Chapter Text
After leaving his sister’s house, Colin rode at a gallop, determined to reach Penelope as swiftly as possible.
He could scarcely believe the extent to which his mother and sister had meddled.
While a part of him understood their reasoning — especially after what had transpired the previous season with Miss Edwina —another part was convinced they should have known better.
If Anthony had begun courting Penelope, it could not have been mere duty; otherwise, he would have chosen a more celebrated candidate, someone admired by all, a woman who would stand at his side like a prize worthy of the Viscount Bridgerton.
Not that Penelope was unworthy of admiration — far from it — but the Ton did not see her that way.
And his mother and sister should have realised there was more to this courtship than duty.
But they had not. And now the truth had emerged from the depths of tragedy.
Colin did not know what had led Anthony to seduce Penelope — because that was what had happened.
There could be no other explanation.
That child must be Anthony’s.
He would never have offered marriage otherwise. But that was the reality they all faced now: Penelope was alone. And while she might desire solitude at present, Colin knew better.
The stories he had heard in Italy and Greece echoed in his mind — the whispered accounts of what women sometimes did when faced with such circumstances.
As he reached Featherington House, he took a moment to secure his horse out of sight.
The last thing he wished was to stain Penelope’s already fragile reputation.
He would never forgive himself .
Not when the rumours surrounding the broken courtship with the Viscount were sure to be vicious.
He could already picture Lady Whistledown’s speculation — wondering whether Penelope remained a maiden, or if the Viscount had tasted her fruit only to find it lacking in sweetness, casting her aside in favour of more delicate fare.
Just as he was about to approach her window, movement caught his eye. Rounding the corner, he saw her stepping into a carriage, trunks loaded behind her.
For a brief moment, Colin hesitated.
He had no notion of what she intended, but he had two choices — chase after the carriage on foot or return to his horse and follow at a safer distance.
The latter was the wiser course.
And so, he rode after her.
He followed the carriage through the streets until it reached Bloomsbury.
Was this where Anthony had taken new lodgings?
Not wanting to startle her, he left his horse and resumed his pursuit on foot. He had expected her to enter a house, but instead, she stepped into a print house.
Drawing closer, he felt his heart quicken.
Her voice.
He would recognise it anywhere. Even now, altered as it was — inflected with an Irish cadence, her speech less refined — he knew it.
She was haggling.
With the printer.
Over the final issue of Whistledown .
Shock struck him like a physical blow.
Penelope had been Lady Whistledown all this time.
He stood frozen, thoughts colliding too fast to make sense of them. He nearly missed her departure.
A thousand words fought to leave his lips. He was furious with her — furious and bewildered — but he knew better than to let anger govern him now. Not when he had seen the trunks. Not when he realised she had the means to disappear entirely.
And then, she did the unthinkable. She went to the docks. The sight made his blood run cold.
There could be only one explanation. Penelope was truly fleeing.
And since she could not have foreseen this night’s events, even her destination would be unknown to her.
Colin could not lose her. He would never forgive himself if he did.
The sound of her silence and absence had already pressed upon him heavily enough when he had believed her safe in her family’s home. How could he possibly endure it now, knowing she would vanish without a trace?
As she stepped aboard the ship, Colin made his decision. He would follow.
***
As Colin approached the ship, following the path he hoped Penelope had taken, a familiar voice called out to him.
"Mr. Bridgerton?"
He turned, recognizing the speaker immediately — the very same captain who had brought him here.
"I thought you were staying, sir. Have you forgotten something?"
Colin hesitated. He could either explain the truth to the man with whom he had formed a certain camaraderie over months of sailing, or he could come up with a convenient excuse. But he was too exhausted for deception.
"I thought so too," he admitted, his voice heavy. "But something happened, and… my dearest friend boarded this ship."
The captain raised an eyebrow. "Your friend?" His tone was laced with skepticism. Captain Smith had heard Colin speak of only one person in such terms — a lady of noble birth, Miss Penelope Featherington.
Colin nodded slowly.
"We're already behind schedule," the captain said, his tone cautious. "If she is on board, I cannot delay our departure."
Colin clenched his jaw. He had only two choices: stay behind and pray that she hadn’t managed to secure passage — or board the ship and find her before it was too late.
But he knew Penelope. He knew the fire that burned beneath her quiet exterior. He knew, now, she was Lady Whistledown.
"I’m coming with you," Colin said firmly. "I’ll disembark at the first opportunity if I don’t find her."
Captain Smith studied him for a moment before nodding. "Very well, Bridgerton. Good luck."
With that, Colin stepped onto the Contessa , the salty night air heavy with the promise of something new.