Chapter Text
The glorious visage of her engulfed his entire being, consumed his thoughts, and made him wish to weep in longing. Her auburn curls framed her face in such magnificence that their contrast to her bright, cerulean eyes touched and reached deep into his soul.
Her eyes were enchanting him—speaking to him. Almost as if her eyes were… reminding him.
It was then that Colin realized. He was dreaming.
Penelope was once again haunting him in slumber; how cruel, how painful, how he missed her so very much. Akin to a sacreligious man throwing himself at the feet of a goddess, Colin succumbed to the memory of Penelope Featherington every day and every night. If he could feel, touch, kiss her even one more time in his sleep, then he would beg to be haunted for an eternity.
“What is troubling you?” The figment of Penelope Featherington whispered, tantalizingly pressing soft kisses against Colin’s bare shoulder. He then began rubbing gentle circles down Penelope’s chest, nipping on the flesh of her neck greedily and God, did she feel so real.
Colin’s gaze landed on the engagement ring on Penelope’s dainty finger. They should have been married by now, if it had not been for— “Colin, please, talk to me.” Penelope pleaded. He, too, felt like pleading.
“You’re not real, Pen. I want you to be real.” He screwed his eyes shut, praying that when he opened them he would be sent to a reality where Penelope was truly in his arms.
“But I’m right here, Colin.”
“Not when I wake up.”
The blue crystals in Penelope’s irises gleamed, “I’m sorry, my love.” Her simple words made Colin’s heart swell. How many months has it been since he last heard her actual voice?
Colin suddenly felt the urge to map every expanse of Penelope’s skin against his lips, committing her to memory. He was afraid that if he stopped holding her, she would disappear like grains of salt through his fingers. Maybe she already did. “Tell me where you are. Please. Allow me to find you.”
Penelope said nothing. “I know you’re still alive, Pen. If you hadn’t been, I would have died along with you. My soul is connected to yours.”
She cupped his cheek, brushing her lips against his. He realized then that she was trembling, “Do not die for me, Colin.”
“Then do not let me live without you.” His voice was rough and raw as he held her tighter, needing her close like he needed air to breathe.
They laid there in silence for a while, in the haven Colin locked away in his dreams as a place where only she and he could meet. The scent of roses filled the air, and a wave of nostalgia embraced Colin until a deep-rooted ache pushed itself from his stomach and up his tightened throat, “I still do not understand it. The Queen had pardoned you; you were going to reveal yourself to the Ton. We were finally going to see the end of the tunnel.” Even in his dreams, tears stained his cheeks.
It was then that Colin saw Penelope weeping as well. He tried his best to kiss her tears away, but he couldn’t even stop his own, “Please do not fill yourself with hate for them. You have to let me go, Colin.” What an impossible thing to ask of him.
“Never. I can never let you go. They took you away from me,” They were both shaking now, the heat of their skins overwhelming the tremor in their hearts, “I will find you, Penelope. And even when I do, I will never forgive them.”
Penelope gave Colin a sad, almost torn smile, “Then please forgive me.”
Colin Bridgerton abruptly woke up with fresh tears marred down his face.
He hunched forward, his chest heaving and his head buried in his hands, “Fuck.” A sob bubbled in his chest, but he pushed it back down in a single gulp. He can’t cry again, not when the war had barely begun.
Colin didn’t realize he had slept through the entire afternoon when he took his nap. Dusk was already beginning to set, but it made sense. He always preferred slumber because that was where he could meet Penelope. Always.
He had dreamed of Penelope every single night he slept. And each time, he woke up the same: dried tears replaced with new ones, a heat in his core, and an emptiness in his soul.
He missed her so damn much.
“Col, you’re finally up. Get ready.” A rolled waistcoat was thrown in his direction. Colin unraveled the garment, finding a dagger hidden beneath the seam.
He then met eyes with who had spoken; Benedict. “Dankworth will meet us there in an hour.” His older brother said, hiding his own dagger under his coat and below his belt.
How long had it been since Colin could still walk around the outskirts of Mayfair without needing to have a sharp weapon with him? The people who lived in the rookeries no longer took kindly to those from the nobility seen around their turfs. Understandably so.
London society was in complete disarray. King George was dead.
He had passed away five years earlier than the physicians and clergymen alike had anticipated. Not that one could actually tell when the most powerful royal in Britain would cease to live, but the Queen had held onto the prediction like the holiest string of hope. She didn’t think she would lose him that soon, that fruitlessly, that simply.
He was not murdered nor did he die in any brutal matter. He simply succumbed to his illness and his old age. It was years in the making, a lot could argue; but for a King’s most beloved Queen, it was utter devastation.
Queen Charlotte went ballistic, nearly as mad as her dearly departed husband.
She had laid unprecedented and inordinate rules against the working class consorting with members of the Ton. For the nobility, she became stricter in ensuring that no gentleman or gentlewoman was fraternizing with political radicals.
During those first few weeks, the palace’s Bow Street Runners circled Mayfair like vultures awaiting the first grace of prey. Hell, even carriage footmen were cuffed for even taking a single detour away from the required destination, even if that detour led to a shortcut or a faster route.
No viscount or baron wished to step foot out their comfortable homes. Rumors of riots brewing among the lower class were widespread. But the Queen was relentless. Two-hundred people were arrested in the first three weeks. Only twenty-three of which were of title, yet the notion alone that those of high society could be punished instilled fear among noblemen to not step out of line lest they succumb to the Queen’s wrath.
Her measures were extreme, but it was eventually discerned as the Queen’s desperation to protect the Crown—to protect the love between her and the late King. And, by God’s mercy, the Queen’s ruthlessness had since calmed down four months into the King’s death, albeit still at the precipice of snapping at any given moment.
It seemed London society had been scrambling to fool themselves into believing that everything was back to normal. Maybe, in small victories, it was. But not for Colin Bridgerton. No, he will never forget nor forgive.
Not until Penelope Featherington was found.
Days prior to King George’s death, Penelope had sent a letter to the Queen confessing to being Lady Whistledown. The Queen then sent Penelope to meet her at a private audience attended only by the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons, wherein after much fear and humble graciousness on Penelope’s part, she was sent off with nary a punishment.
Instead, the Queen offered her a deal to reveal herself as the writer behind the scandal sheet at the Dankworth-Finch ball, and then they would discuss how Lady Whistledown could align more appropriately with the Crown.
Much to Colin’s confusion, the Queen never arrived at the ball. And so the Ton never found out who Lady Whistledown is, remaining blissfully unaware until the end of the day’s merriment. It thus remained a secret between Penelope, her family, the Bridgertons, and the Queen.
Because unbeknownst to any of them at the time, the night of the Dankworth-Finch ball was when the King had died.
“We’re almost there.” Benedict muttered as he and Colin cautioned steps through the dim streets of the unseemly part of their town. They had asked their carriage to halt just a few streets away from the slums. Discretion was the only thing they could trust.
It was loud. It was always loud at night in these parts. Angered apprentices meeting in hushed yet heated discussions; malnourished children wailing to their Mamas; the grotesque backdrop of brothels lined across corners. The profane posters and signages plastered on gravel walls.
Death to the Queen.
Death to Whistledown.
It had happened at the height of the Queen’s reign of terror, around two weeks into King George’s passing. Two weeks after the Dankworth-Finch ball.
Overnight, Penelope Featherington had disappeared.
For a moment, Colin had felt immense relief that his soon-to-be-bride was able to escape the clutches of huntsmen and possibly hide out in the highlands. There were rumors that the Queen had plans of capturing Lady Whistledown and bestowing the cruelest of punishments on the notorious gossiper. Colin had thought Penelope was able to evade it all.
But she didn’t.
The fanfare of the Crown chimed across all of Mayfair; an announcement rocked the town into a fearful yet curious buzz. It was all over the newspapers and monarch-released pamphlets.
Lady Whistledown, Finally Captured.
Penelope Featherington was not named. The announcement just referred to “Lady Whistledown.” They purposely didn’t reveal her identity to keep everyone on edge. Colin’s stomach lurched, his head dizzied.
His first thought was: No one knows it’s Penelope except our families and the Queen. I can claim to be Whistledown to the Ton and say the palace got the wrong person. I can convince Her Majesty to let me take Pen’s place. She can be set free.
It was foolish. It was a doomed plan. It was impossible. Colin knew all of this, but he was just about ready to kill the stars and reshape the moon if it meant Penelope would return to him.
However, any hopes of sacrificing himself and saving Penelope died when Bow Street Runners suddenly seized Bridgerton house, joined with the Queen herself.
The Queen seemed an entirely different person. She had paled, her eyes hollowed, her demeanor more rigid. But her voice was the most chilling of all. “The Featherington girl is exiled into a place even she doesn’t know the whereabouts of. So do not even think of locating her. This is a warning, Bridgertons, that if you do anything to save her or trick me into releasing her, I will have her beheaded.”
Regret. It was the most profound sensation Colin had felt in his entire existence. Regret that he spent most of his engagement to Penelope torn by the fact that she was Lady Whistledown instead of caring and worshiping her properly like his heart yearned to.
Regret that they were not yet wed, and thus he could not face punishment with her as her husband. He would much rather be exiled with Penelope than spend his days no longer able to hold onto her.
Regret that he had not convinced her against her wish to delay their wedding. If he had married her sooner, they would have been on their honeymoon in some faraway land by the time the King had died. They could have hid more easily. He could have kept her safe.
Regret that he did not stop her from confessing to the Queen in that damned private audience. He should have paid Cressida Cowper off. Or had Penelope unmasked herself for the first time at the ball instead of the private audience, then the Queen would never have known Whistledown’s identity prior to the King’s death.
He should have never allowed her to reveal herself. He should have trusted her more.
Regret that he did not realize he loved her sooner. Because if he had realized his feelings for her earlier, then she would not have to suffer the loneliness she felt that pushed her to create Whistledown all those years ago.
Regret that he allowed himself to fall so madly in love with Penelope Featherington; allowed himself to love her with every fiber of his being—since now there was a gaping, aching wound in his chest at the loss of his lifeline, his most treasured person, his purpose, his Penelope.
The hole she left in his heart would never heal; he should regret his love. But he just can’t. Nothing could make him stop loving Penelope Featherington. Loving her was as needed as a beating heart. But now his heart was taken from him, and he no longer wished to breathe.
Colin was too numb to feel anything when the Queen proclaimed thereafter that the Bridgertons will be subjected to societal rejection. Lady Danbury begged the Queen to let them keep their title and estate as a viscount family. She had agreed, yet she ensured that the Bridgertons would be made into social pariahs.
Punishment for the family that a treasonous wallflower was going to marry into. For the family that accepted Lady Whistledown.
He should hurl himself to the Queen’s feet and beg for forgiveness. He should be terrified for the future of his family’s status. But instead of fear, all Colin could feel was a fiery, deathless rage at what the Crown had done to his Penelope.
Then, amid Colin’s swirling thoughts, a voice cuts through the tension with fervor and assuredness — “Take me in as your hostage.”
Eloise.
“I beg your pardon?” The Queen nearly laughed, the statement so preposterous that Colin himself was left confused and mystified.
Colin met his sister’s eyes. He saw it then: the cogs turning in her pupils. He could immediately tell that there may have been no plan yet set in motion, but her declaration by itself was already a stepping stone to one.
Eloise was firm, “If you take me in, I serve as collateral to ensure that my family will not act out of line. They will not act rashly if my safety is at risk.”
Violet then cried out in shock and realization of what Eloise had asked, near screaming that Eloise was not right of mind currently as she begged the Queen to not listen to her daughter.
But Eloise remained steadfast. Colin barely caught it, but he could see his sister’s mouth subtly move into minute shapes: “Trust me, mother.” She whispered.
The Queen carefully assessed the situation, the tension in the room remained thick, “Miss Bridgerton, I am dumbfounded if you are thinking to fool me, or if you are simply thick in the head as to willingly offer yourself up to be imprisoned by the Crown.”
“It is a deal I urge, Your Majesty.” Eloise began, clutching Violet’s hand in an attempt to comfort their mother, “Take me in, and my family behaves because my life will be in your hands. But in exchange for my confinement, I implore that my family will not be harmed at a sudden whim. I implore that they be allowed to go about Mayfair and continue their lives, even with social rejection. And Penelope will not be harmed as well, despite her exile and imprisonment.”
“You're pushing it with Whistledown, child.”
“Then just my family then! I am at your mercy, Your Majesty.”
As Eloise bowed, the Queen made a motion for his sister to step forward. Colin saw the look in Her Majesty’s eyes. The Queen was going to take Eloise’s offer.
No. If anyone deserved to suffer under the Crown’s cruelty, it should be Colin. He could even trace Penelope’s location from the inside. It should be him.
“Take me instead, Your Majesty.” Colin could hear the thump of his own heart in his ears. The world seemed to have fallen at a sudden standstill.
He caught Eloise’s gaze in that split of a second. The words swirling beneath the blue were as crisp as the first strike of lightning amid a brewing storm.
No, Colin. You need to be here on the outside for us to win.
Colin reeled back, and before he could even string together what Eloise meant, she swiftly pushed herself closer to the Queen and dropped both her knees down in front of her, “Please, Your Majesty.”
The Queen stared coldly at Eloise. Then a quick flash of a glance to Colin. He felt his insides churn. A second felt like a minute. Two seconds felt like an hour.
It was then that she signaled two of her officers forward, “Very well; I accept your deal, child. You have a minute to say your goodbyes before my men escort you out.”
Colin didn’t even realize Eloise had stood up until she was in front of him. She had tucked something hurriedly between Colin’s palm. Her hands were cold, but her eyes were steady.
He unfolded his hand.
Penelope’s engagement ring.
“How did you get this—” Before Colin could finish his hushed question, Eloise embraced him firmly, and then she was no longer in front of him. She was already going about the room and offering their family members quick but tight hugs. Everyone was still in shock. Colin could briefly hear Benedict and his mother crying for Eloise not to go.
And then the Bow Street Runners took her. They trailed behind the Queen as she exited the room first.
None of them bowed.
After the Queen had left and Eloise was taken away, the room stilted into a dense silence.
Colin was soon expecting to be slapped in the face, to be shouted at, to be kicked out of the house because why did he let this happen? How could he allow their family and his sister to suffer because he happened to be so tremendously, so painfully in love with the most treasonous woman in all of London?
But he was not slapped, not shouted at, nor kicked out.
Instead, he was met with the warm embrace of his mother. He could feel her tears against his coat, “They will survive. We will survive. Penelope and Eloise are the strongest of us. We’ll get them back.” She cupped his cheek as she pulled away, “We’ll be a family again.”
Colin looked around the drawing room. His gaze went to Anthony, then to Kate. To Benedict; even Hyacinth and Gregory. Then back to his mother. They all had tears in their eyes—but there was something else there.
A fire. A burning spirit. A will to fight. The Bridgerton eyes all had the same certitude and understanding. They were ready for battle, and would gladly partake in the longstanding war.
The fire that was there was also warmth, and Colin realized why their family had been known for their strength and loyalty for so many generations.
Bridgertons always looked after their own.
They had collectively decided after a few days that Violet and the two youngest should leave Mayfair for a while and stay in Scotland with Francesca and John for the time being. The Queen left no precedents against them leaving town, quite possibly due to Eloise’s deal as well. It was the best decision to keep Gregory and Hyacinth safe given the Ton’s turmoil.
That was also around the time Anthony had sent a missive to the Hastings estate notifying Daphne and Simon of what had transpired. He urged them to not set foot anywhere near Mayfair for the time being, and Daphne had replied almost immediately. She offered their home as a safehouse in case things grew more awry in town and they needed a swift getaway.
Simon had also relayed that he could be their informant from the outside when they required contacts, information, or access to those in close relation to the Crown or the palace grounds. He could talk to some people, cut some deals. Anything to help them. To save Eloise. To find Penelope.
The war had started.
And the plan had begun.
At present, Colin and Benedict continued their journey down the narrow alleys of the slums as they made their way to the tenement they were to meet Harry Dankworth in. An hour was almost up.
Time, for Colin, was of utmost essence to every move and each play they were going to dance through henceforth.
He couldn’t shake the posters he saw strewn across the area out of his head. Death to Whistledown. Death to Whistledown. Death to Whistledown. If her identity was exposed by the Queen, the signages would be stained with new letters of red — Death to Penelope.
It was haunting him. It made him sick and furious at the same time. He had to get to her before time was no longer on his side.
Colin had to see her again. He felt like he would die if he didn’t.
“Did you dream of her again? Penelope?” Benedict shook him out of his thoughts; his voice was tender. Colin felt his heart twinge at how Benedict referred to Penelope by her given name. Then again, he always did, even before she and Colin became engaged. It showed familiarity. Colin’s heart throbbed again—she was supposed to be Benedict’s sister-in-law by now.
Benedict placed a gentle hand on Colin’s shoulder, “She is alive, brother, I’m sure of it.” He squeezed him reassuringly, “She’s stronger than the two of us combined.”
Colin forced a smile, “Yes.” He fidgeted with the engagement ring Penelope had left behind that he strung onto a chain of silver and made into a necklace, “It’s the only thing keeping me sane.”
The orange flicker of the road lights casted an almost blinding glow on the shop they were nearing, “I will get her back.” Colin directed the words more to himself than to Benedict, “I just wish I—” He gulped. I just wish I had told her that I love her more times than I did before she was gone from my side.
“I know.” Benedict said softly. Oddly, it seemed like his brother did indeed know his thoughts. There was a strange comfort in that.
“We’ll find Penelope. We’ll get Eloise back. We’ll be with our family again.” The sureness of Benedict’s tone was in itself a comfort too.
It wasn’t long before Colin caught a glimpse of Dankworth hidden in a shadow not touched by the streetlight. He quietly emerged from the dark, striding towards the two Bridgertons in light steps. Almost as if he was floating.
Colin never expected Harry Dankworth to join hands with him and his brothers in their pursuit to save Penelope. What was more curious was that Harry had approached them first and willingly nearly a month ago.
He had always regarded Harry genially from the moment they met at the beginning of his engagement with Penelope. Colin sort of just lumped him and Albion Finch together as the good-natured husbands of Penelope’s older sisters. He liked them, but he never associated them with any great depth of character.
That was until Lady Whistledown’s capture, which also prompted the immediate removal of the Featherington’s estate, title, status, and quite possibly everything Portia held onto. The barony was stripped away from them for the guilt of being the family of Penelope.
The Bridgertons got to keep theirs, and the inequality of such a fate prompted Colin and Anthony to offer their home as a living space for the Featheringtons, including their head maid Varley, until everything blows over. Colin, in a way, also regarded them as family already. Penelope had begun mending her relationship with her mother and her sisters just before she disappeared. She loved them, and Colin loved everything she loved.
Colin did not know Harry that well before he began living with the Bridgertons, but he could still tell there was a change in his demeanor once he did. Harry Dankworth took on the role of safeguarding and protecting the Featheringtons; he became responsible in caring for them and ensuring that they would not suffer more than they already had.
Portia would have breakdowns some nights, screaming for some intangible ghost to give her daughter Penelope back to her. Harry would bring her calming herbs and water, then wait until she fell asleep. Other nights it would be Colin tending to her, and even during then, Harry was awake caring for Prudence. Both he and Colin barely rested. Strangely, the two of them grew closer because of it.
Albion Finch, too, tended and cared for the Featheringtons diligently and tirelessly. Yet, understandably so, most of his attention went to his wife Philippa. Colin was easily able to tell how much Finch loved her. Colin knew that if Penelope had been there, most of his attention would go to her as well.
Eventually, however, Albion had to divide his attention more impartially among the Featherington women. Colin noticed some nights Finch and Dankworth would have some hushed yet serious conversations. Other nights, Dankworth would be gone from the estate for hours on end, while Finch stayed behind to watch over the Featheringtons. Kate had noticed and Colin was starting to grow suspicious.
He was about to confront him on the matter when one day, three months into living with them which was around a month ago, Harry Dankworth walked into a discussion between the three eldest Bridgerton boys without so much as a knock on the door.
“I know you three have been in contact with your brother-in-law outside of Mayfair in hopes of getting a lead on Penelope’s whereabouts.” Harry began, “I may not have a concrete lead, but I found contacts in both high society and the working class.”
Colin had been slightly aghast at how Harry learned of their intentions. Then again, there was little that could be hidden in the walls of a shared space. “I can help save Penelope and your sister.” Harry had been firm; it reminded Colin of Eloise on the day she was taken away.
Anthony had been cautious, “I understand Penelope is your sister-in-law, but is there another reason you wish to join hands with us that we should know about?”
Harry seemed nervous, almost afraid. In that instance, Colin felt Harry’s sincerity. His protectiveness. “You plan on stealing gold from the palace as well. I want a cut for me and the Featheringtons.”
Colin had felt scandalized at hearing his own plan from Harry’s lips. It was true he and his brothers had discussed taking some pounds and jewels from the Crown as a resort to safety if the family needed to flee London in the event of their success. Still, the very idea of it was preposterous when said aloud.
Not just preposterous—the whole notion was treasonous.
Searching for a captured enemy of the Crown. Saving their imprisoned sister. Stealing gold from the palace.
They may as well have asked for death by the Queen’s sword.
Harry had been the first to break the silence, “I am done kissing the feet of those blasted royals. They cannot take my sister from our family and assume we would sit idly by.”
“I want in.”
“You two are late.” Harry hissed as he pulled his black mask down his face. Colin caught sight of a torn up poster crumbled in his fist. He, too, probably became bothered by the Death to Whistledown posters plastered everywhere.
Benedict shrugged, “At least we’re fashionable.” Harry deadpanned at Benedict’s attempt at a joke, “Can you at least pretend to be amused by me? We’re going to spend a lot of time together moving forward.”
As if on cue, Colin and Harry both brushed past Benedict (which earned them an exaggerated groan), and approached a set of wooden doors which led to the inside of their destination.
A printing shop. But not just any printing shop.
The printing shop Lady Whistledown used to work with.
The interior was dim, with only a couple of candlesticks and a weak lamp lighting the space enough for the three gentlemen to see the shadowed figure of a man around their age.
“Nobility.” The man spat in a menacing tone, tipping around the shadows. “Your garments alone give it away. You can try to mask and hide all you want, but you all reek of privilege.”
Harry disregarded the comment, “Thank you for agreeing to meet with us.”
“One of you offered to cut a deal with me.”
“Then we’ll spare you the trivial frivolities.”
Colin stepped forward; the oak floorboards creaked beneath his boots. The movement rattled across the room. Wooden pillars formed phantoms that made it difficult to tell where the darkness ended and the candles began. It smelled of ink and paper and burnt pastries. It lessened the intimidation, but the low visibility of the place shot the anxiety right back up.
“My name is Colin Bridgerton, Sir. This is my brother Benedict, and my brother-in-law Mr. Harry Dankworth.” Colin didn’t check to see if Harry reacted in any way when he called him his brother-in-law when he and Penelope were not yet even wed. It didn’t matter. Colin was determined to make it true.
“Am I right in assuming that you are—”
The man finally stepped into the light as he pulled a second lamp on top of the desk. He had dark brown curls on his head, a handsome countenance, a hazel gaze that turned gray with exhaustion, and faint wrinkles creasing in his features despite his young age.
“Theo Sharpe.”
Colin was now face to face with the man, with only the wooden desk separating the two of them. A barrier and a defense. Behind him, Colin felt Benedict and Harry on each of his sides slightly backed.
“Right, Mr. Sharpe,” Sharpe scoffed, patronized by the honorific. Colin tried again, “Theo, our informant confirmed to us that you were one of the apprentices that regularly printed Whistledown’s issues. You have also interacted with her in the past, which means you know of her identity.”
Theo smiled sardonically, “If you already confirmed it, why are you even here?”
Benedict was the one to speak this time, “Since you know of her identity, you are at risk of being arrested by the Crown by guilt of association. And even if you are not arrested, as soon as the people around here know of your involvement in the distribution of the issues in the past, you are not safe from their vitriol given the people’s hostility toward anything Whistledown or nobility related as of late.”
Colin shifted his gaze from Theo to the surfaces near him, then back to him, “In short, you could be killed. By the Queen or the people.” Colin didn’t see any immediate weapons around Sharpe. There was no imminent danger.
“Tell me something I don’t already know, Mr. Bridgerton.” Theo laughed, tone dripping with a rude banality that Colin tried to ignore as he spoke, “We can help you. We can benefit from each other.”
Theo stared at Colin with a laxed expression before pushing himself away from the desk. He seemed to have grabbed a sheet of paper scattered on one of the nearby shelves. The three gentlemen watched his movements carefully.
“Death to the Queen. Death to Whistledown.”
Colin felt his jaw flex at the reminder, his fist clenching. Theo just smiled, “You saw those posters around here, yes? I see one even crumpled in the pocket of Mr. Harry Dankworth.”
Harry visibly flinched in confusion at how Theo was able to spot the torn up poster tucked away in his suit despite being a couple of feet away from each other. Theo’s eyes were like a hawk’s.
“Lady Whistledown, Finally Captured. Four months ago, that headline was everywhere. Then for a while, it was as silent as the sea. Everyone assumed Whistledown was beheaded or killed or some such thing in that span of time,” Theo walked slowly back to his prior position by the desk in front of Colin.
“But to everyone’s utter damned disbelief, a month ago, she started writing again! Better paper quality too; way better than the stuff we have in this shop.” Theo chuckled, “Back from the dead, I take it?”
Colin tried his best to remain stone faced, unfeeling. Even the mention of his lover’s pseudonym was enough to inflame such a burning longing for her. He missed her dearly.
“Though people are torn because, if the bull she wrote was shite before the King’s death, then the bull she writes now really takes the fucking piss, am I right?” Benedict reacted at Theo’s sudden use of profanity; Colin felt his brother’s jolt of protectiveness for his would-be sister-in-law. The same protectiveness that burst within Colin as well in that moment.
“Complete Crown propaganda. No raunchy scandal, no exposing men who hit their wives, no witty and snappy writing, no ‘Charlotte ruined all our fucking lives just because her husband died.’ You can’t even say it’s Whistledown anymore!”
Theo shrugged, eyeing the three men, “So now it’s fifty-fifty: is Whistledown really alive, or is whoever is writing just some bloke that works in the palace and paid to sing praises for the Queen?”
Colin opened his mouth to cut Theo’s rant off, but he went on, “It doesn’t really matter to us poor, lower class bastards though. It doesn’t change the fact that the gossip rag called us—” He read straight off the paper he had retrieved from the shelf a while back. He enunciated every word in hyperbolic disdain, “No more sensible than a child with half a brain, and traps that scream for the end of the monarchy with breaths that smell like dog shite.”
Colin remembered reading that piece for the first time. Penelope would never write that.
Not willingly.
“The people around here fucking hate both of them. The Queen and Whistledown.” Theo flicked the paper with the nails on his fingertips, resounding an airy smack to prove his point, “Thus, Death to the Queen. Death to Whistledown was birthed.”
Colin immediately interjected, “Precisely. And it won’t be long before chaos actually ensues. There are small riots everywhere now. Staff have been quitting their jobs in the Ton; a nobleman was murdered the other day when he went to a brothel. It’s getting more and more perilous by the minute.”
Benedict then added, “But what if we tell you we can help you get away from all of that?” Theo then made a lazy gesture for them to continue, expression still lax like he was not taking any of them seriously, “Have at it.” He humored.
“A heist.” Theo’s eyebrow quirked at the statement; Colin continued, “Our sister, Eloise, is held hostage at the palace grounds as we speak. She’s been there for four months now. We plan to get her back.”
Harry pulled his black mask further down, making sure Theo heard every word, “The palace is a gold mine. Jewels, crowns, coins, treasure. It has millions of pounds to ensure a safe getaway for you out of London. Enough for all of us to get away from here for good. What’s even better is that it is not as safely guarded as one might assume; merely lock and key and a few guards stationed outside the room.”
“You are well-connected with people in the rookeries. You have intel, and we were informed you have experience in identity theft and pickpocketing. Deception.” Benedict smirked, “We need your skills. We need both our worlds to meet.” Colin urged.
Theo was quiet for a moment, “So, you gentlemen want to save a life and pull off a near impossible heist. And you’re willing to give an untitled apprentice a cut of the money to help you steal it.”
Colin nodded, and Theo promptly burst out in a guffaw, “Are you lot truly from the nobility? Or are you actually just a rogue of thieves?” It was rhetorical, yet despite the disbelief in his tone, Colin could tell Theo was leaning more favorably towards the idea.
“Gold is not the only thing we’re stealing, too.” Benedict stated with a lopsided grin. Theo’s eyebrows furrowed, “What else will we steal?”
“Lady Whistledown.”
That really got Theo’s attention.
“We have reason to believe she’s in Mayfair. Possibly in the palace.”
Theo looked between the three of them incredulously, “What if the rumors are right and it really is someone else behind the pen? How are you even sure she’s actually alive?”
“We aren’t.” Benedict said simply. Colin then grasped the ring around his neck; it had become a habit, “But that doesn’t mean we would give up on trying to find her.”
Ever since Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers began circulating again around a month ago, Colin had held onto the sliver of hope that Penelope was somehow in Mayfair and inside the palace. Not exiled; not in some faraway land Colin would have to scour the earth for and defeat every single soldier to save.
He had drawn up the conclusion that she was being controlled by the Queen to write the things she writes. For what reason, Colin was unsure of. He started to believe it was possibly in an attempt to spare her life, or her family’s. Anthony had expressed skepticism in the past at the fact that the Queen had allowed the Featheringtons to roam free without so much as getting imprisoned or exiled.
Colin spent the first three months without Penelope living his days no differently from a lifeless carcass. He spent most of his time searching for leads on Penelope’s whereabouts, discussing with his brothers, tending to the Featheringtons, watching over his family—it was a routinary cycle that held him together when every morning he gets torn apart because Penelope was only in his arms in his dreams, and not in real life.
Last month, however, Whistledown sprung alive once more. And so too did Colin’s will to continue breathing. It was then that the heist was planned.
Simon had reached out numerous times throughout the months but with little to no information. But then a footman who used to work for the Hastings estate wrote to the Duke with the mention of an additional set of meals being prepared in the palace, akin to the ones served to imprisoned nobility. The cooks had been discreet, but a maid had been careless enough to leave the dirty plates in a pile by the sink accessible to male staff. It could have been a stretch, but it was better than nothing.
Simon and Daphne had then found an informant from one anonymous member of the Ton, and so the search continued. Then Harry joined. He had built connections from his time in Eton and his late father’s friendship with a travel merchant based in various areas in Westminster. Because of him, he had met a couple of bartenders from the outskirts of Mayfair who had been a medium for all sorts of hushed secrets.
Those men now led them to Theo. And they still had others to reach out to.
But first, Mr. Sharpe. “What do you say, Theo?” Colin outstretched his hand in front of him, coaxing Theo into the offer.
He stared at the three gentlemen for what felt like minutes. Colin grew nervous; the pit of his stomach churned. If Theo doesn’t accept the deal, they would be placed in a precarious situation since they already shared and spoke too much. How were they going to deal with that potential conundrum?
But, Theo suddenly grinned, “You’re an interesting bunch. I like it.” Relief washed over Colin, “If this plan fails, at least I get to see rich fuckers experience not getting what they want.” Harry scoffed lightly at Theo’s insult.
“So, we have a deal?”
Theo grabbed Colin’s outstretched hand, shaking it firmly, “Deal.”
Colin lightly smirked; he then spoke the beginning of the mantra he and Anthony had conjured on one night of plans and drinks, “To the quell,”
Benedict and Harry spoke in unison, conviction in their tone, “For the quill.”
To the quell. To the end of terror, of fear, of separation, of cruelty.
For the quill. For freedom, for the truth, for family. For Penelope.
“For the quill.” Theo echoed, quickly catching on to the little saying. Colin suddenly felt less terrified for the first time in months. He then felt Benedict walk up towards him and pull him into a much needed embrace. Colin leaned into the feeling.
Wait for me, Penelope.
I will do everything in my power to get you back.
It was quiet.
The air settling into dust on the lavish gold brocade and jeweled chandeliers was the only movement that grazed the expanse of the chambers. The crimson silk, the angelic paintings, the lavender scent. All extravagance; no feeling, no substance, no sound.
But the quiet was much preferred, better than —
The double doors abruptly screeched open with an almost deafening echo. Light streamed through the crack; a bristle of warmth enveloped the room. It should have been relieving, if it were not for the footsteps that followed.
“Brimsley told me you have not been eating your meals.”
Silence. The light particles from the ocher glow of the candle-lit hallways filtered through the silence. Maybe one day the light could cut through the quiet.
For now, the Queen intended to cut through it first, “If you die, they will all perish too.” Her Majesty’s shadow now blocked the luster; it was dim again, “You do know that, don’t you, child?”
Not all the luster, though.
“Or shall I say, Penelope Featherington.”
Her auburn curls still gleamed even without any light.