Chapter Text
The weather was abysmal. It hadn’t stopped raining in days and if Penelope Featherington were perfectly honestly, it mimicked how she had felt.
While the clothing certainly didn’t fit any better, she was at least appreciative of the fact the ghastly shades of orange and yellow had been replaced with black. Black was the only appropriate shade for mourning.
Society believed she was in mourning of her father. A part of her had been a little sad over his death but it was nothing she felt to comparison to her mourning for Colin Bridgerton who was probably half way to Greece by now.
No one could know how she felt though.
Penelope was so tired of keeping secrets, especially keeping them from her dearest friends. It was much easier to let Eloise continue to believe that her mood was because of father instead of Colin. She’d have sooner told her that she’d been Miss Whistledown all along and that definitely wasn’t about to happen.
Her home was much quieter these days. Her mother was distracted with figuring out who was going to inherit them and trying to assure that Prudence, Phillipa and even Felicity would be okay regardless of how things panned out. She wasn’t a concern. Her mother had all but accepted the fact she’d never be marriage material.
She had been distracting herself with a book, seated in a window bay. Watching the coming and goings from the Bridgerton home was just as much a past time though. Most of the time, she could distinguish the people who came and went but there were times when she couldn’t.
A carriage that she didn’t recognize certainly peaked her attention.
“Mother?” she said with a start. She didn’t often bother her with such inquiries but if there was anyone who would know what was happening it would be Portia Featherington.
The older red head paused in fretting over her other two girls long enough to give Penelope the time of day.
“What now?” she asked, sounding a bit like might be put out by having to even acknowledge Penelope’s existence.
“I was just wondering if you knew who was visiting the Bridgerton’s. I’ve never seen this carriage before.”
In an instant, Portia was practically pushing her out of the way, moving the window tapestries to get a better look. Clearly she didn’t know of anyone that was expected but the face twisted with what could only be described as morbid curiosity told her that whatever was happening was somehow out of the norm.
Penelope watched as several men approached the door before being allowed in by the staff. She had seen them somewhere but she couldn’t quite place it.
“That uniform is naval but the men with them are Bow Street Runners,” she explained to the girl. “Someone must be in trouble.”
Penelope knew enough to know that if the Bow Street Runners were involved it likely wasn’t good for the Bridgerton’s at all. She knew that Anthony and Benedict had been known to have their fun but she couldn’t see them being in significant trouble.
The naval aspect had her jump up from her perch in an instant though.
She came very close to uttering the one name that she could scarcely bring herself to say for weeks without breaking into tears.
Colin. This was about Colin and she just knew it.
“I just remembered that I promised Eloise that I would help her with a difficult stitch,” she murmured knowing it was a terrible excuse to leave. She didn’t wait around to fight her mother over it either though. In fact, she didn’t even stick around to hear the protests.
--
When she arrived across the way, she was told that it wasn’t a good time. There was absolutely no chance that she wasn’t going to be there. There was zero chance of her not finding out what was happening right now.
Despite the protests, she pushed her way inviting herself into the music room where she knew everyone would be. She was clearly a woman on a mission, her red curls looking like little flames against the dark black of her dress.
She stopped dead in her tracks at the scene before her though. The men that she’d seen here standing by awkwardly and Anthony had his arms wrapped around his mother who was inconsolable. She’d always known Violet Bridgerton, as someone who had it together.
Whatever strength she’d been holding on to seemed to disappear, her legs practically turned to jelly in the doorway. She felt like she might faint and she very well might have had it not been for a silent and somber Benedict who silently moved toward her, took her arm and guided her to where Eloise was sitting, looking like a ghost.
So many of the children were not there but every Bridgerton who was looked so unlike themselves. She felt like she was trespassing on a very private family moment and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to walk away. Instead she reached for her best friend’s hand and squeezed it just as Eloise had been her rock time and time again. She could not fall to pieces without information.
“There was an accident,” Eloise finally explained in a hushed tone.
Penelope felt that if it were possible her flesh would have turned green to reflect the absolute nausea that filled her. She was going to ill.
She didn’t even have to be told because she knew and whatever thoughts she had in her head about a lonely spinster life seemed cemented in that instant. Even when she told herself Colin would never love her, she’d still held on to childish gleam of hope.
She couldn’t bring herself to ask if he was alive.
If he had been, Violet Bridgerton would have already been half way to wherever her child was though and she knew that.
“I’m so … sorry,” she told ineloquently, knowing that her place here was to comfort the people who Colin had loved, who shared his blood. Even as she was utterly destroyed, this couldn’t be about her. Her corset suddenly felt like it was suffocating her. She couldn’t breathe much less be useful.
Clearly her struggle was clear because her fiercely strong friend who rarely cried seemed to dissolve into a puddle of ears on her shoulder and it was all she could do to hold her and let go herself.
--
At some point between putting Colin’s letter in his pocket, Anthony had forgotten about it. He hadn’t put much thought into it. As soon as he’d managed to calm his mother and sisters enough to that they could sleep it flooded back to his mind and he found himself, his coats until he found it.
He had been meant to give this to Eloise to deliver to Penelope Featherington weeks ago and he’d completely failed at that. Now they were some of the last words his brother ever wrote before leaving them.
While they could not report having found his body, they’d all but made it clear that Colin would never return to them. Anthony had been forced to keep a stiff chin, to keep the household together but blamed himself for this.
He’d been so difficult on his younger brother about Marina Thompson. If he’d just let Colin do what he felt was honorable and right, he would be off enjoying life as a newlywed instead of at the bottom of the sea. He blamed himself for this.
A stiff drink would hardly sate the guilt.
He stared at the familiar cursive of his brother’s handwriting and the unbroken seal as he drank. Drinking himself into oblivion had never felt like a better option. He should have never been left to lead this family. They’d all have been better off if their father hadn’t died.
“Can’t sleep?” he heard Benedict ask as he joined him, pouring another glass. Apparently there were two Bridgerton men who fully intended to drink away their grief.
“How can I? - This will kill Daphne. You saw how horrid mother took the news. Daphne will murder us if we don’t inform her but Simon might murder us if we do in her condition. – And when I think about how unfair this is. Colin was the best of all of us.”
It was true. Colin had seemed to have inherited so many of the best traits that their family had to often. He had been young, passionate and if he’d been the eldest he wouldn’t have shrugged off his responsibility to the family. As much as their mother protested and claimed he’d be the death of her, Anthony often was pretty sure that Colin was actually the favorite.
Benedict raised his glass to that.
“We will survive this,” Benedict added. “We’ve survived loss before.”
Anthony wasn’t so sure though and he was increasingly sure that he ought to chuck this letter into the fire. It being read wouldn’t do anyone any good. Not Eloise. Certainly not Penelope Featherington.
Benedict seemed to have taken notice of the letter then.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“The reason Colin will haunt me for the rest of my days,” he said with a sigh, hand moving to rub at his temples. He hadn’t drank enough to bring on a headache in the morning but he already sensed it coming on.
Benedict didn’t ask for permission to take it but he did pick it up, looking it over with curiosity.
“Penelope?!” he found himself asking, a bit of astonishment in his voice as he broke the seal, dark eyes moving over the writing, figuring if Colin really was gone, he wouldn’t mind the invasion of privacy.
Anthony couldn’t move quick enough to stop him and despite himself, he found himself standing, gazing over his brother’s shoulder to read the words that were written on the page.
“Bloody Hell,” escaped his mouth.
Clearly Benedict didn’t disagree with the sentiment.