Chapter Text
Penelope had been feeling odd for quite some time. She couldn't exactly pinpoint when it all started, but she definitely noticed that, as the seasons passed, she distanced herself more and more from the Ton, from her family and even from her writings, as if her fire was diminishing. That was why when she heard those cruel words leave the kinder mouth she had ever met, Penelope felt something inside herself - her heart? - crack a lot harder than it was supposed to.
"Penelope Featherington? Are you mad? I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington. Not in your wildest fantasies, Fife"
Obviously, since they weren't related, Colin did not have any obligations towards her, and maybe they weren't even friends and their friendship was something she misinterpreted from his respect for her. Either way, there was a turmoil inside her. Shame, loss, sadness, hurt and all of the other awful feelings permeated by loneliness left her as if a black ink had been imprinted on her heart. But the most, the soft woman felt undeserving of that rudeness since she had never even cogitated being nothing less than pleasant and caring to him.
Penelope made her way to the group without a second thought, a little "Oh" escaping her mouth before she could get a hold of it, and her next words did too, pretty much in the same way.
She looked Colin in the eyes, oh so blue they were, "I never asked you to marry me, Colin. And I never" She swallowed, her tears and her heart, "And I never said to anyone that I wanted you to ask me". With that, she turned and left, leaving Colin with his mouth agape behind.
She felt miserable! The last drop had made its way to her bucket full of tears. It was now overflowing, her emotions all over the place. To be fair, he did try to call upon her the very next day - she refused seeing him -, and he sent her flowers twice, daffodils, if the lady remembered it correctly, but she didn't collect them, or read the small note attached to the bouquets.
The days kept coming though, time did not stop, not even for her brokenhearted self. And so, she used the time to think. What had she done so bad that the world did not even give her a slight chance? She was average, average looks, average body, average intelligence, average family. She thought, bittersweet, she became so ordinary that she blended right into the background, no one gave her a second glance.
That thought consumed her. Day and night, the wittiest Featherington spent nitpicking all of her interactions with others, evaluating every word said or unsaid. Adding to that, her own mother was now calling her a spinster and proclaiming to the whole world that it did not matter, at least she would have someone to care for her in her older years.
Penelope became a shell of herself. She stopped going for her daily promenades and called a hiatus to Lady Whistledown's publications, nothing was worth her time if it did not involve wallowing in self pity. She was sad, a deep feeling of inadequacy in her every moment, a heavy blank in her chest.
And yet, one day, in the midst of it all, the girl started dreaming again. She wanted to be better, not for the eyes of others, she wanted to do better because she owed it to herself to be happy. She spent so many years doing what she was supposed to and, besides publishing Lady Whistledown, she never took a risk, never stepped out of line, always relying on others - her family, the bridgertons, Eloise… Colin - to make or break her. And she had so much potential, she was kind, she was fun, she was witty and she was courageous.
So, Pen started plotting her getaway, she was going to see the world and she was going to do that to her heart's content.
The only thing keeping her afloat was the promise to live, to love, to laugh, to make friends and even enemies. The promise to be able to be herself, the woman she dreamt of being. Therefore, she made a plan. She was going to forge a letter from a distant relative from her dad, saying they needed immediate care and that they would pay someone from their family to act as a caregiver. And God knew how they needed the money! Her mother would obviously send her, since she was not needed anymore in the city - oh how her blood boiled these days to think that women were solely raised to be wed and and bring children to the men, bring male children, that is.
She would use a small part of the sum she made as Lady Whistedown to give to her family each month as the payment promised by the so-called old and endangered relative. The rest of it she would use to travel, to know some of the world.
Her rules were simple:
1. She would only stay in the bigger cities for two or three days, and to avoid suspicion, she would always say that her husband was on the way to meet her. Then, by the third day, the lady was going to pay some delivery boy to leave her a message at the inn, saying that her beloved - hypothetical - spouse was going to meet her in some city ahead, giving her the perfect exit.
2. At smaller villages, Penelope would rent a room at some family owned lodging-house, on the pretense she was a widow trying to adapt to her new life. She would try to connect with the family and explore the area a little bit, maybe work for them. If things went smoothly, she could stay for a month.
3. She would write a book, maybe more. About her experiences, about the places she visited and about the people she met along the way. She would write it in a way that men would enjoy it, but the women… oh the women who read it would feel as if they were there with her, living and laughing, and ultimately being free.
4. And Pen would write to Colin Bridgerton. Because she wanted to make him feel what she felt when receiving his letters. Joy, happiness, rage, jealousy, she would write it all in an enticing way. But she would never stay to receive his reply, since was going to send all her letters only on departure day.
5. The lady was going to make odd routes, always letting her family know where she had been, not where she was going next. And she would justify all the traveling with the necessity of that relative to settle some business with his associates before his imminent death. This way her mother wouldn't make her name a damaged one before the Ton, so if she ever felt the need to come back to London, Penelope would be safe.
With all these resolutions in mind, two months and eight days after the worst night of her life, Miss Penelope Featherington left London with high hopes and dreams. She was headed to Ireland.