Chapter Text
Penelope eyed the refreshments suspiciously.
They appeared innocent enough. Finger sandwiches, sliced delicately. Biscuits, a favourite of Colin’s. And little cakes, with butter icing, that used to melt in her mouth. The Bridgertons’ cook was unparalleled of course, adding to her own mama’s jealousy.
But today, and every day this week, the mere scent of the bread on the sandwiches was enough to turn her stomach. The thought of bringing a biscuit to her mouth made her wish to run from the room. Even the cloying sweetness of sugar in her tea brought on a wave of nausea.
She tried to focus on the portrait above the fireplace instead, allowing the happy chatter of the Bridgertons to fade into a cheerful hum in the background. She tried to breathe. But then Gregory brought up the fish he had caught earlier that day on the lake, and threatened to put the skin beneath Hyacinth’s pillow that night, and before she could contain herself she was moaning a quiet please excuse me and racing from the room.
She was still emptying the contents of her stomach when she heard Violet knocking on the door.
“Penelope, dear? Do you need assistance?”
Penelope dabbed at her mouth with a dry cloth and called back weakly. “I believe I should retire.”
She could hear Violet murmuring to someone on the other side of the door, presumably a servant. Penelope rose and opened the door, certain that she still looked pale, but well able to return to the bedchamber she was occupying during her time as a guest at Aubrey Hall.
Colin stood beside his mother, scowling at the ground. Their eyes met for a brief moment, and his eyes softened with concern. Penelope took a step back, embarrassed at being seen this way, but Violet was already ushering her away and up the stairs, away from him.
“ You are accompanying me?” Penelope asked weakly. “Do you not wish to call for my maid?”
“You are ill, my dear,” Violet said as if that explained anything at all. But Penelope supposed that to her, it did. She was not the type of mother who left her children’s care entirely to the servants. And to Penelope’s continual shock and delight, Violet treated her as a daughter, ever since her father’s untimely death at the end of the season.
______
It was Colin who had arranged it, she learned much later. He had appeared at her home a full three days after he had been meant to leave for his tour.
But that was not the only source of her confusion.
How could he bring himself to call upon this house, to reacquaint himself with the drawing room where he had spent so many hours wooing her cousin? And to return, knowing as he must that her family had been involved in the deception?
Only a truly kind man could have borne it, merely to offer his condolences to a childhood friend.
“How are you, Penelope?” he asked when all the rituals and ceremonies of greeting one another had been completed. She had offered him tea, and she could see that he accepted simply to give her something to do with her hands beside wringing them in the lap of her black gown.
Looking into his slate blue eyes, she found herself answering honestly.
“I do not know,” she said, pausing for thought. “I am either so filled with sadness I fear it will never end, or completely empty.”
Colin nodded softly as if what she said was to be expected, and perhaps it was. Eloise had been a dear, comforting her and holding her and distracting her with talk of books. But it was a relief to realise that she had Colin as well, at least until he left for his tour.
“When do you leave town?” he asked when she seemed prepared to speak again.
“We will remain here,” Penelope replied. “There are many arrangements to be made and Mama is quite overwhelmed.”
Colin’s eyes clouded with concern and something else less familiar but he didn’t speak, only reached for her hand and squeezed. He had never touched her outside of the dance they shared and for a moment, she could feel again.
“Penelope!”
A sharp reprimand broke the brief respite and Penelope was faced with her mother. Colin dropped her hand and she felt as though she had been dipped in a frigid bath.
“Surely Mister Bridgerton has more important things to do than listen to your endless complaints.” She turned to Colin with an ingratiating smile. “You must forgive my daughter for her imposition. At times she forgets that company is only being polite.”
Colin’s jaw tightened but he replied cordially enough. “You are mistaken. I always enjoy any time your daughter is willing to pass with me. However, I won’t impose on you any longer. My sincerest condolences to you both.”
He had taken his leave then, but not an hour later her mother had received a call from Lady Bridgerton inviting Penelope to Aubrey Hall for the summer. Her mother had accepted the invitation on her behalf gladly, grateful to be free of Penelope’s presence.
______
The worst of the nausea had passed but she was still so very tired , as though heavy weights had been attached to every limb. So she slept the afternoon away, until footsteps coming down the corridor woke her.
She sat up in bed, realising that the bright sunshine of afternoon had given way to the more faded hues of twilight. A light knock preceded Lady Bridgerton’s entry to her room. The kind lady had a somber set to her mouth that Penelope had never seen before.
“Good evening,” said Penelope. “I apologise for sleeping the day away.”
“It is quite alright, my dear,” said her host as she took a seat in the finely upholstered chair next to the bed. “I fear we have more pressing concerns.”
Penelope wrinkled her brow. “I feel much improved now. My health is in little danger, I should think.”
Lady Bridgerton paused, seeming to weigh her words carefully. “Penelope, I must ask you something rather delicate.”
Penelope’s heart raced, wondering if one of her secrets had been discovered. And if so, which one. She crossed her arms over her chest protectively, hugging herself even as she winced a little at the squeeze over her sensitive breasts. “What is it?”
“I have spoken to your maid and she seemed to think your courses have not come since we arrived. Is there anything you wish to share with me?”
Penelope blinked at her, cheeks reddening at such a topic. She tried not to think too deeply about such matters, as her mother felt them unladylike. “I am afraid I don’t understand your meaning.”
Violet avoided Penelope’s eyes and took a deep breath. “Penelope, I must ask. Has anyone taken liberties with you?”
“I – I do not,” Penelope stammered. “A man has– that is to say, we–.” She clamped her mouth shut, so overcome with a hot wave of shame and embarrassment that she could think of nothing to say.
Lady Bridgerton nodded grimly, but when Penelope dared to glance over at her, there was no condemnation in her eyes.
“I see. Penelope, I believe you may be with child,” Violet said in a tone that strained to remain even. “Who, may I ask, is the father?”