Chapter Text
Colin had never felt old before. He knew he was aging. The sprinkle of grey now around his temple, the creases on his face that now seem to be a permanent fixture were signs that time was passing, some years feel as though they slipped away from him entirely, but he does not truly feel any different to the twenty year old boy he once was, heading off on his first grand tour.
In many ways he feels frozen in place while the world moves around him.
Colin doesn’t like to dwell on it too much. Prefers to not think and just simply exist instead.
A typical Thursday evening for him is drinking at the club with his friends. He drowns their chatter of running after children, or the impending costs of having a daughter in society out with whisky and often pays the consequences the following day.
Another sign of time passing is the way the consequences feel steadily worse and worse. His body has never been kind to him after a night of drinking liquor, but as the years pass by he envies the twenty two year old version of himself who thought an aching head was the worst it could get.
Now he spends his Friday mornings in his bed, aching from head to toe, vowing to not repeat his drinking again the following week. Luckily his townhouse, just outside of Mayfair is silent.
The next social season was about to start. Colin rarely cared for it, often preferring to travel elsewhere, but this year Daphne’s daughter was making her debut. Family was family and this was the first of his nieces to enter society and it is a very strange thought. He could still remember his sisters season so vividly.
He remembers it was also…
No.
All of those thoughts, and musings were vaulted shut with an iron door. Locked tight. Never to be opened. A place he cannot go, cannot open, refused to for the wounds still run far too deep.
His mother long ago gave up on trying to convince him to marry. She had spent a few years attempting to get him to believe that love was still a possibility.
Two broken engagements was enough. He could not survive a third.
Judging by the way the sun was starting to peek through his curtains, Colin assumed it must be nearing midday. He should get up, should do something. Instead he lays there, staring at the ceiling bemoaning the pain he has inflicted on himself.
He could quite happily lay here for the rest of the day, and let the next evening pass.
No one would know.
He doesn’t get that opportunity.
There was knocking on his front door. From his bedroom it was a faint sound, but enough to rattle his brain and make it hurt even more. For a moment he frowned, why was no one answering? Then he remembered he gave his staff the day off, already anticipating he wouldn’t need them.
Maybe he did need them, so they could tell his visitor he was unwell and not fit for seeing guests.
Colin waited for five minutes, hoping his visitor would catch on and leave.
They knock again.
Colin would have to tell them to leave him alone himself.
As he sat up, the world around him spun. His headache hit him again and he groaned. He lazily grabbed at a shirt, a coat, pulls on breeches and a belt. He doesn’t bother with shoes. He also doesn’t need to look in a mirror to know he is entirely dishevelled.
It doesn’t matter to him. There isn’t anyone he cares to impress.
Hasn’t been for a long time.
He treads through his house and to the front door.
‘What?’ He asked gruffly as he swung the door open, before his eyes have a chance to take in the sight before him.
His heart drops into his stomach when he finally does because there is a girl standing before him.
She stood on the top step but she was considerably shorter than him and he needed to tilt his head down to look at her. Her red hair was immaculately curled and flowed around her shoulders improperly let down, her face round, and startling blue eyes looked up at him.
For the shortest of moments Colin believed he’d been transported. Back in time to… before.
But then with a blink and the brain fog clearing from his head the girl in front of him was not… her.
But she was real. His headache alone was enough to confirm this was not another one of his dreams.
The girl's red hair was a darker hue, the curls looser, she appeared to be taller, though perhaps not by much, her face round but, there were sharper lines there too, the bridge of her nose, the point of her chin. And her eyes, not the soft isle ocean blue he could swim in, but a darker stormy colour. Currently looking at him with pure determination.
She was also young. Very young. Possibly not even quite yet a debutante, he could not quite tell.
‘Are you Mr Colin Bridgerton?’ The girl asked, she was polite, but her eyes started to show a nervousness she couldn’t quite hide.
Colin nodded without a sound. Words were not coming to him as he tried to catch up to what was happening.
‘Oh, I’m pleased to have found you,’ she said, her mouth hinted at a smile.
‘Sorry, who are you?’ he asked, part desperate to know, part hoping she wasn't about to say what he suspected she might.
‘My name is Agatha,’ she said. ‘Featherington. I have reason to believe you are my father.’