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Chapter Text

Once again, Colin Bridgerton found himself delivering a surprise to his mother.

The road in front of him did not seem long; all that was needed was for him to cross the street, and he would be faced with the front doors of his childhood home. The task was rather simple and mundane. Yet, he felt an odd mixture of apprehension and elation, for even though the day gave him the impression of being quite ordinary, it was anything but that. A common occurrence for the Bridgertons, Colin noted with a small laugh to himself.

With eight children, his mother surely bade farewell to any moment of boredom and tranquility somewhere around Eloise’s birth, for she was the most mischievous child from the day she learned how to crawl and hold tightly to any of her siblings’ legs as if not to miss out on any second of fun they might be having without her. Eloise’s curiosity could not allow for it to happen.

To this very day, she is holding onto that inquisitive tendency and remarks it has served her well. After all, it had led her to befriending Lady Whistledown. No matter how late she was in realizing it, the mere fact served its purpose - It had confirmed her belief that she was right to challenge the role society had forced upon her. Such a venture led her to embrace the freedom of thought and expression her brothers have always enjoyed in life.

No one ever truly advised her against it within her family circle, so it was obvious to Eloise that there was nothing remotely wrong with being a part of every conversation and sharing her view on any possible matter without restraint. If anyone objected to it, she found the fault lay with them. Mother never tried to alter her nature. Even when she tended to reprimand her, she welcomed her daughter's perseverance in finding the answer to any question her inquisitive mind demanded knowledge of.

Later on, after the tender disposition Francesca greeted her with, Violet was introduced to the rambunctious duo Gregory and Hyacinth. Such a combination of eight lively characters, for Anthony, Benedict, himself, and Daphne were not to be overlooked, all quite expressive in their opinions and interests, certainly made a mother’s nature irrevocably altered and adaptable to any sort of unpredictable situation.

Nevertheless, this will be the third time Colin will be responsible for gifting her with unexpected news. Fourth, if his first engagement is to be counted. He was now often reminded of it by his mother as a lark, for now, his life was settled and harmonious. A fact that thrilled her to no end. Even with the knowledge that such a development came with a few revelations of its own.

The first one being the secret identity of a young woman Violet had known and loved since her childhood. Being a wallflower herself, she knew the world's perception of a quiet and soft-spoken Penelope Featherington to be misconstrued, to put it mildly. She had clung to the hope that Penelope would one day find the love and tender embrace that would show her she was deserving of every kindness, devotion, and care—things Violet knew were absent in her own household. She could not help but observe just how right her presence felt in her own home.

Ever since the day Colin had been thrown off from his saddle and fell on his rear with the inadvertent assistance of Penelope’s yellow bonnet, Violet hoped the child's intrigue at such a devoted family would be replaced by a sense of friendliness with her chaotic brood. By the time Eloise all but dragged her into their drawing room, insisting they would spend the day in the nursery together, Violet’s firm grasp onto the hope that Penelope would one day belong within the Bridgerton family unit was formed.

Colin couldn’t say he was surprised to learn about his mother’s musings of the past, for he could scarcely remember his days without Penelope in them, even in thought. She had always been there, woven within their tumultuous harmony.

Lady Whistledown was a part of that.

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Learning about her daughter-in-law’s secret was a shock Colin hoped to mitigate by offering any explanation his mother may need in order to understand Penelope’s motives in writing about the Bridgertons. He was, after all, one of Violet’s children mentioned in Whistledown in more than praise. His name was tied in a grave scandal he was unaware of until his mother showed him the latest edition of the venerated column - on the fateful day, he was bound to elope to Gretna Green with Miss Thompson. Lady Crane, that is.

Knowing his wife as well as he did, he trusted the letter he delivered to be worded with much care and attention to every question his mother might have while reading it, no matter how fleeting. The expanse of devotion and love Pen held for her was even more significant than he could guess, for he knew Violet’s dedication to her family members to be a true rarity amongst the Ton - the answer to his address and plea to Miss Cowper was proof enough.

The coldness of character she possessed was a reflection of the house and family members that entrapped her within its walls, which Eloise described as museum-like. Being treated like an ornamental doll by her parents and having all but one purpose in life was surely not an easy burden to bear. Yet, it could never be reason enough for Colin to condone the sort of behavior Cressida still reverted to even after every opportunity she has been granted to better herself and, thus, her future.

Penelope’s very nature proved to him that adversity is no excuse for any form of abuse towards another human being. It is true that her words in Whistledown could be cutting and sharp, he had first-hand experience with that, but knowing Pen and the motives behind her actions helped him understand that a helpful hand in life can come from the places we least expect it to and in the form that is not always appealing.

However it came about, her interference saved him at the very last minute from a future he would be quick to regret. A future that would prevent him from finding what he has always craved in life with the person who was, as luck and irony would have it, already closest to him. A dream of a fulfilled and happy family life, he was fortunate enough to witness his mother forming into a reality with her kind thoughts and gestures.

That was a life well worth living, for within it, every fallen tear was soothed by a comforting embrace and the joyous sound of laughter. Every sorrow was noticed, addressed, and processed. Every one of her children was given encouragement to express their opinions and interests. To express rather than suppress their characters in accordance with society's expectations.

Penelope, as usual, said it best while using only a few carefully chosen words - Violet’s nurturing nature is as healing on a person’s soul as it is unusual within the Ton’s stifling circle of rules and regulations. A welcoming contrast that benefited all of those who surrounded her and those who will follow in the footsteps of the much beloved Bridgerton matriarch.

Becoming aware of Violet’s endless love, patience, and understanding through the eyes of every newly arrived member of the family fold was truly a comforting thought that staved off and mitigated the impact of any grievances life has bestowed upon his family. She was the voice of reason and the beat of a heart that led every single one of them through their trials and tribulations that seemed insurmountable at the time of their occurrence.

Indeed, their father left them in the best and most capable hands that will guide them for many years to come. Her very essence was trusting and certain of her children’s choices and desires, for she knew their hearts would always lead them to the best possible outcome.

The past seasons proved to Colin that, despite his self-assurance, his confidence could falter under the cruel tests he had faced. Still, even in the most challenging moments, he has faced thus far, the only thing he never ever allowed himself to question or doubt was his mother's dedication to their family and their happy and harmonious life. All she wanted was for them to find the same kind of joy she was gifted with when she met Edmund Bridgerton.

Her greatest wish was ingrained within Colin since the earliest days of his recollections, a sort of amulet he cherished with great pride that guided every major desire he ever had and every decision he ever had to make. Because of this, approaching life with a positive outlook never lost its true appeal to Colin, even in the darkest days of loneliness when he feared Penelope’s regard could forever be lost to him. Those were the days he was reluctant to remember.

Yet, however odd it may seem, he cherished them, for within them, he had found his strength of resolve and character returning back to him in full force, after the grueling phase of aimlessness that overtook him and latched onto him such great heaviness that weighted down his every move all of which furthered his feeling of being adrift amidst the roaring waves of emotions that raged within him.

All of the humor and lightness that permeated his very essence was brought to the foreground and woven back within his very core, where it has always belonged. Sharing a pure moment of joy and happiness with Penelope during that eventful carriage ride restored him back to his former self, the Colin she has always truly accepted, wanted, and loved. The Colin he fought against last season with every tool the Ton has placed at his disposal.

Being present for Penelope’s revelation to his mother was of the utmost importance to Colin, for he knew she would accept and understand his wife’s actions after the shock of the news dissipated. Nonetheless, the speed at which it all transpired took him by surprise. However, after she explained to him her long standing conviction that Penelope was hiding even more from the world to avoid its cruelty, Colin realized that his mother saw Whistledown for what it truly was: Penelope’s way of voicing her opinion.

Violet noticed the column had done something even more remarkable and, she believed, unexpected even by Penelope herself - it gave her a voice, the importance she deserved and left denied by Society and, to make matters worse, her own family.

Being so devoted to her family, his mother was the first among them to find joy in spite of the gossip, paying it no heed as long as her children’s wellbeing was taken into account and given every opportunity to come to fruition. Anthony may grumble and complain, at first. Not Mother. She will reprimand if needed, and, at the same time, she will fiercely continue holding onto the hope that every problem will resolve itself in their favor.

With that in mind, Colin knew the state of bliss was bound to return and remain in their new household - there was nothing left to disturb their sense of unity after the storm had passed.

His belief and most fervent hope has become an answered prayer.

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In place of casting judgment and aspersions, the Ton should truly be grateful for such entertainment his family provides them with during every social season. Gifting them with the identity of their revered columnist was not a choice Colin would’ve made, for he thought them highly undeserving of such knowledge, but Penelope was certain it was the only action that would curtail any notion of further blackmail, for Cressida is not to be trusted - neither with money nor with such a piece of sensitive information. It was placed in the wrong hands, and Penelope wanted it removed from their grasp post-haste.

Witnessing how her address to the Queen has unfolded, Colin could not deny it was a prudent choice that has left them to live their lives in peace and contentment. No one dared to go against the will and decree of Her Majesty, as of yet.

Soon the family’s focus shifted to yet another revelation. This time around, Colin knew all the fault would be placed at his feet, and he was elated by that. Mother could not help but exclaim once again:

"COLIN BRIDGERTON!"

Penelope’s cheeks were colored in the crimson hue of utter embarrassment for being placed on display in front of a woman she has held dear to her heart as a second mother. No matter how many times both Colin and Violet told her, no one dared to find blame with her, and the numerous exasperated glances Violet was giving her third son, Pen’s thrill at impending motherhood was reticent in appearing in her mother-in-law’s presence for the duration of the visit that aimed to inform her of the news.

Colin’s mother-in-law was another story entirely. Her thrill was all but shouted for the whole of Grosvenor Square to hear, or at the very least half of it. After the initial blink or two of surprise at her daughter, she was quick to mention that Penelope may have shocked her with the news had it not been for the fact that the revelation of her being Lady Whistledown could not be surpassed in that regard.

Mentions of a grandson were fast to follow, for as it turned out, Lady Featherington was in dire need of him. To Colin’s bewilderment, his arrival was most urgent. In spite of Peneloepe’s assured insistence to her mother that one of her sisters would grant her wish, Portia was relentless in addressing the child they were expecting solely as the new Lord Featherington.

Such a notion filled Colin with dread and so, on a reflex, he ran to Anthony for any advice on how to run a titled household. His older brothers teased him about it, calling Lady Featherington’s belief a mere wishful thinking, but Colin was adamant that he was in dire need of assistance. After all, Penelope, as would turn out, kept all of her earnings under the floorboards of her childhood bedroom, so she could not be his sole source of knowledge on how best to manage one’s funds.

Managing for himself as he traveled the world was all well and good. He knew how to do that, but the challenge he was probably facing was the management of funds on a much larger scale - a whole barony to oversee and take care of until his son came of age. Time was of the essence, fast approaching, with only two outcomes available. Colin liked to be prepared for both possibilities as best as he was able, and so, with his brother's help and Penelope’s encouragement and trust in him, he set out to be the best pupil Anthony would ever have until the moment he would have to impart his vast knowledge on his son Edmund, the 10th Viscount Bridgerton.

As luck would have it, Portia’s speculation was indeed correct. Anthony and Benedict both joked they must ask her where best to place their next investments.

After a few months of anticipation and elation, Colin and Penelope were introduced to their son, Elliott.

The new Baron Featherington.

Having to move from their beloved Bloomsbury residence was a hard adjustment for them both, no matter how much the fact they were to be surrounded by their family sounded appealing. Giving Portia only a few weeks to accept the fact she will have to give over the management of Featherington House to them both seemed a grueling endeavor of a battle won by the spouses by the mere fact they have, by divine provision, granted her most ardent desire in having an heir to the barony.

Upon arrival, Colin immediately immersed himself in Featherington ledgers, which became the source of constant headaches and disputes with Portia, while Penelope took upon herself the task of ridding the house of any bad memory she was ever gifted within the vibrant color palette of its walls and furnishings. It was a time of refurbishment, both within the household ledgers and its decorations.

For what seemed like an eternity, Portia fought a war on two fronts. After a while, she accepted her sole role within the house as a family member and, above all else, a grandmother to the new Lord Featherington. Watching her dote on the child made for an interesting development to observe, a bonding between a mother and her youngest daughter.

Colin took great joy in witnessing them both embracing this new phase of their relationship. Shaken to its very core by Penelope’s marriage and her writings, the relationship was in dire need of some major refurbishment of its own, for the roots were now much firmer.

They were, at last, formed on acceptance, openness and honesty.

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All of these thoughts ran through his mind while he took the shortest travel of his life. With a gift for his mother safely tucked under his arm, he hoped she would find joy in his latest creation half as much as she dotes on his beloved son, for he knew nothing could ever compare to the thrill and adoration he himself feels for the cherubic wonder that graces their lives.

Today was an important day for his young family.

He became a published author just this morning.

His traveling has gifted him with a knowledge of the world and an understanding of its beauty he was most eager to share with anyone who would, hopefully, find joy in the descriptions he was careful in crafting through his many voyages. A secret task of transforming his journals into a novel he had undertaken with his wife’s editorial assistance was now available for the whole of Mayfair to peruse. The publisher had delivered his first novel a few moments ago, and he knew he had to be the one to surprise his mother, yet again. Before any of his siblings got a hold of the book or any information about it, for that matter.

The full view of the Bridgerton House was now upon him. No one was expecting him today, for both his mother, Benedict, Gregory, and Hyacinth were expected soon at their own home to read the very first edition of Penelope Bridgerton’s first column, set to be distributed today.

Still, Humboldt's appearance and greeting were no surprise as he found himself being welcomed as soon as his foot had stepped on the stairs leading to the house's main entrance. Like mother, the butler was certainly used to all and every change of plan, however slight, being possible at the house where such unpredictable members resided.

After telling him to inform his mother he would be waiting for her in his personal study room, Colin started to climb the stairs. What better place to inform Mother of the news she now has a published novelist in the family than the very room she used to find him writing in? With a smile on his face and his every step filled with purpose, he rounded a corner that led him to his destination. The sanctuary within his childhood home.

He opened the door and made the final step to cross the threshold.

When the door closed behind him he was greeted by familiar surroundings and a moment he had never witnessed or even heard of before.

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.

“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.

“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.

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.

Chapter Text

Unbeknownst to the most outlandish residents of Grosvenor Square, the revered voice of Mayfair was hidden within the confines of their yellow walls, wrapped in their aspirations for significance and standing among their peers. Its auspicious beginning soon garnered attention that gained importance even the Queen of England took notice of and welcomed as entertainment, transforming it, with joint effort, into a lively game of chess whose pieces were none other than the members of her most esteemed Ton.

Penelope’s steps were feather-light, slow-paced, and made with great care. She was aided by the last remnants of the night and her trusted peacock blue cloak. Tiptoeing within the stillness of the house, she was emulating the main trait of a bird whose color was covering her completely at present - she was flaunting her extraordinary achievement - Lady Whistledown.

Left mesmerized by her presence, Colin could not help but utter the only word that rang out like the loudest of bells inside his perturbed mind on this strangest of nights in his existence. He was certain that the mere sound of it falling from his lips would allay the barrage of troubling thoughts that left him feeling bereft of sanity. Nothing else he could think of thus far seemed helpful. He knew that singular word to be marvelous and miraculous, like the person it belonged to.

“Pen!”

No echo followed her name in its spacious surroundings, and yet Penelope’s reaction was visceral and akin to sustaining a gun wound - her obscured body displayed a state of instant shock, left hand gripping the banister as if holding on for dear life. As if petrified to turn around and face the consequences of her secrecy unearthed by the sound of a voice she has never heard before. It was the most aberrant moment Colin had ever witnessed, and that included hearing the voice of his dead and buried father-in-law but a few seconds earlier.

He knew his wife better than he knew himself. He was familiar with the meaning behind every frown or smirk upon her face. He loved every smile that ever graced her lips and the laugh that left them. He knew her pain was caused by others or himself. Even when she tried to hide it away and nurse it in solitude, as was her custom of the years gone by, he was there to share in her pain and reassure her that she could rely on him for support. He was hers to depend upon - and so she did. With an offer of his gentle embrace, welcoming silence, and understanding, Penelope learned to share every thought and emotion she used to feel no one would or could care about. Colin did. Immersed in all that she was, he aimed and achieved vast and detailed knowledge of the most beloved person in his heart. The only one who, in turn, cared to know, accept, understand, and truly cherish him. The one he was proud to belong to in heart, body, and soul.

Yet, there it was. Another novelty. It would seem they never disappear in regard to his beloved wife. Her shock was unlike anything he had ever seen from her before. The most frightening part was that this reaction had been evoked by her name, abbreviated into an endearment now solely used by him. At least, it should have been, assuming Eloise finally understood the meaning of the word forbidden, which, in this context, meant never.

Not to be outdone by the scene he had just witnessed, Colin himself was left utterly alarmed by the sound that came out of his mouth. He was certain his mouth moved to form her name with great excitement and the same vocal inflections as always.

However, the sound of the voice that shook them both to their very core did not belong to him.

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Out of all the things he had heard in his life, only one single sentence made him petrified like never before or since of the present and the future it foretold for him:

Penelope may be getting a proposal tonight.

He never, ever, wanted to experience such a moment of loss and solitude, all shrouded in fear so numbing it would’ve left him completely and irrevocably frozen in time and grief had he not acted upon his instincts, devotion and love for Pen.

Now, the sound of her very name left them both in a similar state of fear that can only be born out of pure reflex. He could not believe his ears, so he tried to demonstrate to both of them that they had misheard him. The first time such a thing had happened to a Bridgerton, he was sure of it.

Nevertheless, perseverance was a trait that somehow proved ingrained and oddly fruitful within all of Lady Violet’s children. Colin chose to act upon it. Knowing and, for the first time ever, hoping it would be helpful to them both in this loop of bizarre space and time they were surely locked within. There was no other explanation that could be logical or edifying to Colin at present. Even though the mere thread of logic seems to have not crossed the threshold with him when he thought he was going to enter his private study at Bridgerton House, but instead he found himself facing the walls of his current residence, apparently lost in some semblance of the past, like himself and his wife.

He opened his mouth once again and uttered her name.

“Pen!”

Repeating the most revered word he knows did not result in a desired outcome. It still sounded out of place. Foreign, despite the fact it was used in the benediction of the person he knew to be his guiding light, safe harbor, and, above all else, his home.

Penelope started to turn around. Even though her action appeared to be done in the blink of an eye, Colin felt like the whole of eternity could be placed within that moment of elation, expectation, uncertainty, and permanently present sense of fear that surely enveloped them both.

Even though he has lost his sense of time, time could not seem to allow itself such a luxury. In a way, it seemed to be of great help to Colin. The relentless presence of dawn allowed him to gaze upon Penelope’s face with attention to every detail that did not correspond to the one he had left in the safety of their home when this whole merry-go-round of events befell him.

Her hair gave off an impression of embers being stoked by the dawn that permeated through the windows of the house with a tenderness befitting a caress. With it, the color of Pen’s hair gained in intensity, as if slowly being awoken by the touch of light that fell upon it. The blue shade of the hood of the cape gracing her head like a crown looked rather like a wave of water failing to douse the persistent flames of her rebellious tresses. Those errant strands that framed her face were fashioned into tight curls, a style she no longer favored.

A style reminiscent of the days of her youth, of her debut into society. Days of the past.

Even with all of that peculiar evidence standing right in front of him, the greatest shock to Colin was the look in his wife’s eyes - they seemed arrested in fear - as if she was facing an utter stranger. An unknown person with an unfamiliar voice. They corresponded with the sense of fright that was engulfing her whole delicate and graceful form.

A voice belonging to Colin Bridgerton, for they were the only two people frozen at this moment in time. Yet, the voice was unfamiliar to Penelope, his beloved wife.

The voice was unfamiliar to himself, as well.

That thought forced Colin to blink, even though he was frightened the motion might disrupt her presence and the form in which she chose to appear before him in this twisted dream he felt unable to awake from.

His reaction prompted Pen to repeat the action she just witnessed him making. Maybe she thought she was dreaming, too. When she opened her eyes, she seemed more composed and more herself. The fear in her eyes made way for curiosity. Testing the waters, as it were, she moved her right hand this time and, once again, gripped the banister for balance or assurance, he was unsure which - probably both. She gulped and opened her mouth to speak, fearless and resolved to ask the most logical question one was bound to ponder when faced with a mystery. Still, it was a question he never expected to hear falling from her lips. No state he found himself lost in could ever justify it, for he could always count on them knowing the other in ways no science could ever explain. Yet, the question left him feeling bereft, utterly stripped of his sense of self.

“Who are you?”

Colin was lost for words. He was lost for thoughts. His heart skipped a beat and started pounding with the might of a thousand drums resonating in his ears.

His Penelope truly did not recognize him.

He could only stare at her with a torrent of emotions that were too fast to grasp and hold onto. With a velocity that left him frozen, they transformed from awe to loss. All that was left was the incessant beating of drums, making his ears bleed in tandem with his stricken heart.

Before he could find the strength in his tormented mind to form even a simple endearment to address her, they were both alerted to a new presence that was predisposed to break the painful state of uncertainty they seemed trapped within.

The light of a lone candle was fast approaching, akin to a sword that was intent on cutting through the tension and the severity of the moment with the utmost precision and great success.

The spell was bound to be broken.

In spite of her curiosity and his pain.

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Left with no other recourse than to wait for this inevitable development to occur, Colin and Penelope, both fell into a trance of observing the battle between the rays of light the dawn was casting and the fast-approaching shimmering glow of the candle that was resting on a small candlestick held in a firm grip by a person dressed in white. The state of its night clothes revealed to them those resolved steps were made by a woman. Comparable to a ghost, she was stepping out from the faraway corner of the house, still veiled in darkness, into their sphere under the light. Her manner of walking denoted a sense of urgency.

When her face came to focus, it became crystal clear why this very woman would feel the need to inspect the house at this ungodly hour, for she was most definitely aware of any sound this house had ever made. Even the sound of its silence, however odd that notion might seem.

She could not be accused of not being vigilant.

Anything but that could be an apt description for a very dedicated Mrs. Varley.

After all, she was the last person to walk these halls every night. She could not allow for anything to happen without her being made aware of it in an instant. She considered it her duty. An inherent trait any self-respecting and loyal housekeeper should possess if she is to serve her mistress and respective household with adherence demanded out of her by their position in society.

She was now looking at them with exasperation etched into her stern features.

“What is the meaning of this?” she uttered as if in a rush to get the house to its natural rhythm, no matter how much that task seemed impossible with every passing day, even to her own sense of logic, within a household the Featherington occupied.

“Explain yourselves and do it with great haste,” glancing up at the steps of the stairs Penelope’s feet were now firmly rooted upon, she raised her brows. “Honestly, Miss Penelope… Am I to tell your Mother I have found you wandering the house at the break of a new day? Today, of all days!”

“I... I am sorry to have alarmed you, Mrs. Varley. My mind could not stop imagining all of the tasks that were expected of me henceforth and deemed crucial for a successful day, keeping its importance in the forefront of my thoughts. I’ve concluded that a breath of fresh air inside the confines of our garden and a glass of warm milk is bound to settle my nerves,” Penelope expelled that last sentence out of her system in a rush, as was demanded of her.

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Colin was stuck processing this new information and unforeseen twists of fate, for he was now left flabbergasted by the mere presence of Mrs. Varley in her night attire, gazing at him with an inquisitive look that promised a forthcoming chastisement. Blinking yet again, for that seemed to be the reflex of his body to the barrage of events he was forced to live through, Colin finally decided that this alien past he was firmly lodged within could not be attributed to any dream whatsoever.

Without a shadow of a doubt, he was faced with his new reality.

One that apparently included getting a reprimand by his housekeeper while she was in a state of undress no employer ever expected to encounter.

Colin’s attention was drawn back to his wife and her flustered state. He was intrigued by her explanation. He could tell she was fibbing. Somehow, that was not the most important part of her statement, the morsel of a surprise resided within the combination of her appearance and the sound of her voice. Shy and tender, it reminded him, once again, of Penelope in the year of her debut - 1813 - to be exact. It could not be possible, could it? He could not have returned to live out the year that harbored many of his regrets and errors in judgment?

Such a thing was impossible. Surely and utterly impossible.

Penelope’s recent words begged to differ. The words of his deceased father-in-law did so as well. The mere mention of Marina Thompson’s name solidified all of the evidence into place.

His wife was faced with an important day, she has said. Repeating to himself the words she has used and remembering Marina’s visit that was pointed out earlier in the night, it became unavoidably evident to Colin that the day in question was truly none other than the day of Pen’s presentation at Court. He realized that it was the day of Daphne’s debut as well and promptly turned to face the nearest window as if it could transport him to his childhood home and thus provide him with every answer he fervently desired in order to solve the conundrum he found himself in at the present.

“Present…” he muttered to himself. A motion that did not escape the women’s attention.

Once again, Pen was looking at him with a questioning stare, obviously unable to place either his visage or his voice. Roaming her eyes over his face, she was looking and failing to find any sort of a clue, no matter how vague, that could answer for his presence under the roof of her home.

Mrs. Varley, however, deemed it imperative to remind them all of the fact that her question was left unanswered by both parties to whom it was addressed to. At that, it was yet to be answered in any satisfying manner that could account for the disruption of a schedule brimming with errands to be solved with great speed and precision if the whole debuting matter of the three misses is to be achieved with any success she could look proudly upon on a later, less taxing, day.

“I asked to be given an explanation. You have yet to provide me with one, young man,” Varley said. “As a matter of fact, I do not believe I am even aware of your name…”

How many times could a person be frozen in astonishment without it leaving any permanent damage to his psyche, Colin wondered. His wife's probing stare was formed into a question with the aid of their housekeeper. He was once again asked to procure a name for himself.

The one true answer could not be adequate, for he, apparently, sounded and looked nothing like himself. Penelope’s reaction to his presence was more than enough proof of that painful fact, for if she did not know him, he would have well and truly lost a key part of himself. One he had no luxury to lament over at this very moment.

Acting on impulse, one of his most persistent traits, he hoped it would aid him in finding a quick and satisfying result. After all, it wasn’t often a man had the chance to name himself so many years into adulthood. He hoped to do himself and his family justice.

Ruminating on his family made him turn to Pen once again, for she was the nucleus of his world. As ever, her eyes were like an anchor calming his erratic state of mind, quieting the roar of the waves that threatened to pull his soul asunder, leaving it in tatters in the dark depths of the sea’s abyss. Their azure coloring was enchanting, a true privilege to gaze upon. His world. Color of the peaceful and clear sky that foretold him the future of joy and contentment. A future of bliss and love. All enclosed in the coloring of his wife’s eyes.

Coloring inherited by their beloved son.

“Elliott” he announced with assurance, wanting to keep their son close to them in this new reality he doesn’t exist within.

One word was enough for Penelope to blink yet again, this time in acceptance. The name seemed to meet with her approval. It was to be expected, considering she was the one who was adamant in choosing it for their son in honor of his aunt and godmother, Eloise.

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Considering she still proclaimed not to want any involvement in the institution of marriage and childbearing, Eloise was surprisingly the perfect choice for the child’s godmother, much to Portia’s misgivings. She was, at once, moved to arrange his academic pursuits, for he was a male with a title to boot. She was certain he needed all of the knowledge she could provide him with, for there was no one better at scouring through books for answers than herself.

His father was bound to explain the wonders of the world to him; his mother, all of the different people living within it.

Anthony will show him the responsibilities that resided within a title that befell him, Benedict will show him how to capture the magic of everyday life with the help of one’s imagination, Daphne is bound to impose upon him the importance of family unity, Francesca will show him the value in solitude within the chaos of its multitude, Gregory and Hyacinth are prone to demonstrate the great excitement that lies in keeping a firm grasp onto a mischievous and curious nature any Bridgerton is bound to possess by birth.

Eloise, however, was determined to teach him that all of that knowledge the family would impart upon him would serve him to an even greater extent if he remained steadfast in asking as many questions as possible. No one will dare to deny him an answer. He was a man, after all. Even if he was yet utterly unaware of that fact and the power it awarded him with.

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“My name is Elliott,” he repeated in that strange voice that was coming out of his mouth.

Mrs. Varley huffed out a vexed sigh at that.

“That is all well and good, Elliott. However, I cannot call you by your Christian name now, can I? None of us can,” she pointed out, looking up at Penelope.

“Yes indeed, Mrs. Varley” he agreed with a nod.

“See? You are familiar with my last name, as is expected,” she said under her breath. “It is only fair we are made aware of your own. You were born with one, after all.”

Being reborn in this new present of the days gone by, Colin looked at Pen’s still form, hoping it would provide him with another answer; aided by the miraculous intervention of their bond he was certain no reality was able to break.

Awestruck by her eyes once again, he was drawn to another shade of blue that enveloped her in its cocoon, the peacock blue of her cloak - Lady Whistledown’s palpable trait of distinction roaming the streets of Mayfair unperceived by her devoted readership. Following the edges of the cloak, his eyes landed on her left hand, which was now hidden within it.

He was reminded of the day he gifted her with an engagement ring, entwining their lives for all eternity. Her fingers were covered in ink stains, giving away the greatest hint to her secret - one he promptly covered with a tender caress and a self-assured placement of a ring he had chosen with great care and attention to detail, for to him she looked like the most beautiful yet delicate flower in full bloom. The mere thought of that day made him chuckle on an impulse with the unmistakable sound of glee. Quickly schooling his features and clearing his throat, Colin said:

“Quill. Elliott Quill, pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Well... Mr. Quill, I will certainly be having words with Mr. Briarly as to his error in not informing me of your arrival in a timely manner. We were indeed expecting you, the household must not suffer in any regard due to these extremely unorthodox circumstances.”

Briarly? Whatever does a former butler of the Featherington House have to do with him? He has been living out his days in happy and well deserved retirement ever since Elliott has inherited the title, with his role entrusted to Colin’s former valet Dunwoody, miraculously without any protests from Portia… Honestly, will the wonders of this day ever cease?!

“I am certain you were made aware of where your room is situated. Nevertheless, I would prefer it if you would indulge me and follow my lead,” turning her back to them, she paused for a moment, turning her gaze up at Penelope once again “I implore you to return to your rooms, Miss, the day's events are nearly upon us.”

Penelope swiftly nodded and sent a small smile his way, “Allow me to welcome you to Featherington House, Mr. Quill. I hope your stay with us will prove pleasant.”

All Colin could do was send her a reassuring nod of his own, certain a silent pact was forming between them. That would have to suffice for now. He was granted with one of her smiles.

All will be well. He was sure of it.

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Mrs. Varley cleared her throat, “Right this way, Mr. Quill. Time is of the essence, as you certainly know.”

He had no other option but to adhere to her request. No matter how much he already felt the loss of Pen’s presence, even though she was a few steps away, climbing the stairs again with great care.

With more seconds that passed by, Colin was getting closer to the servant quarters of the house. Perhaps Mrs. Varley was taking him to Briarly so that he could be properly welcomed and taken into one of the guest rooms. Following behind Mrs. Varley made Colin remember that he has gotten well acquainted with the staff quarters as of late, for he has undertaken on himself a complete refurbishment and modernization of their rooms. His father-in-law has been neglectful in that regard as well.

“You truly shouldn’t bother yourself, Mrs. Varley. I am well aware of the layout of the House.”

“I am glad to hear you are a fast learner, for it will serve you well in the days that are to come. I wouldn’t put it past his Lordship to grace us with some surprise that will force us to swiftly adapt and alter our approach to our rather hectic employment schedule,” Mrs. Varley said with conviction.

Colin’s step faltered.

“Excuse me... I thought I misheard you. You did not mention employment, perchance?”

“Well, of course, I did, Mr. Quill,” the housekeeper’s brow started to raise in alarm. “After all, what other topic of discussion could there be between a housekeeper and a footman?”

A FOOTMAN??

His mind was playing tricks on him, Colin was certain of it. Mrs. Varley has confused him with a footman… Still, she has addressed him as such with great assuredness, thus, she was most definitely not the one who was in the wrong.

Colin Bridgerton has become a footman, lost within the tangled web of the past in his own home. No one could dream of such a thing. Not even him.

This was his new reality.

Repeating that notion in the confines of his confused mind made him crave for a bed to rest his weary bones. He craved it with an intensity that rivaled the infernal sound of the drums returning with a vengeance to pound their beat in his ears.

He has become Elliott Quill. A footman in the Featherington House.

Penelope smiled at him. He had Elliott’s name to remind him of all that truly mattered.

His family will be whole again, no matter what happens next.

There was no other alternative.

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“Sadly, there will be no time for rest. There never is when the household is in an uproar of this magnitude, I am afraid,” Mrs. Varley returned to conversing with him in a more relaxed manner. “Since we are short of staff,” the housekeeper said, gazing at the door at the end of the corridor, “this chamber with a solitary bed will be placed at your disposal. A true luxury all of us are aforded with these days, to tell you the truth, for the staff numbers are reduced to bare minimum." After that unexpected statement pertaining to household mismanagement, Mrs. Varley pointed out the obvious. "The time is scarce, so you’ll only have but a few moments to freshen up before Mr. Briarly gives you your tasks for the day.”

What does a footman do aside from fetching and carrying refreshments and food to the members of the house and their guests? That was the extent of his knowledge, Colin concluded. It would not be hard to manage, even in this version of the Featherington House management he was unfamiliar with.

“The main rules remain the same,” Mrs. Varley continued.

“Rules?”

“Yes, of course. No presumption of grandeur will be tolerated on your part pertaining to your sex. You are to show me the same respect and courtesy you will surely grant Mr. Briarly with. In your eyes, we are of the same standing and are to be obeyed with the same haste. Next…”

“There is more?”

“Naturally, there is. We mustn't skip over the most important part of the rules that are to be taken to heart as well as gospel,” Mrs. Varley said, inspecting him with even more sharpness and resolve added to her tone and stare. “You are young, so it is paramount that you are reminded of your standing within this house. You are there to serve. There to answer every task you are given, without having to be reminded or reprimanded over them.”

“Anything else worth noting?”

“Yes! You are young. However, you are not to be seen associating with the young ladies of this house. They are and will remain to be above your station. In this regard as well, no sense of self-importance or idea of joining the family on your part will be tolerated. You may be of an age with those girls, but pray, do not presume yourself their equal,” the housekeeper concluded.

Deciding to leave him alone with his thoughts and hoping he would take well to her kind-natured reminder of the rules the household staff was yet to break under her watchful gaze, Mrs. Varley nodded in the form of goodbye and turned to take her leave. Stopping for nary a moment, she uttered her parting words to Colin:

“Let me say it one more time so it's clear to you, Mr. Quill, joining the family is out of your reach. You’d be prudent to remember it.”

Colin could do nothing other than stare after her retreating form while a single thought ran amok in his perturbed mind:

What would be the safest and fastest way to approach his beloved wife?

After all, Penelope gifted him with a smile and bid him a warm welcome. That was a sure sign of luck smiling upon him and proof enough that one sole thing was never to be doubted or brought in question, no matter his circumstances. One simple and most important thing:

Wherever Penelope was, Colin Bridgerton found it to be his home.

Chapter Text

Considering any room as a place of rest without Penelope’s graceful presence occupying it felt blasphemous to Colin. It felt sacrilegious. Foreign and appalling. Any word that is able to convey a lousy sentiment or emotion would do, for without her by his side, any step Colin made felt wobbly, devoid of assurance and purpose. Any room he entered or occupied felt hollow, deprived of windows for her sunshine to seep into.

As much as she detested the color of the Sun due to her mother’s garish fashion tastes, it truly was the most logical association he could make with her caring and bubbly personality. Her regard never failed to make his heart leap with joy and anticipation, for one could never tell what string of words would leave her rosy lips - would it be an observation of some illicit affair that never failed to escape her inquisitive gaze or would her sharp wit think of yet another amusing barb that always made him laugh in earnest, rules of social propriety entirely forgotten.

Failing to recall the rules and customs seemed like no hardship at all. They never truly adhered to any of them in the first place. He could never find the time to even spare them a second thought nowadays, for he was devoted to living every moment of their unity, caring for Pen’s wellbeing and reminiscing about all of those sweet moments from their past when she took notice of him and his troubled, confusing, thoughts that made Colin question his self-worth and importance in the lives of people he held closest to his heart.

Those moments were a testament to her perceptive nature, so marvelously attuned to his inner turmoil, offering him a chance to unburden his soul to her without the fear of judgment or reprimand, if he so desired, or simply a second of much needed stillness amidst the slew of the never ending activities the social season demanded participation for. Pen was always there, close at hand. Always present and alert. Focused on the people who failed to notice her while never losing sight of him.

She truly was his very own ray of sunshine. Her gentle light helped him find his way to contentment and joy in life, encouraging him to treasure and pursue his dreams. It helped him understand that their shared love of the written word made them both even more vulnerable in the eyes of the frivolous high society and susceptible to their preconceived notions of what their artistic endeavors meant for their newly formed family life.

Debauchery was never far away from the mind of the most vocal members of the Ton. Such a lewd word was surely freely used in describing any members of Society whose days did not revolve around idle gossip. Engaging in any kind of pursuits or, Lord forbid, genuine and honest labour outside of the age old prescribed aristocratic comportment manual was the fastest route one could take to find oneself subjected to whispers courtesy of well-behaved and gently bred society - deemed as such by their self-absorbed convictions alone.

Lady Whistledown, now an open secret amongst their tea time trenches, a woman of great ingenuity and bravery, was surely to inspire such opinions amongst her peers. Fairly recent approval from the Queen herself notwithstanding, for even a threat of potential banishment or guillotine from one’s monarch is yet to bar a tongue from wagging in any land known to mankind. The gossip mill, as ever, kept on churning. The Queen all but demanded it, providing oil to keep its wheel in motion in the form of her treasured columnist.

As the scribe’s husband, a keen traveler, a budding novelist, and a recent member of the peerage to boot, Colin knew that the story of their life would be of interest to many, with genuine understanding offered from scarcely a few. Both he and Penelope were glad that was their lot in life.

Prone to following their own rulebook, the Bridgertons never truly conformed to the social mold they found themselves traversing within, the 8th Viscount and Viscountess having placed their attention in nurturing unity and camaraderie amongst their ever-expanding family rather than obsessing over their children’s marriage prospects since their leading strings.

The Ton would no doubt say that their accumulated wealth offered them a moment of reprieve from such concerns. Still, the truth was far simpler - Lord Edmund and Lady Violet Bridgerton wanted nothing but what they had found in a marriage for every one of their eight children - a love that was thrilling.

In the moment of great urgency and uncertainty in his relationship with Penelope, Mother has said those exact words to him. As always, she was correct. Colin could not imagine neither himself or Penelope choosing anything else in life when love was right there, waiting to be claimed by both of them so that they could, at last, know that they belong right next to the other, two halves making a whole; a whole heart and a whole soul.

The foundation was set a long time ago, and with a spark that brightly lit the fire under their long-lasting love and devotion for one another, it transformed into a blazing flame that nothing could extinguish. The opinion of the whole of high society least of all.

Having been tested by their own insecurities, which were amplified by the very society they were both born into, made their bond stronger. Unwavering. All troubles that were sure to befall them with the passage of time felt like rough winds that were bound to grow quiet with shared understanding and communication. Confiding in each other was equal to breathing for them, it was an essential part of life itself.

Finding their way through the servants’ corridor, the rays of sunlight jostled Colin out of his trance, urging him to make a move forward into the uncharted territory granted to him by this new point of view of his own home.

At long last, he opened the door to his new chamber and stepped inside, knowing there wouldn't be any window in sight to offer him any rays that might soothe him.

All of his light was, by now, hopefully, sound asleep, lost in the pleasant dreams of her future.

Pen deserved nothing less than that.

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A narrow and lonesome bed placed at the left corner of the room was the first thing his gaze focused upon. A solitary candle stood on a small night table right next to it, waiting to become the sole source of light in the chamber. Across from the bed, next to the doors he had just opened, stood a modest three-drawer dresser. A wash basin and a pitcher were placed upon it, right next to a small yet serviceable mirror.

No matter how much the mere sight of the bed looked appealing to Colin, for the shocks of the night had finally robbed him of the last ounce of strength his body possessed, a single thought kept him away from any dream the bed might offer him with - what if a few moments of rest took him to an even more outlandish reality? One where Penelope might be far away from him or, heaven forbid, married to someone else! Such frightful imaginings, that were swiftly dealt with not so long ago, could not be allowed a repetition or fruition into a fact he could not fight against with a proclamation of his love alone.

In truth, Mrs. Varley told him, but a few seconds ago, he had very little time available to himself before the staff started their duties. Whatever they may entail.

Oh if his family could see him now, pondering on the duties of a footman.

Anthony and Benedict would find it amusing and end up being reprimanded by Kate. Daphne and Francesca would offer to help by listening to his troubles, perplexed by this muddle he has found himself in. Eloise would surely have some clever and factful comment on all the differences of a daily life between those devoting their time to actual menial labor and those belonging to high society, devoting their time and effort to frivolous pursuits that would be of no use to them outside of their well-protected aristocratic bubble. Gregory and Hyacinth would most certainly try to find humor within his predicament, suggesting to Colin that he treat his newfound circumstances as an adventure or a game.

Mother would not be surprised in the least, based on everything that has happened to him in the span of the last few years. If there was anything he was bound to do, it was to find himself in a bit of a tangled predicament before finding his way to the path that would lead him to find his true purpose in life. Mother was well aware of that. Chaos was a part of Colin’s nature long before Gregory and Hyacinth brought their mischief into their family.

Perhaps the new day will bring him more clarity. He fervently hoped so. Pen’s presence, however distant at present, was of great comfort to him. Nothing can be left unsolved and turn out wrong with her by his side or rather in his near vicinity. Knowing how curious her mind was, he was certain that the gap between them would only grow smaller. Such was their destiny in any reality.

Thinking on her debut in society made him remember her inquisitive gaze upon her surroundings, not even her first introduction to the Queen could curtail her interest and keep her mind focused on the task at hand, expected of every young lady being presented.

With awe and child-like interest she was regarding the room she had entered to be inspected in herself. Everyone around her was either apprehensive of the Queen or quick to subject the newest members of their society to scrutiny. Not Penelope. She was participating and yet behaving as if out of place, present amongst the Ton before it was deemed proper or before she wanted to be there.

Observing her then left an impression on Colin, for her way of acting was painting a picture of Penelope who had stumbled upon a room she wanted to admire that some people were occupying entirely by accident. She was lost in her own world, however fleeting the moment was, cut short by her mother’s admonishment.

He could not help but find that sliver of an inadvertent disregard for such a pivotal moment in a lady’s life on her part to be quite brave and endearing. Later on, as he got to know her even better in the privacy of their own home, he quickly realized that observing Pen’s bravery unobstructed by society’s presence made her even more alluring. It highlighted her resolve in her endeavor, whatever it may be, and made her mind focus with great precision and determination.

Her lips would purse or pout depending on the thoughts that were going through her mind at the moment, seeking approval. A chuckle or two may escape unbidden if there was any humor to them at all. Her eyes would glint with mischief if she were to be forming a particularly delightful barb to describe someone’s actions, gaze denoting her exasperation if her writer’s spell was broken by anyone, which was mostly done by her mama with some trivial remark.

Now, being present for those days in which their relationship was so far away from what it has become, Colin was bound to sustain even more shocks to his system, for the days that awaited him would mostly be a novelty to him. Aside from mentioning Lady Crane in vague terms and very rarely, they had not broached the subject of her life with the Featheringtons and what that was like for Pen. He was reluctant to mention it, for it would surely cause his wife pain to be tasked with recollecting those days, waking up many ghosts that were left in the past, her relationship with Marina being but one of them.

Archibald Featherington was the other. Now living and breathing, on the road to becoming highly unliked by the son-in-law he will have in death.

There was no use in delaying the inevitable. No matter what the days ahead may bring, it was most prudent to behave as if he is indeed part of the household’s staff, Colin concluded. It would afford him the chance to do what his wife was best at - observing without drawing attention to oneself. His purpose in finding himself here was bound to become clear with time and some assessment of the situation. Luckily, no one will take a second look at a footman.

Aside from Penelope, that is.

He would have to keep in mind that while he is inspecting the state of his household and its occupants, he is the one who might be scrutinized in every way possible. If she ever noticed something out of the ordinary, Pen would be determined to investigate. Hopefully, he would not make so many blunders that would warrant Pen to seek out Eloise’s assistance on the matter of the odd footman.

He would try his best, for this was his first foray into acting as a detective of sorts. He would have to be mindful of the actions of every person living and employed under this roof. He was well aware that the servants had opinions on their employer that very often differed from the one they readily shared with someone who was above them in status alone.

He will try to rise to the challenges in front of him. After all, they are a certainty in this household. Colin knew this from his past experience, for even now, the thought of the household ledgers as he had encountered them upon taking responsibility for his son's legacy made him shudder.

Within this odd present of his, Colin will have to rely on quick thinking to aid him in his venture if he is to manage all of the new information and situations he is bound to uncover.

Before he was to greet the light of the day, he set out to, at long last, light the candle that was next to the bed Mrs Varley assigned him. His uniform must be stored here somewhere, and no darkness will help him locate it, no matter what gaudy color Portia Featherington chose for it.

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The whole time, he had been admiring the room, his fingers idly tracing the carved details of the entrance doors. Then, with a purposeful stride, Colin crossed the small room in search of the matches that would illuminate his surroundings. Thankfully, they were right where they were supposed to be, next to the candle. One swift movement of his wrist lit the match that spread its soft glow all around him when it met its designated source of light.

The bed was devoid of any kind of clothing, so it was only logical to try and locate his uniform inside one of the drawers of the dresser. Candle in hand, he turned towards the piece of furniture that was bound to transform him into his new role. Mindful of the object that resided firmly in his grasp, he was careful in placing it on top of the dresser, right next to the small mirror, his focus absorbed solely by the task at hand, for the time to face the outside world he now belonged to was growing near, Colin’s gaze was directed at the three drawers in need of a swift inspection.

Finding the uniform in question was a fast endeavor, it was located at the bottom of the last drawer, as if hiding its appearance in shame - an odd combination of a vibrant yellow and green shade that even the most inept painter wouldn’t dare to combine together out of mere respect for the craft he so revered. Taking it out to dress himself in, Colin absentmindedly lifted his head upwards to make sure there was water available in the pitcher next to the wash basin, both sat at the top of the dresser.

Next to the mirror.

That thought gave him pause, halting his intentions and movements. The flickering light of the candle was in tune with the quickening beat of his heart, for he had just remembered, at that very moment, Penelope did not recognize him. She thought of him as a stranger in her home.

The looking glass beckoned him to confront his own image, whatever it may be.

What his gaze encountered made him feel utterly bewildered.

Downright cursed.

Blinking as if to dispel the apparition of a person he has evidently become, Colin thought of his mother and her comforting embrace that he would likely run and hide within in order to escape himself as he was at present. He had never felt more anger at the injustice the universe subjected him to than he did now - looking at his pale countenance, courtesy of his shocked state and his fair hair coloring.

That infernal sandy shade he associated with a certain Lord of the Ton! He was so incensed by this jape life has deemed to bestow upon him, so livid - he had little if any desire to assess the rest of his body, fearful of what he may find.

He looked nothing like a Bridgerton should.

He possessed a tad wider nose, stronger brow, and thinner lips, with the hair falling to cover his ears, however unkempt such a choice may be for a footman of an illustrious family of the high society. Curling slightly at its ends, it could be the only thing remnant of his past self - an errant curl avoiding to adhere to a more refined and polished look that would seem proper to have.

He was certain his mother-in-law would find an apt moment or two to reprimand him, apprehensive of how his presence would appear to her guests and any callers her daughters might have.

No matter how much he wanted to ignore what he was looking at, his eyes could not seem to direct his gaze anywhere else. He kept on staring, astounded at himself. Penelope’s question about his identity felt less of a shock now that he had seen his countenance.

A face of a complete stranger to both of them. Or was it?

Risking another glance, Colin’s breath got expelled out of him with the force of an unforeseen and unavoidable punch. Something familiar finally attracted his notice and left him arrested in the moment, hopeful in spite of everything else occurring around him.

Proud, defiant, and comforting, his Bridgerton eye coloring remained fixed on this odd face that left him fuming and despondent. Even Mother would recognize them, for they were the eyes of her beloved husband.

Edmund Bridgerton’s distinct shade of blue, which most often glinted in humor his many children provided him with, was there to give his third son a constant sense of solace and reassurance.

If only he could hug him now. Father’s gentle embrace would help him to gather his strength for whatever lay ahead, intent on relaying to him the unwavering assurance in Colin’s capability to be successful in all and every task he applied himself to.

Unable and unwilling to remove the tear that found its way down his cheek, Colin’s stupor made way to a small, confident smile upon his lips. He cherished both the sadness and gratefulness that overtook him while his father’s eyes kept on returning his gaze to the confines of the glass.

A crucial part of himself was still there, reminding him of his family.

Reminding him of Penelope’s words:

“Your eyes are the most remarkable shade of blue. And yet, somehow, they shine even brighter when you are kind.”

Thankful for the instant calming effect the memories of his father and his wife brought him, Colin nodded to himself in acceptance of his unpredictable fate.

He turned to dress in the uniform of the Featherington footman, ready to face the day, whatever it may bring.

Above all else, he was happy to see and be as close to Penelope as possible. She was bound to recognize and appreciate the shade of blue so close to her heart.

His kindness to her in every reality was as certain as the sun’s presence in the sky.

His eternal love as well.

Those facts were an integral part of Colin Bridgerton. No matter what his visage looked like, his eyes held the truth locked within their depths.

He was firmly holding on to hope that his wife would be able to discern it.

A final glance at the mirror showed a smart yet foreign form of the newest member of the Featherington staff. Dressed to impress Portia alone, he wagered. Colin was certain that no other person could or would find it appealing to have its staff so evident and present in any room by their appearance alone as to become a distraction for any visitor coming to pay a visit to their employer.

Like an ostentatious parrot that was not allowed a squawk.

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A small yet firm knock at his door alerted Colin to a new day that awaited him. It was time to face the fragments of the past scattered all around him that would certainly offer him with even more surprises and revelations. He was to be introduced to the people he now called family and who, up until recently, held no note of familiarity or respect towards him in their brief and exasperating communication.

Leaving the comfort of silence his chamber provided him with, Colin stepped outside and into the corridor where Mrs Varley had left him not so long ago. The sound of nearby voices was already there, as if waiting to get his attention and lure him away from his new profile and his thoughts.

With logic and curiosity dictating his every step, he set out to follow the volume of voices until he found himself in the servants' dining area, greeted by the faces of people who ceased talking altogether when faced with an unknown person.

“Good morning, Mr Quill,” Mrs. Varley was first to address him. “We are happy to have you amongst us, this day is bound to appear never-ending. However, I am certain we shall persevere, your addition to our staff proving valuable, I am sure.”

“I would be happy to help, Mrs Varley,” Colin replied, looking around the room, trying to find a familiar face amid the small number of staff that surrounded him. Aside from Briarly and Mrs. Varley, he encountered none.

Suddenly he found himself missing Rae, their housekeeper at Bloomsbury residence, who was at present under Mrs. Varley’s tutelage, well on her way to being made her successor in serving the Featherington House and its newest Barron. Even though Portia protested such a drastic change, singing Varley's praises and shocking the poor woman in the process with her esteem that was never voiced before, Varley herself was eager for change.

Holding the reins of the house that was on the verge of tumbling down under scandal on more than one occasion, she was adamant in allowing its new tenants to take full control and breathe life back into the manor she so revered. When Pen had suggested to her she remain a part of the family as her mother’s lady's maid and companion, both Portia and Varley were eager to accept, not ready to sever their decades-long relationship based on trust and mutual respect.

Rae was a part of a story yet to be told. A part of life yet to be lived, which Colin longed to return to as soon as his mission here was complete. Surely some reason must exist that could explain all of this. No tea in the world is strong enough to paint such a vivid painting in motion, one would most commonly call life. A present filled with memories that are now being made.

He must take care not to disrupt their severity and importance, like Benedict’s antics had done, inadvertently saving Anthony from making an acute error he would be unable to repair or hide away from.

But what if his involvement saves someone as well? Saves Pen from something?

He must take care to keep his impulsive heroic tendencies at bay. Dormant yet present if ever Pen has need of his assistance. With that being said, he could not be expected to see her suffer any pain or injustice and keep to himself, tucked away in the security of silence.

No part of the universe could ask it of him, for that was a wish he would grant to no one, no matter their power or the consequences he may suffer in retaliation for making such an unshakable choice.

Whatever this reality demanded of him or tested him with, Colin’s thoughts would be on keeping Penelope well and safe.

“Mr. Quill, do pay attention.” Mrs. Varley’s voice broke through the tangled web of his endless stream of thoughts that refused to let him be present in the moment. “Mr. Briarly was introducing you to the staff, you’d do well to acknowledge their existence. I beg of you to keep our previous discussion at the forefront of your mind at all times. It will serve you well.”

“Do excuse me, Mr. Briarly. This is my first appointment as a footman in a house of such importance, serving a noble family. I was pondering on my tasks which I am sure you will provide me with.”

“Ff-first appointment as a footman?” Mr. Briarly muttered, utterly confused. “I specifically asked the agency to send someone well versed in the job. It was of utmost importance to have someone knowledgeable to rely on on a day such as this… Will anything ever go as planned in this household?!”

Mrs. Varley let out an exasperated sigh. “Mr. Briarly, I am sure we will manage. It is not as if we were tasked to train a person in the job of a footman altogether… Surely, the lad has been in service before, in some household or other. They wouldn’t send a random boy off of a street to serve at Grosvenor Square… Not even as a stable boy, let alone a footman that was bound to wander the halls as a lost pup. You…” Mrs. Varley turned to where Colin stood and was left speechless for a moment, searching for something in her memory. “You have told me you are familiar with the layout of the House, if I remember correctly, Mr. Quill.”

“That is true, Mrs. Varley.” Colin confirmed, following his statement with a small and assured nod. “As this was my first appointment in Grosvenor Square, I wanted to make the best impression on my employer and be as well informed as I could before arriving here. I asked the agency if they had any valuable information they could provide me with, sadly there were but a few… Then I remembered the library must hold some records of stately homes and thus I have found all key knowledge on the Featherington House.”

Colin was rather pleased with that swift yet logical explanation. Being a writer has its perks.

Briarly’s words put a stop to his musings.

“You can read?” he questioned, looking amazed by that notion. “And you have visited the new library?”

“Surely, Mr. Briarly, there is some patina to it at this point, 1753 is not that recent a year…” Mrs. Varley interjected. “I had grown up with my mother mentioning it as if it was the invention of a steam engine. She could not believe that the Parliament made an Act for it, stating the property was to be bought so the museum building could be used by all “studious and curious persons” as she would often repeat the advertisement for it. Naturally, only the wealthy could afford themselves time to enter it, for the hours for visitations were limited and well suited for the lives of the aristocracy,” Mrs. Varley said as if offended. “Pray tell, when was my mother to find time for such an outing with the children running amok all around her and father expecting food at the table promptly after he has returned home from his day of hard labor as a blacksmith?”

“I remember it well, I was all but five years of age in 1753,” Briarly stated. “I believe that is why I still refer to it as new, it was that way so long ago… Everyone less fortunate of birth was commenting on it in hushed voices, noting how odd it felt to be allowed access to a building while there was scarcely enough food to be had between the family, no matter their dedication to their toil. The days were never long enough to find within them some moment to observe the past that the museum housed. I thank the Lord every day my uncle was a bookkeeper, or I would’ve followed in my father’s footsteps and wasted away my days as a weaver. His job was honest and deserving of respect, naturally. Still, the fact remained - I was much more adept with numbers, and they did not pose a threat to my lungs like the evaporation of textile dye did.”

Colin stood in silence, hoping this moment of recollection between a butler and a housekeeper would not be broken.

“My father taught me how to dress smartly and appreciate all the effort it took in making the clothes he and his fellow weavers have put on mine or anyone else’s back. Rich and poor alike,” Mr. Briarly continued. “My uncle’s visits were a great opportunity to learn something entirely different from what I’ve known to be the main topic of discussion in my own home. Even though mother was adamant I was bound to lose my eyesight being subjected to so many numbers on a daily basis, uncle insisted on taking me as an apprentice so that I could learn and become a bookkeeper myself. He was older than father and childless, so I believe he had high hopes in me being his heir of sorts…”

“How did you become a butler then, Mr. Briarly?” a maid Colin had no recollection of ever meeting asked.

“I was well on my way to take on clients myself. Uncle’s trust in me was of that magnitude. He praised my quick mind to anyone who would visit him. My inheritance of his employment was spoken of with assurance and conviction by my family. Mother abandoned her misgivings when she realized that such a life would bring me a better future than she has had. I would earn respect from my fellow men without endangering my health in a way father has done. That was of enough comfort to her to offer me her full support. Father approved as well.”

“I gather life had other plans,” Mrs. Varley mumbled.

“Yes indeed, Mrs. Varley. Life certainly did. It was the beginning of yet another social season, the celebration of the museum’s 20th year was announced to be held in the Montagu House, which we now so commonly refer to as a library, a new gallery was added to coincide with the occasion.”

“I don’t believe there is enough space left to add anymore, it is surely overflowing with books at this point,” Mrs. Varley noted.

“I could imagine dusting is the sole and never-ending task,” the maid concluded.

“Much more so than here, I’d wager. The library is used by Miss Penelope alone, with books being scattered throughout her chamber and kept neatly arranged in the library…” another maid said. “I don’t know why she bothers to keep them in order in the library. Lord knows no one ever visits that room aside from her.”

Penelope is to be found alone in a library. No novelty there, Colin thought.

“Indeed, Jane,” Mrs. Varley acquiesced. “Now cease your dust-related prattling so that Mr. Briarly can conclude his story and let us get back to our tasks; there is a mountain of them waiting for me today! Before any of those bells start ringing, I want us to revert to current topics of much more importance to our employers,” she stated, pointing her weary gaze towards the wall where the board with the bells of the house’s chambers stood still, as if in slumber. “This quiet won’t last long, as we all well know.”

“You are quite right, Mrs. Varley,” Briarly said while nodding. “Since I would be remiss in leaving a story half told, I will try to be the soul of brevity. As I was saying, the 20th year of the museum was to be celebrated at the library. I was walking by, just in time for the afternoon tea, on my way to deliver some papers to a client of my uncle’s. That was when I saw the members of the Ton all dressed in tails, which was, of course, not de rigueur for the time of the day. I stood there transfixed, remembering my father’s words on how much effort and dedication it took to create such a splendid garment. I was curious as to what was happening inside the manor and I went up the stairs, as if in a trance. A footman stopped me from making any more steps once I’ve reached the front doors. Being of low birth did not allow me entrance. As you well remember, Mrs. Varley, one had to apply to gain a ticket, be well connected, or a member of the peerage.”

“I remember, indeed. Mother has spent the last days of her life wanting to visit, but never being able to. The children took a hold of her attention when they were younger, with so many of us money was always scarce. Father fell ill when the last of us crossed a threshold into adulthood, and I, the oldest and by that time already a lady's maid to a respectable family, was unable to save enough money to purchase her a ticket. She would say she did not mind it, but I knew that was a lie. Eight of us, much like the Bridgertons yet so very different from them. A whole world of difference.”

“Yes, well… Such was our fate, to serve the Ton and watch them so very rarely appreciate their luck. I am always happy to see the Viscount’s family placing so much value on their bond and unity. They do not take their position in society for granted. Unlike some…” Briarly mumbled.

“Do not even mention it, Mr. Briarly. I am apprehensive of what lunacy might befall us on such a hectic day as today. One can never know with His Lordship. His lady wife and his staff least of all,” Mrs. Varley said with a huff.

“I am sorry to have mentioned him, do forgive me. I promised to cut the story short to key facts alone and yet here we are… As I stated, the footman refused me entry into the library. The Ton could only mingle with their own kind, much like today. I would’ve stood out as a sore thumb, the suit father made for me with much precision notwithstanding. Tails and working class suits mixed only in a setting fit for a business transaction. Through a solicitor. I was well aware of that. I left the steps of the library behind me, resolved to partake in the knowledge offered there to all of those “studios and curious persons”, like the advert stated 20 years ago.”

“Did you decide then to become a butler?” Jane asked.

“Not exactly. Fate intervened. Not long after that day a solicitor for a Lord Debling, the senior that is, visited my uncle’s office.” Briarly said.

Colin’s ears pricked at the mention of that name and his mouth set in a firm line on a reflex he refused to fight against.

“As they were lost in untangling some matter that was in need of their urgent attention, I was left fetching and carrying papers, being mindful to offer refreshments as the time passed by. The meeting was drawing to a close when the solicitor mentioned Lord Debling was in need of a new butler, young if possible. His current one was an inheritance from his father, and was set to retire. As a show of devotion and gratitude to his lordship and the family he has served diligently for decades, he was resolved to train his own replacement. The household was noble, but peculiar - the solicitor stated. That piqued my interest,” Mr. Briarly noted. “I caught my uncle blinking at that statement but being respectful and refusing to question or comment, as if a wrong word could lose him lucrative employment with a nobleman he has never even met.”

“Please, Mr. Briarly…” Mrs. Varley said, letting out a sigh. “I was employed at the outskirts of town at the time, working for a middle-class family. I have heard whispers of their odd nature - the whole lot of them. One after another, the family sired heirs of reclusive nature who did not tolerate the company of their own wives. They were all left alone to fend for themselves in their townhouse, awaiting visitors that never came. Once they’ve lived out their youth of lavish yet empty lives under the glances of the Ton that passed them by, every one of them would retreat to the country, never to be seen or heard from again. Generation after generation. Each of them was blessed with only one child. As luck would have it, the little one was always born a male, set to inherit the cold manners and peculiar nature of his forefathers. No one remembers a girl being born into the family. It must have happened, for that was nature’s way, but there was no word to be heard about it. Ever.”

“That is a sad and inhumane way to live,” Colin could not stop himself from saying.

“Indeed, Mr. Quill. Indeed it is,” Mr. Briarly returned to tell his tale. “I can attest to that. You see, after being in the company of my uncle for most of the day, Mr. Jarvis, the solicitor, that is, took notice of my going to and fro throughout his visit. At first, he thought me a mere errand boy but was quickly disabused of that notion when uncle asked my assistance with a particularly jumbled list of numbers. Before making his leave, he offered to recommend me to the Debling’s departing butler. Uncle was reluctant to agree to that at first, but after some persuading by my mother of all people he relented and allowed me to go with a promise I would return if anything goes amiss. The job of a bookkeeper was to await my safe return, should I ever need it. My replacement in the office was procured, set as a steward for my inheritance, which uncle was adamant in leaving me with.”

“The talk of the Ton was correct, was it not?” Mrs. Varley questioned.

“It was. His lordship’s wife was slowly turning into a melancholy ghost roaming the halls, not even her son Alfred was there to keep her company. His birth was eagerly hoped for and then awaited by her ladyship and us, the staff, during the first year of my employment. On an ice cold, storm ridden night in February of 1774, he was born to inherit the title of Lord Debling. He was sent off to a boarding school from an early age, just before turning the age of five, from which he was to be transferred to Eton when the time came,” Briarly stated.

“He was sent away from home so young?” Jane asked in shock. “I did not know the nobles did that. I could not imagine the Bridgertons sending their youngest away before it was deemed proper.”

“They usually don't, Jane. You are correct. The Bridgertons certainly wouldn’t resort to it. Not even Miss Hyacinth would allow it,” Mr. Briarly said with firm conviction.

He was right in assuming so, Colin nodded hoping no one took notice of him doing so.

“Lord Debling’s son was to follow in his father’s footsteps, and that included such an odd and solitary upbringing. To be fair to the lad, he was cut from the same cloth as his father. No likeness was to be found with his mother at all. Her gentle nature was left trapped in a gilded cage with only the sun, the moon, and the wind for visitors. When it was deemed of utmost necessity, the outing or a social call would be made by the couple but that happened only three times in all the years I was there. His Lordship detested the airs and graces of the Ton, choosing to remain focused on his explorations of the unknown. I must say that the feeling was mutual, with the Ton finding his family useful for gossip alone,” Mr. Briarly confirmed what was to be expected.

“To conclude this monologue, I could not stand such emptiness, watching her ladyship fading away in front of my very eyes. In my seventh year of service, her health declined, her youth being drained out of her. Being bound to her bed for a fortnight did not help matters but rather strengthened her resolve to avoid the prison of a solitary country life, which was so far away from her grasp. She seemed adamant in choosing her own fate, and so, without much of a fuss, she died as she had lived - all alone. Both her husband and son failed to show her the courtesy of being present for her burial, with her husband choosing that very moment to introduce his heir to his only passion in life - observing the life of a great auk. Her Ladyship was laid to rest surrounded by her only fateful company - her small staff. The four of us, the cook, the housekeeper, her lady's maid and I, made the necessary arrangements and paid for the only flowers that were placed on her grave. I left soon after, refusing to be a living corpse in that house for a moment longer,” Mr. Briarly ended the story with a downcast gaze.

“If I recall correctly, you arrived here not long after. We served His Lordship's parents diligently. I had joined the household as Her Ladyship's lady's maid but a few weeks before your arrival. I kept that post even after My lady married their beloved son, she was in need of a trusted servant while being relentlessly hounded by her mother-in-law to grace the family with an heir. Those days are marred with so many bad memories when there should have been nothing but joy within them. My lady hasn’t found much luck in this house.”

“Truer words have never been spoken, Mrs. Varley. His Lordship’s parents were so new to their inherited title that they refused to adhere to any rules of comportment and failed to impart any on their son as well. No one ever expected them to inherit the baronetcy, for they were so far down the line of succession for it. They refused to associate with their family, which, to be fair, always considered them a laughingstock, a collection of black sheep was the sentiment often repeated, for he was a drunkard and she a wastrel,” Mr. Briarly said. “To have such a set of new parental figures when you marry into nobility was a heavy burden to bear. Their only demand out of their son was to procure them with an heir so that the wealth could continue to be spent on gambling, liquor, and any frivolity His Lordship’s mother considered necessary to make a lasting impression on the Ton. They of course managed to garner their laughter and mockery. An opinion that remains to this day if Lord Archibald’s place in society is to be inspected with so much as a passing glance,” Mr. Briarly said in a tone of voice that denoted a closure of a chapter from the past.

A knock thundered from the back doors, bringing them all to the present time and the expected chaos of the day in which the three Featherington ladies would be making their debut in high society.

The noise it produced was relentless. On the verge of waking the household if left unanswered.

“Margaret, if you please, open that door and stop that infernal pounding,” Mrs. Varley said to the maid who remained nameless up until that moment, the first one that asked Briarly a question.

She left in a hurry with the rest of them falling into silence, which was broken posthaste by Briarly himself when he addressed Colin.

“Mr. Quill, let me make the introductions before the day runs away from us. To my left we have the cook, Mrs. Norris, next to her is Jane, Miss Penelope’s lady's maid…”

“That would be the girls lady's maid, Mr. Briarly. I am tasked with looking after all three of them now, as you well know. How I manage, only heaven knows. And I am expected to attend to them in birth order no less, Miss Prudence was most adamant about that!” Jane exclaimed and continued, “Thankfully, Miss Penelope is not very particular about her wardrobe, or should I say not allowed to have any choice in the matter… That poor lass puts on a brave face and offers a kind word, but there is never any light in her eyes when she inspects her coiffure or her dress. And the blasted undergarments…”

“That would be enough of that, Jane.” Mrs. Varley said in reprimand.

“Where was I? Ah yes, the introductions,” Mr. Briarly resumed his task before he could be interrupted again. “That was Jane. The maid that ran to open the door is named Margaret, she is assisting Mrs. Norris in the kitchen and will surely lend a hand to Jane today. We are not overly concerned with giving a single task to one person in service here. We don’t have that luxury. Next we have Josiah, the stable boy, and you would be the sole footman in residence. As you can tell, the house may be grand, but the staff is reduced to bare minimum. I am certain your previous employment will be of great help to you in this house. There is not much difference, really, for us in particular. We are there to serve our house with the same care, Baron and banker alike.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” Colin said with a small smile on his face.

“Well, now that we have that sorted and you’ve gotten more information than any library could provide you with, we better focus on our tasks for the day,” Mrs. Varley pointed out, trying to steer the ship under her command in the right direction.

Before she could utter another word, Margaret returned running as if on a mission to deliver news of great importance and urgency.

“What is the meaning of this? Is your intention to wake the whole house up with your ruckus?” Mrs. Norris exclaimed as if woken from the vow of silence she had taken.

“I… I apologize, Mrs. Norris, this…” Margaret said devoid of breath and holding out a piece of paper tightly in her grasp. “This has just arrived… A delivery boy shoved it into my hand without a word and ran away before I could ask any questions… It’s filled with so many words, my head hurts from staring at it.”

“We’ve only started our lessons, Margaret, do not exert yourself and confuse your mind,” Jane said. “Miss Penelope was so kind in lending us her books once she learned of our intent, even allowing us to use the library for your studies. She is thrilled you are willing to learn and better your station.”

“That is all well and good, but what on earth is that pamphlet? Let me see… Someone may well be trying to sell us something, and Lord knows this house can not afford any trivial expenses.”

Colin schooled his face, holding in a chuckle. The mention of trivial expenses reminded him of the shocking state of the Featherington ledgers, all of the money being wasted away on vices and frivolities that served to paint a picture of a success that was nowhere to be found in reality.

“Well, I never!” Mrs. Varley exclaimed, shock gripping her face. “You are not to read this, Jane!”

“May I take a look, Mrs. Varley?” Colin asked.

“I’d advise against it, but who could save any man from his intent?” Mrs. Varley said in vexation. “All I ask of you is to dispose of it as soon as you’ve read it! We are to return to our work posthaste. I don’t want THAT THING to get anywhere near her Ladyship’s notice. She has enough on her plate as it is… As do we all! Now pray, let us get back to work.”

Mrs. Varley turned to leave as if grievously insulted, tossing the paper in Colin’s general direction without a second glance.

The paper swayed in mid air, well on its way to land firmly in front of his feet. Before it could achieve this goal, Colin leaped forward to catch it and take a closer look at the familiar drawing of a lady’s profile surrounded by a tightly and neatly stacked string of words.

Once the paper was safe in his grasp, Colin hoped he would have enough time to enjoy his reading, for he was overcome by a feeling of great comfort. The words he knew by heart greeted him like the dearest of friend.

A recent memory of Penelope enveloped in her peacock blue coat came to him unbidden as his eyes caressed every turn of phrase placed in front of them.

“It has been said that, “Of all bitches dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine.” If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth. My name is Lady Whistledown. You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall. But be forewarned, dear reader. I certainly know you.”

Chancing a glance away from her words, Colin noticed he was left standing all alone.

That small quiet moment emboldened him to say the words no person that surrounded him but a moment ago could understand. With his gaze gently returning to Lady Whistledown’s first column, Colin replied:

“Yes, my darling, you certainly do know me.”

A smile was left gracing his lips.

A regular occurrence whenever he thought about his wife.

“I remain the same man who is, by the grace of God and all that is holy, blessed with your love and devotion.”

Chapter Text

No one was around to hear the words Colin had just uttered. Before any unshed tear dared fall to besmirch Penelope’s cleverly crafted turn of phrase, he lifted his head as if to dispel any possibility of melancholy taking hold from within him.

Her words have gifted him with the same feeling they always do - a sense of comfort and hope. Emotions that, at present, felt paramount. She made them feel tangible and all encompassing. A hug in written form only he was gifted with, for only he knew her secret. Before he could stop himself or the mirth that overtook him, Colin addressed the column once again:

“I wonder if Lord Byron would like to seek pardon from Her Majesty for insulting her favorite scribe, my darling. You did show them all what power a woman’s words hold.”

Silence was there, waiting to envelop his musings.

The dining area was void of any activity, graced only by his presence. He was surprised at the diligence the limited household displayed. He guessed it was to be expected, knowing Mrs. Varley’s approach to her duties. Managing his mother-in-law’s expectations alongside those Varley’s own position as a housekeeper to a noble family already entailed was a balancing act only the most resourceful, astute, and determined person could undertake.

Colin admired Mrs. Varley for that.

The clatter of pots and pans broke him from his reverie. Mrs. Norris could be heard debating some, no doubt, important culinary conundrum with Mrs. Varley. Yet again, Colin felt tempted to follow his instincts to find a secluded spot that would allow him to hear what was being discussed. Their voices were rising in volume and harshness. Each one answered in a clipped tone as if stating a fact that would best defend their stance on the matter.

His body decided on a course of action before his mind gave it permission. Colin’s feet took him through the left side of the corridor on a quick stroll, for the kitchen was situated right next to the staff’s dining area.

“I implore you…” Mrs. Varley said with an even tone filled with a sense of urgency.

“I could not… There is nothing left at my disposal,” the cook stated.

“Surely, Mrs. Norris, there is something to be done… I have explained the impediment to my Lady as best I could, but it would seem that His Lordship has requested there to be a feast at his table today of all days. As you well know, she is not aware of the debts Mr. Briarly and myself are dealing with. Her mind was occupied with making the girls presentable before they made a spectacle of the moment simply by participating in it together. I was resolved not to add to her troubles.”

“I have already prepared the usual, making it a tad richer to mark this occasion. Even so, I was certain that no one would stop to think about any food with everything that was to take place. I was not expecting for His Lordship to notice or care about such matters, for he is seldom present in his own home.”

“I understand… However, he has requested it for appearance's sake, my Lady has said. She is vexed but powerless to alter his mind,” Mrs. Varley said with a note of sadness. “For whom are we to play out this charade, I do not know. Visitors are always entertained as briefly as possible before they could take notice of anything being wrong or, Lord forbid, performative.”

“If only performative acts could work on the grocer or the modiste…” Mrs. Norris countered.

“Do not mention it, I beg of you. All I have been hearing for months now pertains to the modiste and, as of late, her impatience to be reimbursed for her swift work. I understand her viewpoint, even though I am well aware she has little knowledge of our state of affairs,” Mrs. Varley said with conviction.

“I do not believe that. If the staff is talking amongst themselves, surely the Ton is as well,” the cook stated.

“Their scrutiny is about to reach new heights, Mrs. Norris.”

“About that… Has His Lordship been informed that his playacting would not be able to gallop along as he intends it to?”

“Mr. Briarly went to inform him with some apprehension,” the housekeeper muttered. “Never mind him or his ire. My Lady would need her smelling salts. Miss Prudence is bound to become insufferable about it and consider it an act against her person. Miss Phillipa would make some remark to further antagonize her,” Mrs. Varley pointed out.

“Only Miss Penelope would find the moment to be an act of fate and good humor combined,” Mrs. Norris said with assurance. “Jane told me just how much the mere idea of a social debut made her ill at ease. Who could blame a girl of ten and seven for feeling trepidation before she is to be thrown into the lion's den.”

“Her Ladyship told me his exact words - he wanted it over and done with,” Mrs. Varley said. “It was a shouting match that lasted for days, the discussion about the necessity, or the damage, of having the girls debut at the same time. Days… I got frightened for her health, to tell you the truth - she was relentless. And yet…”

“She failed. The word revolves around the final verdict and whims of men,” the cook said in annoyance.

“Which is why he has only himself to blame for this development. Had he paid more care to his responsibilities than his whims, his fine carriages would be graced with a decently paid coachman,” Mrs. Varley proclaimed.

“The thought of Matthew not being a part of this household saddens me to no end,” Mrs. Norris said. “He held on as long as he could. We cannot all be expected to live out childless lives in perpetual servitude. His family needed him to provide for and care for them. Out of respect for Miss Penelope, of whom he has been fond of since she was a child, he has stated he would speak well of the family if asked. He cherished all of those stories from her books that she told him about. Leaving this house after so many years must have been a difficult decision. He was most grateful for the help Mr. Briarly provided in recommending his services.”

“His family needs a decent wage to live on. No one survives on platitudes and empty promises,” Mrs. Varley concluded. “What irks me most of all is that His Lordship was well informed about his coachman leaving, and he hadn’t even bothered to bid him farewell. In all of these years, he has failed to remember his name. To him, he was just some nameless and faceless servant. Like any of the others…”

“My good woman, I will tell you whose name he knows - Mr. Briarly’s and your own. The rest of us are disposable. Your good reputation and resourcefulness give him, or rather, it gives society an illusion that all is well and proper within his home. It gives an illusion of care he does not truly possess. Facts are irrelevant. Illusion is what matters to the likes of him.”

“Well… Time is running out,” Mrs. Varley noted.

“Indeed, it is,” Mrs. Norris confirmed.

“We'd best get on with our day. The girls are getting dressed, and if His Lordship has any reprimand in store for anyone or anything, he would simply have to find another day to complain. Today is all planned out, with not a minute to spare. I shall leave you to your work and take the morning post to Her Ladyship,” Mrs. Varley stated, her voice determined.

She could be heard asking, “Where does one find a coachman on a day like today?” while exiting the kitchen.

Colin's presence in her line of sight would soon provide an answer to her plea.

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“Mr. Quill… I was expecting you to be stationed at the entrance to the formal drawing room by now,” Mrs. Varley said in an exasperated tone. “I understand how a house of this opulence may seem daunting at first, but I can assure you - the staff have the same obligations they would have if they were employed by someone of the gentry.”

“I am well aware of that, Mrs. Varley,” Colin replied. “I am prepared to justify my employment with dedication to every task befitting my role in this household. I was hoping to have a word with Mr. Briarly, if only to inquire about any additional assignments for the day, since it has such importance for the family. Social debut sounds like a tedious affair for everyone involved.”

“Quite right, Mr Quill. Tedious would be a mild word to convey the hectic rush that guided every waking moment of our lives for the past few months while we prepared to execute this phase of noble existence as best we knew how.” Mrs. Varley let out a deep sigh that echoed through the corridor. For a second, there was nothing but silence between them.

She seemed lost in thought as if pondering the prudence of her next sentence. A decision was swiftly made, and with a slight adjustment in tone, she left the following statement to fill out the stillness of the moment. “I should not be saying this, and yet I cannot find it in me not to address the state of disarray you will soon find under this roof. The debut into high society… Let us say that having every aspect of it steeped in respectability and opulence is a tad difficult when His Lordship’s reputation is hanging as if suspended on a loose thread that could snap at any moment… Nevertheless, we fervently hope that won’t be the case. For all our benefit.”

“Thank you for pointing it out to me, and you do not have to worry - I am not prone to gossip,” Colin was quick to assure the housekeeper.

Mrs. Varley fixed him with her sharp gaze as if assessing for any lie or possible crack in a character that was still a novelty to her. Her eyes seemed hopeful in their ability to note any error hidden within it, helped by the rays of sunlight that shone straight from the kitchen’s open door and seeped into the corridor.

With a nod that seemed directed at them both, she repeated the sentiment she had already relayed to the staff. “We must get on with our duties, Mr. Quill. This day would be frightfully long and arduous, there is no avoiding it. I am pleased to hear you wanted to exchange a few words with Mr. Briarly, but there is no time to be spared at present. I think it's best you go upstairs and find the formal drawing room. The maids have done a fine job, making it presentable under my supervision. Nothing seemed out of place the last time I inspected it. However, I would be grateful to you if you would take one final look. Just to be safe,” she stated with a note of apprehension.

Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, Mrs. Varley exhaled a breath that seemed torn from the depths of her soul. Keeping her voice leveled and quiet, she took Colin by surprise and said: “One can never be sure what idea might befall His Lordship in the dead of night. One too many times, he has brought his gaming companions into this house, making a racket as they went along… Instead of using the library or even the study for his bacchanal, on one occasion, he led them into the formal drawing room. Her Ladyship refused to address the situation out of indignation, revulsion, and care for her own dignity. The girls were used to it, with the older two bemoaning the loss of their beauty sleep and Miss Penelope being silent and unobtrusive as ever. Jane was sent to light the fire and was horrified to have found him next to it with some wench wrapped all around him, both covered solely by the odious smell of evaporating liquor.”

Her voice was firm and held a note of disbelief at the fact that she concluded the confession with “This is a respectable household on Grosvenor Square. There is seldom anything noble to be found within the Lord who is entrusted to look after it.”

“I… I do not know what to say, Mrs. Varley. Be assured, I will inspect the room before anyone sets foot in it,” Colin stated as if his words could ease the decades of obvious disregard Archibald Featherington has displayed towards everything and everyone.

“Very well. I will be on my way to take the morning post to Her Ladyship,” Mrs. Varley stated as she turned to leave.

Taking but a second to process yet another dose of information, out of nowhere, Colin was startled by the memory of reading the first Lady Whistledown column.

Even though he was instructed by Mrs. Varley to dispose of it, he remembered placing it on a neat stack of papers that was to be taken to his mother-in-law at this very moment.

Surely, she would not have the time to read it now.

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Before Colin could turn towards the stairs that would lead him to the part of the house that included the formal drawing room, the sound of hurried footsteps made him halt his intentions, facing the direction the footsteps were coming from left him with an image of a winded Mr. Briarly that seemed set on resolving an urgent and, in all likelihood, unforeseen task. Such an occurrence was not out of the ordinary under this roof, even on the most quiet of days. Colin surmised that those moments were even more frequent during the years Archibald Featherington lived out his disorderly life.

With the importance of the present day not far from his mind, Colin approached the man, hoping he could be of assistance in any way. Chasing on a fool’s errand was not suited for a man of Mr. Briarly’s age and station.

“Could I help you in any way, Mr. Briarly?” Colin questioned.

The butler froze mid-step, as if surprised someone was still occupying these rooms. Least of all, the new footman. Having such a small staff at his disposal, Mr. Briarly prided himself on having the tasks so well delegated and the House meticulously organized. It often appeared to Mrs. Varley and himself that they were acting as captains of a ship that, in some miraculous way, refused to sink. Anytime a new potential catastrophe was avoided or minimized so it would barely be noticeable to Her Ladyship and the girls, they considered it a day of great success. There were so many of them over the years that the staff considered it their second nature to act as if they were putting out a fire over the slightest of inconveniences, for one was never certain when small embers of disruption could transform into a blazing flame that would result in the most dreaded of outcomes - irreversible loss of a good family name before the watchful gaze of the whole Ton.

The new footman was still as a statue, with his question left unanswered and his eyes casting a worried glance over him, no doubt pondering the reason for such erratic behavior from a butler.

“I was…” Mr. Briarly faltered over his words while he waited for his breathing to return to a more steady rhythm. “Excuse me. I was expecting you to be upstairs, Mr. Quill.”

“Mrs. Varley mentioned the same nary a moment ago. I was on my way to a designated spot for my station, which was next to the doors of a formal drawing room. However, your state of urgency became my paramount concern the moment I laid eyes on you. Do forgive my forwardness in addressing you. I hope I am not overstepping my mark, I merely wish to aid you if I can.”

“Well, I never… You are still here, Mr Quill,” Mrs. Varley’s voice returned sharp as a whip.

“I can…” Colin started to address her.

“Mrs. Varley, I fear I am to blame,” the butler stated.

“Surely not. I told him what his destination for the moment was. I expected him to heed my order.”

“Yes, I understand,” Mr. Briarly resumed his explanation, hoping it would be sufficient. “You see, I do have a problem that is in urgent need of a solution. Mr. Quill, you were correct in your assumptions.”

“Whatever is the matter?” Mrs. Varley exclaimed, her voice alarmed.

“Our coachman has departed in favor of a more amenable position with another family nearby. As of today, I have been unable to procure his replacement. Mrs. Varley was, as I recall, unable to find anyone willing within her family to take on the post.” Mr. Briarly held Colin's gaze and explained as fast as he could.

“Quite right,” the housekeeper confirmed. “I have only two younger brothers who remain happy in their employment. Following in their father’s footsteps saw them earn their respect as good as any blacksmith can hope for. They refuse to lose any of that esteem over some frivolity, such as the dress-up day of high society, as they are referring to it. “Their sons could use a better wage, but are refusing it out of respect for their employers, hard labor was their lot in life, and they are well used to it by now. They were all raised to appreciate an honest day of work, which their employers have been providing them with. I wasn’t hopeful that they would accept this position, for they all know, young and old, I did not mince words when it comes to His Lordship. I was not supposed to do it, but under my own family roof, I’ve allowed myself such liberties of sharing my honest opinion. It is the truth, after all.”

“As you can see, Mr. Quill, this development leaves us without a crucial cog in today’s nobility machine, and it is of great importance that our carriage follows in line with the rest of them. We are a mere barony, it is true. Even so, every chess piece is crucial in Her Majesty’s social game,” Mr. Briarly concluded.

“You don’t mean to tell me…” Mrs. Varley uttered as her mind was evidently putting the pieces together. “Mrs. Norris and I were discussing the matter mere moments ago,” she stated, nodding once as if to convey her silent approval.“ With His Lordship's insistence that everything is to appear resplendent today, having no coachman in sight would be a ghastly oversight that would turn us into a lark on everyone’s lips by noon at the latest. We cannot allow that.”

“Having the young Ladies all debut on the same day is damning enough in the eyes of the aristocracy. It is not de rigueur, as they love to call it,” the butler stated with assurance.

“My Lady mentions that turn of phrase often these days. I confess I felt intrigued by it, but remained ashamed to ask for an explanation. I felt it highly inconsequential to bother you with my ignorance, Mr. Briarly. After all, what is a maid to do with something the French say? I am no modiste in search of the latest frills of fashion,” Mrs. Varley said solemnly.

Out of nowhere, Colin’s memories took precedence over his intentions in playing out the role of a footman. His mind felt overflown by images of his studies, recollections of youth he had lived out not so long ago. A time when his sole concern was not angering his French tutor with word pronunciation. Flashes of his journal entries emerged to the forefront of his mind, filled with tales of Paris and the beauty that resided within the ladies that populated it. Before he could stop himself, for he felt it was important to assuage Mrs. Varley’s curiosity, Colin looked at her and said:

“De rigueur is a phrase used to describe something that is considered proper. Something our customs, etiquette, or fashion dictate to be correct. With the passage of time, those things are susceptible to change. Most of them, at least. The basis of propriety, the one regarding a person’s honor, remains unchanged, no matter their station in our society.”

“I gather that is what those books you found time to read taught you,” Mrs. Varley said with a quiet voice. “I thank you for sharing your knowledge with me.”

“Yes, books are most helpful to a curious mind,” Colin confirmed her conjecture. “You are very welcome, Mrs. Varley. If I can help you with anything else, you only need to ask. We shall find our answers somewhere, I am sure of it,” he offered before he could think of the possibility of his proposition being in any way suspicious or revealing of his true upbringing.

“I am happy to help in that regard as well, Mrs. Varley. There is no subject you cannot converse with me about when it comes to the broadening of your knowledge. One can retain their vigilance by always being inquisitive,” the butler stated. “With that being said, I implore you both to pay heed to a problem no book will solve, for we are still short of a coachman. That is unacceptable for a household with such a high standing in society. No matter our level of importance on the aristocratic ladder, we are tasked with enabling His Lordship to hold onto that last step with a firm grip. Even when he is firmly set in obstructing our endeavors at every turn.”

“Well, before he can cause any more havoc upon this household, we must find some solution,” the housekeeper said with conviction. “I surmise you were running for your life after a brief audience with His Lordship, Mr. Briarly? Am I correct in assuming the issue you’ve addressed was the same as the one we are just discussing? Has your plea for assistance fallen on deaf ears?”

“That is correct, Mrs. Varley. He was most adamant that he was not to be bothered with such trivialities. I was aghast at his choice of words. Being mindful of staffing issues is considered an obligation of any respectable nobleman. What would people think of us if the truth ever came to light? Ridicule by the Ton would be our bread and butter, I tell you. Our morning, noon, and night! A triviality he has called it… Can you imagine such audacity? I am convinced Lord Bridgerton’s butler doesn’t have to face such blatant disrespect to his own employment!”

“No, he does not! Anthony…” Colin’s rash interjection enveloped the corridor in a wave of deafening silence. His brother’s name was to be followed by a list of praises to be sung about his dedication to the management of household affairs, Colin was well aware of that. Divine providence must have intervened to cut his impulses short.

Benedict would, no doubt, be very amused by his verbal blunder. Eloise would rush to chastise him for forgetting the first rule of assuming a false identity - one must take care never to give way to doubts or questions from anyone they may encounter. After her exposure to the Queen’s watchful gaze, she has learned that lesson well.

There was no use in ignoring an error that seemed to have frozen two people who stood still as statues in front of him. Anthony’s name became the cause of the most bewildered stares Colin had ever received. His faux pas evidently made them question his sanity, and at the same time, made them cognizant of his existence, for he had said very little to aid their coachman discourse.

“Ant…” Mrs. Varley attempted to form a sentence, as if waking from a daze. “Are my ears deceiving me, young man, or did you just address the 9th Viscount Bridgerton by his Christian name? Surely, my mind must be frazzled with the endless list of duties that await me today, and I have imagined hearing you address a peerage member by his given name!”

“I…” Colin was rushing to form some sensible explanation that would keep him in the housekeeper’s good graces. “I beg your forgiveness, Mrs. Varley. I misspoke, my mouth being faster than my mind. A mind that is well aware of the correct etiquette of address, I assure you. It is only… When Mr. Briarly mentioned the neighboring estate, I was trying to remember what His Lordship’s name was and spoke it out loud without any thought of propriety. That is a family of great influence and respect. I wanted to be certain I remembered their names in the correct order. After all, there are eight of them.”

“That is correct. However, such familiarity is very improper and unbecoming. Not suited to your station or a good reflection on the household you are serving,” Mr. Briarly advised. “I suggest you take more time to formulate your thoughts before voicing them for the world to hear.”

“I understand, Mr. Briarly. Acting out on an impulse is a fault of mine that has been a topic of debate among my family for as long as I can remember. Every day, I strive to improve myself in this regard. I will take even more care when it comes to my comportment,” Colin said, hoping his words would convince them both of his intentions.

He must do better, or he will risk exposing more than he cared to share or could explain to anyone under this roof. Anyone who is not Penelope, that is. To her, he would try to convey how his world had changed in the span of a few hours, altering time itself and everything she knew him to be.

Colin knew that even under these unimaginable circumstances, she would be able to find all those things she cherished about him. His appearance may have changed, but his eyes remained the same.

They would serve their intended purpose, for when their gazes met, she would be able to see straight into his soul. A soul that was forever hers left spellbound by her love and affection.

They would find a way to be together again.

No twist of reality can alter that inevitable occurrence.

Fate is to have the final say. Colin wholeheartedly believed in that.

“May we return to finding the solution for a problem that will keep our reputation, or rather the illusion of it, intact,” Mr. Briarly said in vexation. “I will not have us made out to be the laughing stock of high society on this important day. The marriage prospects of three young ladies depend on this matter being resolved. Their reputation is threatened by the mere notion of a scandal while they are to bow in front of Her Majesty. They do not deserve to suffer for their father’s folly.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more. It is incumbent upon us to remove any potential obstacle from their path today,” the housekeeper said. “Having such an unfeeling father is a burden enough to carry for such a tender age. The Ton has always been ravenous for a scandal, hoping one would fall in their laps to be dissected over tea time. Let us not give them that. I am certain Lady Cowper will think of something else to entertain herself and her posse.”

“If I may…” Colin paused to formulate his words just right, as advised. “I would like to help.”

His mother raised him to believe in the magical ways in which destiny weaves its web. The road to its fulfillment may seem long, with the slowest of steps. However, her languid pace was firm and set on a goal to be achieved, a gift to be given.

Set on a wish to be granted.

Relaying on his heart’s desires to set him on a course that will have him as close to Penelope as possible, Colin simply stated:

“I could be the new coachman.”

The azure hue of her eyes will be Colin’s guiding light, for he was adamant to assist fate in granting him his wish, foretold by destiny so long ago with a yellow bonnet and a gust of wind.

His wife awaited his company and his safe return.

In every reality, his love and protection belonged to her.

Chapter Text

“Mr. Quill, surely you jest,” the butler exclaimed. “Such a thing is unheard of! I know the staff is composed of numbers scarcely sufficient to run a house in the country during the off-season… Nonetheless, I have most certainly never heard of a footman being entrusted to act as a coachman. To hold two positions under one roof. Such a thing is not to be borne, in noble circles no less! Do you know the scandal that would erupt if this scheme is uncovered?”

“Mr. Briarly, I beg of you to consider it…” Colin pleaded, hoping the man would acquiesce to his proposition without much fuss, for the time constraint was threatening to deliver them into a scandal that could never be lived down - the possibility of the household missing out on the presentation day entirely due to a missing coachman.

Colin wondered how that matter was resolved in the first iteration of the year of Pen’s debut. After all, Archibald Featherington’s disregard for his household is a thing of certainty in any possible time frame, altered or not.

Perhaps his presence in this moment of the past has disrupted some balance which forced the universe to substitute one servant with another, with the Featherington’s resources limited as they were.

Whatever the reason for this development may be, Colin was grateful to have found himself being able to offer a solution that would benefit everyone. Most of all, himself. Having the opportunity to be as near to Penelope as possible at any given moment felt crucial to Colin, for some reason must exist why fate has placed him in this precarious situation.

A few hours ago, the sun was shining brightly on his life. He was a devoted husband and father. A newly published author who was proud of his wife, the most successful column writer in the whole of Mayfair. Something must have inspired the universe to nudge him in this unfathomable direction. As ever, he was certain that the answer as to why this happened could and would be found in his wife’s vicinity. Why else would he be transformed into a footman for the Featheringtons?

Truly, there was no other reason imaginable.

If this was a lark at his expense, surely he would have been transformed into something even more unimaginable and ludicrous - Eloise’s chaperone or poor Phillip Crane, for that matter.

Observing him with Marina during that one fateful visit left Colin convinced that a match made out of practicality and duty gifted the man with no one to converse with about his interests and pursuits. Marina seemed quite annoyed by their talk of nature’s beauty. Her view on life and the way her life unfolded had evidently left her with little time or inclination towards curiosity and imagination. Ensconced in her dedication to her children's upbringing, she seemed to have forgotten that having more than one aspiration in life is a blessing, not a hindrance. Colin could not think of a life in which he did not share the joy of his purpose with his wife. What bleakness life must hold without it.

Chastising her husband in front of their guest, a person he had just been introduced to, was something Colin was glad the universe did not force him to relive. Even so, Marina’s imminent presence under this roof will undoubtedly provide him with a chance to observe her and her relationship with Pen. Something he, regrettably, did not pay enough attention to the first time around.

They started out their acquaintance on friendly terms. Colin wondered just what exactly transpired and prompted Penelope to act as she did, for her column must have been the last viable recourse left at her disposal. She has stated that she could have chosen a better path towards resolving this matter. What on earth had compelled her to choose Whistledown? To opt for both their families to suffer through such severe ignominy?

Having it all unfold in front of his very eyes would be an exercise in endurance, for he knew not how he would manage to keep to himself at the first sign of Penelope’s distress.

Only time will tell.

“Young man, I am addressing you!” Mrs. Varley’s voice broke him out of his apparent state of distraction.

“Do excuse my wool-gathering, I was merely pondering on the best way we could assess the situation at hand,” Colin stated.

“Do you even know how to drive a carriage? Do you know how to navigate the streets with it?” the housekeeper asked, her eyes showing a sense of shock at the mere idea that was placed before her.

“Yes… Yes, I do,” Colin spoke before pausing to think the questions through. “A compass is bound to point us towards the North. Besides, we shall simply follow those around us. Everyone is headed in the same direction, I surmise. It is quite simple, really.”

How hard could it be, Colin wondered in the privacy of his own mind.

“Well…” Mrs. Varley let out a sigh of exasperation. “Wonders in this house never cease to leave me at a loss for words. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if one of these days Margaret quits aiding Mrs. Norris in the kitchen and opts for helping out Her Ladyship with her coiffure. At the rate we are going against the normal etiquette rules, I would soon be found in the kitchen myself, steaming a pot of potatoes! Lord help us all if that ever happens!”

“Mrs. Varley! Do not even speak of it,” the butler said. “I am convinced the state of our household could never be as bad as all that. Mr. Quill, aren’t you apprehensive of the members of this house taking notice of you serving their refreshments and taking their carriage for a ride?”

Before Colin could even form a single word, Mrs. Varley stated a fact. “That may as well be the sole aspect of this lunacy that is in no need of further inspection on our part, for you see - the only person that is bound to notice any such development is Miss Penelope, and we both know very well she would not utter a word about it to anyone. Not even to Miss Eloise. She knows very little, if anything, of what transpires under this roof, for all our benefit. The young lady, keen as though she might be to absorb knowledge, undeniably had no need ever to ponder such matters as household management.”

Colin suppressed any display of emotions at that conclusion, for he was determined not to fall into the same trap his lack of care had landed him into the last time one of his family members was mentioned.

Keeping his impulsive tendencies at bay felt imperative under the circumstances he has found himself in at the moment. There was no use in wasting time trying to untangle oneself from any verbal mishap over and over again, when time seemed to be such a delicate and precarious matter altogether. There was none of it left to be wasted.

“You are correct in assuming so. I am convinced that if she ever even suspected her friend suffering in any way because of it, she would have made her opinion well known. Her disgust with His Lordship would have been advertised for all to hear as well,” Mr. Briarly nodded in agreement.

“Indeed. No matter what we think of him or how much we would have agreed with Miss Eloise on that particular matter, the youngest Miss Featherington has learned to keep her troubles to herself. I know it must be hard for her, and nothing saddens me more than seeing her so accustomed to such a form of living, with a firm resolve not to share her burden with another living soul," Mrs. Varley said solemnly.

Once again, the butler nodded.

As ever, Colin felt crestfallen over that fact, and even more so by the notion that the staff themselves were well aware of this being Penelope’s approach to any hardship in life. They seemed to have a better understanding of her than her family did, that is unquestionable, for up until recently, Portia could not even acknowledge her daughter’s opinions on important matters pertaining to love and the very need one would have for it, choosing it over any monetary security life had to offer.

Archibald Featherington spent his days proving that security is often nothing more than smoke and mirrors. A mirage orchestrated for the benefit of any spectator who was inclined to cast their inquisitive gaze in the direction of his house.

Having prior knowledge of the state of his ledgers was proof enough for Colin to be convinced that his father-in-law paid no thought to the actual management of his household. The man had no regard for anyone’s well-being aside from his own. What effect did that have on his family? Colin couldn’t begin to guess.

Undoubtedly, he will soon find out.

“If this were an ordinary day and if I had time to spare, I would not have even entertained your suggestion, Mr. Quill,” the butler spoke, letting out a long sigh. “Since that is so seldom the case within this house, my hand is forced. Thus, I have to accept this new break with rules of propriety.”

“This is a common occurrence at this point, Mr. Briarly,” the housekeeper stated. “Some form of adjustment is always demanded of us at the last minute. It has been years since we arrived here, and there is an endless need to adapt to the whims of His Lordship. I would even be so forward as to say that his disregard gets worse with age. I feel most fortunate I will not live long enough to serve him when he is well into his dotage, for he is bound to become the worst curmudgeon this society has ever seen.”

After exchanging a quick glance with the butler and pausing to inspect Colin with a probing gaze, Mrs. Varley turned on her heels and went into the direction of the kitchen, retreating into the room situated right across it.

“A change of clothes is necessary, Mr. Quill,” Mr. Briarly stated. “I am afraid it is even more expressive in coloring than what you are currently wearing.”

Colin nodded in understanding, even though he had little to no consideration at all for his mother-in-law’s taste in fashion. Instead of aiming to become one of the Ton, she was apparently adamant to draw attention to her person like a moth is drawn to a flame. It was only recently that she realized that she was nurturing that same flame under her own roof, stoking its fire and sharpening its quill, as it were. Penelope’s wit was the hottest commodity amongst high society. Everyone revered it and trembled before it, apprehensive of what she may write, her mother amongst them.

Mrs. Varley returned and handed him his new uniform.

“Now, you go and change your attire, Mr. Quill,” Mr. Briarly said. “I will inform the stable boy he is to drive the carriage to the front doors himself, before anyone on the street can take notice of it, for the young ladies and Her Ladyship are surely to be ready to depart at any moment. We could not leave them and Her Majesty waiting for you to dress yourself.”

“Yes, Sir. I will be as fast as possible,” Colin assured them both.

“See that you do, I will be at home, waiting with Her Ladyship’s smelling salts should anything go awry,” Mrs. Varley muttered with vexation coloring the tone of her voice in advance, as if accepting it to be a fact that was to transpire without a fault.

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“Hell and damnation!”

“Margaret! Be mindful of your language,” Jane could be heard saying in reprimand.

The maids were returning from attending to their task of readying the ladies for today’s events. Both seemed exasperated and in need of a few moments of respite. They were met by the housekeeper and the new footman, who were still occupying the hallway.

“Margaret, explain yourself at once,” Mrs. Varley demanded. “I do hope you did not use such words in front of the ladies of this house, for I have no time to find you a replacement. With my luck, Mr. Quill will offer to assist in the role of a lady’s maid as well!”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Varley,” the maid pleaded. “I am appalled at the fashion the young ladies are required to wear. Surely, one can not be expected to think properly or even breathe while placed under constraints of such magnitude.”

“She was assisting me in lacing the corsets, Mrs. Varley,” Jane offered an explanation.

“You act as if this is a novelty, Margaret. It has been a part of their wardrobe since the young ladies reached a tender age of one and five, by now they were certainly accustomed to it or at the very least accepting of their fate.”

“I do know that. All the same, I would surely swoon!” Margaret said.

“Her Ladyship was present, adamant in the tightest of lacings the girls had yet to suffer through,” Jane stated. “Miss Penelope could not help but exclaim in concern over her oldest sister's ability to expel air from her lungs, but Her Ladyship dismissed her pleas. I do not know how common such curtailment of the waist was in her youth, but surely the stress of the day was impediment enough on regular breathing to any young lady today.”

“We are not to offer our opinions on any matter, least of all the fashion. Like us, it is susceptible to change,” Mrs. Varley expressed her viewpoint on the matter, aiming to close the discussion. With a raised voice, she addressed the newly appointed coachman at the Featherington House. “Mr. Quill! Do be on your way. We do not need anyone being vexed today other than myself. Be quick about it, the carriage would be waiting and ready to go in front of the main entrance.”

Colin nodded and went to exchange one uniform for the other with a slight spring to his step, for he was soon to see his wife again. A few hours had gone by, and they seemed akin to a string of endless days without her presence.

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Apprehensive about the coloring of his newest attire and his hair, for both inspired a feeling akin to sea sickness within him, Colin managed to ignore the small mirror upon his dresser that awaited to stupefy him even further than it had the first time he inspected his countenance.

Donning his newest uniform, Colin rushed to the main entrance where the carriage was already stationed, waiting to get the spectacle of a triple social debut well on its way.

“I do hope you know what you are doing, Mr. Quill,” the butler voiced out his concerns, appearing behind the carriage, as if he felt a final inspection was needed to assure him that at least the vehicle is in proper shape, as was expected of it.

“I will do my utmost, I assure you,” Colin stated, trying to find enough conviction within his voice that would allay both their fears.

“Briarly, my good man!”

A silent understanding between the butler and his new footman turned coachman was broken by none other than Colin’s deceased father-in-law.

Turning around to look at the man, he could not believe his own eyes, for there, in the flesh, very much alive, stood Archibald Featherington, looking rather unaffected by the mere importance today held for his daughters. No glee, excitement, or, Lord forbid, pride colored his features. It all seemed rather transactional - like another day amongst the Ton.

“My Lord,” the butler displayed respect for his employer with a slight bow of his head on a reflex. “Everything is in order.”

“I was not aware anything was awry,” His Lordship stated as if his audience with the butler never even took place. “All is as it should be. This day will end eventually, and the blasted rules will return to what they were, noblemen living their lives of leisure, free of any restraints or expectations. Suffering through this parade… Such is my lot in life for having been burdened with an heirless existence. Where in heaven’s name is that wretched woman?”

Colin was appalled at what he was hearing. A nobleman living solely for leisure, such a thing was so far from the truth it bordered on an insult to his whole way of understanding such matters, for he was well aware just what kind of sacrifices Anthony had made to keep both his family and his tenants well provided for in every regard. None of them could say they lacked for anything, a fact that could be proven and even measured by the level of respect his tenants showed him, appreciative of his active interest in every aspect of management pertaining to his lands.

Archibald Featherington truly was an abominable human being, spewing atrocities in front of the staff and insulting his wife in front of a literal stranger, for he and Colin had not been introduced. A fact his father-in-law obviously did not care to remedy. He expected to be served and not disturbed by any trivial matter, Colin remembered Mr. Briarly stating. A coachman was no better than a footman. Both were insignificant to him.

Disgusted by the man, Colin chose to use the vantage point the parallel placement of carriage windows provided him with to direct his gaze at his childhood home. Their carriages were awaiting for the human formed storm to envelop them whole, as if relishing the quiet before the chaos ensued.

Eloise was probably shouting out Daphne’s name at this very minute.

“Briarly, before I forget,” Colin’s father-in-law muttered as if he was about to share his opinion on something entirely unimportant to him. “We are expecting a guest to join our household during this social season, a young lady who is to accompany Miss Prudence, Miss Phillipa and Miss Penelope on the marriage mart in search of a husband herself. Do relay the message to Mrs. Varley.”

“Yes, Sir,” the butler’s answer was short and his tone clipped. “I will inform her at once.”

“See that you do,” Archibald stated. Clearing his throat in evident annoyance, he exclaimed, “You there!”

Colin looked at the man responsible for the existence of his greatest treasure in life. It will forever be baffling to him how someone so sweet and tender in nature, with a firm disposition as Penelope, came to be born out of such a shallow and vapid man as Archibald Featherington.

She was surrounded by fatherly indifference and the most horrid shades of green all of her life, like a flower trying to bloom amidst all of the weeds in Mayfair, located within her own home. For that reason alone, he could not truly blame her for having a hard time confiding in anyone, including himself and his sister.

When a person is used to storing up all of their emotions in order to avoid being ridiculed over them, like Penelope no doubt has been, or to avoid feeling like a burden to one own’s family, like Colin himself has been inclined to do - letting go of that reflex that forces you into a shell of a human being offering mere platitudes and pleasantries to the outside world is a hard road of self-reflection that leads to self-acceptance and self-esteem above all else. Cruelty of the high society is prone to hinder both of those crucial aspects of a person’s existence, which are important for a happy and fulfilled life. Instead, the Ton promotes a more superficial way of living, a fate no self-reflecting human can get truly accustomed to due to its profound emotional emptiness.

That was, in part, the reason why the Bridgertons always attract so much attention: they respect the rules but are not averse to going against mandatory etiquette to embrace what they crave most - a life partner who will wholeheartedly share with them every joy and sorrow the future may bring.

“I was addressing you!” Archibald shouted. “When I want to depart, I expect the door to my carriage to be opened. I do not pay you to stare vaguely across the square, and least of all to show me any form of disrespect, let alone rudeness that my neighborhood may be privy to.”

“Do forgive me, Sir,” Colin said in a neutral tone of voice, fighting to remain calm.

Opening the carriage door for his father-in-law made him suppress a giggle that was trying to burst forth from within, followed by a sigh. The inside of the carriage welcomed him with a recollection of that fateful night he chased after Penelope, proclaiming his devotion and love. That moment now seemed so close, almost within his grasp, and at the same time so far away, as if it occurred a lifetime ago.

Nevertheless, it was there - safely kept within his memory, offering him great comfort and joy amidst any eventual uncertainty that might arise during his existence in this altered form of the past.

Archibald kept on mumbling as he entered the confines of the carriage, reluctant to wait a moment longer but powerless to do anything other than that. Colin saw it as a small form of justice that the universe imparted upon everyone who was forced to share the same roof and air as him. Imagining years of living with this uncertainty he has felt in the span of a few hours solely due to his father-in-law’s disregard for his own duties felt like a prison one is unable to escape from, it appeared like a lavish fragile shell from the outside that was evidently void of respect and affection on the inside leaving behind a sense of coldness no one was deserving of suffering through.

Life seemed so unfair at this very moment, for Colin felt engulfed by the strongest urge to hug Penelope, which he was unable to act upon. Being in her vicinity will have to suffice for now. Thankfully, acting both as a footman and as a coachman within his household will enable him to be close to her at all times, for whatever she may need.

Chancing a look at the main entrance to his childhood home, Colin caught the exact moment the doors opened to reveal his family and himself. Daphne appeared delicate and graceful, Francesca seemed serene, Gregory and Hyacinth were in dire need of a reprimand to mind their comportment, Mother was bemoaning about Anthony’s tardiness to Benedict and Eloise seemed displeased with the mere idea of simpering about the Ton on display, like fine china in a shop that everyone visited solely to inspect the merchandise. The fact that she was not being presented herself did not lessen her feeling of annoyance. She was expected to be present amongst the members of the Ton, that felt like punishment enough.

Amidst that ruckus stood Colin Bridgerton of 1813, in tandem with Eloise, his gaze moved ahead, in the direction of the Featherington House.

Colin was observing that very moment with great care and interest when his attention got redirected elsewhere. Behind him, the entrance to the Featherington House opened. Next to Eloise and his younger self, Colin’s eyes became focused on meeting the azure hue that graced the face of his wife.

Penelope exited the house with a cheerful disposition gracing her countenance. Offering a wave of greeting and encouragement across the street, no doubt in hope it will give some comfort to Eloise. She stood there a moment with gleam arrested within her eyes and hair, her curls becoming a beacon for the sunlight’s caress.

Transfixed as he was by her presence, Colin could not fight against his instinct to inspect his former self and see if Penelope had the same effect on them both, even with time and memories acting as their main distinction. Both versions of him had the joy of claiming her friendship, no matter the year. The ties that formed it are inevitably going to blossom and deepen the devotion either in 1813 or 1815 and beyond.

Colin’s only hope was to be as close to her at present as possible without any major disruption to their story, for every phase of it was crucial in helping them navigate their understanding of themselves and the society they were enclosed within.

His instinct has proven correct. His younger self gazed at Penelope with a soft, barely noticeable smile upon his face. His interest evidently placed across the street rather than at whatever was happening in front of him.

“Make haste, Penelope!” Portia said in a harsh whisper that denoted vexation.

Remembering himself and his dual roles, Colin fought to suppress laughter at the fact that he was about to act as a footman, holding the carriage doors, and the next moment be entrusted with steering the horses toward their final destination - St. James’ Palace.

He is going to have so much fun relaying this whole adventure to Penelope of 1815.

“Yes, Mama,” Penelope of 1813 said in a quiet voice.

Colin stood next to the open carriage doors, his hand offered in assistance to his mother-in-law and sisters-in-law as they entered the carriage one by one. Pen followed behind them, her steps slow and measured as if each movement she made was performed solely to offer her more self-assurance and convince her that any tribulations she might face today were going to pass her by in the span of mere moments, lost within the splendor of the Palace.

Her eyes were downcast, a slight gust of wind playing with the curls that fell from her coiffure. Earrings shimmered in a teardrop shape on her ears, while a delicate necklace graced her neck; the glimmer of the jewels became even brighter as more light beckoned Penelope forward.

Colin surmised this was the first and shortest of promenades to be undertaken by any lady that was presented to Her Majesty, and yet those few moments he had spent entranced by every step she took appeared endless, moving by slowly as if frozen in time to be saved and cherished.

Penelope’s breath became more unsteady the closer she got to her destination, her chest rising in a rapid pace as fear and uncertainty overtook her. Colin knew how to recognize the signs of her discomfort very well.

After all, he was her other half and her husband.

Reaching the carriage and the family that awaited within, Penelope’s gaze lifted to assess the situation across the street - focused yet again on Bridgerton House. The window of her family’s carriage that was parallel to the one encased within the very doors Colin now held open for her offered Pen a chance to observe them once again.

No doubt she had an agreement with Eloise to exchange a glance in encouragement, Colin concluded.

The truth he found written all over her face made his heart soar and skip a beat at the same time.

Her gaze was focused on his younger self, finding within him that final bit of comfort she needed to feel safe with joining today’s proceedings.

Gazing upon Colin of the past, who sat upon a horse behind the Bridgerton carriage waiting to follow behind, his wife gave herself a small nod of self-assurance before looking to her left and meeting his own eyes, same shade of blue within one man split in two bodies with the same soul who cherished her whole - her past, her present and her future.

Her eyes widened for a moment before she blinked as if forcing herself to dispel the notion of disbelief that overtook her, for her footman could not be having the same eye coloring as her beloved, who was a few paces and a whole lifetime away from her.

Colin could not help himself from giving her a reassuring smile. He hoped such an act of silent comfort would somewhat soothe her racing thoughts, both regarding today’s events and that very notion she had tried to ignore and proclaim impossible, thinking it nothing more than a mere folly, the imaginings of a girl suffering from unrequited love.

His hand remained outstretched and still.

Waiting.

At last, Penelope’s hand moved to grasp it.

The touch of her fingers felt like the greatest comfort. It was the kind of reassurance only two women were ever able to provide him with, his beloved mother and his beloved wife.

Violet and Penelope Bridgerton accepted him as he always was. They never expected him to be anything other or more than himself. His bout of altered personality confirmed that very fact to him, nearly costing him his future and his happiness. Thankfully, the armor he was placing upon himself had no time to set and rust.

Penelope’s love divested him back to his bare bones and made him whole again.

Made him reborn into his true self with pure love and a gift of exuberant joy.

The joining of their hands made their souls complete and transformed their hearts into one, beating in perfect harmony, forever attuned to anything the other may feel.

Once again, his wife bestowed a smile upon him. This time, answering the one he was giving her, a silent understanding shared between them.

Convinced that no one would care to pay him any attention, Colin followed his smile with a small nod as well while tightening his hold on her hand.

Before lifting her glittering slipper to enter the carriage, she tightened her hold on his hand in return. Safely seated within the carriage, she made a move to let go of his hand.

Before letting the moment pass, Colin held her hand for a fraction of a second longer, and unable to stop himself, he uttered:

“Miss Penelope, good luck.”

He was hoping the rest of her family was too self-centered, as he knew them to be at that moment in time, to notice that the statement was addressed solely to her.

Surely, if anyone needed every ounce of luck and everything good within their household, it was Miss Penelope.

The future Mrs. Colin Bridgerton.

Now, if only her husband knew how to manage the team of horses and navigate the presentation traffic.

The time has come for his wife to be presented to Her Majesty the Queen.