, and vague, muffled threats shouted by her mother. He did not feel frantic, however. In fact, for the first time in months, with everything falling into place, he somehow knew fate would not take this moment from them.

"Colin," Pen moaned into his ear when his lips just barely grazed her mating gland. "I need—something—"

"Let go, little one," he growled. "I've got you."

She grew silent for just a moment, and then released a strangled, gasping cry as she came apart around him. He licked her neck, tasting her mating gland and then opened his mouth and sunk his teeth in.

He saw stars.

It was better than any orgasm he'd ever experienced. Better than when he drank that tea in Greece and stared at a blade of grass for three hours. Everything suddenly fell into place, all the worrying and anxiety of the last few months a far-off dream compared to the feeling of content and ease washing over him. Pen cried beneath him, her cunt still clenching around him even as his knot trapped them together, tugging and pulling as she writhed in her stupor.

As they both came down, Colin was now aware of this intense longing, this need to complete their bond, the ritual only half-finished. He'd heard stories where only half the couple marked the other, usually the alpha to the omega, and would not allow the omega to bite them too, for one reason or another—usually so they could get away with bedding other omegas in the future with fewer questions. As he hovered above Pen, his teeth now out of her neck as he licked and soothed her mating gland and she whimpered and pulled at his neck, he did not know how it could ever be possible to tear himself away from her. He needed to be marked by her, wanted it more than anything he'd ever felt before, knew if he did not receive it

They were still joined, his knot nowhere close to deflating, but he met her gaze.

"Me—my turn, Pen, now, please" he groaned, presenting his own mating gland for her to bite, barely able to form words.

Her eyes looked hungry as she carefully slid her hand into his hair, cradling his head as she leaned in. Filled with growing desperation, he wanted to thank her for not hesitating as she let out a feral little growl and lunged forward.

If this was even a fraction of what she felt, he did not know how she currently had the capacity to think. Colin could not stop another climax from overtaking him, groaning and crying as his knot seemed to expand even more. He collapsed on top of her as he lost control of his body, his limbs turning to jelly. His alpha instinct spared half a thought—more of a reflex than anything—to roll them to the side so he did not crush her completely as he allowed the unending waves of orgasm to overtake him, their bond now permanently formed, his alpha and her omega inextricably linked.

They were compelled to lay there, her legs wrapped around his waist, her arms behind his back, catching her breath against his chest, for several minutes as they waited for his knot to shrink. Upon their clear signs of reaching completion, Portia resumed her ranting in an attempt to push either of them to respond and halt their activities, even if it was belated. Truly, Colin did not care one wit what she thought of them now, because it did not matter.

"What is happening?! Colin Bridgerton, I will speak to your mother about this indiscretion! And Viscount Bridgerton will be informed post-haste that his brother is a fool and a rake! Lady Whistledown will tell the Ton of your hedonism forthwith, and no one will dare wed their daughter to you! You will be an outcast! A pariah! Penelope! Are you well? Lord Calloway will be here momentarily—"

"Is it worth it to tell her to shove off?" he grumbled, kissing Pen's hair to soothe his annoyance.

"She probably will not stop. Her stubborn nature is often misplaced," Pen sighed, wiggling slightly and causing his knot to tug at her.

Colin growled low. "If you keep doing that, we'll have to listen to her again while we go for another round."

"She cannot force us apart now, right?" she asked quietly, worrying her swollen bottom lip between her teeth.

"No, little one," he reassured her, stroking the back of her head. "She could try, but now that we've marked each other, it would be considered reproachable—along with being quite pointless. You are mine, and I swear to protect you until the end of our days. We will finish this cycle together, and the moment I can dress myself I will be commissioning a ring from the family jeweler. We will be wed before the end of the month."

Pen bashfully snuggled into him deeper as they listened to a bit more of Portia's ranting.

"Do not allow him to mark you, Penelope! There is still time, and Lord Calloway will not care as long as you are not mated! Mr. Bridgerton, you must release my daughter now, before the consequences become more severe and lasting! Your family will not recover from this slight!"

"She's bluffing," Pen muttered. "Lord Calloway wanted a young virgin. He was very concerned with keeping his line legitimate because of all the bastards he's fathered over the years who might lay claim to his estate. My mother wants me to marry him so desperately that she would simply lie to him about us if you had not marked me. He might be—he could be so angry about this, Colin. I told you he meant to propose—"

"Let me take care of him, my sweet Pen," he promised. "It will not be difficult to run a man like him out of town, with as many skeletons as he has in his cupboard. If he has anything terrible to say about your mark now that we are mated, if he tries anything to hurt you or punish you, he will have to answer to me."

The door still shook rhythmically as someone threw their body against it outside, someone much larger than Portia as she continued her tirade. It was almost incomprehensible now, shouting hollow threats to his family and reputation as if hers was not worse off. He tested his knot once more by pulling his hips back just slightly and felt a mixture of relief and loss when he was released from Pen's cunt. However, now that they were free, he disentangled her limbs from him and leaped out of bed, full of purpose as he strutted across the room.

"Colin? Where are you going?" Pen whimpered, sitting up in bed. He nearly turned around and hopped right back in, but they needed to be left alone.

"I am fixing a problem," he grumbled, spinning around and shoving the wardrobe out of the way. When he removed the chair from the door handle, the lock mechanism rattled with each slam. Rather than risk the whole thing breaking, he carefully opened it, just enough to see the footman preparing to run his shoulder into the wood once more, and Lady Featherington standing a few feet behind him.

"Good morning," Colin greeted them wryly.

Portia, in particular, looked quite stunned. He watched her eyes glance down his body, lingering on the few visible inches of bare, naked hip and leg, a bit of torso and chest hair, and his thick arm that braced itself on the door jam and barred her or the footman from forcing themselves into the room and to the equally as nude Penelope still tangled in her sheets and dripping with slick. She blinked several times, and the footman looked a little impressed before his employer tugged him back by the jacket so she could speak with Colin directly. Her eyes widened as she spotted the teeth marks on his neck on top of his mating gland, still bleeding a little.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Portia tried to gather herself into something respectable instead of a screaming banshee. "What have you done to my dau—"

"Lady Featherington," Colin smirked, cutting her off, not moving from his position. "I have just marked your daughter, as she has done to me. I presented as an alpha this morning, entered a rut, and the moment I scented Penelope I knew she was my mate. I came in through the window, which is quite a security risk considering you had three young omega girls in this home at one point."

"Mr. Br—"

Colin decided he would not allow her to complete a sentence until he was finished. "You have a few options, as I see it. I can either stay here with Penelope and have my rut with her before we marry, I can take her across the square—back through the window, of course—and have my rut with her before we marry, or I could hire a hack to take us to Gretna Green as I have my rut with her on the way there."

"But—" she started, intent on refuting him.

"Those are the options, Portia," he stated firmly, daring to use her Christian name. "I will be marrying your daughter, you have my word on that, and I will be finishing this rut with her, as she will finish her heat with me. I have taken her virginity, she is now my mate—as evidenced by the mark on her neck that matched the one on mine you continue to stare at—and I intend to take care of her. The variable is just how many people you wish to be witness to us, and the degree to which the imminent scandal will mar our nuptials."

A range of expressions scrolled across her face— affront that quickly shifted to anger, but then as Colin did not waver in his sincerity or confidence, the dawning of worry and resignation fell over her.

"And where am I meant to go, exactly, while you complete your ruination of my daughter?" she quipped, but most of her acidity was gone.

"I believe if you walk across the road, my brother would appreciate the assistance in acquiring a special license. I know you cannot contribute anything monetarily, but it makes a better case for the archbishop if both of the mate's families are present. I think a wedding in ten days should suffice."

Clearly enraged, she could not come up with an adequate response, so she turned on her heel and departed, her robe fluttering behind her dramatically as she swooped away, apparently resigned to leaving them alone, at least for now.

Satisfied, Colin shut the door again and faced the bed. Penelope, having heard the entire exchange, stared at him open-mouthed and in awe.

"Are you stunned because of that conversation, or because you've never seen a man in the nude before?" he asked, smiling and striding toward her, his rut already causing his member to harden again.

"Both," she squeaked out, her eyes finally finding his. "Very much both. You look so—nice. And no one has ever dared to stand up to my mother like that. She is usually so immovable, it is not worth the hassle. And you are—you are amazing, Colin. Both your determination, courage, audacity, and your—yourself. Body. Your body. You look nice, is what I mean to say. More than nice. Very nice. Attractive. I want—I need—I thought I was more articulate than this—"

"I understand Pen," he said gently. "I feel the same sentiment when I stare at you."

"Overwhelming lust and adoration?"

"Precisely," he grinned wolfishly, sliding into bed next to her once again, placing a firm, confident hand on her hip and dragging her forward, already feeling himself harden in anticipation. "Now, where were we?"

Notes:

Up next: the aftermath, and a wedding

Chapter 6: The Inevitable

Summary:

Colin and Penelope plan their wedding and the rest of their lives together, but there is one last thing that needs to be said.

Notes:

The end is here Finishing a fic is always bittersweet for me. This was such a fun story to write, and I adore this version of Colin and Pen, but it's time for the conclusion so they can have their happily ever after.

I hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

It seems almost redundant to report on the latest gossip surrounding Mr. Colin Bridgerton, for his name has been on the lips of every lord, lady, and servant in the Ton. But I digress—it is my duty to present my dear readers with the facts, no matter how prevalent they may be.

It appears that after Lady Trowbridge's ball, Mr. Bridgerton presented as an alpha, to the surprise of all—except this author. Perhaps more perplexing than his presentation was his jaunt from his bedroom window—yes, on the second story—and across the road. He made great haste up the side of Featherington House—yes, using the ivy trellis to climb the façade—and disappeared into the room belonging to none other than Miss Penelope Featherington. Upon experiencing his first rut, the new alpha appears to have caught the scent of the omega and spent the next several days barricaded with her as she experienced a heat. I have it on good authority that the Viscount Bridgerton and Lady Featherington met with an archbishop while this rendezvous occurred. It seems that a special license for a rushed wedding was in order, and after witnessing the identical marks on the couple's mating glands, it is not an unhappy or hastily arranged affair. I am sure I join the rest of the Ton when I offer my warmest congratulations to the match.

I do believe this author has earned the right to gloat, just slightly, because this publication proclaimed from the beginning of the season that the rumors of his so-called beta status were overblown and hasty. Some claim this author has the gift of prophecy, but I prefer to think I am merely observant, with a keen eye and deep knowledge of my fellow society members.

I shall leave you with these final, gloating words for this issue, dear reader. Though they are not insightful or clever, I find I cannot help but feel triumphant, and must dangle it above your heads for a little while longer—

I was correct.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

~

Colin and Pen still lay in bed, very naked and tangled in her sheets as they dozed against one another in the middle of the afternoon, four days after this began. His rut had finally exhausted itself an hour ago, their lingering scents and his alpha stink fading as they dozed in her nest. He had so much to do—make an appointment with a jeweler for Penelope's wedding ring, visit with the archbishop to ensure the special license was in order, find a home for after they were married so they would not spend their honeymoon with their mother's hovering around, furnish the home so they did not have to sleep on straw—but he could not bring himself to leave just yet.

"Now that it's over, I feel as though I could sleep for six days," Pen mumbled against him, her arm thrown over his chest and her thigh slung over his legs. Her hair, incomprehensibly tangled, splayed over the pillow, and Colin considered slipping her ladies made a few extra coins for her trouble, since it was mostly his fault.

"Six day? That is very specific," he chuckled.

"It is the first number that came to mind," she replied, half-asleep and nuzzling into his chest.

"You would miss our wedding preparations if you slept for so long," he pointed out.

"Perhaps not, then," Pen mused. "If my mother is the only one available to make decisions on my behalf, I shall be wed in chartreuse green feathers and the wedding breakfast will consist of various meats swimming in sauce and no cake or sweets because I am 'too fond of them,' as she likes to remind me." She imitated her mother by scrunching up her nose and turning her voice more shrill. Colin thought it was quite good.

"You can have as many sweets as you like, as far as I'm concerned," he promised. "If she has anything to say to me about our sugar consumption, then it will fall on deaf ears."

Pen snuggled closer, smiling as she tugged the blanket up until it was just under her chin. "I want éclairs at the wedding breakfast. And lemon cakes. And sugared violets. And marzipan. And chocolate truffles."

"Done," he said, holding her close. "I will suggest to my mother that the breakfast be held at Bridgerton House. She can control the menu and will have no qualms with as many pastries, candies, and cakes as will fit in the parlor. She knows I have a sweet tooth, just as you do."

"I have always felt more at home there anyway," Pen admitted. "I will tell Mama that it will be good for our family, for the Bridgertons to host us. Perhaps it will quiet her objections."

The image of their wedding slowly formed in Colin's mind—tables laden with their favorite foods, a quartet playing softly in the corner, their families attempting polite conversation with each other now that they were more connected than ever, their friends offering plentiful congratulations, and Pen wearing a beautiful dress that would inevitably end up on the bedroom floor of their new home. This next week might be the longest of his life if he was expected to abstain from making love to her. Even after several days of non-stop rutting, his body exhausted and his mind just barely out of the haze, he still wanted her. If she asked him, if she looked up at him through her lashes with her bright blue eyes, touched his chest just a little more firmly, his cock would stir to life.

Unfortunately, before he could lose himself too far into his fantasy, there was a sharp knock at the door.

"Speak of the devil," Colin muttered.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Portia called from the other side. "Please dress quickly. There is a visitor in the drawing room for you."

"If it is my brother, please inform him that I will be home soon to discuss everything. There was no need for him to come here—"

"It is not the viscount," she interrupted curtly. "If you are not in the drawing room in ten minutes, I shall have to resume knocking and jiggling the doorknob until you show yourself. Penelope, I will be speaking with you once your—once Mr. Bridgerton departs your bedroom, so please make yourself decent."

As they dressed, Pen grumbled, "Is it bad that I am already looking forward to my next heat so we can have some unquestioned and undisturbed time alone together?"

"I am currently thinking up how many ways I might find myself alone with you in the next six days," he smirked. "I do not need a rut to want you."

She was tying a robe around her waist when she blushed. "How do you always come up with new words to render me speechless?"

He grinned impishly. "It's a rather fun game for me—seeing how quickly I can make you turn red." He glanced down at the days-old shirt and trousers he was supposed to put on to receive a visitor. "I do wish someone would have thought to bring me fresh clothes, but I suppose they did not expect me to have a meeting with someone not an hour after my rut ended."

"Whomever it is that waits for you, it's their fault for calling on you so soon," Pen said, grousing on his behalf.

"I have so many other ways I could be spending my morning," he continued, sliding his legs into his pants. "And I have a feeling I will not like who is waiting for me, either."

He did have an idea of who it might be who was so insistent on seeing him immediately—especially if it was not his brother, who he assumed would be at least annoyed by the inconvenience of acquiring another special license—so Colin quickly tucked his shirt in and slipped on his shoes, eager to move past the encounter that awaited him. He was certain it would not take long, but it would be irritatingly exasperating. Penelope sat down on the bed and watched him finish straightening himself out with a smile, and Colin graciously took the last few minutes allowed to them by Portia to slowly fix his hair and arrange the collar on his shirt.

"Enjoying the view?" he smirked. "It may be the last you see of it until we marry."

"But very soon, I shall be able to see it whenever I like," Pen grinned, crossing her arms under her bosom and pushing them up her neck enticingly. "Now stop flirting with me and go to the drawing room before my mother tries to break down the door again."

With a reluctant sigh, he left her room, striding past Portia who waited just outside, undoubtedly eavesdropping on their entire conversation. He flashed her a self-satisfied smile before he continued down the hallway, jauntily taking the stairs and confidently making his way to the familiar Featherington drawing room.

Just barely visible over the back of a green chair was the sight of wisps of white hair atop a balding head, liver spots peeking through the thin patches he tried and failed to cover, confirming Colin's suspicions of who had the audacity to show up at Featherington House the moment Colin was available for visitors—a house he should not be expected to appear at unless this guest knew very well what occurred between Colin and Penelope. The scent of old tobacco smoke and sharp, unaged alcohol bombarded him when he passed through the doorframe, causing a shiver to run down his spine.

"Good morning, Lord Calloway," Colin greeted him, relishing when the man jolted slightly, clearly startled—his hearing and smell had deteriorated to the point where he had not noticed Colin's approach.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Lord Calloway grumbled, recovering quickly. He stood up with great difficulty, ornate cane in one hand and adjusting his coat over his portly stomach with the other. He did not offer Colin any sort of courtesy with a nod of welcome, instead frowning deeply, his jowls drooping even further. Colin—in complete disbelief that this man might have married his Penelope had Colin not presented as an alpha in time—did not sit down. Instead, in an act of defiance of the ancient lord's irritation, he made himself a plate of biscuits as Lord Calloway stiffly remained in place and continued to speak. "You finally deigned to show yourself. We have some business to attend to, and I was growing weary with waiting."

Colin thought he might be tired because it was time for his afternoon nap, but he bit his tongue and tried to keep the smile from his face, lest he enrage the man further and cause his heart to fail. "What business do I have with you, exactly? I am unsure what you might be referring to," he smirked, biting a piece of shortbread in half and chewing leisurely.

"The matter of stealing my wife!" Lord Calloway roared, spittle flying from his lips as his fists clenched, his numerous gold rings digging into his bulging fingers.

"I believe there is no matter at all, since you do not have a living wife," Colin pointed out through an impolite mouthful of crumbs. "If you are referring to your agreement with Lady Featherington regarding Miss Featherington, then I must tell you it is now void. I do wonder why she did not break the news to you herself, but perhaps she thought it better to come from the man who will marry her daughter instead of you."

"That is precisely what I mean!" Lord Calloway took several menacing steps toward him, as if he meant to intimidate Colin into submission. The effect, however, was quite the opposite—Colin easily towered over him by six inches, perhaps a little more, and his broad shoulders made the old lord look even more diminutive by comparison, even as he snarled. "You steal my omega out from under me, and there shall be consequences!"

"Your omega?" Colin's voice turned dangerously low, his jaw clenching. "She was never yours to claim. But she is my mate, and she bears my mark on her neck to prove it. You would do well to remember that."

"I am owed—"

"You are owed nothing, Lord Calloway," Colin interrupted coldly. "A man in your position—desperate for an heir after years of vice and shirking his responsibilities—might take some time to reflect upon his life choices that led him here, rather than attempt to solve his issues by ensnaring some poor, despondent omega into a marriage she never deserved. It is a poor, pathetic alpha indeed who only looks to omegas for what they can provide for him, instead of how best he can protect and care for them."

"How dare you!" Lord Calloway seethed, huffing and puffing with rage. "Who are you to lecture me on the duties of an alpha? You presented less than a week ago!"

"And yet, in that time, I have already found my mate, marked her, and promised to marry her as soon as possible, which is far more than you ever did for your wife," Colin sneered, dripping with contempt.

Lord Calloway's face deepened from red to nearly purple as he spluttered incoherently, "I—you—you are—I have never—what do you—I cannot—"

Colin leaned back with a victorious smirk. "I believe I can smell my future wife, which means she is on her way downstairs. I suggest you leave before she has to suffer your presence. You look rather unwell, my lord. Perhaps you could drown your sorrows in a glass of something at whatever cheap club will still have you."

Varley, who Colin always rather liked, suddenly appeared and shared a quick look with Colin before she directed her attention to the fuming man. "Lord Calloway, your carriage is waiting for you. I can show you to the door."

"But—"

"Lady Featherington and Miss Featherington need to speak with Miss Featherington's fiancé before they begin wedding planning," Varley cut him off smoothly, ushering Lord Calloway out the door and deftly avoiding his cane as it nearly tapped her foot.

True to Varley's word, the moment he was out the front door, Pen and Portia entered the room. Pen was now fully dressed, and her mother looked a little less sour than when he last saw her. Colin's irritation melted away as soon as he saw Penelope, a soft smile spreading across his face.

"You look wonderful, Pen," he said, moving to her side and lifting her hand to place a soft kiss on her knuckles.

"Thank you," she replied warmly. "Mama helped me dress since Varley was…occupied."

"She did admirable work," Colin said, turning to Portia and offering her a polite smile. "I have several appointments to make today, and I am sure I will have to speak with my brother about…everything that has occurred, but I wanted to ensure you knew of my gratitude for the use of your home and for trusting me with your daughter."

"You did not exactly leave me with much choice," Portia remarked dryly, and he could see the conscious effort to keep her eyes from rolling. "But I know you care for my Penelope, and you have marked her and claimed her. You come from a good family, and you have the means to support my daughter. Now that you are an alpha, I have no objections to the match."

Once again, Colin bit back a sharp retort. "I appreciate your approval, Lady Featherington."

"The viscount should have the special license ready," Portia continued. "I met with him while you and Penelope were…occupied."

"Good. Are any other wedding preparations underway?" Colin asked.

"I believe your mother began ordering a few selections for the wedding breakfast, cured meats and such, but she wanted you—and Penelope—to give your inputs for most of the decisions," Portia explained.

"We have much to do then," Colin sighed, turning to his fiancé. "I am afraid we will be quite busy for a little while."

"It's alright," she replied a little anxiously. "I am sure we will make time to see each other before the wedding."

"Of course," he murmured. "I have to go now, but I shall see you soon, Pen," he leaned down and whispered so only she could hear, pulling her into his side despite the glare from her mother.

"Not soon enough," Pen replied, her smile tight.

~

When Lady Whistledown's latest scandal sheet revealed that Colin Bridgerton had presented as an alpha, he unexpectedly became the talk of the Ton.

Well, perhaps that was an exaggeration. While he received a flurry of congratulations—both for his presentation as an alpha and his upcoming wedding—it felt odd. After all, presenting as an alpha was a natural occurrence, even if it had taken him a little longer than usual. Everyone found it all rather exciting, and Colin sort of wished they would stop treating it like such a fascinating event.

Still, there were undeniable benefits to his newfound fame. The jeweler, who typically required at least two weeks to complete a commission, promised Colin that Penelope's ring would be ready in time for their wedding in just six days. When he contacted someone about leasing a townhouse, he was able to tour properties that afternoon and sign the papers the next day after he made his choice. Their new house was in Bloomsbury, which was not exactly a fashionable neighborhood, but Colin did not mind living near doctors and solicitors, and it was quite large for how short notice he acquired it, with four bedrooms, a sizeable dining room, a library, and a study large enough for them to share. His mother assisted with picking out furniture, both from the family collection and new pieces from a carpenter, particularly their new bedframe and mattress. Not everything would be prepared in time for their honeymoon, but it would be functional enough for a honeymoon.

He also spoke with Penelope's ladies' maid and offered her a promotion to housekeeper in their new home, which she accepted. He also asked Dunwoody if he would like to be the butler, and the words had hardly left his mouth before the man was running off to pick out his choice of footmen and a carriage driver.

There was so much to do to prepare for a wedding and the actual marriage afterward. Pen was busy with fittings for her wedding dress and trousseau. They met with their mothers over tea on two different afternoons to discuss the menu for the wedding breakfast and what they wanted for their cake. He attempted to bring Pen to a few outings to pick out new upholstery fabric for an old sofa from a disused guest bedroom at Bridgerton House, but she was occupied with picking out a new set of china and dinner napkins.

Really, he just wanted an excuse to steal a kiss from her, even if they would have to hide behind a rack of sage green jacquard or sky blue velvet. Perhaps it was best they were kept apart, whether it be by circumstance or orchestrated by their mothers, because each time they did happen to cross paths or have time to discuss their wedding in person, the scent of her nearly drove him to break the rest of society's rules and whisk her away somewhere. She would not mind—she was always the last to break their hugs or hand-holding. It was agony for both of them to be forced so far from their mate, even if they were just across the street. He considered sneaking into her room again, but after the first time, it was very likely her mother would catch on sooner and boot him back out on the street.

Pen was rather nervous compared to him, but he thought it was from the performance aspect of it all. Penelope was shy, much more than Colin, and he assumed she was not looking forward to being on display. Yet another reason why he wished he had taken her to Gretna Green before her mother caught them in her bedroom. He tried not to dwell on regrets, especially now that so much of their lives were falling into place so easily, but he allowed that one to plague him for a little while, for Pen's sake.

~

The night before his and Penelope's wedding, Colin lay in his childhood bedroom on his last evening as a bachelor. Anthony and Benedict had invited Will and Simon over for a few drinks—or several, in Benedict's case—but they had managed to turn in relatively early. The house was already abuzz with activity in preparation for the wedding breakfast, and their mother had made it clear that she would have their heads if they woke up bottle-weary and caused them to miss their appointment at the church.

Never again would he have to sleep alone. Even if they were to come back to Bridgerton House and stay the night in the future, he would be sleeping in this room with Pen. It felt a little off balance that he had spent so much time in his mate's bedroom, but she had never seen his. He could picture her wandering around, looking at all the trinkets he'd collected over the years on his travels—shells from Greece, a telescope from Italy, books in Spanish and German, glass figurines and ancient statues of dubious origin. Someone would be around to pack everything up not long after he left tomorrow, everything but the largest pieces of furniture to be taken to their new home in Bloomsbury sometime in the next week.

God, their home. It was a labor of love, but he hoped she would like it. She did not have the time to take a tour before their wedding, so he did his best and left a lot of the decorating for her. He thought she might like to arrange her new home to her liking, especially before her next heat.

Part of him wondered if she could already be pregnant with a pup, but it so rarely happened during a first shared cycle. They had taken no precautions, however, so there was a possibility. They would not know for a few weeks yet, though he longed to see her grow round with his child.

He finally began to drift, the release of sleep starting to overtake him and weigh down his eyes, but he heard the quietest, tiniest tapping at his door.

Believing it to be Dunwoody or one of his sisters coming to chat to him before the wedding, Colin groaned and rolled out of bed his nightshirt falling around his knees. When he opened the door, however, he rubbed his eyes for a moment, wondering if he was dreaming.

Penelope stood before him, dressed in a blue maid's uniform and a long, dark cloak, her hair bundled beneath the hood.

"Penelope?!" he hissed, trying to keep his voice down as she easily ducked under his arm and slipped into his bedroom.

"I'm sorry," she immediately apologized, unclasping the cloak and throwing it to the floor. Her hair was tied with rags to curl it, like he'd seen his sisters do countless times before. Somehow the sight of those little bows dotted around her head seemed so much more intimate—his future wife preparing her hair for their wedding in the morning. Pen continued to speak, her voice low and shaking, "I needed to see you, and this was the easiest way I could think of. No one noticed one more maid running around. There's quite a lot going on downstairs, even at this time of night—"

Colin cut her off with a soft kiss, filled with all the other kisses he had wanted to give her this past week but couldn't. She whimpered softly, something inside of her releasing, her entire body relaxing and pressing against his. He tried to pull back after a moment, but she did not let go, instead deepening their embrace with her tongue slipping through his lips. He cupped the back of her neck, cradling it while her fingers wound themselves in his hair. Something was driving her to cling to him like this, to frantically kiss him like he was air and she was drowning, to hold him so close that he could not break their kiss to speak.

Something was wrong.

"Pen," he mumbled against her, finally tugging her back with a gentle grip on her neck. "Are you well? Are you hurt? Did something happen?"

"I am fine," she assured him, still trying to make him kiss her again.

"No, you are not. I know you too well for you to lie to me, Penelope," he chastised her lightly. Taking both of her hands in his, he pressed them against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat. "Start by telling me how you came to be in my room. I need to know you did not flee across the road because you were in distress."

"It was nothing anyone else did, if that is what you mean," she replied, biting her lip and not meeting his eyes.

"You just stole a maid's outfit and walked over here because…you needed to see me?" he raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"Well, yes," she admitted. "Again, no one seemed to notice me."

Colin would have detected her scent immediately had she crossed through his foyer, smelling so strongly of flowers and sunlight, unquestionably identifiable in his mind. Perhaps no one else noticed because they did not know what Penelope smelled like as intimately as he did, but Pen had visited Bridgerton House often enough that many of the servants must be aware. Not that it would matter in less than twelve hours when they married, but it was still a dangerous thing for Pen to do. "Why did you need to see me so urgently?" he asked. "I did not miss spending time with you alone after our several days together in your room, but we are to be married tomorrow. It's a little risky and more than scandalous for you to be here, and someone must have seen you, either leaving or while you walked downstairs. Surely one more night apart is not so arduous—"

"I have something to tell you," she interrupted him. His heart sank and his face fell, but she continued, "That made it sound quite serious. It is a little serious, but I promise it has more to do with me than you. I only felt that…you should know this particular piece of information before we are wed, since it could affect you as well, eventually."

If he had not seen her intimately already, he might be concerned about some sort of birthmark. Not that he would care, anyway. "I must admit, I am nervous now," he chuckled uneasily.

"I only hope that you will hear me out until I am finished," she said, biting her lip.

"Right then," Colin braced himself. "What is it?"

Pen closed her eyes and took a deep breath, exhaling long and slow before she blurted out, "I am Lady Whistledown."

Colin blinked once, then twice. "You—you are?"

"I am," she said, her voice trembling. "I hope you are not too mad at me for keeping it a secret for so long. I wanted to tell you sooner, but our mothers would not allow us time alone these last ten days—hence, why I snuck in here—also, that is why I have the maid's outfit. I use it to deliver my drafts to my printer in Bloomsbury. They do not know I write them, of course—they believe me to be an assistant of sorts. I also use an Irish accent I copied from my childhood nanny. I started the scandal sheet in my first season out, because no one seemed to listen to me at all. I lingered along walls and heard all sorts of whispers and when I wrote them down, my father's solicitor found them and helped me learn how to publish everything with a printer. I have quite a bit of money beneath a loose board in my bedroom—it's our money now, I suppose, with how the laws work—and I just thought you should know all of this before we are married—in case you want to call it all off. I did not mean to lie to you—especially not to you—but there was not a very good time to mention it before."

Penelope finally paused in her rambling, waiting for Colin to say something—anything—to reassure her that he did not hate her.

He did not hate her.

He could not hate her.

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Lady Whistledown had never said a cross word about the Bridgertons and had constantly berated the Featherington household. She was the first to report on Lord Calloway's interest and made her disdain for the match known. She always spoke so kindly of him, even when no one else did.

"You have never, not once, fallen into the rumors about me and my status that circled around the Ton," he smiled fondly. "Even when everyone in Mayfair was certain I was a beta, you continued to tell them—to write in your column—that it was too soon to tell, and to wait."

"Yes," she replied, still a little nervous but growing more confident when Colin did not immediately begin yelling. "I could never bring myself to feed into the rumors. Perhaps it was blind faith, but I like to think I knew subconsciously that you were not a beta. You just needed the right moment to present."

"The right kiss from the right omega," he grinned, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss. A warmth grew and settled in his groin, his cock beginning to harden.

His rough hands stroked her, feeling her curves glide beneath his palms, the soft flesh yielding and her limbs pliant, fueling the fire inside of him. Pen continued, "I wanted you before I knew I was an omega. I wanted you even when it was not clear that you were an alpha. I would have had you even if you were a beta. If you came to me and asked me to leave with you, to go to Gretna Green or to run away to the continent forever, I would have dropped everything in a heartbeat. I wanted you, Colin, no matter what form you were in. I was content being your friend, but I am so happy that my first choice is now my only one."

"I will spend the rest of my life making up for the time when you loved me in silence," he growled, backing her up to his bed. "Starting now."

"What are you doing?" she whispered, her eyes closed, her hands clutching his nightshirt.

"I was just thinking about how unfair it was that you saw me in your bedroom, but I had not seen you in mine," he smirked. "I want to see you come apart for me on top of my sheets, in the bedroom I've had since I was out of leading strings."

He palmed her breasts through her dress, pleasantly surprised to find she did not wear her usual tightly laced stays. Her lips parted as noises began to come out of her mouth, and her nails dug into the muscles in his arms as she tried not to collapse back onto his bed just yet. As she fought to find something to say, she began to crumble, the scent of her arousal growing stronger. "That seems fair to me," she replied breathlessly. "I'm glad to know you still want me, even without a rut to help things along."

"Between wedding preparations and leasing our new home, I've thought of nothing else," he admitted. He wrapped an arm around her waist while the other hiked up her skirts so he could step between her legs. Gently, he helped her lay back on his bed, and when he moved on top of her she ran the pads of her fingers across his day-old beard scruff. "When I walked inside what will be our bedroom, what will be your nest, I could picture all the different ways I could have you—on the bed, of course, but I thought of what you would look like on top of your vanity, against the wardrobe, laying on a rug on the floor."

Pen inhaled sharply, a fresh wave of her scent floating to his nose as she imagined just how she and Colin would spend their honeymoon. He leaned over to one side a little to free up his left hand, still holding one of her thighs open with one of his so he could run his hand from her chest down her stomach, over the patch of curls between her legs, and along the outside of her folds. Her back arched off the bed, trying to press herself into him, but he only teased her, barely grazing her entrance before tracing a finger around it, along the seam where her thigh met her hips, across to the other side, and back down again.

"Oh," she sighed, her body begging him for more, her fingers pulling his hair, but he wanted to drive her a little closer to madness.

"And then I thought, why would we keep our activities to the bedroom?" he grinned, hovering above her, his hips pressed into one of her thighs so she could feel his arousal. "I would have you in any room we wanted, in every room. On a settee in the parlor, on my desk in my study, against the bookshelves in the library—"

"It has a library?" she whimpered, his fingers just barely parting her and touching her slick center, the tip of one finger entering her before sliding upwards, grazing her bud but still leaving her rolling her hips up and longing for more.

Colin laughed because of course Penelope would find some excitement for a room full of books even as he was trying to pleasure her. "Yes, it does. I could not find a house for my new wife and not give her a library," he said, leaning down to kiss her mating gland. She cried out, the sensitive flesh hot beneath his lips when she held him to her neck. He licked it, and she grew a little louder. "Shhh, my love. You don't want to wake the whole house, do you?"

"I thought so," he replied, grinning mischievously, and then rolled off her, crawling down to the floor to kneel between her legs.

"Colin?" she squeaked, looking down at his mop of curls between her thighs.

"You'll have to behave. I will not be able to stop you from down here," he smirked, licking his lips and taking a small peek at her center. She was covered in her slick, and when his thumbs parted her, revealing her pretty pink petals, glistening and enticing, he looked back up.

He wanted her to see how hungry he was.

He stared her down, his head drawing closer to her center, her scent so strong that he thought, surely his siblings down the hall could smell her. It must be after midnight, and he hoped they were sound asleep because the moment his tongue parted her lips, tasting her sweet slick and dragging from her entrance to her clitoris at the top, she slapped a hand over her mouth to futilely muffle her cries.

He could not tear his eyes away from her. She thrashed and bucked and crooned, his tongue working magic on her. He'd done this to her before, during her heat, but the memory was shrouded in fog after the last week. Even though his mind was unsure, his fingers seemed to fall into a rhythm that had her squirming, his tongue tracing a pattern that drove her higher and higher. Her hair started to escape a few of the knots, especially around the sides of her head as she tried to press her face into his mattress to stifle the ever-increasing moans coming from her lips. Even without her cycle, the omega was dripping wet, his tongue lapping up her sweet slick and happily drinking it down.

Pen must have realized the pointlessness of using her hand to silence herself because both of them reached down to his head and held him in place. "So close, Colin," she whispered with great effort, immediately clamping her mouth shut again to groan. She moved in time with him now, her hips matching the curling of his two fingers against her inner walls. He kept his pace steady, suckling lightly on her bud as his tongue flicked up and down, nothing too quick or hard or frantic. At the first feeling of a flutter around him, he increased the suction and pressure just slightly, and she came.

He watched her mouth fall open in a silent scream before it snapped shut once again, her jaw clenching tightly as she groaned and exhaled sharply, her cries high and long and whining. Tomorrow, he thought, she could be as loud as she liked, and he would do his best to make her scream, but for right now, with her eyes rolling back in her head and her slick covering his face—it was enough.

Her chest heaved out of her neckline as she caught her breath, still shaking and trembling in the aftershocks for a few moments before Colin dared to pull away from her, leaving a kiss on the soft skin of her inner thigh that made her jump and release the tiniest whimper.

"You followed my direction. Good girl," he said, and smirked when she made a face that looked like she was about to come again.

"I'm glad you appreciate my effort," she replied cheekily, her head falling back as she let out a little laugh, and Colin thanked every God that it was Penelope who was his mate.

Colin stood up and wiped his mouth off on his nightshirt without breaking eye contact with Pen. She looked just as starved as he was earlier, like she could eat him alive and spit him out and he would thank her for it—

He had to stop before she was discovered here, in his room, wearing a maid outfit that she used to deliver her Lady Whistledown column. Or, worse, if someone were to see her out on the street in such attire.

"Up," he said, offering her a hand and helping her to her feet. "You should make your way back home, I think."

"What about you?" she asked, looking pointedly down to the bulge in his trousers.

"I could keep you here all night," he smirked, "but we both need rest before tomorrow. I'm satisfied with watching you fall apart on my sheets by my own hand and mouth. The next time I take you again with my cock, I want you to be my wife."

Her eyes widened, and that beautiful red flush that Colin loved so much covered her chest. "Oh," she exhaled, rendered speechless.

Colin beamed. "You should return home before someone smells what we've just been doing, or someone misses you at your home," he replied softly, moving to pick up her cloak from the floor and handing it to her.

"No one ever does," she muttered, taking the garment from him and wrapping it around her shoulders, doing up the clasp.

"Never?" Colin tilted his head, curious. "Not when you go out for your Lady Whistledown business?"

"No. I've never been caught," she said, her eyes downcast.

"Well, I promise that I will go with you, if you want me to. And even if you do not, I will always wait up to make sure you come home safely," he assured her, taking her hands and squeezing them comfortingly one last time.

Warmth rushed through him when he achieved his goal of seeing Pen smile again before she departed. "I love you, Colin Bridgerton."

"And I love you, Penelope Featherington," he grinned back. "That is the last time I will ever have to call you that. After tomorrow, I can call you Mrs. Bridgerton."

She blushed, leaning up so he could kiss her gently. "Goodnight, Colin."

"I will see you in the morning," he smiled, the boyish excitement radiating from him.

"I'll be the one holding the bouquet," she smirked, her eyes sparkling.

She pulled the cloak hood up over her head and slipped out the door, closing it very quietly behind her. Colin climbed back into bed, and while his thoughts were filled with the image of his wife coming apart beneath him, he slipped into his dreams.

~

For a wedding so quickly cobbled together, it was surprisingly well-attended and incredibly beautiful.

Though, any wedding would be beautiful with a bride like Penelope.

Colin was more than a little biased.

He had seen the house before the family left that morning. After his late-night tryst, he was quite tired, but several cups of tea and a fresh shave revitalized him. Dressed in his newly tailored wedding suit, he waited in the foyer for the rest of his siblings and watched the organized chaos unfold around him. Fresh flowers were being delivered and arranged in vases, bakers were setting out pastries and confectionary treats—their massive wedding cake at the center of the arrangement—and their cook was ordering about everyone who looked even the slightest bit bored, including Dunwoody who was only meant to be there to manage the footmen at the breakfast.

Over two hundred guests were set to celebrate with Colin and Penelope once they arrived back from the church, and the festivities would likely last long into the night, with his mother planning on opening up the ballroom when the hour grew late enough. Though Colin just wanted to take his wife home with him, if they were forced to endure a party, at least it would be a memorable one.

The ceremony itself would be as quick as any other, held in the morning among a dozen other couples who were all set to wed—though they likely were engaged long enough to have their banns read at least once, unlike Colin and Penelope.

Colin and his family arrived at the church first. He shared a carriage with his brothers, as was the tradition established when Anthony married Kate. He waited outside with his siblings, their spouses, and his mother around him for ten minutes before the Featheringtons arrived, Penelope and her mother in a separate carriage from her sisters and their husbands.

When Pen stepped down with the help of a footman, it was like time stopped as she slowly made her way to him, a grin stretched across her face. She wore very pale, delicate pink silk, the veil in her hair plain except for a bit of lace embroidered at the bottom. The dress was relatively simple but exquisitely cut, the fabric shimmering and almost floating in the morning light. Pearls adorned her neck and ears, and she carried a bouquet of pink roses, peachy dahlias, purple lavender, and white freesia, strongly fragrant but not enough to cover her own omega scent. Her hair was styled off her neck, proudly displaying his mark on her gland, and he reached forward to grasp her hand so he would not run his fingers across it instead.

"Not that you are not stunningly gorgeous every day," he greeted her, "but I must say that you look particularly magnificent this morning."

She immediately blushed red across her cheeks. "Mama said it is too simple, but there was no time to add more embellishments."

"You need no excessive ornamentation, little one. You shine bright enough without," he reassured her with a squeeze of his hand. They joined the line of couples waiting for their turn in the church, their families quietly excusing themselves.

"You look very handsome as well," she said a little bashfully. "We have a wedding breakfast to attend after this, don't we?"

"We do," he affirmed. "If we are discreet, I don't see why we could not sneak upstairs to my room for an hour once the meal is finished and the mingling starts."

"I worry if we do, we will not want to return," she replied, the blush deepening and spreading down her chest to the top of her breasts.

"Hmm," he purred, leaning down to inhale her scent, her head tilting instinctually to allow him access. "Quite."

They managed to tamp down their insatiable appetite for one another when it was their turn to stand at the altar. The ceremony lasted no more than ten minutes, consisting of a few exchanged words and Colin presenting Penelope with the ring—a design inspired by the 'forget-me-not' flower, featuring six pearls encircling an aquamarine gemstone. He chose the stone because it reminded him of her eyes, and he hoped he would remember to explain it to her later.

For now, he was quite content with kissing his mate, his best friend, and now his wife on the steps of St. George's Church in front of their families and friends, proclaiming to all society that they were married, mated, and finally inseparable.

Compared to the eternity ahead of them, Colin thought the twenty-three years he waited for the right moment to arrive was nothing at all.