Chapter Text
No matter how often Colin closed and opened his eyes, the image in front of him was not returning to what it was supposed to be - a room colored in rich hues of mahogany and brown leather of the furniture and the airy lightness provided by the ornamental white columns and softly colored curtains.
In its place he was facing a row of books he has come to know rather well as of late. After all, they were a favorite hiding place of his beloved wife and once served as a rare form of her escape from the walls that managed to repel the very notion of harmless teasing done in the name of familial devotion there could be found in the household right across the street.
The Featheringtons did not abide by entertaining even the minimal amount of such triviality. There was too much to be dealt with to ever even consider a little bit of time being wasted on the sense of togetherness of people who shared the ties of blood and a roof over their heads. Every member of the family had a role allocated to them, and all of them played their part without a thought to be spared on doing the only mandatory thing families are supposed to do – get to know and care for each other in every way, shape or form.
All of them were dedicated to the prescribed behavior deemed befitting their rank and station while the simple joys of life passed them by.
All of them but one, that is. His Penelope would, as is her custom one might say, break even that tough and imposed upon mold of comportment – it was a thing she was used to doing – having spent years observing the very house whose name he was proud to bestow upon her.
That train of thought snapped him out of his musings to the present that was unmistakably not what it was supposed to be. What in heaven’s name was he doing in the library of the Featherington House?
With his hand swift to feel his forehead, he was remiss in finding any bumps or bruises under his fingertips. Encountering no wound, he had to reluctantly accept the fact that he did not come to any harm as of late, which could cause the faults in his rather good memory and make him forget how and why he found himself at the Featherington library at this very moment when he knew, with certainty, he had entered his private study at the Bridgerton House a few seconds ago.
Perhaps this whole moment is yet another dream in which his subconscious mind was giving him some life-altering puzzle to be solved. Oh where was Eloise when one was in dire need of finding the greatest answer hidden within the smallest of clues.. They are certainly all around him - he only needed to clear his mind and focus. If that fails, he could always pinch himself - that is bound to help in waking him up. Hyacinth was a great proponent of the method.
Colin has, of course, abandoned the same belief for he was no longer in the early stages of youth. Nevertheless, at this very moment, it wouldn’t hurt to try every trick he could remember. The possibility of this fever dream spiraling into a nightmare was a frightening thought not far from his mind. Especially after taking a closer look at the window and witnessing those ghastly curtains, once again, proudly on display.
What would warrant such oddities to be happening at this strange present time he was now facing? Colin pondered. The time of day was yet another aspect of it – with the said window, overlooking the street, confirming it was indeed nightfall, the street lamp in front of the house was casting a tender glow over a rather gloomy darkness.
Having no other recourse, he started looking around the room for more details and clues, like Eloise would’ve done for she would know what to look for in order to get the best results out of her deductive endeavors. Nothing to it, after this mystery is solved, he would have to ask her how one sleuths to get to the desired outcome as fast as possible.
For now, he would have to manage by tapping into his adventure seeking nature that already allowed him to fulfill his dreams of exploring many wonders of the world.
The mere memory of it made his eyes focus on the side table by the library door - Pen placed his much beloved globe upon it a fortnight ago when she was reading the journal detailing his travels. Lost in thought and his descriptive prose, she was very eager to praise, Pen’s fingers would alternate between turning the pages of the journal and pointing to every place that was mentioned within it with its help. The globe was now missing. To be precise, it was nowhere to be found in this room. Did she move it back to his study without telling him?
A quiet laugh bubbled within him for he was fast to remember that the said room remains, between them, being referred to as Lord Featheringthon’s study as an inside joke that best represents their new roles of guardians to their sons' barony.
Whenever he would lose the sense of time within its walls, caught under the pile of old ledgers and papers trying to make sense of it all and fix every error ever made, Pen would visit and offer a distraction in the form of light teasing - reminding him that the baby is much too young to offer any assistance but not too young to be enrolled in the basic household management course with his uncle Anthony in order to offer an opinion. After all, his guidance was of immense value and great help to Colin himself.
With that in mind, they were both hopeful that their child did not inherit his grandmother Portia’s firmness of conviction in the rightfulness of her opinion. Pen was also very weary of the sense of fashion somehow being an inherent trait no matter how much both Colin and Genevieve tried to convince her otherwise using her own transformation and fashion choices as an example. Her sense of style is now present in every room of the Featherington House aside from her mother’s bedroom and private sitting room.
The library and the study were the first to undergo a complete change, becoming lighter and brighter, both in decor and the color palette of its walls.
The walls that now surrounded him were steering up his sense of alarm and deepened his feeling of confusion, for their shade was no longer bright and soft in hue. Even though the time of day was obscuring many details from his piercing gaze, encasing them in shadows, it was very evident that they were somehow, once again, covered in the much too vibrant shades of yellow and green his mother in law had ingrained into every room of the house while she held the title of the lady of the Featherington barony.
Hushed voices broke through his confusion. Even though his reflexes told him to hide, Colin’s instincts pushed him closer to the source of the sounds that were emanating from the other side of the wall that was in perpetual joint custody of the library and the study room.
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“I will not hear of it, my Lord.” No matter the volume of her voice, the harshness within Portia’s words carried them through to the library with great ease.
“Not a word of it,” the harshness persisted. “There could be no excuse or favor owed that is grave enough as to warrant this intrusion upon our household.”
Who was she addressing at this late hour, Colin wondered. A person could never be quite certain and convinced that Portia Featherington would not revert to her secret dealings no matter her claim to have abandoned those inclinations entirely after realizing she was now, due to her elevation in rank and seal of approval from the Queen herself, living under the roof of ever-observing Lady Whistledown.
“It is utterly unacceptable and could prove detrimental to our daughters' prospects on the marriage mart.”
Marriage mart. Colin recoiled at those two words that, in spite of their low volume, now echoed all around him. How could his mother in law be addressing a subject that has resulted in great success to all concerned as if it were a task yet to be dealt with? To whom was she conveying her grievances to? What in heaven’s name was happening?!
“You mean to tell me you have little faith in your daughters?” a vaguely familiar voice questioned. Something else was said as well, but Colin was unable to understand it.
Where has he heard that voice before?
Deciding swiftly on his next course of action, Colin chose to step outside of the library and into the corridor in order to have better access to the conversation that was taking place in the dead of night, far removed from the possibility of being overheard. The door that led into the study was a much lighter barrier to hide the conversation behind, giving Colin the ideal eavesdropping location. Granting Portia any secrecy whatsoever regarding family matters was a notion Colin rebelled against on an impulse.
Hoping its hinges would not disturb the stillness of the house, he opened the library door with great care and, with the lightest of steps, found himself in front of the study in the blink of an eye.
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“My daughters?” Portia’s voice carried a note of incredulity and alarm that had a warning woven firm within it - a warning of pure indignation being unleashed from the depths of her soul.
“Whatever could you mean by that, my Lord? Mine..” That last word was uttered whisper-like, filled with rage that felt like it had been simmering within her very core for the longest of times.
“May I remind you that the ladies of this house have been carrying the burden of your family name since the day they were born. They are women, after all. Beholden to the whim and leisure of men, be it their fathers, guardians, or husbands... Men! Always and forever - men… You are one of them, are you not?” Her tone was fierce and unrelenting.
“I do not need to be reminded of any notion you may possess. It is, as always, irrelevant and not warranted. Above all else, it is insulting to the name that was granted to you in good faith.”
In front of the study room, Colin stood frozen in shock. A vivid memory of an engagement dinner held at this very house in his honor was given by the man who owned that, rarely heard, baritone.
Archibald Featherington. His long gone father in law.
“You are their father. You, my Lord.” The harshness and urgency of Portia’s voice broke through Colin’s stupor, echoing around the corridor once again. “Surely, you must have their best interest in mind.”
Feeling utterly disoriented, Colin’s reflexes led him to touch his head yet again. There must be an overlooked wound somewhere. There is no other explanation for the things he was hearing. This is too odd of an occurrence for any dream he ever had. Blinking and pinching it away was not proving helpful at all.
“The matter has been settled.” Archibald’s voice said dismissively.
“Settled? How could it be settled? You are bringing an unknown chit under our roof at the very moment all of your daughters are set to make their debut in front of the Queen of England!” Portia persisted. “Even Penelope is set to debut, though I do not hold high hopes that she will make any impression upon the Queen. She is much too young and not well versed in the expectations she will be forced to manage. We have three daughters to be presented to society this season, my Lord. Three! You insisted upon it, and since my notions are never considered or given much importance, I have reluctantly accepted such a ludicrous demand.”
“Tell me, is this verbal tirade of yours to last through the night, or do you intend to bring it to a close in the near future? I have told you all that should interest you in regard to this latest development. The young lady is to reside in this household until further notice. Your sole task is to ensure her good comportment and success on the marriage mart, if luck should smile upon her. The rest of it is not of your concern.”
“My Lord..” Portia said with a deep sigh. “We are already to be inspected and whispered about amongst the Ton - we have three daughters debuting on the same day. Such an occurrence is more of an oddity than a rarity, and that is why it will be observed as an eccentricity worthy of a stage act. It is to be mentioned in every conversation. A stage act playing out for the whole Ton to witness. Adding another member to our household, trailing after our girls, will surely raise even more questions, and none of them will pertain to the charms and accomplishments of our daughters..”
“I am certain the whole of Mayfair has better things to focus on than to pray into the matters of our house. Are the Bridgertons not presenting one of their own ladies? Certainly, the Ton will place more care in observing how the Viscount will manage to choose the newest member of his family when the suitors start to storm through the main entrance of the Bridgerton House?”
“That is beyond the point. The Ton is bound to make inquiries about our newest arrangement. For we have never shared in the Bridgertons inclinations of family expansion for ourselves..”
“And whose fault was that?” The anger has seeped from every syllable of the sentence uttered by Archibald Featherington.
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Colin’s body sprang back from the place he felt rooted to until that very moment. The vitriol within that singular question made him feel the sensations one might experience when struck across the face. The silence was palpable, aided and exacerbated by the darkness of the night. Not a sound was heard. Colin could swear there was a grandfather clock not far from where he was standing. It has always been there. Now, it feels like it has stopped keeping track of the passage of time or stopped existing altogether.
The whole house was shrouded in harrowing silence.
“T-that.. That is beyond..” Portia’s voice let out a small gasp with every new word. “..beyond the point.” A quiver Colin had never heard within it started mimicking the rhythm his heart was beating under. “My main concern remains with our young ladies. We are duty bound to introduce them into society and usher them into the next phase of life. At least one of them has to make a decent enough match, for only then will the spectacle we are bound to become this year be worth of every effort and gossip. What am I to say when the members of the Ton start asking questions about her?”
“You can tell them whatever you damn well please.” The voice of Archibald Featherington resurfaced, sounding vexed. “She is to stay under our roof with your diligent care. She can become our distant relative for all I care. It matters not. She is to be granted equal opportunities on the marriage mart, for that is a promise already made. You are tasked with nothing else but to act upon it.”
Will this nightmare ever end? Colin pondered. He turned his head away from the door, and to the left, he was greeted by a view of yet another window. This time around, all he cared about was daylight that was, sadly, not yet on the horizon. Nevertheless, it was forthcoming, for the dawn was greeting his perplexed gaze like an old friend it was very happy to meet.
“Before we end this futile debate, I will remind you that our long awaited and welcomed guest has a name,” Archibald’s tone was measured, with every word spoken possessing gravitas, "You are honor bound, to me and to the house you are representing, to remember it.”
The silence, not so long ago abandoned, returned with a vengeance, hollowing out a dramatic pause in moment and time.
“Her name is Marina Thompson.”
A slam of the doors closing in Colin’s near vicinity shook him out of the state of utter stupefaction he had fallen into after hearing that name.
Marina.
Against his better judgment, for he had no ability to form a coherent thought at present, Colin’s feet led him to turn away from the strangest of conversations he had ever overheard and down through the corridor, following the well worn path that would place him in the proximity of those doors that alerted him to his surroundings and reminded him of his current activity.
Rounding the corner after traveling through the longest, never-ending passageway in the Featherington House, Colin’s step faltered. Climbing the stairs to the main family rooms was a figure he would recognize in the dead of night with his eyes completely closed.
His beloved wife.
Penelope.