A Matter of Priority

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/42442287.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: F/M
Fandom: Bridgerton (TV)
Relationship: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington
Character: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Daphne
Bridgerton, Charlotte (Long Live the Queen), Benedict Bridgerton, Kate
Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Anthony Bridgerton, Portia Featherington,
Prudence Featherington, Albion Finch, Philippa Featherington, Violet
Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Francesca
Bridgerton, Simon Basset, Lord Fife (Bridgerton)
Additional Tags: Colin Bridgerton's Two Loves: Penelope Featherington and Food,
Penelope Featherington Gets a Happy Ending, Colin "My Wife"
Bridgerton
Language: English
Collections: Bridgerton Gardens’ Six Month Anniversary Exchange Extravaganza!
Stats: Published: 2022-11-02 Chapters: 6/6 Words: 18838

A Matter of Priority
by Apeygirl

Summary

Or 5 Times Colin Bridgerton Put His Wife Before Food and One Time He Didn't.

For BeCurious who wanted something involving Colin’s love for Penelope... and for food.
She wanted it fluffy, sensual, and sexy. I hope I hit the marks while keeping it clean... apart
from relentless horniness, innuendo, and euphemisms, of course.

Notes

Note: I tried, I really did try, to be fluffy. But angsty canon things kept poking at me to deal
with them, but I hope I ended it in a sufficiently fluffy, sexy way

I’m going for show canon, here, and since show canon has not established when Penelope
first met Eloise and Colin, I’ve decided they were 10 and 13.
 A Prized Pear Pastry

September, 1804

Colin Bridgerton stared in longing at the pear tart in his hand, his perfect pastry. In all his thirteen
years, he didn't think he'd ever seen its like. “My perfect pear pastry,” he recited, wondering if he
could find another “p” word to describe it. “Precious,” he tried. “Prized… Patient?”

He’d been waiting patiently for it, after all — all day long, and even longer if one counted the fact
that he’d been after Cook to bake pear tarts all summer. Mrs. O’Hara had cruelly denied him, even
when he told her the cooking at Eton was slapdash and nothing at all compared to hers, she’d said
pears weren’t in season and that his flattery wouldn’t change that.

But she and the seasons had finally taken pity on him, and just in time, with only one week to spare
until he was sent back to school. He’d not been excited about wasting one of his last free Saturdays
on a luncheon in Hyde Park with his family, rather than having some real fun with his friends at
The Bartholemew Fair, sneaking into the bare-knuckled boxing competition, but Mother was so
sentimental about having the whole family together before term started.

Also, Footman John leaned down at breakfast and told him the Cook had baked pear tarts
especially for him, so he decided to be a dutiful son. And his dutifulness had paid off. Dessert had
been in his grasp moments ago, but Colin didn’t even get a bite before everyone was in uproar.

“Penelope?”

“Penelope!”

"Miss Penelope!”

"Miss Featherington!”

It seemed he was not done being dutiful.

Some ten minutes ago, their party had been interrupted by the family across the square and their
missing daughter that had, funnily enough, disappeared during a game of "hide and go seek."
Either she was lost or just terribly good at hiding.

Colin groaned and tucked the tart back into its napkin before slipping it into his jacket. He couldn’t
enjoy it properly, anyhow, not until Eloise’s new friend, this Penelope person, had been found.
And he would rather eat something this special at his leisure than shove it down his gullet hastily,
like a biscuit on the run.

He stared around him, rather annoyed that El’s little friend wasn’t found already. He hadn’t seen
much of her, except for the hair.

What did she have such violently red hair for, anyhow, if not to make her easier to spot?

He chided himself for being annoyed, thinking there might be reason to worry. Her mother had
said she hadn’t been seen since before lunch. He didn’t like to think of anyone missing a meal.

He glanced back at the tent, seeing that Lady Featherington, the mother, was still torn between
grousing about what a naughty thing the girl was and near-weeping that she’d surely been drowned
in The Serpentine.

His own mother was presently trying to calm the woman down, assuring her that she’d sent her
sons in search… all but Gregory who was five and, though he was miffed at being left out of the
search party, Anthony had told him that someone must protect the women. When they’d left him,
he’d been marching back and forth with a stick over his shoulder like a rifle.

Eloise was more than miffed at being left behind, caterwauling that Penelope was her greatest
friend in the whole, entire world — even though they’d only started playing together last week.
Still, she made such a fuss that Benedict had finally allowed her to join him in his search. Anthony
had gone off with Penelope’s older sisters trailing behind him. They didn’t look like much help.
Last he’d seen, they’d been arguing over who had more need of the parasol they were hitting each
other with.

Colin sighed and marched south along the bank, glad his sisters weren’t so useless. When he’d left,
even Daphne and Frannie, who weren’t searching, were making certain there would be bandages in
case of calamity and Hyacinth was offering Lady Featherington her favorite blanket for comfort,
the silly little thing.

Colin had volunteered to search along the river since he was the best at swimming. Even Anthony
admitted it. Not that he thought he’d be diving into the Serpentine, but he wasn't afraid to do it if he
had to. He stopped as the bank dropped off steeply, a large, thorny bush sticking out halfway off
the bank, with only a few rocks sticking out of the mucky water below.

He picked his way carefully over them, keeping his balance and avoiding the stickery bush. Once
he’d come around the edge of it, he was annoyed to find that there were less rocks going back to
the bank, though he supposed, if he could make the jump to a large one a few feet away, he could
hop to the bank again prettily easily.

He took a deep breath, bending his knees.

“Don’t!”

He stilled at hearing the small, but forceful voice, his arms wheeling at his side for balance. “Don’t
what?”

“Don’t jump on that one. It’s tricky. And slippy,” the voice said, followed by a sniff.
He slipped his coat over his hand, gripping a thorny branch and pushing it to the side to find a
small, dirty girl sitting on a fallen log, with only one shoe — a girl with hair too extremely red to
ignore. “Aren’t you her?”

The girl tilted her head. “Her?”

“Penelope, aren’t you? El’s new friend.”

“I don’t think so. Not anymore.” She sighed. “Mama probably won’t let me keep her now.”

He let out a laugh. “What does that mean?” He avoided the tricky rock and carefully used the
thorny branch to swing his way to the log. She wasn't impressed, still sniffling.

“I was only allowed to go play with her if I played like a lady and made a good impression,” she
said.

“Well, that’s nonsense. El never plays like a lady.”

“Even if she didn’t, I was supposed to. Mother says I might as well stay home if I can’t behave like
Prudence and Philippa do.”

“Are those your sisters?” He stepped along the log until he could hunker next to her. “I don’t think
they’re very well-behaved at all. Last I saw, they were whacking each other with a parasol.”

“But they never ruin their dresses, not like me.” She was still sniffling, staring down at the moss
and mud-streaked, but still extremely yellow, dress she was wearing.

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to do it.”

“Somehow that never matters to Mama,” she said, sounding somehow older than… Was she nine
like El? She was so much smaller, it was hard to tell.

“It won’t be so bad. Come on. Everyone’s looking for you.”

She twisted her soiled ruffles in her fingers. “Maybe you could go back and tell them you couldn’t
find me.”

“But then I won’t get my big hero’s welcome,” he said with a laugh. “I did find you first, after all.”

“Well, I am sorry, but I’d rather not go back,” she said primly.

“What happened, anyhow?”

“I was playing ‘hide and go seek’ with Eloise and I thought… Well, she’s so much braver than me.
She even hid all the way up a tree when it was her turn,” she said, her voice starting to shake, “so I
thought if she could find me on that big rock, then she’d think I was brave and be impressed,” her
voice devolved into little sobs now, “but then I jumped and it was all slippery and I slid and it
scraped my leg and I lost my shoe and I jumped over here, but it was too late and now I’ve
impressed nobody and made the worst impression ever and I shall never have a friend of my own
and—”

“You impressed me!” he cut in, hoping to stop her from going into a full fit of tears. He hated it
when girls cried. It always ruined whatever fun they might be having and they could never be
cheered out of it no matter what.

She glanced up, startled. “How?”

“Like you said, that’s a tricky rock. And you didn’t even fall in the water. You only lost a shoe. If
I'm impressed, El's gonna be.” He gestured to her knee, all scraped and bloody under the torn
stocking. “And I bet that hurts.”

She dried up a little. “It did at first. Not as much now. ’Cept if I do this.” She pressed on the cut
and hissed.

He hissed in sympathy. “Well, then don’t do that, silly!”

She let out a slight, watery laugh.

“I think you’re very brave. That’s why you stayed lost.”

She glanced his way, tilting her head.

“Most people get a cut like that, they’d scream. But you didn’t. Otherwise we’d have found you.”

She seemed to consider it, smiling. “I guess I didn’t. Though I did cry a little.”

"Anyone would." He leaned down to examine her knee. It was a pretty good scrape. “I’m no
doctor,” he said, putting on his most serious voice, as deep as Anthony’s, “but I think we can still
save your leg if we go back now.”

She dropped her smile. “Then it will have to be lost. I’d rather have a peg leg than go back to
Mama.”

He laughed. “And live here? I wouldn’t be neighbors with such a tricky rock if I were you.”

She sighed. “Perhaps I can push this log into the water and ride it out to sea.”

Colin nudged her, playing along. She was a funny little thing. “Then I’d have to go with you.
Mother says I’m to start acting like a gentleman now that I’ve started school. And a gentleman
wouldn’t leave a lady to sail the high seas on a log all alone. There could be pirates out there.”

“Then I shall fit in very well once I’ve got my peg leg,” she said on a giggle.

“Peg-Leg Pen, the Pirate,” he laughed.

“Pen?”

“Oh… Penelope, I mean.”

“You can call me ‘Pen’ if you like,” she said with a grin.

“It does have a certain flair. As for me, I shall be…”

“Captain Colin, the… Clever,” she tried.

“That's a good one. But how do you know I'm clever?"

"You just seem like you must be."

He grinned, puffing up a bit. "So you know my name?”

She shrugged. “Not every family is named after the alphabet. You’re quite famous for it. My
mother isn’t nearly so clever. She only got to one letter.”
“Now I see it. Penelope, Prudence…”

“Phillipa, Portia… That one’s my mother,” she added. “Mama doesn’t like a lot of things, but when
she finds something that she does like, she uses it all up. Like the letter ‘p’ or the color yellow.”
She smiled ruefully at her dress.

“I rather like the letter ‘p’. It makes a very satisfying popping sound, after all. Before I’d found
you, I’d been trying to find another ‘p’ word for my perfect pear pastry. I’d got to prized and
precious.”

“Don’t those sort of mean the same thing?”

“I guess they do.” She was a smart one. “Perhaps you can think of a better one while we… pick
our path to the park,” he suggested playfully.

She didn’t play along. “The only ‘p’ word I can think of is punished,” she said miserably, then
grew silent.

He decided not to press her to go back again… for now.

There was a loud gurgle in the silence and Penelope held her stomach, embarrassed. “I’m sorry!”

“Good God! Don’t be sorry! You didn’t even eat lunch, did you?” He reached into his jacket
without thinking, pulling out the slightly crushed napkin. He did hesitate a bit before holding it out
to her, but not for long. “I’ll not let you starve before you even begin your life of piracy. Do you
like pear tarts?”

“I think my life of piracy is at an end already anyhow.” Penelope’s hand hovered over it before she
drew back. “Isn’t this your precious, prized pastry?”

“It’s nothing,” he lied. “Cook makes a batch every day. I’m nearly sick of them.” He pressed the
tart into her hand. Really, it was a matter of priority. He needed to get her back and, if a bribe
helped… “Go on. You’ll need your strength,” he said with a grimace. “I’ve met your mother. She
looks… pitiless.”

“Mama’s not as… pernicious as she looks,” she finally said, unwrapping the tart and taking a bite.
“Her eyebrows are just drawn that way. This is quite good. I wish our cook made these every day.”

So do I, he thought but didn’t say. Perhaps he could wheedle another batch out of Cook for his
heroic acts today… if he could get the girl to come back. Still, he’d let her eat first, take her last
moments of freedom.

He knew very well what it was like to know that, no matter what you did or said, you’d be heading
for doom the minute your mother saw you. No one wanted to be that close to punishment, whether
it took the form of a scolding, bed without dessert, a week mucking out the stables, or — worst of
all — a five page letter of apology and abject praise to his sister for tossing her favorite book into
the pond to see how long it floated. The letter had been Eloise’s idea. She was diabolical. He didn’t
know why a nice girl like this wanted to dangle after his sister.

“Do you feel better?”

She swallowed the last of it, nodding. “For now. I suppose I shall have to face Mother before
dark.” She met his eyes and he couldn’t help noticing hers were as blue as his Mother’s favorite
curtains. “Thanks for being so… pleasant and polite.”
So they were back to ‘p’ words. “Those are a good ones,” he said, standing and pulling her up.
“Besides, I’m not. I’m in it purely for the purpose of praise."

She laughed. "Your hero’s welcome."

"I don’t rescue shoe-less damsels for nothing, you know! Can you walk?”

“I’ve still got one shoe.” Her face lit up a little. “Do you think I can hop it?”

He considered it carefully. “I think it would be a shame not to try.”

They made a sort of game of it as they picked their way up the bank, him giving her points as she
hopped her way around the muddier bits, taking them away when she dropped her stockinged foot.
Their laughter ended as soon as they cleared the trees, however.

“Penelope Featherington!”

They’d been spotted… and by her mother.

“I just thought of another ‘p’ word,” she said in horror.

“Parent? Portia? Punishment?” He chuckled as the angry woman bore down on them.

“Prisoner.” She smiled and saluted. “It was nice knowing you.”

He laughed loudly, now quite certain Pen was his favorite “p” word.

TBC

**************************

If you like this, you'll probably love my original romances. You can find them here:
https://www.wattpad.com/user/AbbyWheelerRomance
 A Lack of Lasagna

June, 1808

Colin Bridgerton stepped out of the carriage, tugging his starched cravat and straightening his hat.
Here he was, fresh off his first year at Oxford, which was much more demanding than he thought
it would be, hoping for a respite. Summer was a time of freedom, of fun, of frivolity.

But not while his mother had anything to say about it. Because what was he doing with his first
week of freedom? Escorting two of his sisters to some stupid girl’s birthday party while Mother
was bound to Lady Danbury’s for dinner and cards — probably a grander time than he was in for.

He held out his hand reluctantly, helping Daphne down. She liked to think herself quite the lady
these days. She thanked him, at least. Eloise only sneered and pushed his hand to the side before
hopping down, herself.

Eloise groaned. “Do you think we can leave early? I tried to get out of it yesterday, but Mama
ruined it for me and I ended up having her to tea instead.”

“Eloise,” Daphne scolded. “It’s impolite to refuse an invitation.”

“Even from someone like Cressida Cowper? I’d wager you think she’s just as awful as I do.”

“Whatever I think of her, it’s very kind of Lady Cowper to include us.”

“You’re no fun.” Eloise turned to Colin. “I am very good at sneezing in a believable manner. And
you can be forced to leave and attend to me in my illness.”

Colin was quite ready to go along with her plan. Now that the final term was over, several of his
friends were planning parties involving cards and pilfered booze and bawdy plays. He’d much
rather cut out early for such delights.

“We’re here now. Besides, it’s not about liking people,” Daphne said as they ascended the stairs.

"Aha!" Eloise crowed. "So you admit it. You don't like her!"
“One must often deal with people one doesn’t like and still maintain civility," Daphne said,
sounding almost exactly like Mother. "It’s good practice for our future lives, don’t you think?”

Colin glanced at his younger sister, taken aback. Sometimes he wondered that there wasn’t some
mistake in their birth order, that Daphne wasn’t actually older than he. He never would have
considered such a thing. Not that he was ever uncivil, mostly because it wasn't in his nature, but
he'd never reasoned it out like Daphne obviously had. Anthony and Ben already seemed miles
ahead of him, and it seemed like she was also leaving him behind.

Eloise snorted. “Well, my future life won’t include Cressida Cowper, not if I can help it.”

“It very likely will,” Daphne said as they were led in. “London might seem large, but we see all the
same people. Always have, always will.”

“Then I will move to the far reaches of the country, Ipswitch or Eastbourne or… even
Gloucestershire,” Eloise muttered, “whichever’s the last place she’d find me.”

Daphne slowed to let her pass, taking Colin’s arm. “I know this might be last place you’d like to
be, but—”

“This? Escorting my little sisters to a party filled with girls of fourteen—”

“And sixteen,” Daphne put in.

“— screaming and chasing each other like little banshees?” He winced as they entered the fray,
noting that the screaming had started already. Why did they always scream about everything at this
age? One was chasing another over a ribbon. Did it require this amount of screeching?

“If you can last until supper, there is one bit of consolation,” Daphne said. “The Cowpers have a
chef… not a cook, mind you.”

“Is that so much better?” He felt quite a bit offended on behalf of Mrs. O’Hara. She often said that
a chef was nothing but a cook who happened to be paid twice as much, and also happened to be a
man. "And a foreign one at that," she’d sniff, "as if our own cooking ain't good enough."

“Yes. But their chef is of the Italian variety,” Daphne whispered. “And I hear he’s known for his
lasagna.”

"You're joking."

"I would never joke about food, not to you."

Suddenly the screaming seemed like sweet murmurs. He’d never admit it to Mrs. O’Hara, but there
was something intriguing about those foreign chefs and their strange dishes. “Is that the one with
the strips of dough and cheese and… other things?” He’d heard there was meat involved
sometimes, or vegetables soaked in tomato sauce, and usually… more cheese. Ricotta cheese, dry
yet moist and creamy in flavor, but also Parmesan, which smelled awful but tasted divine, or
Romano, sharp and salty.

“I don’t know. You’re the one who went on and on about it,” Daphne said, “I thought you must be
the expert.”

“I wish I was,” Colin sighed. One lad at Eton, who’d been to Naples, had described it… and several
times upon Colin’s urging. He said the dough wasn’t fluffy like bread, but a thin, slippery thing.
Also he said the whole thing was baked until it bubbled, then cut up and served, and the cheese
stretched from the platter to the plate. It all sounded like a mess, terribly unappetizing. Colin had
been desperate to try it!

He gripped his sister’s hand. “Daphne… grazie. You have given me a reason to survive.”

She laughed and pulled away. “Really, Colin. I do hope you travel sooner rather than later… for
the food alone.”

Colin backed his way to the nearest corner, hoping that he could at least make it to supper, trying
to ignore the groups of girls who were gawking as they passed him, staring at him all wide-eyed,
then giggling en masse as they scampered away.

Why had his mother made him attend this awful thing? He felt like an exhibit on display among
this sea of… gigglers.

Suddenly, he caught sight of something across the room… a flash of yellow and red. At least he
knew someone tolerable here.

He crossed the room, skirting several more gigglers and gawkers, before he reached his particular
port in this storm. “Pen!”

“Colin,” she said, curtsying, which was strange. Why such formality for him? He’d rather she just
treat him as she usually would but, now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure what was usual for
Pen now. The last few times he’d seen Pen, she’d been strange, quiet.

“It’s good to see a friendly face here,” he said, sidling up to the wall she was hugging.

“Yes! You… are also a… face that is friendly,” she said before growing silent, staring down at her
hands. At least she wasn’t as giggly as the rest, but she didn’t talk to him as much these days and he
wasn’t certain why.

“Are you put out with me, Pen?” he teased, even knowing she couldn’t be. Pen was never put out
with him, not even when Eloise was cross with him, and told Pen that she ought to be, too.

She glanced up, but didn’t meet his eyes. “Of course not. I… only… am surprised. I did not think
to see you here. I did not think this your sort of party.”

He glanced at the girls, partnering each other in what looked to be a very sloppy sort of
cotillion. “I’m glad you think so. Because I’m counting on you to tell me how best to escape it.”

“I’ve no way out for myself,” she said, her eyes a bit mischievous as they finally slid to his, “so
why should I aid you?”

“Come now, you once planned to ride a fallen log out to sea and you helped fashion a horse trough
into a sea-worthy vessel.” It was truly a feat, and made quite a mess, the way she and Eloise had
dressed up and sealed that bit of wood. He’d helped… mostly because he’d caught them at it and
refused to be left out, after that. He needed to see if it worked! “The S.S. Barnboat, if I recall.”

She grimaced at the memory. “Not very sea-worthy. It sank on its maiden voyage.”

“Yes, but not immediately,” Colin said on a laugh. It had sailed down the creek for five whole
minutes before the wax sealing it had failed and Pen and El sank with it into the muck. In the end,
they’d all declared the venture a… successful sort of failure, perhaps even worth the punishment
that came later. He'd graciously accepted his part, even though Pen tried to claim he was blameless.
“I refuse to accept that you have no plan of escape.”
Pen sighed. “I hate to disappoint, but I have nothing.”

“Well, then, allow me…” He glanced around the place. “Now, I think crashing through the terrace
door is quickest. We could use the table as a battering ram. But if you think climbing to the
skylight is more dramatic, I shall not disagree.”

She smiled... finally. “And what shall we use for rope? Your cravat?”

“God, no. I can’t even undo this thing without help. But we could fashion the curtains into some
sort of—”

“Why, Colin Bridgerton!”

He drew back from the girl now in front of him, startled. “Miss Cowper.” He didn’t mean to jump,
but there was something about Cressida Cowper that was always just a little bit alarming. She was
a bit too loud, a bit too garish, a bit too… much. And while he did recognize that he was standing
next to the girl wearing the brightest, yellowest dress in the room, there was something quiet about
Penelope, calming even. But not this one.

“I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have a gentleman present,” she cooed. “We are to practice
our dancing, you know.”

“Well… I hope you have a nice time doing it,” he said, gesturing to the other girls now lining up as
a harried looking chaperon took her place at the piano, deliberately misunderstanding her. He
might have been forced to attend this thing, but he wouldn’t be dancing with a bunch of little girls
if he could help it.

“But without a partner? I hear you’re quite good at dancing,” she said coyly, not letting him out of
it.

“You know, I normally would, but—”

“Er… It’s a shame about your injury, Mr. Bridgerton,” Pen said softly beside him.

“My injury?” He started, grasping her shoulder, as if he had to lean on something. “Yes. My injury.
You see, my… er… foot got stuck in… in…” In his mouth, apparently.

“In a horse trough,” Penelope supplied, obviously hiding a laugh.

“Yes, Pe… Miss Featherington was just condoling with me about it. But I hope the lot of you have
a fine time with… all that.” He made pained face, still leaning on poor Pen.

Cressida glared at his hand, then at Penelope. She likely knew they were having a bit of fun and
didn’t find it amusing at all. Not that he cared what she thought. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
She drew up straighter, lifting her chin. “I’d have thought my dear friend Eloise would have
mentioned it at our tea yesterday.”

“Your… tea?” Penelope frowned.

“Well, she had a tea and she invited me,” Cressida said with a sickly sweet smile, “especially. We
had such a lovely conversation about… Spanish lace, I believe.”

“Lace? Eloise?” Penelope shook her head.

“What about me?” It was then Eloise herself appeared. “And where have you been hiding? I’d
been looking all over for—”

“It seems you’ve found me at last,” Cressida said, tittering and taking her arm. “You must help me
practice the quadrille. Some of these other girls are so short and clumsy,” she said, glancing back at
Penelope pointedly as she led her away, “they’ll be no help at all.”

“I doubt I’ll be any help.” Eloise was also glancing back at Penelope, confused. “I don’t know the
first thing about… quadrants.”

“Oh, Eloise! How funny you are!” Cressida let out a loud and patently false laugh. “You know, it’s
like I was saying yesterday, you really should keep livelier company. My friends and I have such
fun. You really must join us when we next…”

Colin nudged Penelope’s shoulder as they disappeared in the giggling sea, laughing. “What’s she
going on about? Eloise would eat a spool of lace before she’d talk about it.”

Penelope moved to the side, shrugging his hand off. “No, it’s nice. I’m glad they had such a… nice
time and a nice tea. Of course, Eloise should have other nicer, livelier… taller friends.”

“I’ll give you that she’s taller. Not sure if she’s livelier. But nicer? That girl?” He scoffed loudly.

“Is it hot in here?”

“It’s June. It’s hot everywhere,” Colin grunted, pulling at his stupid cravat, thinking El looked even
more miserable here than he was, attempting to dance with the others, sort of slouching and
lumbering about like she was trying to get it over with quicker. He chuckled. “Look at her. Do you
see how she…” He trailed off, realizing Pen wasn’t there.

He looked about the room, but he didn’t see her hair nor her dress. He started to wonder if Miss
Cowper had actually upset her. He’d thought it quite obvious the girl was fibbing her face off
about her new friendship with El, but perhaps it wasn’t so obvious to Pen.

He slipped toward the terrace doors, thinking he might find her out there. Even if he didn’t, it was
too dreadfully hot and loud inside. He’d much rather find some peace before supper, even if he
didn’t find Pen.

As it was, he found her, sitting atop a garden wall, one foot kicking back and forth to the rhythm of
the music inside. It reminded him a bit of their first meeting. She looked just as forlorn, though not
nearly as dirty and shoe-less.

“Why must I always discover you hiding away?”

She glanced up, then away again. “I hope you haven’t come to bring me back.”

“I’m afraid I must. I don’t have any pear tarts to lure you with, though.”

“Just as well,” she sighed. “I don’t think anyone would give you a hero’s welcome for bringing me
back to the party.”

“El would. I’m sure she’s miserable in there without you. So am I.”

She slid him a doubtful glance.

“It’s true. You’re the only girl in there, outside my sisters, I can abide. The rest of them keep
giggling and gawking at me for some unknown reason.” He hopped up onto the wall next to her.
She sat up straighter, saying stiffly, “I think you know very well why they do that.”

“No, I do not. Or if I do, I refuse to accept it.” He shook his head. “I keep hoping you haven’t
joined their lot. Though I wouldn’t mind getting a giggle out of you these days. I still think you
might be cross with me for some reason and are refusing to tell me why.”

“No,” she said quickly, finally turning to look at him. “You’re not the problem! It’s me. I’m… just
all wrong.” Her face reddened and she turned away. “I wish I could just hide away until I’m old or
something.”

“You can’t do that. There needs to be more girls like you or there’d only be girls like… them.
They’ve got nothing in their heads but dancing and dresses.”

“What’s the matter with that?” She shrugged. “I like dresses… perhaps not the kind my mother
likes. And I wouldn’t mind a bit of dancing… someday. I’m not even clumsy. I know Cressida
says that, but she forgets that she’s the one who’s always knocking into me because she’s horrid.”

“She is horrid. I don’t know why you believe El would like her over you.”

“It’s not even that. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she did sort of… grow out of me. Cressida and
Eloise seem to belong in ways I do not.”

“El? Are you joking?”

“I know she doesn’t want this world, but it wants her.” She sighed, still with that air about her as if
she’d lived longer than her years, silly little Pen. “It doesn’t seem to want me very much. I’d
always been so excited to start wearing longer skirts and going to parties and now… It’s just
embarrassing and awkward and nothing at all like I thought it would be. I’m nothing like I thought
I would be. I’m not even taller.”

“What? You’ve grown at least… some… since I met you.”

“Not in the right way,” Pen said ruefully. “I hope I never make my debut. Haven’t you ever felt
like everyone else knows what they’re doing but you?” She scoffed. “Of course you haven’t.
You’re a Bridgerton.”

“What does that mean? I’ll have you know being a Bridgerton is not as easy as it looks. For one
thing, anything I think to do, one of my brothers has already done… and better. And it seems like
everyone else has some sort of talent that I lack. Benedict draws and paints, Daphne and Frannie
play and sing, Anthony is in charge of everything and everyone listens to him, Eloise reads more
books in a week than I do in a year, Gregory makes everyone laugh without even trying, and
Hyacinth… Well, she terrifies us all whenever she sets her mind to something. God knows what
she’ll do. Perhaps unseat the queen.”

Penelope finally did laugh… just a little. “Well, I think there’s a talent you haven’t considered.”

“I know what you’re thinking. I always clear my plate the fastest at every meal. But, somehow, no
one else agrees with me that eating is a talent.”

She laughed harder. “I meant your manners.”

“Table manners? They’re actually dreadful. Not as bad as Gregory’s. I would never waste precious
food by tossing it at my siblings, but—”

“You know that’s not what I mean,” she said, nudging an elbow his way. “You have an easy way
about you and… Well, it puts other people at ease, too. It's why people like being around you,” she
finished.

He stared at her, wondering if that might actually be the best compliment he’d ever received. And
then she went on…

“And Cressida is right.”

“God forbid. About what?”

“You’re good at dancing.” She glanced down, toying with her gloves. “El and I were sneaking
eclairs at your mother’s ball and… Well, I thought you were quite a bit better at it than the others.”

“Well, now you’ve left me no choice.” He huffed and hopped down from the wall. “You’ve
flattered me into it. Very sneaky of you, but I shall dance with you anyhow.” He turned and held
out his hand.

She hid a smile and shook her head. “I wasn’t trying to beg for a dance.”

“And yet you’ve succeeded.” He tugged at her hand. “The rumors of my injury are greatly
exaggerated. You should know. You started them.”

She relented and hopped down, laughing. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Besides, this one is rather fun. I can hear it from inside. Have you ever danced a Scotch reel?”

“Only in lessons. But it’s rather new to me. I…”

“It’s quite easy. You just sort of skip and hop about. Like this…” He took her hand, pulling her as
he skipped to the side, then forward and back. “See?”

She followed well enough, trying to keep up with his steps, though she faltered a bit, tangling in her
skirts and stumbling. “I can’t do it,” she said, gesturing down, “with all this nonsense."

"I can see it's a bit of a pickle."

"El and I wish ladies could wear breeches,” she sighed, “like heroines in Shakespeare plays. We
really don’t see why not.”

Colin used to wonder what the big fuss was, too. Then he’d seen his first bawdy Shakespeare play,
one where women played all the roles and to see their legs in stockings, their hips and bottoms
encased tightly in breeches… It was quite the sight to behold and he’d found himself entranced by
all the shapes — some slender and lithe, some with rounded bottoms like little melons, and some
large and lovely with soft, giving flesh. He liked those shapes best of all. He remembered being
particularly enchanted with one buxom thing who’d traipsed into the audience and landed in his
lap and the soft feel of her… Well, he wouldn’t be telling Eloise’s little friend about that. Suffice it
to say, men were terrible and could not be trusted with such a sight. She’d find out soon enough…
not too soon, he hoped.

“You know, I think you ladies have it better. You could have a peg leg under your skirts and no
one would be the wiser,” he tried, changing the subject. “I’m certain that is a very convenient
thing.”

“Well, only applying to those with peg legs,” she giggled, “but I suppose so.”
“If I recall, you were nearly so afflicted, so I wouldn’t laugh at their plight.”

“Oh, never.”

“Come on, now! Don’t give up.” He took her hand again. “I helped Daphne practice this very thing
and it took her ages to stop mincing about like a little mouse. It’s all about force. You just have to
kick harder than I do with those skirts. Kick your knees up! That’s it!”

They’d ended up practicing well past the end of the song. In fact, when they finally stopped,
breathless and laughing, there was no music at all and Daphne was standing in the open door, her
arms folded. “Have the pair of you been out here this whole time?”

Penelope stopped laughing, yanking her hand from his. “Colin was only teaching me the Scotch
reel.” Why did she always do that nowadays? Just when she seemed to be herself again, she folded
up like a rug.

“Colin is a very… energetic partner.” Daphne smiled, obviously trying to set her ease. “I hope he
hasn’t been tossing you about like he does to me.”

“Only because she minces,” Colin muttered out the side of his mouth, thankfully making Penelope
giggle again. “Anyhow, I was just about to escort Miss Featherington into supper.”

“Oh, Colin!” Daphne sighed. “Supper’s come and gone!”

“What?!” Colin rushed past her to the door, seeing that she was right, to his horror. The dining
chairs had been taken away and the table had been laid with dessert — which wasn’t even anything
interesting! — just fruit and biscuits and blancmange. “B-but is it all over?”

“Yes, thank goodness!” Eloise marched up to him, looking cross. “And there you are!”

“What are you angry with me for?” he asked, scowling.

“Not you.” She pushed past him. “Penelope! I thought you’d left!” He turned to find her shaking
Pen. “Don’t you ever abandon me like that again!”

“But I didn’t. I was here the whole—”

“Not that I should blame you if you did. You know, I tried to get out of it myself, even invited her
to tea to make my excuses, but Mother wouldn’t allow it. Do you know what I suffered? She talked
my ear clean off about lace, lace and ribbons, Penelope! Today and yesterday!”

“I am sorry. I thought you were—”

“I was desolate without you!” Eloise pulled her in, probably squeezing the life out of her. “Please
tell me you had a better time!”

“I cannot,” Pen sighed. “I was also… simply desolate.” She slid her eyes to Colin, then shocked
him with a little wink.

He laughed, a bit surprised at her cheek, and glad she was smiling again.

“I will say the food was surprisingly good,” Eloise said as she pulled her away, “but that’s all I’ll
say.”

And he was scowling again.

Daphne sighed beside him.

“Was it good?” he had to ask.

“Well—”

“Don’t answer that. I’d rather not know.”

“I did see Cressida teasing her.” She nudged his shoulder. “It is rather kind of you, always cheering
up poor Penelope.”

He stood a bit taller. “Well… someone must.”

“But why not Eloise?”

“Well, she was… occupied.”

“I mean, you might not have missed the meal.”

“I thought it was simpler if I stepped in.”

“You’d have done better to fetch Eloise. She could have explained in a thrice about that silly tea
with Cressida and Penelope wouldn’t have been upset for long.”

“Well, I don’t like her being upset at all. Not if I can help it. And if that means I miss the odd meal,
then… so be it. I wasn’t even hungry.”

“Hmm.” Daphne was staring at him oddly.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then shall we go? I’m starving!”

Daphne laughed as she took his arm.

“What?”

“Nothing!”

TBC

*******************

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 Forbidden Fruit (part 1)

Forbidden Fruit (part one)

July, 1814

Colin frowned as he entered the grand dining room, noting that there were entirely too many
people and entirely too few platters.

He’d slept a bit later than he’d meant to, but had he truly missed breakfast? Usually, after a late
night, his mother didn’t serve breakfast before ten at the latest. He approached his mother, who
was directing the footmen this way and that.

“Mother, are there no eggs this morning? Or sausages?”

“Oh, Colin! Have you finally graced us with your presence?” She looked a bit put out. “After you
neglected to attend the ball—”

“Mother, I told you, my visit kept me later than expected.”

“You mean your visit to Miss Thompson? The one from the night before? That doesn’t explain last
night.”

“Lady Crane,” he sighed. “And last night, I found myself unequal to—”

“To join the party I plan but once a year? Of course, surely that is too much to ask of my children.”

“Please don’t make me feel worse. I already feel like an absolute idiot. I… I simply wanted to
assure myself she was happy, that I hadn’t been an absolute villain in the whole business and…”

“Colin…” She sighed and pulled him to a corner. “I know you feel as if you were in the wrong, but
you, my darling, were the wronged party. If you wanted to be assured of her happiness, then you
could have written—”

“I just didn’t think a letter was enough.” He’d never written an apology letter. He’d never done
anything to warrant one. Guilt was an entirely new sensation and, whether his mother thought he
should feel it or not, it was there and he didn’t like it. “But I am glad to say that she — and the
children — are well, as is Sir Phillip.”

“Children?”

“Twins,” he said.

She nodded. “I don’t know the family intimately, but I hear twins are common among the Cranes.
And it is best that they are with their relations. From what I understand, he is their uncle.”

“Yes… Yes, I suppose so. He is a very… kind man.”

“And do you think yourself unkind in comparison? I wish you didn’t.” She glanced around, looking
conflicted. “Colin, there are a great many guests here now. But why don’t we ride back to London
together. We can discuss this at length and—”

“No, Mother. There is no need. I am at peace with it. I promise.”

She touched his cheek. “If you are not, I am willing to entertain all of your silly notions of guilt, if
only to correct you on them. Now, have you seen to your trunks?”

“No, I’d hoped to eat first, some eggs or—”

“Oh, I am sorry. But the hot dishes have come and gone.”

“So soon?”

“We are feeding and sending off half the people we know this morning, Colin. There’s no time for
a leisurely meal. But they’re putting out the pastries and fruit now, so I’m afraid you must content
yourself with that until...” She gasped, staring out the window, before sailing off. “Mrs. Wilson?
Can we find someone to tend to Lady Bastanchury’s dog if she will not? I see it’s wandered into
my roses again and I will not have them…”

Colin took himself to the table nearest the door, spotting Eloise gesturing Penelope to the chair
next to her. He supposed Penelope had missed breakfast as well. He’d only spoken to her on the
stairs moments ago. He couldn’t help feeling he might have been a bit abrupt with her as, when he
approached, her eyes darted away. He’d been a bit hungry — he still was — so he supposed he
hadn’t been at his best.

“Sorry to say it, Pen,” he began as he took a seat across from her, “but all the good food is gone."
He tossed a teasing glare at his sister. "Thanks a lot, El.”

“Yes. I ate every bit of it and thought of you the whole time," Eloise droned. “You’re the one
who’s late… and to a meal. Whatever could be wrong with him, Pen?”

“I’m sure I’ve no idea,” Pen said, still not quite meeting his eyes.

“Did your visit with Lady Crane go so badly? It can’t have gone as badly as my night.” Eloise
ducked her head as a very tall man entered the dining room.

Lord Morrison, Colin believed, and a pompous windbag, if he recalled correctly. “Was he here?
Glad I missed it.”

She nudged Penelope. “See? See? I told you he was insufferable.”

“I never claimed he wasn’t,” Pen protested.

“If even Colin sees it—”

Colin scoffed. “I beg your pardon!”

“Oh, you know I mean no ill,” Eloise said dismissively. “You get on with simply everyone. So
someone must be awful to run afoul of you.”

“I don’t think I deserve such…” Was that praise or an insult? He could never tell, coming from
Eloise. “At any rate, I do not get along with everyone.”

“But you do,” Penelope said, busying herself with her tea as the footmen started putting out fresh
pots. “You are the most amiable person I’ve ever met.”

He shook his head. “Perhaps you don’t meet enough people.” He still felt so… wretched. It was
that same sinking feeling that drove him to visit Lady Crane, wondering if his treatment of her had
been callous.

“Colin, I think I’ve observed enough people to know who is amiable and who is not.” Penelope
met his eyes, looking quite serious. “You’d never be hurtful to someone, not truly.”

He’d never thought it was something he was capable of. Yet he’d wondered, on that long drive to
Romney Hall, if a truly good, truly gallant gentleman -- the kind he always wanted to be -- would
have married Marina regardless, claimed the child as his to lessen the damage to her reputation?
Yes, she lied, but had she loved him beneath all of it? Had he broken her heart?

Yet he couldn’t help thinking — not just after the way the night ended, with Marina telling him
their romance had been naught but a fantasy — but with all that led up to it, that she hadn’t loved
him.

Even without the fact that Marina seemed content in her situation — not happy, really, but content
— the same sort of jokes that would have had her laughing in delight during their courtship got
nothing more than a bored, even annoyed, look now.

Really, had she truly been delighted even then? There’d been a hesitance, sometimes, before she
laughed. An impatient look before she smiled. And seeing her again, it seemed so plain that she
had not loved him.

“Perhaps seeing her was what you needed, to leave the past behind, to no longer feel the need to…
foreswear women,” Penelope had said.

As his experience with women was not so vast in the first place, he supposed that had been a silly
thing to declare. What was he even foreswearing? Anthony was correct, in that he'd perhaps been
so taken by the first girl to indicate she might like to kiss him precisely because of said lack of
experience. Had he even loved her? Or had it just been... He didn't even want to call it lust. What
he'd felt for her hadn't been so base as that. There was something about her that made him feel...
needed.

On the carriage ride home, he thought he ought to be angry about it, about Marina’s dismissal of
him, her callous words, yet he could not summon anything like anger. She had not loved him. He
had not broken her heart. Her heart had been broken before she met him. Perhaps that was what had
called to him in the first place.

“Perhaps sometimes it’s hard to see someone hurting, even if you weren’t the one to hurt them.” He
glanced up, meeting Pen’s always-sympathetic eyes. Was that all this was for him, too? Sympathy
for Marina?
Her eyes moved away. “All I know for sure is that you are not to blame, Colin. Other people…
they might have blame to share.”

He chuckled. “Lady Whistledown, perhaps?”

“Yes… her. And others,” she said, her eyes sort of… pained. “But I hope you see that you are not
among them. You really are very good. You must know that.”

“Didn’t I once say those same words to you?”

“I think you did, but they more readily apply to you.”

He caught himself smiling, wondering how she always did it?

“If you would simply open your eyes to what is in front of you, then you might see there are those
in your life you already make happy,” Marina had said, talking of Penelope in particular. At the
time, he’d wondered why, but in moments like this he could see why Marina remarked upon her,
how rare it was to have someone like Penelope, who always made him feel bigger than he was,
kinder, cleverer, more interesting. She answered his letters, she listened to him, she consoled him at
his worst and buoyed him at his best.

He was certain he didn’t do half as much for her, whatever Marina said. It would have been more
accurate for her to say Pen made him happy, rather than the other way around. Though he did like
to cheer Pen up where he could, he was sure he didn’t pay her nearly as many compliments as she
did him. And he ought to. She was kind and witty and, he’d not remarked upon it yet, but he had
noticed that she looked… rather fetching lately.

She’d looked a bit different all season, a bit less tightly curled and ruffled. Not that he knew very
much about girls’ dresses and hair, but he did know enough to note that Penelope’s gowns had
often put him more in mind of a little girl's pinafore than a grown-up sort of dress and it was nice to
see her wearing something simpler — still with far too many bows, but then she wouldn’t be a
Featherington without excess frippery, he thought with amusement.

He should say something nice, about how he liked her… softer look. Not that she hadn’t been soft
before. Penelope always had a softness about her — in her manners, her eyes, her skin… not just
smooth to the touch, but with a give to it that was sort of pleasant under his hands when they
danced or when he touched her.

Not that he touched her skin very much. Just the occasional pat or squeeze or slight caress when he
greeted her, or talked to her alone, or… Really, his family was just like that. They were always
touching. It wasn’t odd or anything.

He knew he didn’t touch her to excess, so he wasn’t sure why he was feeling so bothered about it
right now.

Except... did he?

He must or he wouldn't be thinking about it so much now.

Why couldn't he stop thinking about Penelope's skin?

"Colin?"

He tore his eyes from her skin to her lips, since they were talking to him. They were also soft... at
least they looked like they must be, and plump, generous. "Hmm?"
"You seem so upset." She leaned over the table. "I truly hope you aren't still blaming yourself."

It took him a moment to realize what she was speaking of, since her leaning forward had revealed
yet more skin... of the bodice variety, which was also plump and generous. But he did finally catch
on. "Oh, the... No. You are very good to... to reassure me, Pen."

“What are you two talking of?” Eloise demanded, happily taking his mind away from such prurient
pursuits. “You both look entirely too serious for a Saturday morning and I won’t have it, not when
they’re serving cakes and pastries. It’ll ruin my appetite. Come, Pen. Our cook makes the best
scones in—”

“No, thank you.” Penelope sat up straighter in her chair. “I’ll just have some fruit.”

“Fruit again?” Eloise rolled her eyes as she filled her plate with tarts and scones.

“Fruit?” Colin scoffed, watching as Pen did indeed fill her plate with... fruit… and nothing else.
“Pen, El’s right. Our cook’s scones are truly—”

“I’ve had them before,” Pen broke in abruptly. “But I’m really not in the mood for... baked things.”

“What?” Colin felt almost offended, especially now that he could see pear tarts among the trays.
Not sampling them was surely a sort of crime.

“Don’t bother arguing with her,” Eloise said around a bite. “She’s on this ridiculous reducing diet
idea and I’ve learned that, the more I protest it, the more she digs in about it, so we shall just have
to wait for her to come to her senses.”

“I have not taken leave of my senses. I like fruit.” Penelope plucked a strawberry up.

“Over scones? Ridiculous. I’ve nev—” Colin, in that moment, ceased to speak. Really, he couldn’t
remember what he’d been poised to say because Penelope Featherington’s lips - plump and
generous, as he'd recently noted - wrapped around a strawberry and she moaned.

In retrospect, he realized she was just doing it to tease El, who was claiming, quite rudely and with
her mouth full, that her scone was the best one ever, but he barely saw that as Penelope bit down,
her upper lip dragging over the skin of the fruit before she released it, licking her lips.

Then she laughed, as if this was somehow funny, her eyes meeting his. Yes, she was likely
laughing at El, but he felt almost personally attacked by it.

He did tell himself to look away, but he couldn’t seem to actually do it.

See, while she was laughing, parts of her seemed to… shake — parts above the bodice, to be
specific and, though her dresses usually did a very admirable job of hiding her bosom, he had
sometimes noticed it.

Not that he wanted to!

Really, he tried his best to avoid it, but there were times when he was, perhaps, dancing with her or
standing directly next to her and one of them, perhaps, said something witty and she laughed and
suddenly he forgot she was El’s little friend who he liked very much — sometimes more than El —
and he, perhaps, couldn’t help where his eyes landed.

But he always made certain they didn’t land there for long.
He glanced away now, resolutely. He was a gentleman. He did not leer at young women.

He wasn't even leering now. He was simply having a hard time looking elsewhere. He tried to
focus on the tray of pastries. It was usually a very easy thing to do. They were pastries, after all.
But then he spied her fingers plucking up a plum and he couldn’t help following it up, up, up… and
halfway into her mouth, watching as she bit into it, as the juice nearly dripped from her lips before
her tongue seemed to catch it at the corner of her mouth, stopping its descent.

He glanced heavenward, determined not to witness her consuming the rest of it, feeling almost
angry now. Did she know what she was doing? She must. The way she’d gone from talking about
her softness to this lusty display was…

Wait. No.

To his utter embarrassment, he realized that hadn’t happened at all.

In fact, she’d been talking about his goodness, something that didn’t seem to be in sight at the
moment, and then he’d started thinking about her goodness and what Marina had said and trying to
find a proper compliment to pay her and he actually still hadn’t done it because he’d gone on to
woolgather until he’d ended up thinking about her softness and now he was — he glanced down to
be certain — apparently afflicted with an arousal in the middle of his mother’s formal dining room,
God help him!

He stood quite abruptly, the scrape of his chair jarring, even among the chatter. Several people
stopped their conversations.

“I’m actually not hungry,” he announced loudly, not sure why he was doing it, only knowing that
he needed to say something.

“What’s the matter with him?” his sister asked as he rushed away.

“I don’t know,” he heard Penelope answer behind him. “I’d usually say he’s just hungry, but
apparently not.”

If she only knew… which she wouldn’t. He was sure she'd be horrified. What kind of awful,
disrespectful lech was he?

Maybe Anthony was right about him needing a visit to the brothels. The idea had always
embarrassed him, but wasn't it more embarrassing to be reduced to such a state as this by Penelope
Featherington eating a plum?

Even thinking it, he knew he wouldn't. But he also wouldn't be looking at Penelope in such a way
again... not if he could help it.

TBC

**************************

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 Forbidden Fruit (part 2)
Chapter Notes

Note: There’s a bit of book canon here and a bit of theorized show canon. Basically, it
starts off with one little line from the book’s kiss, but takes an argumentative (and
horny) turn. Don’t mind me. Just playing around with an alternate first Polin kiss and
some banter.

June, 1815

Colin tilted his head, slanting his mouth over hers, breathing in Penelope’s shocked gasp.

She had no right to be shocked. This was all her doing! He certainly hadn’t come here with the
intention of kissing her. But she’d gone and practically forced him into it and now he couldn’t stop
if his life depended upon it.

And it had all come out of practically nowhere. He’d simply visited to discuss the possibility of
Eloise’s secret life as Lady Whistledown and made a silly offhanded comment about rumors and
how they took on a life of their own. And yes, he might have mentioned kissing first, but it was
only to illustrate that they hadn’t kissed, not that they should.

“Suppose I told everyone that I had seduced you,” he’d said, and not with seductive intentions,
though he had been kneeling before her sofa, gripping her shoulders and staring deeply into her
eyes... for emphasis only. “You would be ruined forever. It wouldn’t even matter that we had never
even kissed. That, my dear Penelope, is the power of the word.”

There. Nothing about that should have led to kissing. He might have glanced at her lips a time or
two — or six — in the awkward silence that followed, but that didn’t mean he would have done it.
He’d taken great pains, all season so far and through the end of the last, to ensure that Penelope
Featherington remained unkissed on the whole, and especially by him. He'd sacrificed a lot for her!

He’d avoided sitting across from her at meals they both happened to be attending. At Anthony's
wedding, he'd been armed with a flask, which he indulged in frequently rather than indulging in
other ways, such as feasting his eyes on certain parts of her. And that was really for the best as his
study of her necklace, studiously avoiding parts below it, had led to his definitive unmasking of her
cousin's schemes... which he had exposed, saving her family from ruin. After that, he’d very
emphatically stopped Fife from making leering comments about their friendship — something he
still insisted was for her own good, no matter how she’d misconstrued it. When she insisted on
putting herself on the marriage mart in earnest, he’d been there to counsel her and be sure nothing
untoward happened.

And when he’d locked her and Eloise in a closet for three hours last week — which led to their
renewed friendship, all thanks to him — he’d simply shook Pen’s hand in congratulations rather
than embrace her as he’d started to. And he could have done with a hug. Eloise had punched him
right in the gut twice when he released them. On the whole, he’d stopped touching her so damned
much. Outside of dancing, he’d barely touched her in a year until now!

Really, Benedict had been the one to put a stop to that when Colin had, in a fit of guilt and
gallantry, asked his brother if it was possible that his very innocent touches involving Penelope had
been possibly misconstrued by people who certainly didn't understand their friendship and the...
well, the generally demonstrative nature of the Bridgerton family. Surely, it was all very innocent
and Fife was mad in his assessment that Colin was "always touching" Pen when Colin had taken
him aside at Mondrich's and asked where he got such a notion. Colin very pointedly told Fife that
he had the wrong idea, that he and Penelope were just very close friends.

"If you say so," Fife had said with a wink. He always tried to skew things in that way, lech that he
was, but he was sure no one else saw anything untoward about it.

Unfortunately, Benedict seemed to have the wrong idea as well. "Now that I think of it... You do
touch her a bit much," his brother had said. It hadn't been the reply Colin had been seeking in the
first place, and then Ben went on... "Come now, it does look a bit odd, the way you seek her out at
every ball and grasp her hands and speak so closely and, now that I think of it, gaze at her for far
longer than-"

"But those are all for very good reasons." Colin had tried to explain his reasons, but Ben didn't
seem to think they washed - even the ones involving saving her family from ruin.

"You could have done it in a less obvious way than grasping her hand and hauling her from the
room in front of everyone!" And even though Colin tried to explain he'd not considered that would
be a problem, Ben had said, "Well, now you know it is. So take care."

"I have been taking care," Colin had protested. "No one has taken more care of Penelope
Featherington than me!"

"Clearly," Ben had said on a lough. "You've been very diligent." He'd been smirking and raising an
eyebrow at Colin nearly every time he approached Penelope since.

And even though Colin sorely disagreed that he'd done anything wrong, he was a very circumspect
sort of man. He'd taken great care with Penelope in the year that followed. No hand-holding, no
little touches on the ungloved part of her arm, no matter how soft and tempting it looked, no
leading her from the ballroom into other rooms, no gazing overlong, not even when her necklines
lowered or her hair was temptingly tossed into styles that had his fingers itching to undo them.
And then, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday afternoon, in the heart of Mayfair, in a quiet
drawing room on Mount Street, Penelope Featherington had gone and ruined all that effort by
forcing him to kiss her, starting with one fateful question.

“W-would…”

Colin’s eyes had widened as Penelope formed the words. Dear God, she was going to do it. She
was going to ask him to kiss her and he’d have no choice but to do it and their precarious
friendship would be ruined again. He told himself he could just not do it, but who was he fooling?
He was already leaning forward.

Yet she seemed to hesitate before she asked. “Would you…" She dropped her eyes from his.

"Yes?"

She seemed to steel herself, meeting his gaze again. "Would you really think it so scandalous, if I
were to be kissed before marrying?”

He drew back, dropping his hands. “What?”

“I’ve heard other girls talking and… Well, I’m thinking it might be better than not to kiss a person
before letting courting go any further.”

He stood and backed away from her. “What kind of girls are you talking to? Is El saying something
like—”

“No, of course not. Eloise thinks my aim to marry is mad to start with and she never wants to talk
about that sort of thing.”

“Good! And you shouldn’t either.”

“Which is precisely why she couldn’t be Lady Whistledown,” Pen had to point out.

“Very well, then. Never mind that.” Really, the conversation had taken such a turn, he barely
recalled where it started. “I think your behavior is more concerning at the moment.”

“I’ve not done a thing. I am only saying that one hears things. The new Mrs. Rushworth, for
instance, says she adores kissing her husband, yet her friend, Countess Grassley, says she despises
it and likens it to having a slimy slug in her mouth. And I think, perhaps, it’s not kissing that is the
problem, but rather who one kisses.”

Being around her so much, he'd started to notice her penchant for gossip... and quite a lot of it
improper. “What precisely are you getting at?” Colin huffed.

“That perhaps one should try kissing a suitor before tying themselves to them for life. One should
know if one enjoys it, at the very least.”

“Penelope! That is the most scandalous thing I have ever… I… I shall pretend you never said it.”

“But how is it scandalous? One cannot get with child from kissing, so it’s surely not as risque as
seduction.”

“You’re still talking about it,” he said, rubbing his temples.

“When you offered your help, you said you could answer any question I had.”
He threw up his hands. “Not ones like this! Where is this even coming from?”

“You brought up kissing and it got me thinking—”

“God, I wish I hadn’t! Do you have some suitor you are considering for this madness?”

“No. I wouldn’t call anyone my suitor, not yet.”

“As you shouldn’t,” he said, not missing an opportunity to hammer that in. “Haven’t I stressed the
importance of not showing preference to one so early? You’ll discourage any others and your
choices shall be limited by—”

“I know. I have not forgotten your lessons.”

“Well… good. Really, I think I’ve taken great pains to aid you this season and I’d rather not see
you go ruining everything for some… whim about kissing.”

“But I’ve not been allowed to do anything else with them,” she said — suddenly and loudly. “You
say flirting is too forward and they won’t respect me. And asking them about the future will scare
them away. And being too interested in their pursuits is too cloying and—”

“And? It’s working! You are now mysterious, aloof, intriguing, an enigma to them!”

“As they are to me. I don’t even know if I like them!”

“And you think kissing is the answer to that?”

“I am only saying that perhaps methods of courtship should be amended slightly to include such a
thing. It would certainly help to eliminate a suitor that doesn’t suit. Say, I was on a promenade with
Mr. Dankworth, for example."

“Has he done something? That little sneak!” Colin paced away. He’d actually thought Dankworth
the least worrisome of her sudden swains. “I just knew it was all an act. No one is that guileless
without—”

“He has done nothing! But if he did, as long as no one saw, what would be the harm in such an
experiment?"

"The harm would be to your reputation. I don't know what you're getting up to, but it stops now!"

“I'm not getting up to anything! No one has kissed me!" She looked quite angry now. "No one has
even come close!”

“Good!”

“No one ever will,” she muttered under her breath, crossing her arms and sitting back. “Not until
my wedding day, I suppose. Ridiculous.”

“I heard that.” He turned back to her and just as quickly looked away.

With her arms crossed like that, her décolletage, which had seemed respectable a moment ago, now
looked positively indecent. He’d noted that her bodices had been getting lower and lower this
season and, while he had a mind to say something about it, he had stopped himself. Commenting
upon a lady’s figure was very disrespectful. And he was working so hard to be respectful to her this
year, damn it all! Even now, he was averting his eyes when he could be happily looking his fill.
He'd think she'd appreciate the sacrifices he was making for her.
“You know, I-I-I wonder why you accepted my advice at all if you find it so ridiculous.” She’d
been like this lately, questioning him constantly, and it was unnerving. He’d thought she’d be a
much more biddable student or perhaps he a more patient teacher, but it was not working out that
way. It was as if, the more time they spent in each other’s company, the more frustrated they
became. And something needed to be done about it… something like… like… like putting her
nonsense to bed once and for all. “Kissing a man one barely knows is not an option for a gently
bred young lady and that’s all there is to it,” he exploded.

“And you don’t think it’s even a little unfair that men can place their lips wherever they like?”

“Penelope, I simply cannot continue this discussion,” he said dazed, thinking of several places
where he might put his lips. God, did she even know that the images she was calling forth were
absolutely filthy? He must correct her. “I can’t believe I even have to say this, but young ladies do
not go about kissing every man they fancy until they find one they like doing it with.”

“Why not? It’s what men do!”

Why did she have to go and say things that were so… damned true? He tore at his cravat, since it
was choking him. “I must say, this is a bit of a surprise, after everything.” He’d done nothing but
give her sage advice, out of the goodness of his heart and with no ulterior motives at all, and look
where it had got him! Disrespected, practically disobeyed, and definitely discomfited. “If my
lessons are so faulty, then—”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, staring at his neck. “But why must all the rules apply to me and not to
you?”

“Me? What have I done to—”

“I mean men on the whole, not you personally,” she said, her eyes still glaring at his bare neck, as
if annoyed at the sight of it.

Well, it was too bad for her. He’d not be choked any longer. “And yet I am the one tortured with
this nonsense when I haven’t even had lunch!”

“Then, by all means, eat,” she said peevishly, gesturing to the long-forgotten repast Briarly had
laid out for them ages ago.

“Gladly.” He took his seat again, happy he could breathe now, happy this nonsense was over,
happily putting some cheese on his plate. “Aren’t you going to—”

“I’m not hungry,” she said, sitting back on the sofa, crossing her arms again.

“Nonsense.” He put his eyes on his cheese. “No wonder you’re so contrary today. Have a
sandwich, at least.”

“I do not want a sandwich.”

He glanced up again at her pouty little tone. It matched her pouty little lips. He stared at her
forehead resolutely. “If you’re on that reducing diet again, I shall inform Eloise—”

“I am not. But very well. I shall have some fruit, if you insist.”

And that was what when she did it.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but time seemed to have slowed as she bent, giving
him a completely unencumbered view down her entirely-too-low bodice as she leaned even further
forward. Her fingers dangled over some grapes, then some orange slices and then she, he swore,
caressed a strawberry to torture him personally before plucking up a peach... a peach, of all things!

He’d once vowed he would never watch her eat again — and certainly not fruit. But he had no plan
of escape. He could only stare in horror as she lifted it to her mouth, lips opening to gently catch on
the skin before she bit down and…

Really, there was only so much a man could take!

"Damn it all!"

The peach probably rolled somewhere across the room as he pulled her to her feet, then against
him, taking her lips with a moan of surrender. He'd been defeated, after all. She'd left him
absolutely no choice but to kiss her.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been, but after what could have been the first five seconds or
hours, he realized she hadn’t made a noise since her delicious little gasp and he started to think this
was a terrible mistake and perhaps he shouldn’t have dragged Penelope from her seat and mauled
her because she dared eat a peach.

He started to pull away... But then her fingers were raking through his hair and he was gone, his
own sliding down her back to her bottom, lifting her against him until the both of them lost their
footing and dropped to the sofa. Once that happened, it wasn’t long before he had her bare thigh in
his hand, lifting it over his own as he continued tasting her lips, then her jaw, then her neck and
then that tantalizing skin over her bodice and… then nothing.

Colin pulled himself away - and quite heroically, he thought - standing and straightening his
waistcoat, which had had ended up half-off. He didn’t even know where his cravat had landed.
Today’s lesson had certainly gotten out of hand… that or very well in-hand.

He gestured to her, still sprawled on the sofa and looking a bit dazed. “So, there! That’s a kiss and
you… you’ve had one now. So you can stop talking about it. Lesson over.” He tried to cross his
arms, then gave that up, putting a hand on his hip before also abandoning that. He couldn’t seem to
find a way to stand at the moment since he’d much rather not be standing, actually. He'd rather be
sprawled on top of her, to be quite honest.

She stared up at him, her eyes clearing as she pulled herself to a sitting position, squaring her
shoulders and adjusting her dress. “I wasn't aware that was part of the lesson plan. And I’m afraid
that doesn’t satisfy my curiosity,” she said, so primly, as if she hadn’t just been writhing under him
as he kissed her neck... and parts below. “I’d wanted to kiss a suitor,” she said, meeting his eyes
with a challenging sort of stare, “and you are certainly not that.”

“Yes, you made that clear from the start, didn’t you?” Colin couldn’t help but approach her again.
“I’m just a means to an end, someone to practice your wiles on until you find some other man to
enjoy them.”

“Me?” She scoffed loudly. “How dare you pretend I'm the one practicing wiles when you know
very well I’ve been pining after you since we met,” she said, before she covered her mouth, turning
absolutely beetroot red.

He stared at her, wondering what color his face was as he was torn between saying he knew it all
along and saying it was a ridiculous claim, demanding she elaborate at once. Yes, he might have,
at times, suspected Penelope carried a bit of a tendre for him. But in these last months, he'd started
to think it was all wishful thinking on his part. But if it wasn't... If she wanted him half as much as
he wanted her...

He scoffed, and much louder than she had, for good measure. "If you wanted me, then you
wouldn't have tortured me like this," he said, leaning over her, hoping she'd say it again.

"I'll have you know that I've been the one tormented!"

“Yes, and that's why you tortured me, for your revenge. I'm glad you finally admit it,” he started,
hiding a smile, “that this entire scheme was your way of drawing me in..."

"I did no such-"

"... pretending you needed my help when you obviously know precisely what you’re doing with
your lips, your sighs, your skin, your… scandalous way of eating fruit.”

“Oh, no. You cannot turn that around on me," she said softly, eyes dropping to his lips. "You
insisted upon teaching me. I said 'no' for ages before—”

“Just another part of your little plan, making me think it was all my idea. You duplicitous,
delicious, scandalous-”

“You’re the scandalous one," she broke in, "constantly tempting me with your… bare neck.” She
was staring at it, even now, hungrily. He wanted her to bite it.

“Says the girl with the bodice that dips into the very depths of hell.” He planted a hand on either
side of her, fisting the sofa cushions as she gasped at the word. “Just look at you. You’ve learned
your lessons too well. You must be stopped.”

“I was just about to say the same about you.” She laid back, even as her words gained force. “I
shudder to think of you imparting teachings such as yours on any other unsuspecting girls.”

“Then we are agreed.” He settled his body over hers quite firmly. “This foolish endeavor of yours
is at an end."

"You mean your-"

"No more husband-hunting. No more talk of kissing endless suitors. In fact, no more talk of
kissing. It’s much more efficient to—”

"Yes, I agree." She pulled him down by his neck, stopping him from speaking — intelligibly, that
is — for at least the half-hour it took until her mother and Prudence arrived home.

After that, they made a hasty effort at righting themselves as they heard them bicker their way up
to the drawing room, after which Colin had made an even hastier exit, rushing past the pair on the
stairs and tossing a “Good day, Fady Leatherington!” over his shoulder.

Even if he could form proper words, he wasn’t about to make chatter with Penelope's mother in his
state. He was sure Penelope looked even more unkempt, but at least she could hide certain
conditions that he could not.

He didn’t even realize, until he’d walked halfway home, that he’d left his hat and coat behind, also
his carriage, also he was pretty certain he’d neglected to actually propose.

And he hadn’t even eaten… not lunch, at least.

TBC

**********************

If you like what I'm putting out there and want a bit more, it's right this way...
https://www.wattpad.com/user/AbbyWheelerRomance
 A Groom without Gratification

July, 1815

Colin had suffered many hardships in the last month, but he really thought today was the worst of
them, which was ridiculous considering it was his own wedding day and should, by all rights, be
the happiest day of his life. But perhaps that was not to be expected after this month...

First, there’d been his engagement, which took an entire week to secure. Penelope hadn't been the
easiest woman to woo, with her ridiculous idea that he’d regret it, insisting that she loved him too
much to marry him, a notion so foolish even Anthony Bridgerton himself would scoff at it.

He’d had to wonder why she’d felt no such qualms about marrying some other fool she didn’t even
love, but she kept hemming and hawing about how that was to be a business arrangement and it
wasn’t the same with him, and couldn’t he simply forget the idea, but also continue kissing her
because she didn’t seem willing to stop that, the wanton little minx.

He did understand, once she finally told him precisely why she thought marriage to her was such a
disastrous idea. And he can’t say he didn’t spend a day unable to speak to or look at this stranger
who he’d thought he knew so well. El did try to explain things, or at least give her thoughts, but
she'd had much more time than he had to reconcile this. He might need weeks, months, or... Really,
in the end, he couldn’t go any longer than a day without her.

He did wish he’d waited a bit longer, as proposing to her in front of her entire family was one of the
more surreal experiences of his life — especially because her mother seemed to think he was
proposing to Prudence despite him kneeling directly in front of Penelope. Pen thought the whole
thing was much funnier than he had, but perhaps that was Lady Whistledown talking.

The next week had been fraught with that very subject. Both of their families had to be informed
before Cressida Cowper, a joy as ever, informed the whole of society and the queen and perhaps
every shopkeeper in Mayfair. Suffice it to say, there hadn’t been a moment of peace as some met
the news with excitement, others with amusement, others with anger, and others with offers of a
business partnership — but that was just Hyacinth.

Penelope kept offering to let him out of it and he’d had to kiss her dozens more times, and in many
places, also several locations — carriages, curtained alcoves, a closet at the Mottram ball once —
before she stopped questioning his determination.

It did take time for his mother to forgive her crimes against Eloise, but Eloise assured her it was
long-forgiven on her part and had no ill-effects that she could see.

“Really, once I thought better on it, I decided I quite liked people thinking I’m a political radical.
Makes me sound quite intimidating, don’t you think?”

After that, and an explanation of the pickle Eloise had been in with the Queen, Violet Bridgerton
was still a bit miffed, but now more so because Eloise seemed so enamored of this notion of being
the most feared spinster in The Ton. “Really, Penelope, I’d always thought you to be a better
influence than that. She shall be unbearable.”

And all that was before the rest of the world found out in the following week! Though they did
offer their mothers the solution of an elopement and a very long honeymoon on the continent until
the scandal died down, neither thought it wise to hide away, especially not Lady Featherington.

“Lord, I thought this day would never come and I shall not be deprived of the festivities I am due
after Phillipa’s wedding was so dreadfully small. I’ve crafted a color scheme and everything!”

And, while Colin wasn’t fond of his mother-in-law’s color palette, he cheered up when his own
mother had assured him that she would be providing the food. She did know all his favorites, after
all.

“Should we even need any?” Penelope had asked hesitantly. “I’m sure no one will come.”

“People will come, if only to gawk,” her mother had said. And she’d been right.

Looking about, the Featherington garden was filled with nearly as many people as had attended
Anthony’s wedding… the one with the wrong bride, not the right one.

And that was precisely what made this day his hardest yet. With so many people pulling them this
way and that, neither he nor Penelope had been able to eat anything! At a wedding breakfast!

Time and again, he’d tried to escort his bride back to their table, and some guest or other waylaid
them. Some with genuine congratulations, others with snide remarks - really, he hadn't wanted to
invite the Cowpers in the first place, but Penelope did not wish to appear petty - and yet others with
endless questions.

Even the Queen -- who’d spent the last week summoning Penelope to the castle for daily
interrogations, elaborations on every past mention of Her Highness, clarifications on passages that
only hinted at certain tidbits of gossip without speaking plainly enough -- was now delaying them,
now telling Penelope how she should have phrased this or that, while strongly suggesting that
Penelope’s insistence upon retirement should be reconsidered. Penelope could only nod while
Colin stood by with a bland smile… Because what else were they to do about it? She was the
Queen!

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” Penelope began, “but isn’t Lady Whistledown much less intriguing
now that people know she’s only me? And I certainly doubt I’ll be hearing any gossip now. I
imagine people will run the other way if they see me coming.”

“There’s still the audience to consider. My girl, when one has attention — which can be in very
short supply — one must use it well. People might wish for advice, for nudges in the right
direction as to fashion, which books to read, which concerts to attend and such.”
“I’m sure I’d be helpless about all that,” Penelope said with a demure glance down. “I’m sure I’ve
not such sophisticated tastes or insights as… well… as Your Majesty.”

Clever girl. Penelope had actually handled the queen quite expertly, with some advice from Lady
Danbury and from Eloise, as his sister insisted she had gained a certain working knowledge of Her
Majesty through trial and error over several interactions, some successful and some dreadfully not.

“Just remember that you know nothing,” Eloise had said. “She knows simply everything. And
there is no such thing as too much flattery.”

“Are you suggesting that I take to writing?” The Queen scoffed at Penelope now.

“Me? I’d never suggest Your Majesty—”

“That I publish some sort of… society guide to aid my people in matters of taste? That I mold their
minds and favor them with bon mots and anecdotes gathered over the years? I will say some sorely
need the help, but I certainly don’t have time for such endeavors.” She pursed her lips before going
on. “But I shall expect you to attend me next Sunday to tell me more about this idea of yours. I
suppose I might have time to entertain it over luncheon.”

“This Sunday?” Colin protested. “But we shall be in Italy!”

The Queen turned his way abruptly. “I beg your pardon?”

“Er… I only mean that… You see, we sail Tuesday or at least we… we were planning to, but if
Your Majesty would rather...” What was he even saying? He certainly wouldn't be changing his
honeymoon over a luncheon, but she was so deuced intimidating!

“I’m afraid my husband is correct, Your Majesty,” Penelope said, placing her arm in his and
squeezing his wrist. “We are to honeymoon there. It’s really my doing. I insisted upon sampling
Italian food and my husband is ever so indulgent, even though he would have rather toured
Prussia.” She glanced up at him significantly. “Is that not right, Mr. Bridgerton?”

A bald-faced lie. Penelope had wanted to sail to France now that it was no longer a war-zone, but
Colin was afraid things would still be far too unstable. They might find all the bakeries shuttered or
something equally horrible! He’d much rather go when he was assured that they’d not be starved.
Prussia hadn’t even been considered. Still, the Queen smiled much more favorably on him after his
sudden interjection, so he nodded, sighing.

“I do so long to see Prussia and its famous… you know the… ah… ah…” What kind of food did
they even have?

“The Bavarian Alps, I’d wager,” the Queen supplied.

“Yes. The very ones!” He should have thought of that. He did enjoy the natural wonders when he
toured, but he was so blasted hungry that he could think of little other than food at the moment.
Weren't they known for sausages? He was beginning to see the appeal.

“I confess, there is no sight so majestic,” she said wistfully. “You must not deprive yourself for
long.”

‘I’m certain we will not,” Penelope said. “My husband has a great passion for travel. He’s toured
Greece and Cyprus already.”

Colin glanced her way, rather pleased by the pride in her voice, and her calling him “my husband”
so much.

“Then I shall wish you happy travels, Mrs. Bridgerton.” The Queen said indulgently. “You can
attend me upon your return.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Penelope said with a deep curtsy.

Colin followed suit with a low bow, relieved they had escaped, though he couldn’t help letting out
several growls - from his mouth and his stomach - as they moved away. He ignored them. “My
husband, eh?”

“Hmm? Oh, that.”

“I quite like being called that, especially by my wife.”

She gave him a look that made him want to tear off his cravat and toss it into her mother’s duck
pond. “I couldn’t very well call you ‘Colin’ in front of the Queen, could I? And I know very well
now how you detest being called ‘Mr. Bridgerton.’”

“Yes, let’s do that as little as possible.”

“Though I did enjoy her calling me Mrs. Bridgerton. I think she might have been the first to do so.”

“I don’t know why she must call you anything at all. I’d have thought her curiosity satisfied after
last week.”

Penelope shook her head. “I’m just grateful she’s been more curious than angry. I could be locked
in London Tower as we speak.”

“But what did you do to anger her, truly?”

“Let me see…” Penelope held up a hand, ticking off on her fingers. “Questioned her traditions, her
judgment, her wigs on occasion, her—”

“Yes, but you also entertained her. Eloise thinks the Queen despises nothing so much as being
bored.”

“She would know.” Penelope giggled, which drew his attention to her bodice.

Yet another scandalous creation from Madame Delacroix. He’d finally thought, as her fiancé, that
he could have some say about such things, but Penelope had disagreed about her décolletage quite
fiercely, saying she’d not go back to girlish necklines simply because she’d be a married woman.
And neither her mother nor his own mother had taken his part about what looked like a very
fashionable wedding dress design involving ruffles up to her neck. He’d been chased from the
modiste’s shop by all three, but not before Madame Delacroix promised him that, if he thought his
wife’s day dresses were scandalous, he should see her night wear.

Damn it all, why was the sun still out?

That was another thing he was being deprived of. All this week, he’d been unable to be with her, at
least not properly. He really hoped, with them being practically married, it meant they’d be given
more privacy, but the stolen moments became fewer and fewer. Between her fittings, the
aforementioned audiences with the Queen, and the fetes leading up to this, he never got to see her
without ten others around, at least.
The moment he kissed her in the church was the first time he’d had his lips on hers since the
Mottram’s ball — which was where the torture started. Anthony had caught them in the closet and
made it his mission that they not be alone since. According to him, there was enough scandal
surrounding them that they need not add speculation of them anticipating their vows.

Colin suspected that his brother was being a hypocrite as he’d procured a special license for his
much-less-public wedding to Kate. Colin was also tempted to tell him he shouldn’t bother, since
their vows had been thoroughly anticipated several days before… in his childhood bedroom…
twice. But somehow he knew it wouldn’t help his cause.

He’d tried to apply to Kate to beg her husband to ease up, but she seemed to be in agreement that
the Bridgertons needed at least one wedding where the banns were read and the necessary order of
things was observed.

“I’ve nothing against all that, but if we are discreet—”

“Can you be?" Kate had asked with a doubtful look.

"Of course!" Colin insisted.

"Truly? Because my upstairs maid found what seemed to be garter ribbons in your old room… after
that night you were too tired to go home for some reason.” She’d slid him a sly smile. “Is there a
new fashion trend involving them? Should I tell Anthony to inform his valet?”

“You are as bad as Eloise,” he’d huffed before stalking off.

“I shall take that as a compliment,” she’d called after him.

Really, that was unfair to Eloise. She was better than expected about the whole business. She and
Benedict had been much more sympathetic to each of them than anyone else, very nearly helping
arrange a rendezvous at Lady Danbury’s garden party… until Lady Danbury herself caught
Penelope before she’d stepped off the terrace and proceeded to advise her on her best course of
action with the Queen. It was actually quite helpful… But Colin would have appreciated it more if
he’d not been crouched in the bushes waiting for a meeting that never came.

He was a simple man! All he wanted to do was kiss the woman he loved as much as possible. Was
that so much to ask? Hadn’t he wasted far too many years not kissing her?

By the time he finally got to kiss her after their vows, he felt as if he was finally free! The torment
was over. But it was really just beginning.

Penelope was pulled away by her sisters, his sisters, and Kate, who was murmuring something
about imparting the secrets to handling Bridgerton men.

And he was being tossed about and slapped on the back by his brothers. Anthony was even making
ribald jokes about how he owed him a nephew within a year due to some wager with Simon, so
they'd better get started.

"This is the same brother who, two days ago," he'd marveled to Benedict, "slapped me upside the
head for standing too close to my own fiancée at the park."

“Well, you’re married now,” Benedict said, nudging him. “You can do as you like.”

Colin had brightened up at the idea… until he realized that he couldn’t, not really, not with all
these blasted guests about. How long were these breakfasts supposed to last? He’d be much more
amenable if breakfast was to be had, but their table was all the way across the garden. Between
Penelope and food, he couldn’t decide which he wanted more. Ideally, he would have both.

The cake was much closer than the other stuff. Temptingly so.

“Do you think,” he asked now, “anyone would mind if we took our wedding cake and ran off with
it? Seems the sort of thing that should be allowed. We are the couple of the hour.”

“I don’t think it looks very easy to carry.” She seemed to be considering it, bless her. “Mama does
love her tiers. It would surely topple all over us and ruin my dress.”

“Very well, then. I do like your dress,” he murmured. He’d meant to say so before, but this day had
not allowed him enough time to do so. This was the most they'd spoken in days. To his surprise and
delight, her wedding gown was yellow. Not the bright or mustard-like ones her mother used to
dress her in, but a very pale one, a bit like butter shot with cream, and with little gold roses
embroidered along the edges. He ran a finger over the roses along the bottom of one sleeve. He’d
rather caress the ones along her bodice, but they were surrounded by nearly everyone they knew,
alas. “You chose this color just for me, didn't you?”

She let out a world-weary sigh. “If you'll recall, you left me little choice in the matter.”

"Ah, yes."

Last week, during a walk in the park, he’d remarked that her green dress was very tempting, but
wondered why she never wore yellow anymore.

She’d laughed. “I’ll never wear yellow again, I promise.”

“What? Why?”

She seemed confused at his crestfallen expression. “Because it looks awful on me.”

“Says who? I like yellow. It’s the color of… of friendship and joy.”

“How romantic,” she’d droned.

“Well, I think it is. I shouldn’t love you half so much if you weren’t my dearest friend and… Well,
it’s a color that belongs to you more than anyone.”

“Because of my dresses? I’d rather not be known for—”

“Because you are yellow to me — always lighting up with a smile when you see me, always
laughing so merrily at my jokes, even the awful ones, and surprising me with your own, which are
much better. And you listen to my sad little rambles, shining your light on them and making them
sound so much more interesting than they are. The world is… Well, it’s always a bit lighter in your
presence, a bit more… yellow.”

He glanced her way to find her staring at him, aghast. Then she shook her head. “Damn you, Colin
Bridgerton!”

“Penelope!” he’d gasped. He’d yet to hear her swear. It was very naughty. He’d rather hear it under
better circumstances and with more privacy.

“My wedding gown was going to be blue, I’ll have you know, Bridgerton blue!” She tossed her
hands up and paced away. "It was going to bring out my eyes very nicely! Everyone said so.”
“I’m sure it will be lovely.”

“Yes, it would have been!”

As peeved as she’d been, he was quite happy with the dress she’d chosen. “You look like a creamy
confection, like a butter biscuit, or a croissant dribbled in honey or a—”

“You, my husband, need to eat something before you start envisioning me as a lemon tart and take
a bite of me.”

“I'd like to. You, my wife, are delectable enough to be eaten.” He was ready to drag her away, the
party be damned…

Then they were approached by her sister, Phillipa, and her husband. “I must say, Miss Penel… Oh,
I’m sorry," Mr. Finch said. "It’s Mrs. Bridgerton now, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Colin said, rather lightheaded with hunger and lust. He could feel his hand sliding
from her arm to her waist and he had no power to stop it. He was either going to lead her out... or
slide it lower if they had to stand here much longer. “If you’ll excuse us—”

“Albion was just saying — weren’t you, my dear? — that your dress puts him in mind of a
Pecorino cheese he once sampled,” Phillipa enthused, looking as if this was the most interesting
thing a person had ever said.

“Indeed I did, my darling,” Mr. Finch supplied with a wide smile, “and then Phillipa informed me
the two of you would be sailing to Italy this very week!”

“Yes. And?” Colin prodded.

“And you shall be able to see whether the cheese itself compares,” Finch said excitedly. “Won’t
that be something?”

Usually, Colin would be quite happy to discuss cheese. Really, his new brother-in-law's expertise
on the subject was one of his best qualities, but he hadn’t the patience for such things at the
moment.

But Penelope cut in with, “We are looking forward to it so much. Colin and I have indeed been
discussing the wonders of… of Italian cheese country. We were actually going to plan our journey
around such delights. Thank you very much for reminding us.” She pulled at his arm. “Pecorino,
Colin. We must not forget that one. Let us consult a map. I believe the library has—”

“Penelope!” Eloise had joined them now. “Just who I was looking for! Could you come and advise
me on… a… a very urgent matter?”

“Not now, Eloise,” Colin said, staring hard at her. “Penelope and I need to consult maps about
cheese.”

“Well, whatever that means," Eloise said, "you can do it later. I have need of Penelope."

“So do I… damn it,” he finished under his breath, watching helplessly as his sister dragged his
wife away.

He was quite ready to chase after them when his own brother appeared before him. “Colin!”
Benedict exclaimed quite loudly. “Just the man I wanted to see!”
He sounded almost like Eloise. “Well, I’m sorry about that, but I have somewhere to…” He trailed
off, annoyed that there was no sight of Penelope anywhere now.

“There is an urgent matter that requires your immediate attention. Pardon me, Mr. Finch, Mrs.
Finch.”

Now he sounded exactly like Eloise. “How many urgent matters can there be? It’s a wedding!”
Still, he let his brother march him away. Weak now with starvation and thwarted lust, he hadn’t the
strength to protest.

“Just the one matter. And perhaps urgent isn't the word. I suspect it can be resolved very easily.”

“Where are you taking me?”

“To the library. For some peace.”

“Thanks, all the same, but I’d rather not read at the mo… ment,” he finished on a breath when his
brother stopped before a hall table. It wasn’t the table itself that intrigued him, it was the platter on
it. There were sandwiches, cheese, fruit, crusty rolls, and even pear tarts. “Ben… You’re an angel.”

“Yes, well… We’d noticed the pair of you hadn’t a chance to eat. We don’t think you’ll get one
out there, so we thought—”

“We?”

“El and I. She's got your wife in there already.” He nodded to the library doors.

“My wife,” he breathed.

“Thought it was the least we could do, after last week’s failure. Consider it a wedding present.”
Ben pressed the platter into his hands, opening the library door before he scampered away.

Colin breathed a happy sigh, taking in the scents of the platter as he entered the library, completely
content. There was food to be had, his wife was waiting, his…

...his sister was stalking past him, her hands up. “I didn’t mean to,” she said.

“What?”

“Don't be cross. I was trying to help,” she tossed out before closing the door.

Colin didn’t know what she was so upset about.

“He won't be cross, El!” he heard. “It’s fine.”

Yes. How could anyone be cross? All was right with the world.

That was when he saw his wife… and much more of her than he’d seen all week.

“I do wish she’d been a bit more careful, though.” Penelope was just standing there, her leg bent
up, her foot high on a chair, her dress rucked up to her thighs as she examined it. "I told her you
loved it so, but it was an accident. You're not angry with her, are you?"

He wasn't sure what, or even where, he was at the moment. He gaped at her. “Wha— What
happened?”
“Oh, nothing.” She sighed and lifted her dress even higher, holding the hem to the light from the
window as if that wasn't a mad thing to do. The sunlight streaming in had already made the rest of
her frock transparent. “El was dragging me off and my dress caught on a nail and the hem tore. Do
you think it can be fixed so we can rejoin the party?”

“No! No, it’s ruined,” he decided, striding forward.

Her eyes widened as he bore down on her.

"And we will not be rejoining the party."

The platter ended up on the floor.

So did his wife.

TBC
 An Unattended Éclair

August, 1816

It was hardly his fault.

Anyone would be tempted.

It was just sitting there where anyone could come upon it.

And in a common area of the house -- the dining room, in fact, where people ate.

To have it sit there, uneaten, was really the greater crime.

These were the things Colin Bridgerton told himself as he stared at the pretty little box on his
dining table.

He'd already opened and closed it. He knew what it contained.

It was an éclair, filled with cream and covered in caramel. Even if he hadn't seen it, he could smell
it. Nobody crafted an eclair like Mrs. O'Hara. It had always been one of the best smells of his
youth. She only made them for the fanciest parties.

He actually preferred the kind with chocolate on top, but he was not going to quibble as this one
was here and the chocolate kind wasn't.

He stared at the box again, specifically the note peeking from underneath it.

Pen,

It will get easier, I promise.

I hope this helps.

All my love and support,

Kate

Just reading the words, he felt guilty for what he was considering. Obviously, this was some sort of
special present from his sister-in-law to his wife. And she was obviously trying to help her through
something hard... but with an éclair?

Surely, whatever Pen was going through, if she hadn't told him yet, she would soon enough. He
could give her much more help than some silly dessert ever could.

In fact, he actually did have some idea of what Pen was going through. And an éclair was very
unlikely to help. Pen had been very uninterested in food lately. She turned her nose up at
everything and, when she didn't, she ended up sick. She surely didn't want something like this rich,
creamy confection covered in caramel, powdered sugar, and a sweet little frosting rosette. Just
looking at it might even worsen this stomach ailment of hers. Last night, when he'd offered her a
piece of lemon cake, she'd said she no longer cared for cake and fled from the room.

And an hour ago, just before this sinful parcel had been delivered, he'd walked in the door and
kissed her. She'd been quite enthusiastic about it... until he suggested lamb stew for supper, which
was her favorite, and she'd actually stared at him as if he'd committed some crime before stumbling
up the stairs.

Surely, he'd better get rid of this thing before it offended her sensibilities, too.

Or at least that was what he told himself as he took it in his hands...

******************

A half-hour later, his wife joined him in the library. "Pen! Feeling better?"

"Perhaps," she'd said, swinging her arms this way and that. "Or I will be soon. Kate's sending
something over. Perhaps it's here already. I should ask Mrs. Gross if-"

"I'm certain she's busy with supper," Colin muttered, holding up his paper a little higher. "How is
Kate these days? I haven't been to Bridgerton House all week."

"She's well. The two of us had a very nice talk today about... Well, about things."

Well, now he was intrigued, mostly because she was pacing the room as if in a race from one end
to the other. "What sort of things?"

"Just things, things that... that ladies think about. Dresses and... whatnot. You know, I'm certain it's
come by now. Perhaps Dunwoody put it-"

"I know you wouldn't be this vague if it was about dresses," he said, feeling a bit better about
hiding his crimes since she must have her own. She was hiding something. She had been for days.
He'd even caught her and Eloise whispering in the front hall yesterday morning, quieting the
minute he came down the stairs. He put his paper aside. "What are you hiding from me? Never tell
me you're plucking Lady Whistledown out of retirement."

"What? Of course not. I'm quite content with my new writing ventures." She stiffened, wringing
her hands now. "The novel is coming along nicely... Not this week, of course. I can hardly
concentrate."

"Due to what? Is it just this stomach ailment of yours? I told you what to do for it. If anyone knows
how to combat seasickness, I-"

"Yes, but I'm not at sea, am I?" She started away. "I think I hear Dunwoody. I'll see if-"

He stopped her at the doorway. "What good does an éclair even do when you cast up your accounts
at every meal?"

"What? So it did come?" She gasped loudly. "And where is it?"

"I'd... rather not say."

She gaped at him in the silence that followed. "You ate it," she growled, poking him in the
stomach. "Didn't you?"

"Very well, I did. But I refuse to be sorry about it," he said forcefully, deciding to brazen it out. "A
person can't leave an éclair sitting about for too long and expect it not to be eaten!"

"But it was mine! Wasn't there a note or--"

"Very well, yes. There was some sort of... missive included from Kate."

"Which said it was for me!"

"I actually thought I was helping, if you must know. Since you've been so readily rejecting
everything you eat, I assumed you would rather be rid of it."

"But this was supposed to change all that. That éclair, Colin, that was the only thing I even wanted
to eat!" She gripped his lapels. "In weeks, it was the only thing I thought of without retching. That
was to be the one thing this damnable babe would let me eat!"

"Then you should have told me. I'd have saved you half, at least, if... Babe?" HIs eyes widened.
"Penelope!"

"Colin, don't... I mean, it's not for certain."

"But it must be! How did I miss it? I read that pamphlet and everything!" He frowned. "And why
are you sick now? It's not even morning."

"Well, according to Kate, it's not only a morning sort of-"

"Why are you standing?" He tossed his paper off the couch and put her on it. "You are not moving
for the next... God, I forget how many months. Is it six or twelve?"

"It's neither. And that pamphlet was a bunch of nonsense. Kate says the recommendations are
barbaric. I do not need to purge or be bled with leeches or be in bed for the foreseeable future just
because-"

"There!" He upended her and placed her feet up on the arm. "Is that better?"

"Colin!" She pushed at his hands. "I'd rather just sit up, if you don't mind."

"God, of course!" He quickly maneuvered her into a sitting position, but it didn't seem secure
enough to him. "I'll get some cushions so you-"
"Please be still!" She pulled at his hand. "You'll actually make me seasick. I'm sure the babe
doesn't like all this... jostling."

"You're right. I'm sorry. What kind of father am I?"

"The good kind," she smiled fondly, "if a bit silly."

"A bit selfish, you mean. Now I've gone and ate your éclair and starved our child!"

"Oh, Colin," she laughed. "I really should have told you. I just didn't know how to start. Really, I
thought it might help if I could... well... not experience just one meal in reverse so I could think
clearly."

"And I took away your only hope to--"

"There will be other éclairs."

"Yes, dozens of them." He stood, gesturing widely. "I'll wake up Bridgerton House and demand
they cook you a batch right now. I'll go to every bakery in town. I'll have you drowned in them!"

"I'd much rather you hold me for now." She stared up at him, looking quite adorably helpless.

"Well... I can certainly do that. Gladly." He dropped to the sofa and tucked her against him. "A
child at last."

"It's not as if we've been trying for that long."

"Yes, but my efforts have been quite vigorous, so I truly expected this much sooner." Was it just
today's news, or did she feel softer and more tempting than usual? "Say, Pen... Did Kate happen to
mention... er... I mean, is there problem with... Can we still..."

"As much as we like," she said, with a knowing chuckle. "Apparently, I shall be quite ravenous for
it."

"Is that so? Fascinating." He slid a hand down to her hip. The pamphlets hadn't said anything about
that.

"Though I am sorry to say that is not the case right now."

He placed his hand much more innocently on her shoulder. "Oh, no. I wasn't suggesting it should
be." Damn it!

"I just feel like a stranger in my own body. I can't eat, I can't sleep, all of my shoes feel like little
vises, I hate every smell, and I can't seem to remember words. Yesterday, I had to use a series of
gestures to communicate to Mrs. Gross that I needed more candles! It's horrid! And that's without
me spending half my day bent over a chamberpot!"

"Oh, Pen! Do you think he... or she... will be unwell? With this sickness of yours, I worry."

"Kate says it won't last too long. I'm sorry for grousing so much. I shall be grateful, at the end. I'm
sure our child will be healthy and kind and intelligent--"

"And despise most food?"

"Is that what you're worried about? Your child? Never."

"Just to be sure, I should try to tempt you, and that little one, with something new every day."

"And if most of it goes to waste?"

"That shall never happen as long as I'm around."

She tilted her head up, fixing him with a teasing glare. "As was made very clear by your actions
today."

"Yes, it was badly done of me. But I'll have you know I've deprived myself of food, on several
occasions, specifically for your sake. You might actually be the only thing in existence that's ever
caused me to miss a meal."

"Wonder of wonders," she gasped. "How did I ever accomplish that?"

"Perhaps you tempt me even more," he said, tilting her head up further.

"That, I shall never believe."

"Doubt me all you want but you, Penelope Bridgerton, even well before that was your name, have
always mattered most. There's you, then breathing, eating, sleeping, all that other nonsense one
does between kissing one's wife," he said before doing just that. "It's a matter of priority."

The End

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