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Chapter Text

London, nine days after Colin returns from his expedition in Greece

Even the most fervent, enduring hope loses its flame once it reaches a certain point of no desired outcome. Penelope Featherington, of all people, had always known this fact best—as she very much did now. 

She was ready to put her expectations to rest; Colin Bridgerton, she was now certain, was not coming to dinner. 

“Benedict, did he really not tell you anything?” asked Lady Violet Bridgerton, who sat at the head of the table, three seats from Penelope.

The second eldest Bridgerton son didn’t so much as bother looking up from his plate when he answered his mother anymore. Audibly exasperated, he said, “Mama, for the last time, no, I have not heard from Colin since he left for Norfolk a week ago, and if he had, yes I would’ve already told you by now.”

“Mother," said his older brother, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, at the other end of the table, “surely our brother is allowed to miss a dinner party?”

Penelope continued to chew the bite of gooseberry pie that had now been in her mouth for a minute. She could not find the stomach to swallow as the fact of Colin's absence, previously only her speculation, was now starting to be verbally acknowledged by the party as fact.

“But he told me he would attend,” replied the Dowager Viscountess. “He was to arrive this afternoon.”

“Perhaps something has prevented him,” suggested the viscount. 

“That something being that he's enjoying himself too much in Norfolk,” suggested Eloise, after sipping from her wine glass. “Perhaps he finds London unappealing after all that time in Greece, and would rather be anywhere but here.”

This struck Penelope intrigued, particularly because she didn't want it to be true. "Do you really think so, Eloise?"

Eloise turned in her seat so she faced her. "Yes. His travels are all he ever talks about. He won't stop going on about it." In her best impression of Colin she said, "'You are going to love Santorini.’ ‘You simply must try their cold pressed olive oil.’ ‘If I were to go back I would have gone to Mykonos.' He says that he returned to London early because he missed home. I'm willing to wager it's because his allowance had run out. Anthony, you know I'm right." 

Anthony, who was in charge of the family’s finances, took a moment of deliberation before hesitantly saying, "It is not at all…impossible, yes," before he took a too long sip of his drink. 

Benedict chortled. "Still, that's quite a cruel assessment of our brother's propensities, dear sister. Do you really think him snobbish?"

“I have to agree with Benedict," Lady Bridgerton said. "Your brother was happy to be back when he returned."

Eloise waved them off with her knife. "Might I also point out his eagerness to leave for Norfolk? He'd only just returned from the overseas and only two days later he wished to be away again. He and I have not even properly caught up and he's off to trailing the countryside with the Finns, whom he barely even knows." 

"Ah," exclaimed Benedict. "I figured it out. Eloise is acting out because he misses him." 

Eloise scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course I do miss him, that was never in doubt. But my judgment is most certainly independent of my sentiments." 

"At least you admit that you are indeed casting judgment, and one of your harsher ones at that. That takes a lot of bravery to admit, sister. I do salute you." He performed an exaggerated flourish and a bow. 

Eloise tossed a solid crumb of crust at him, which he managed to dodge. He flashed her a triumphant mocking expression. Hyacinth and Gregory, who sat to his left, snickered at Eloise.

"Stop it, you two!" scolded their mother. "You're wasting perfectly good dessert."

"But you do have to admit," Eloise continued, "that I might be correct. Besides, it is not only I who has not received his attention." She glanced over at Penelope. "I do not think he and Pen have properly caught up. Have you, Penelope?"

All six Bridgertons (Daphne and Francesca could not make it) now cast their eyes on Penelope. The attention of one was something she could handle, but of everybody all at once—it was as if she'd forgotten she'd known these people all her life. 

Finding herself playing around with a loose gooseberry with her fork, she searched her words. "Yes—yes, that would be right. We haven't really found the chance."

"Precisely," Eloise said, nodding eagerly at her. "Is this not why we invited you to dinner in the first place?" She looked around the table towards her mother. "It's certainly rude of him to not attend this dinner, with her as guest. So you can't say that all I express is a personal grievance."

It took much of Penelope's energies not to appear jaded by that remark.

Lady Bridgerton had in fact invited her to this dinner party to formally welcome Colin back, something they couldn’t do sooner since he’d left right away for the country. Since then, she had put all her hopes on the event, where they might finally properly catch up.

She might have had a lot riding on the occasion more than she had found reasonable, but she'd so dearly missed her friend that she could not help it.

It was no fun spectacle for her to witness her own optimism for the evening slowly die down. And to find out now that the reasons for Colin's absence might have something to do with his regard (or rather, now the lack of it) for Penelope herself—it was enough to warrant the renewal of the same kind of heartbreak, one that she was already all too familiar with.

That Colin might prefer enjoying the beauties of a sunny countryside over the opportunity for reunion with her—for someone of his character it might have been outrageous at first glance, yet all the same, Penelope could find it not at all unlikely.

Would it really be so unlike him to have done as he did? For all of their friendship enduring through more than a decade, still Penelope had always wondered if its strength was hinged, for the most part, on their constant proximity—and that if they found themselves apart, it would finally begin to fall away. 

Despite their constant correspondence during the year he'd been gone, Penelope feared that some form of estrangement would nonetheless grow between them due to this element of distance.

To her great dismay, it might have now already happened. Perhaps tonight, he simply did not want to see her. 

The pain of this possibility was sensational; she could feel its dull ache spread out from her chest, pulsing through her body along with her beating heart. 

But with concerted effort she put on a smile, as one Penelope Featherington always did.

"Perhaps, yes,” she addressed to Eloise with controlled nonchalance, “but to me it really is no issue."

“But still, I do apologize on behalf of my son,” said Lady Bridgertion. “It is the most odd behavior. Rest assured he'll hear from me about the matter."

"I hope you take it easy on him, Lady Bridgerton. And besides, I'm sure that we'll find another chance to meet once he returns to London." 

"A return he is most unwilling to venture, I assure you," Eloise muttered under her breath, which clearly amused Benedict, and even Anthony himself, but not quite Penelope.

"Come on now, Eloise," she said, "I'm sure Colin would love to be back in London." 

As she said it, however, she realized that she was trying to convince herself just as much as she was her friend.

From that point forward, the party had moved on to other more jovial topics of discussion. Eloise and Benedict had begun to argue about who should've won their pall mall game days ago, both relying on the unbiased judgment of Penelope, who'd been witness to the match. Lady Bridgerton, Anthony, and the two youngins merrily fanned the flames of the argument, taking clear sides for the sake of it. 

All the while, the gaping emptiness of the chair where Colin would have been glared back at Penelope. Somehow the gaiety surrounding her began to be soured by the nonattendance of who would've been perhaps its most charming and cheerful participant. 

If only he wanted to be here.

The end of the evening began when Lady Bridgerton won her third game of cards, which particularly frustrated her eldest sons, to the amusement of everybody else. 

“Gah,” the eldest groaned, tossing his cards on the table.

Benedict clicked his tongue and sighed.

Lady Bridgerton smirked. “Oh, my dear sons. You can’t even handle a little humbling moment from your mother.”

“Consider me thoroughly humbled,” Anthony replied stiffly, then lifted his chin. "Why, look at the time. Perhaps we should call it a night?" 

"We shall," quickly supported Benedict. Lady Bridgerton laughed. 

The men rose from their seats and each planted a kiss on their mama’s cheek before bidding everybody their good night. Humiliated they may be, but gentlemen still they were.

When they left the room, Eloise said jokingly, “Such fragile masculinities. I don’t know why we rely our society on such delicate whims.” 

Soon the two youngest moved along as well, turning the party of seven into that of three. Penelope took this as her cue—and gladly, for she wished to finally be home and be done with the evening's nightmares.

"I shall be off as well," she said. “Thank you for the dinner, Lady Bridgerton. It was very lovely.”

The viscountess was already half-giddy from all the wine she’d drunk. “Of course, Penelope. We’re happy to have you anytime.” 

Penelope was about ready to leave, but as her already scarce luck would have it, London's volatile weathers had other plans for her. 

Just as she, her hand in the crook of Eloise’s arm, took her first step out the drawing room, a single crackle of thunder suddenly boomed outside, subsequently followed by the soft patter of rain. 

Soon it crescendoed into a violent torrent, overwhelming the previous serenity of the quiet spring evening. 

“What on earth?” remarked Eloise. “Is there a storm?”

Out the window, the London night sky was practically nonexistent, replaced by nothing but the gray rush of the downpour. Loud thunders rumbled like a cacophonic chorus.

"Goodness,” Lady Bridgerton exclaimed. “That is most unexpected. But then again, to have rain suddenly pour is in true London fashion.”

Penelope then did wonder if Colin had the right idea to have put off being in such a dreadful city. 

“Penelope, you simply cannot go home while that rages on," said Eloise. 

Penelope’s first instincts were to refuse any more time spent in Bridgerton House. The sooner she could put tonight’s disappointments to a stop, the better. "But my house is only across," she argued, albeit weakly. "I'm sure I can manage." 

Eloise laughed in disbelief. "You’re mad. If it were but a drizzle, perhaps, but at this state you can’t. Your chaperone won’t make it through that. What makes you think you can?" 

“But my Mama would be looking for me.”

"Eloise is right, Penelope," interjected Lady Bridgerton. "You had better stay for a while, until the storm calms. And since we are just across from your home, Lady Featherington ought not to worry, would she?" 

Eloise perked up, suddenly enthused by the idea. With pleading eyes she implored Penelope. "I'll keep you company. Come on. Please, please, please stay."

Penelope had the perfectly working sense to find their proposition sound, but in her heart it seemed just about the worst idea to agree to at the moment. 

But as such, she had little power over violent rains—and an Eloise who's had her heart set on something.

She quietly sighed. “All right, I suppose I could wait here.”

“You’re welcome to wait as long as you need,” Lady Bridgerton said, who finally stood up, though with the balance similar to that of a child who was just learning to walk. She almost slumped back to the sofa, had not Eloise run up to her and take her arm.

“Goodness, mother, how much have you had to drink tonight, exactly?” 

Lady Bridgerton frowned. “I am perfectly sober, dear daughter. Just a little bit inebriated.” 

“If you really were, you'd know those statements are contradictory. Anyway, I had better fetch you to your chamber.” She looked at Penelope. “Give me only a moment, Pen.” 

Penelope nodded. “Of course. Do as you must. Good night, Lady Bridgerton.”

As the mother and daughter proceeded to leave the waiting room, Penelope noticed that Eloise kept shouldering the slipping sleeve of her blue dress back in place. 

“And while I’m at it,” her friend said, “I’ll also go get changed. This frock is positively dreadful. How did you ever get used to wearing these things?”

Penelope smiled, but only long enough until the two finally disappeared out of the corner. 

And then, she sighed.

Now shed of her pretense, she finally allowed her frustrations to take over her. Frantically she paced back and forth the carpet, closing her lids shut. Through her nose she took deep, sharp breaths, trying to calm the whirlwinds of emotion that had been brewing inside her. To have them come out all at once was more than she could bear. 

Colin, not wanting to see her—Penelope didn’t know how she could even begin to learn to cope with it. Perhaps she never would. 

It was one thing to be undesired in the sense of the romantic, but to be undesired altogether even in friendship? That was a worse kind of pain, and though Penelope was familiar with the feeling, perhaps she was yet to learn what it must really feel like to be unwanted that way.

Flashes of lightning illuminated the room in white light. Penelope walked over to the window, allowing the sights and the sounds of the storm to overwhelm her senses and fill her mind. 

When one lived in this city, the comforts of calm pastel skies, rolling greeneries, and quiet streams were things that one did not have the privilege of enjoying. Instead one would have to make do with finding solace in the beauty of other kinds of nature that only such crowded cities could permit, which in London, was often the dullest of rains.

Penelope had not yet gotten around to fully warming up to such an alternative. Try as she might, there was no redeeming quality, no beauty more than meets the eye, to such dreadful weather. It only made her cold and uncomfortable. 

No wonder people find London unappealing, not worth staying long enough in, not worth coming back for.

The downpour showed no sign of slowing down, so Penelope made herself comfortable by the window sill, waiting for the moment she could finally come home, how long it may have to take. 

She closed her eyes, permitting herself to drown in the sensations. 

Until something reeled her back to the surface. 

“Penelope,” came a voice behind her.

All of a sudden, Penelope was overcome by a jolting feeling. All too familiar with the voice who spoke her name, she quickly whipped her head round to face its source. 

She stood unmoving, feeling queasy, as though her stomach had fallen away from its constitution.

For there in the doorway, stood the only person she’d ever really wanted to see—the only person who only ever really mattered.

Heavily panting and dripping with rainwater, Colin Bridgerton wore a smile on his face, cheerful as ever, like none of these things even inconvenienced him. "I had to make it."

Chapter Text

Colin Bridgerton was set on one thing and one thing only: getting back to London. 

Yet for all his conviction, his fate for the last fifteen hours had seemed bent on deterring his spirits. Though no misadventure could really take such an effect on Colin, it had inspired another, something quite different, new, and above all disconcerting. It gnawed at him, preoccupied him, and confounded him to the utmost degree.

But he did not wish to think about it right now.

What mattered was he had overcome today's trials—and now he was finally back in the city, and so close to his home that it was all he could think of as he maneuvered his curricle on the wet cobble and through the rain. 

Once he arrived at the Bridgerton House, hurriedly he secured his carriage and horses in the stables before stepping through the front door (there was no footman present; it was a fair assumption that there would be no one coming in or out while the rain poured its fury). 

He took big strides to head up the drawing room, in hopes of maybe still running into somebody, despite the late hour. 

His anticipation swelled up as he saw the doors to the drawing room still open, the dim glows of a firelight pouring out through it and into the hallway. 

There was still somebody there.

The moment he stepped through the doorway, he saw her. There, across the room by the window, was Penelope Featherington, her back to him. 

Upon seeing her, with her yellow frock and auburn hair glowing against the light of the fire, Colin thought she looked like a ray of sunshine amidst the storm that raged outside. 

The sight was comfortably familiar to him, so much that it struck him how much he had missed it during his travels. He didn’t know he would be this delighted to see his dear friend again. 

All the turmoil he’d been bottling up inside him seemed to quiet down, for just a moment. 

"Penelope," he called.

Quickly she turned. Once she registered her surprise, she was already hurrying towards him. 

“I had to make it,” he found himself saying as he watched her come nearer to him.

"Colin?" she exclaimed with disbelief. "You're here!" 

Colin could only smile. "I can say the same about you. You're still here." 

Penelope’s expression suddenly turned grave. “Oh. Well, they thought it best I wait rather than head into the rain. Not to worry, I’ll be leaving as soon as possible.”

Colin frowned. “What? No, Penelope. I didn’t mean that genuinely. You do know you’re welcome to stay here, right?” 

“As I’ve been told,” she said quietly. Then she regarded him from head to toe. “You, on the other hand—you seemed to have taken to the rain yourself. You’re soaked!” 

Colin looked down at his body and saw that a considerable amount of rainwater dripped from his coat and had already formed a puddle around his boots. 

"I must not have noticed,” he muttered half-absently. “However, I do think it's just my coat." He then shrugged his outerwear off his shoulders then patted for his garments beneath. "See? Dry." 

He saw Penelope's eyes trail down to his chest and instantly avert away. All of a sudden Colin felt extremely aware that he only wore a half-buttoned up shirt. Why had he not remembered this when he removed his coat? 

After a brief awkward silence, Penelope spoke again. "But your hair," she said, her gaze intent only on his head, "it's wet. You ought to get it dry or you'll catch a cold." She grabbed a large, dry tea towel from a nearby table and reached it out to him. "Here. This should probably do, I think." 

As Colin took it from her hand, he felt the tips of her gloved fingers brush against his palm. His hand and arm to which it was attached somehow felt both cold and warm. 

He unfolded the cloth and began rubbing it against his hair, scrunching his locks tight with the fabric. "Thank you." 

As he scooted his hand over to other parts of his head, he noticed Penelope slightly frowning at him. 

“What is it?” he asked, feeling his nerves rile up. 

Without a word, she reached up and began guiding his hand by the wrist, towards a spot on his head he hadn’t quite touched yet. She did so in such a delicate manner that Colin could hardly feel her fingers—but he knew, very well, that they were there. His breath hitched in his chest.

“There,” Penelope said, still intent on his head. “It’s much wetter there.” 

The fighting temperatures that Colin felt now spread out to his entire body. When he didn’t speak, Penelope looked down to his eyes. Instantly she pulled her hand back to herself.

She cleared her throat. "But perhaps a maid would better help you get dry," she suggested.

Colin swallowed. "It’s—I’m quite capable myself." 

"Well,” she said, straightening her dress, “at least sit by the fire?" 

Colin willingly obliged. Together they walked to the sofa that directly faced the hearth. They sat down an arm’s length apart. 

He surveyed the room and realized there was nobody else there. "Were you just by yourself?" 

"Not exactly,” she answered. “Eloise is accompanying me, but she went to take your Mama to her bedchamber and get changed herself. She should be back here soon." 

In the firelight Colin could now more clearly see her face. Light rouge tinted her lips and cheeks, which brought out the color of her eyes. Her hair had been pinned up to a half-do, her curls flowing across her shoulders. 

"You look great, Pen,” he blurted out.

“Oh,” Penelope said quietly, pinching a lock of hair between her fingers. "That's…kind of you." 

“It’s good to see you." 

Penelope regarded him funnily, as if she hadn’t expected him to say that.

Colin chuckled under his breath. “You seem surprised.”

Penelope’s mouth parted but instantly sealed itself, as if whatever she was about to say, she had decided not to. “Perhaps curious to see you here, more like it,” she told him instead. “Everybody missed you at dinner. Lady Bridgerton found it odd, and Eloise in particular, well I suppose I need not tell you.” 

Colin looked into the fire and smirked. “I wouldn’t expect less of them. I’ll make sure to pay my penance in the morning.” He gazed back at Penelope and saw her looking. “What about you, Pen?”

She furrowed her brows. “What about me?”

Colin grinned and shrugged. “Did you not…miss me?” 

Penelope looked down at her lap and began fidgeting with the seams of her gloves. “I uh, I suppose I did wonder where you were,” she said.

“You did.” He smiled.

“Yes, and though your absence is regrettable, I suppose you have…your reasons.” 

The events of today quickly sped through Colin’s mind. He fought the urge to shudder. He didn’t find the need—nor the willingness—to recount all of it. 

“Let’s just say,” he said, trying to dismiss it with a chuckle, “that yes, I did.”

Penelope watched him, then slowly nodded as if she understood it clearly. “Of course,” she said, her tone clipped.

“I am sorry for missing dinner,” he offered, and that much he was willing to tell her. “I do hope you forgive me, Pen?”

He saw Penelope hesitate before giving him a tight-lipped smile. She then turned away to look into the fire. “Of course,” she said again. “We’re good, Colin.”

Though Penelope seemed cordial, Colin was not sure he believed her entirely. But he also figured, if Penelope had something to say, she would say it, would she not? 

“You seem tense,” he observed. “Are you quite well?”

Penelope nodded without looking back at him. “Quite. I think I’m just a bit cold. You need not worry yourself.”

Colin didn’t know what to say to that exactly, so he found himself staring; he suddenly wanted to know what was going on in her head. What could she be thinking about in the way that she did now? 

But he caught himself, and so blinked away his odd fascination. He began to survey the drawing room instead, noting the details on the walls, the arrangement of the furniture, everything. Nothing had quite changed since he’d left for Greece, something he realized he was only able to notice now, coming back from Norfolk. 

“It’s good to be back,” he said, scanning the tea table where Penelope had taken the towel, which he still gripped in his hand. “I’m happy to be back in London.” 

Penelope then gazed back at him, her expression most peculiar. “You’re happy to be back in London?”

On a normal day Colin would’ve assumed the remark to be one of her typical gibes, but the manner in which she had said it made him think she genuinely wanted to know if he meant it.

“You sound doubtful,” he answered. “Is the idea so far-fetched?” 

Her eyes seemed to widen at the question. She quickly shook her head. “I—I didn’t mean that.”

“Then what do you mean?”

Penelope tried for a smile. “I think I just mean to say that I find it strange—that someone who’s just been to the countryside, and Greece even, would be happy to find himself back in this city, so constantly cold and drab.”

As if to prove her point, a howling wind blew past the windows. Colin could hear the rain move along to its gust. In spite of them being indoors, a cold breeze swept across the room, which brought a chill that crept up his spine. He went back to eagerly patting his head dry. 

“Were I you,” Penelope continued, “I would probably seek out to places where the sun would always be.”

Colin smirked. “I didn’t know you had such a low opinion of London, Pen.”

“It is not exactly unpopular,” Penelope answered. “Almost everyone who lives in it detests it in one way or another. Is this not why you left for Norfolk right away?”

Colin frowned and cocked his head to the side. “Whatever do you mean?”

Penelope made a face. She seemed confounded by his question, equally as he was by hers. She didn’t speak—or rather, she did not find the words to speak.

“Penelope,” Colin said, “I’m curious. What do you think was the reason I went to Norfolk?”

Though Penelope now began to speak, she also said nothing. “I…uh—”

“Did you think I left for Norfolk,” he interrupted, eager to find out if his speculation was true, “because I wanted to get out of here?” 

Penelope was stunned into silence, which led Colin to think that she did, in fact, believe it to be true.

That was when he realized, upon reflection of his own actions—when he’d left for Greece, then came back to London almost a year later, and then no sooner left for Norfolk—that the idea was not so unbelievable after all. If left unexplained, then it would easily seem to Penelope, or anybody with common sense really, that these were clear indications of the speculation being true.

But why this in particular, seemed to have upset Penelope…

Colin muttered a handful of curses in his head. Like the lightning and thunder that shook from outside, the clarity came to him in an instant. It made sense to him now. 

He figured out why he had missed her so intensely when he’d seen her a while ago—it was because they hadn’t really, properly, met since his arrival from Greece. Save a shared look in this very same room on the day of, and then only a quick word at the races and Lady Danbury’s soiree, he hadn’t yet really talked to his friend. 

And then he’d gone to Norfolk before they could even find the chance—and not only that, he had also missed the dinner that would’ve been the perfect opportunity for it. 

Of course Penelope would act this way. Colin had made her feel like he didn’t want to see her at all.

He didn’t know which was the greater offense: that he had caused her this injury, or that he was so late in realizing that he had. It didn’t matter if he didn’t intend any of it—and in his heart he knew he never really did—he’d already committed the fault all the same.

Yet Penelope, for all of this, had been nothing but kind and polite to him since he came. And here he was, with the utmost insensitivity, not even finding the genteel decency to explain himself. 

“Penelope,” he said with a tone so grave it took her back. 

Her chest rose and fell more rapidly by the second. “Colin?”

“I need you to understand,” he said with an urgency, maybe a desperation that surprised even him, “that I didn’t go to Norfolk because I didn’t want to be here.”

Penelope blinked. “You didn’t?” 

“No. I went to Norfolk, well, because of Lord Finn.”

When Penelope only gave him a confused look, he found himself inching closer and saying, “Do you remember, in our letters, when I told you I got that cold?”

Penelope’s face seemed to soften. She nodded. “It was hard to forget.” 

“So you’ll also remember Mr. John Finn, the one who kindly took me into his home while I recovered.”

The name seemed to finally stir her memory. “Yes.”

Colin nodded. “He’s Lord Finn’s brother. He thought that a visit to his brother here in England was one way to repay the debt I owe him. He made me promise. And the reason I had undertaken it so soon, just as I arrived here in London was because, well, he was said to have the most…delicate sensibilities. I could not risk offending him. He’s an earl, after all. ”

Penelope’s eyes gleamed in the firelight. “I see.” 

Though he had given an explanation, Colin knew this was still not enough. There was still his absence at tonight's dinner that he needed to account for. He had initially vowed not to recall the series of circumstances that led to it, but he was beginning to learn that he might actually need to confront it now, much sooner than he’d hoped.

He desperately needed Penelope to understand, so for her he would.

“I’d meant to leave,” he began. “I’d meant to attend dinner with you. And I did leave this morning, an hour earlier than scheduled even, to be prudent. It turned out I needed that and more, because once I passed Wymondham, my curricle broke down in the middle of nowhere.”

Penelope’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

He looked down to the carpet on the floor. “I didn’t know at first. I had to walk to the nearby town and back in order to acquire the assistance of a blacksmith. That was when I found out it had already sustained some damage when I passed through the same way going to the Finns. Together we worked on the repairs, which had gone on much longer than expected—I was only able to resume my travels after lunch.”

Penelope’s expression spelled visible concern. “You still went?” she asked. “That must have been exhausting, not to mention your travel time had been effectively cut in half.”

Colin’s pulse began to quicken. His left foot shook restlessly. “Yes…yes, that would be right. But I don’t know, I suppose I was set on going home.” 

Penelope nodded, then looked towards the fire. Its yellow flames danced mesmerizingly, reflecting in the sheen of her eyes.

Colin managed to find the focus to go on. “At that point I was still just a little ways past Norwich. But I thought that if I went just a little bit faster, I would still make it. The plan seemed to work. That was, until about three hours ago when I entered London—”

A small tree branch suddenly whipped loud against the window from the outside, breaking Colin out of his narration. Penelope jumped in shock. 

“Goodness,” she exclaimed breathily, her hand quickly rising to hold her chest. That was when Colin noticed the emeralds that adorned her neck and collar. They were a deep shade that the light didn't do much justice to.

“That is uh, quite the storm,” he said, lifting his gaze to eye the branch outside, which frantically danced in the wind. “How long has it been raining here?”

Penelope took a deep breath before regaining her wits. “Just—just a while before you arrived.” 

“Well that’s incredibly unlucky of me, then. It’s been following me around London.” 

“You mean,” Penelope said, “all that time you’ve been riding through the city, it has been raining?”

The look on her face was one of astonishment. Colin had imagined the very same face looking at him when he would read her concerns for his health in her letters. It pleased him to know that the things he’d relied on to remind him of home had not changed. 

The relief of it would’ve made Colin laugh, had his nerves currently not affected him, just short of making him malfunction. 

“Quite, but not quite,” he answered with shaky breath. “At first I thought of taking shelter at Mondrich’s Club, and I did, for a while. But then it frustrated me to already be so close and yet so far from here.” He hesitated. “So I—so I ventured out and tried my luck under the rain.” 

Penelope scrunched her face in thought. “But at that point,” she offered, “couldn’t you have just found yourself a lodging and rest for the night? The party was already over anyway. I’m sure if you explained yourself, your family would understand why you had to do it. I certainly would.”

Colin took a deep breath. “Again, Penelope, you would be right.” 

Colin did not need to be told twice. He was already aware of how zealous—too zealous—he had been to get through today’s trials. He had previously supposed his actions to be reasonable, for he’d done them all the time during his travels alone; he was well acquainted with enduring mishappenings of the kind. One time he’d even almost fallen off a cliff, and on another had almost drowned in the Mediterranean as he sailed through a storm (that was why he’d gotten ill).

But now, Penelope had deemed them not so reasonable after all. She was right; on encountering every obstacle today, he’d been granted the perfect, sensible excuse to delay his return home. He could’ve called it a day after toiling the exhaustions of repairing his curricle. He could’ve spent the night in the warmth of a fine London hotel room instead of braving the storm. 

And yet, none of these things he did. He knew, there and then, that there was something more to all this than just his adventurous disposition. 

This was different—it was almost reckless, irrational.

He needed to be here, that much he knew. At first he'd supposed it was because he was set on making it to dinner. But when he realized he’d already missed it, something still beckoned him to come—and so compellingly, that he felt the need to go through the storm and risk his health all over again.

The worst part of it: Colin had no idea what this something was.

He looked at Penelope, who, staring at a spot on the wall, seemed to be lost in her own thoughts. 

He understood none of the things that currently plagued him, and it mildly terrified him. He did not want to indulge any more thought to the endeavor of making sense of it, for he wasn’t so certain he would like whatever answer awaited him.

Penelope turned to gaze at him, so soft and so warm. “So,” she said, “you did all that, to be here?”

Colin sighed. “I know. It was rather stupid.”

He expected her to agree, to confirm his series of actions to be foolish. But Penelope, much to Colin’s surprise, instead broke into a short, breathy chuckle. He stared intently at her for a brief moment, making sure he’d heard it right—and he did. Penelope did laugh at him, for the first time today, and in the oddest moment. 

“Is something funny, Pen?” he asked.

Penelope, smiling, eagerly shook her head. “No, Colin, nothing is.”

He frowned. “Then why did you laugh?” 

“Because,” she answered, “what you did wasn’t stupid, not at all.”

“Only what?” 

Penelope met his eyes. They were so blue Colin would notice it anywhere. “Only,” she said, pausing, “it’s the most Colin thing you have ever done.” 

This took Colin aback. “What does that mean?”

Penelope seemed amused. “I only mean,” she began to explain, “that when you are particularly set on something, as you seemed to be in your desire to make it here, you would do anything to achieve it. And you did.” 

Stupefied by this remark, Colin was silent for a few seconds. “Is that…a good thing?”

She smiled. “It is. At least I think so anyway.” 

Colin’s chest threatened to burst—and it felt like it did, for whatever weight he’d been carrying during this conversation seemed to finally float away.

If what he had done, whatever that was, was good enough for Penelope, then perhaps he didn’t need to supply it with a reason. Perhaps he didn’t need to know why he did the way he did—not yet, at least. Perhaps all that mattered, at the moment, was that he wanted to be home, here in London, and now he was. 

Yet another thing overcame Colin now, but he was past poring over what it meant. He now let himself go, allowed himself to be carried away.

“Pen?” he called. 

Penelope looked at him, her brows raised in anticipation. “Hmm?”

He took a deep breath. “You were wrong, by the way," he said, "when you assumed I would rather be in whatever sunny, warm paradise than London.”

Seemingly caught off guard by this sudden turn of conversation, Penelope was silent. He went on.

“At first it might have indeed been the case, for I’ve longed for nothing but to be away from here, given my last season’s misfortunes regarding...” He briefly stole a glance at her, who could not seem to meet his eyes then. Perhaps the matters surrounding her cousin were difficult for her to talk about, too.

“But in truth,” he resumed, “for all of its rains and unkind winters, I would always rather be here, than anywhere else. When I was coming back home from Greece, I realized I was really, really excited. I felt it again today when I was returning from Norfolk. Something always draws me to come back here—aside from my family and friends, of course.”

Penelope shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Do you...mean Marina?” 

Colin paused in thought. Had he not known better, he would’ve easily confirmed that it was indeed, his past fiancé. He would say that yes, he'd come back to England because he still clung to the fantasies of what might have been a different, better ending for the both of them.

But then again, the reason he could never, in the last year, find the courage to return was because in imagining such daydreams, he knew that disappointing realities would await him here. That he was now back, might perhaps be because he'd begun to no longer depend on such things; it was easier to step back into this place without all those expectations weighing him down.

So no, it was not quite Marina.

He shook his head slowly. “No, Pen. Not her.”

“Well, what is it, then?” Penelope asked quietly. "What is it about London?"

He took a moment to look at her, knowing that the answer to her question was close by, somewhere in his head. But he gave her a sheepish smile, again shaking his head slowly. “I do not know, Pen. I really do not.”

Penelope looked back down at her lap. “Then don’t you think you esteem this city too much by a virtue you don’t even know?” 

Colin shrugged. “Maybe. Either that, or you give it too little credit.”

Penelope looked back up, but she no longer said a word.

“You say you find this place horrid,” Colin continued. “But if I can’t help going back to it, then perhaps there's something I’m seeing about it that you are not.”

Still, Penelope didn’t speak, only stared at him.

“Perhaps that’s all you have to do, Pen,” he said. “See it the way I see it. For I…I dearly like London.”

Colin didn’t know why, but he felt like this had to be said. 

“I want you to understand that, Pen,” he insisted when she didn’t speak. “Tell me you understand.”

Penelope, her mouth slightly agape, searched his face as if it were uncharted land and she was trying to map it. 

“I do, Colin,” she finally said. “I understand.” 

“And one last thing,” Colin said, shocked by how he was just unable to stop. “I know I already apologized earlier, but allow me to do it again, because, well, that was a bad apology. So, again, I apologize for missing dinner, Pen.” 

Penelope’s eyes glimmered as she looked into his. She smiled. “You are forgiven, Colin.” 

“Are we good?” he asked again. “For real, this time?”

Penelope chuckled. “We’re exquisite,” she answered, and Colin knew she meant it. 

It must have been the fire, but Colin then felt perfectly warm. He was delighted. He was pleased. He was friends with Penelope again. But before he could even say anything back, his sister had already entered the room.

“Look who decided to arrive. Hello, brother. I see you’ve run into Penelope.”

Instantly he rose from the sofa. “El. Hello.” When she only narrowed her eyes he said, “I suppose you want an explanation for my absence. And you’ll get it.”

Eloise, her hair down and finally in her sleeping gown, crossed her arms. “Is it a good one?” She looked over his shoulder at Penelope, who was now also standing up. “Pen, is it a good one?”

Penelope chuckled softly. “I believe that is for you to judge.” 

Eloise raised a brow. “That does not bode well for you, brother.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Colin answered.

“You look dreadful,” she said, looking him up and down. “I suppose your explanation can wait in the morning. Had you better not rest?”

At the mention of that, fatigue instantly overcame Colin’s body. After all he’d done, he was bound to feel exhausted. 

He turned to catch a glimpse of Penelope before facing Eloise again. “But I’m perfectly fine.” 

As if on cue, he yawned.

“Oh please,” Eloise grumbled. “I’d just convinced Mother to go to bed. Don’t make me do it to you, too.”

Colin faced Penelope and gave her a tight-lipped smile. She smiled back at him. 

“I think I better listen to my sister," he finally conceded, "whom I’m much older than by the way, lest we forget—” he shot Eloise a look “—but I suppose that is my punishment for missing dinner.” 

Eloise rolled her eyes. 

“Anyway,” he went on, still addressing Penelope, “I shall see you soon?” 

Penelope nodded. “I’m looking forward to it.” 

He took a bow. “Good night, Pen.” He faced Eloise. “Good night, El.” 

As he walked alone towards his bedchamber, he heard the faint murmurs of Penelope’s and his sister’s chatter bounce off the walls. 

He smiled.

It was good to be back.