Chapter Text
24 September 1814
Dear Pen,
If you have yet to receive my last letter, then please direct any response care of my current address here in Gibraltar.
I left Lisbon on horseback with a group of fellow travellers to Seville and Cadiz, and from there, I boarded a frigate to Gibraltar.
We were a merry company of sixteen, to begin with. The friendly Prussian gentlemen decided to remain in Seville. And then, if I am being honest, I was all too happy to leave the Italians in a small town three days later to chase and make themselves nuisances of the unfortunate local ladies.
It was an uneventful but picturesque journey to Cadiz. My guide, Jorge (he who falls asleep sitting upright on a horse in the middle of the afternoon), and I rode nearly seventy miles a day.
On many nights, we made camp under the stars when the hotels were full (or deemed dubious by Jorge), and I fell asleep dreaming of a full English breakfast. Only to wake up to another meal of boiled eggs, oranges and increasingly stale bread.
The sun shines so brightly here that I was blistered and red by the end of our first week. I was so pitiful Jorge loaned me his floppy straw hat for the remainder of our journey.
On most days, I did not wish to trouble Jorge to assist me with my boots, so I happily went about the Spanish countryside barefoot. The reduced diet and absence of a valet forced me to make use of a length of rope as a belt. As the days became increasingly scorching hot I learned to dread the nights as I was feasted upon by mosquitos!
Can you imagine how I must have looked when I arrived at my hotel late yesterday evening? Barefoot, brown as a monkey, covered in red lumps wearing a straw hat with only a rope to keep my dignity intact. The hotelier almost mistook me for a vagrant and threatened me with his broom.
Nobody at home would have recognised me, why I believe your Mrs Varley would have screamed and had me thrown from your front steps had I come to call on you in such a state.
The threat of almost being walloped by a broom aside, I must confess, the experience was quite freeing. Whilst I am away on my travels, I am not “Mister Colin Bridgerton.” There are no expectations or comments about who I should be, what I should be doing, or how I should be spending my time. I can be whoever I choose to be, without commentary from my loving family or the Ton. When I am here, I simply exist and I feel more “myself” than I ever have before. Perhaps this sentiment does not make any sense at all, but if anybody will understand, it is you. You are always so generous in the way you interpret my ramblings to make them seem more intelligent and profound than I intended.
I am now sitting in the comfort of my hotel’s dining room, writing you this letter after my first hot bath and meal in weeks. I must confess, the sight of kippers and bacon this morning almost moved me to tears.
I plan to climb the Rock tomorrow morning; they say you can see the coastline of Africa from the top. This is assuming the mischievous apes on the Rock grant me safe passage. I have only been here one night and already have heard countless stories of how badly behaved these monkeys can be if they perceive you to be a threat.
How are you, Pen?
I am still awaiting your reply to my letters. I imagine a red-faced postman on a postchaise chasing me across the continent with a sackful of your letters that have failed to reach me before I move on to my next destination. I cannot imagine any other reason why I have yet to receive a single missive from you.
Daphne informs me that you and your family have returned to the countryside for the summer. This is, sadly, the sum total of news I have been able to glean of your well-being.
If the sluggish postman does not pick up his pace, then perhaps I will need to take matters into my own hands and return home early so that you can tell me all that I have missed in your letters.
Yours affectionately,
Colin
💐💐💐
Six months later.
Colin always did find it slightly disorientating to return home and see how the world had continued to march on in his absence. He had received letters from his family, of course, keeping him updated. But seeing it was quite a different matter.
Gregory now towered two inches above Hyacinth, as he proudly informed Colin. Daphne was confined to Hastings House, heavily pregnant with her second child. Augie had discovered the joys of running in every single direction, and his favourite direction was inevitably the direction away from his poor suffering Nanny.
His mother along with her unmarried children, was at their new home, affectionately referred to as Number Five. While Kate had settled comfortably as the new Viscountess into Bridgerton House with Edwina and Lady Mary.
On the very same day that Colin returned home, Francesca had been named the Diamond of the Season by the Queen and was already madly in love with the Earl of Kilmartin. Kate and his mother had advised Fran to not show preference to any suitors until the end of the season, but from the way John Stirling gazed upon Fran as he led her around the dancefloor, Colin thought it would be quite a miracle if Fran managed to finish the night without receiving a proposal.
It was the first ball of the Season, and the ballroom of the Danbury House was so full that Colin found it difficult to take two steps without walking into someone. Still, he searched the room patiently, stopping occasionally to return polite greetings and answer questions about his travels, making polite excuses when a young lady or her mama dropped hints that they wanted to dance.
At some point, the number of people in the room dwindled somewhat, and finally, Colin caught a glimpse of the person he had been searching for. He let out a breath of relief.
Penelope was hugging the wall of the room, dressed in a lovely blue dress draped lovingly over her figure.
A sense of deja vu washed over him. It was the same disorienting feeling he had experienced after visiting Marina Thompson last year, seeing her as a settled mother of two small children. Time had indeed moved on without him, but somehow, this time it felt more acute, as though his small friend with the butterflies in her hair and cheerful dresses had been replaced by a lady.
He took the opportunity to observe her for a moment, noting all the small changes. Her hair was different and the gown did suit her more than her yellow dresses, but she looked pale, and there were dark shadows under her eyes that he had not seen before.
He sidestepped another lady and her daughter with an apologetic smile moving steadily through the crowd until he was standing right next to her.
“Pen.” He greeted her warmly.
There was a pause, and when she did not immediately turn to face him, for a split second, Colin thought she had not heard him. But then-
“Colin.” She turned to curtsy, gracing him with a polite smile that did not reach her eyes. “You have returned home.”
Colin tried not to be put off by her cool greeting. He suspected her reserve was due to the falling out between her and Eloise and was determined to show her that he was not going to let it affect their relationship. She was still his friend, no matter what had happened between Penelope and his sister.
“Yes, I returned yesterday, just in time to see Fran off to court.” Colin watched her eyes flicker back to the dancefloor. “Although I did wish to join them in the carriage, Anthony complained of my attire and said I was not fit to accompany them to the palace. The way he reacted, you’d think I had arrived barefoot with a rope tied about my waist.”
Penelope did not laugh as he had expected, only giving him a distracted nod. “Francesca did very well. Your mama must be very pleased that your family can claim two diamonds in three seasons.”
“Well, it is a relief, I am sure, especially after the tumult of the past two seasons.”
“A relief indeed.” Penelope turned back to him with another one of her polite smiles he was beginning to dread. “Well, I am sure your family is very glad to have you home. Excuse me, I think I can see Mama calling me to her.”
Colin moved quickly, blocking her path as she started to move away. “Only my family, Pen?“ he asked softly, his eyes flickering over her face searching for any hint of the usual warmth she reserved for him. “Perhaps you are not so glad to see me?”
“Of course I am pleased to see that you have returned home safely.” She said lightly, the tone forced.
“You didn't reply to my letters,” Colin said tentatively. The way she had responded to his comment earlier made him think she did not understand the reference to the letter which he had written to her detailing his journey through Spain. Had she not received any of them?
“You and Eloise are not speaking, so there was no way for me to ascertain your well-being.”
“Well, as you can see. I am quite well.”
“And my letters?” Colin prompted, watching her face closely. “Did you receive any of them?”
“I did,” Penelope said calmly. “But you see, Colin, I am quite determined to marry this Season. It is my third year, as Mama likes to remind me every chance she has. And it is quite inappropriate for unmarried ladies and gentlemen to exchange correspondence. So I did not think it was prudent to respond to your letters.”
He had not expected this response. Of course, Penelope had hopes to marry. That was no great surprise; Penelope was a romantic, she did not wish to grow old as a spinster, but her declaration threw him all the same.
Furthermore, it had never occurred to him that their correspondence was something that would cause harm to Penelope’s reputation. There had been so much time to think during his first tour and thoughts of Marina Thompson had haunted his steps. Thinking of Miss Thompson inevitably led to thoughts of Penelope, and he had picked up his quill without thinking, penning her a short letter only with the intention of letting her know she and her family were in his thoughts.
After her father’s untimely death and the scandal her family had been embroiled in during her first Season, it was only natural that he would write to her and ask her if she was well. He had never thought for a second that their correspondence could be considered improper.
But…a voice inside him asked, surely if that was the case, then she could have found a way to inform him. Instead, she had allowed him to send her letter after letter, content to let him wait and wonder at her lack of response.
He felt hurt and chastened in equal measure but hurried to assure her all the same, eager to be back in her good graces.
“As you wish, Pen. But there is still so much I wish to speak with you about. Perhaps I could call on you tomorrow morning?”
“To what end?”
He could not see her expression; once again she had turned her body to face away from him.
An unpleasant churning began in his stomach. It was the same churning he had felt every time he looked through his mail and inquired to check nothing else had been left out. Now the sensation grew and expanded until he felt it in his chest.
Something was very wrong.
“To what end?” Colin repeated, bewildered. “I have missed my friend. I wish to know how you are faring. It has been so long since we last spoke. I believe the last time I even saw you was at your mother’s ball at the end of last season.”
There.
There had been a flash of something in her eyes at his mention of the Featherington Ball, but then Penelope had turned her head away again too quickly for him to understand what it meant.
“I will not have time this Season to promenade or to receive your calls.” Penelope said, looking towards the middle of the ballroom. “I will not be able to spend time speaking or dancing with you at balls.
“I am not like Eloise, Colin. I do not have a Viscount for a brother and a duchess for a sister. She has already rejected a marriage proposal this season I hear. But when it comes to me, well, a girl like me cannot afford to be seen promenading and spending too much time with an unmarried gentleman who has no intentions of courting her.”
Colin had the urge to take a step back, her words were so reasonable, but he did not mistake her tone. Beneath every pointed word, there simmered a world of resentment and anger.
He felt astonished to be the recipient of such emotion from Penelope. As long as he had known her, he had known her to be sweet-tempered, sensible, always so quick to reassure him, to provide him encouragement when he was feeling lost or low.
“Of course.” He said after a long silence. He cleared his throat and tried to reassure her, “I would never wish to do anything to cause you harm.”
The words did not seem to fall as intended.
She laughed. “No. Of course, you would never wish to do me harm,” she murmured, caustically.
His eyes searched her hard mask. “Whatever can you mean, Pen?”
She did not respond, nor would she look at him, and it slowly dawned on Colin that it was almost as if she did not want to look at him.
“Pen, won’t you-”
“Penelope!” Colin started, turning to find Lady Featherington approaching them arm in arm with a tall gentleman, thin and tall as a rapier with a mane of grey hair.
Lady Featherington’s eyes narrowed as they landed on him, but she did not acknowledge him Instead, she purposely wedged herself into the space between him and Penelope.
“Penelope, this is Sir Rupert. Sir Rupert, this is my youngest.”
“Sir Rupert.” Penelope curtsied.
“Miss Penelope,” Sir Rupert bowed, his watery eyes flickering over Penelope’s neckline. “What a handsome gown.”
“Is she not as I described her, Sir Rupert?” Lady Featherington twittered. “My Penelope is a shy girl. Always so sweet and never a complaint to be heard. Lovely qualities to be sure, but it causes me such despair, for it means that she is so often unjustly overlooked.”
“That is a great injustice, my lady,” Sir Rupert agreed as his eyes wandered freely over Penelope’s figure.
Colin tried to imagine Eloise’s reaction if their mother had presented her with such a man as a suitor. But the image that his mind conjured up of his sister’s revulsion did not make him want to laugh; instead, it made bile rise in his throat: the man was old enough to be their grandfather.
Every particle in his body revolted at the way Penelope kept her eyes downcast so as to paint a picture of a shy, biddable girl with a passive smile painted on her lips.
“Do you like to dance, Miss Penelope?”
“Oh, I do, very much, Sir.” Penelope said in a breathless voice as if the idea of dancing with this decrepit old stick thrilled her to her toes.
He watched in disbelief as Sir Rupert held out his hand and led Penelope away; she did not spare him another glance. It was as though she had quite forgotten about his existence.
Colin turned to Lady Featherington, who made to follow Penelope and Sir Rupert but paused when he took a step towards her. “Lady Featherington,” Colin said urgently, “Is Miss Penelope well?”
She threw him a scathing look. “Oh, now you are full of concern for her well-being?”
The scene he had just witnessed had left a bad taste in his mouth; he tamped down on the anger that he could feel mounting inside of him. It was Miss Thompson being trussed up and presented for sale to the highest bidder all over again.
“I do not take your meaning.” Colin persisted. “Is there a reason Penelope is determined to marry this Season….Did something happen while I was away? Is she–” A terrible thought suddenly occurred to him, “Is she in some sort of trouble?”
She scoffed. “Nothing happened while you were away, Mister Bridgerton, save that Penelope finally opened her eyes and came to her senses.”
“Came to her senses?” He demanded, not making an effort to disguise his pique. Colin had lost his patience; years of fury that he had not even realised he harboured against the woman spilled over. “Madam, how is meekly accepting the attentions of such a suitor thrice her age coming to her senses? Have you such low regard for your own daughter that you would foist such a match on her?”
If Lady Featherington was taken aback by his anger, she was too well conditioned to show it. She looked away from him, flipping open the small fan that had been dangling from her wrist and smiled calmly at any curious onlookers that found it interesting that Mister Colin Bridgerton was engaged in a heated exchange with Lady Featherington.
“What a curious question, Mister Bridgerton,” she said, her sweet tone laced with venom. “I might ask you the same question, have you such low regard for my daughter that, as my guest, you felt it necessary to declare to the Ton’s eligible gentlemen that you would never court my daughter, that such an idea was beyond their wildest fantasies?”
Colin stared, confused. “What do you-“
Lady Featherington sighed, “You Bridgertons are all the same; you live your lives like the rules do not apply to you. And when your family is touched by scandal, you are all forgiven for it within the same month. That makes you blind. Blind and ignorant as to the damage that your words can affect others less privileged.
“Before, my Penelope was simply ignored. But now, thanks to you, she is a joke. Have you heard the whispers and laughter that follow her in ballrooms? What young, handsome gentleman would ever court a girl that Mister Colin Bridgerton has declared unworthy of his attention?”
Colin wished that he could interject. To deny the assertions being lobbed unjustly at him. To inform the lady that she was mistaken, Penelope was his friend. Had he not protected her and her family from their blackguard of a cousin? Had he not promised her that he would always look out for her? Assured her how special she was to him?
But there was something, a sinking feeling in his gut, that prevented him from doing so. A memory drifting to the surface of his mind.
“Although, I suppose I should thank you,” Lady Featherington continued, languidly moving her fan. Every word out of her mouth a twist on the knife in his gut. “Penelope never took my warnings to heart. She did not understand how a handsome face and honeyed words could disguise a snake. But now, thanks to you, she will never make such a mistake again. That is something to take comfort in, I suppose. Good evening, Mister Bridgerton.”
Her parting words were like a spell, releasing the chains on his limbs, and he moved without thinking. He lurched through the crowded ballroom while his mind cycled through denials. Lady Featherington was mistaken; there had been some misunderstanding. His eyes roamed the dancefloor, desperate for a glimpse of her red hair.
He wanted-
He needed-
If he could just see her and ask her himself-
There–
She was leaning against the wall, alone once more. Her eyes observed the dancers with a detached expression. If she noticed his approach, she did not react, but he knew that she was aware of him. He could see it in the way her body stiffened, and she turned her head in the other direction, eyelashes fluttering against the apple of her cheeks.
His instinct had been correct. She could not bear the sight of him.
And Colin could not blame her for it.
“Pen, I-” he began, his voice hoarse. But he trailed off, standing before her; he had no words to offer her, only questions for himself.
How could he explain himself? What words could repair this?
His shame was a thick noose around his neck.
When the silence dragged on, perhaps curiosity won out, for Penelope finally turned to face him.
He wondered what she saw on his face. Whatever she saw caused her mask to slip for a moment. And for the first time that evening, he saw her, his Pen.
He saw everything she had been hiding from him all evening: her humiliation, her anguish, her pain.
Caused by him, by his careless, stupid words.
Penelope had always thought better of him than he deserved. Reminded him when he was low, listing the qualities she saw in him that he could not see in himself. He had so wanted to deserve her praise, so wanted to become the man he was in her letters to him.
But now he could see himself through her eyes, so clearly, the disloyal, thoughtless wretch that he was with no regard for anyone but himself.
They did not say a thing. For a long moment, they simply stood there gazing at one another; Colin, vibrating with barely repressed emotion, and she…she looked so tired and pale.
“Goodnight, Colin.”
She pushed away from the wall and disappeared into the crush of the ballroom.
💐💐💐
Two days later, to his surprise, it was not one of his brothers that finally tracked him down. It was the Duke of Hastings who found him at the pugilistic club, covered in sweat and blood as he delivered a blow to George Coutanay's side that had him falling to the ground.
“Get up, get up and keep your hands up, ” Fife and Oliphant howled from the sidelines as the rest of the room counted down the eight seconds. When Courtenay failed to rise to his feet, the umpire declared, “ Time!” and the club erupted into curses and cheers.
Colin crouched down to haul Courtenay to his feet and delivered him to the arms of his bottle holder before limping to his no longer empty corner of the ring.
“Not bad,” Simon drawled, where he stood, forearms resting upon the ropes. “Tell me, did George Courtenay do something to offend you? The last two rounds I observed were particularly vicious.”
Colin took a swig from his bottle of brandy and grudgingly accepted the towel Simon offered him to wipe his face. It came away smeared in blood from his split lip. He could not find it in himself to care as he ducked under the ropes to climb down from the platform, wishing his brother-in-law could do him the favour of pretending he had not seen him and leave him be.
“Go. Away.”
“You could show a little appreciation.” Simon’s voice followed him, much to Colin’s annoyance. “I could be in the comfort of my home right now, enjoying a glass of brandy and the company of my wife and child. But one of my brothers-in-law disappeared with no word or warning and the family began hearing reports that he had been wandering around London blind drunk for nearly two days.”
“Well. Do not let me keep you from your delightful evening.” Colin replied peevishly.
“Nothing would please me more, but my duchess would not be happy with me if I returned to her empty-handed. Come on,” Simon’s hand clapped on his shoulder. Colin tried to shrug his hand off, but two burly footmen in the black Hastings livery suddenly appeared out of nowhere; the men did not waste any time roughly grabbing him by the arms and shoulders and dragging him to the exit.
“Cor!” One footman exclaimed when he caught a whiff of Colin. “Yer Grace,” he objected, “He smells like a bar room properly done over by a crew of sailors on shore leave! Shouldn’t we give him a dunk in the horse trough before letting him in the carriage?”
“Tempting, William,” Simon said lightly. Colin turned his head to glare at the man trailing leisurely behind them. “But her Grace has an appointment with her dear brother; let’s not keep her waiting.”
Colin was too steeped in misery and humiliation to resist when Simon forced his shirt over his head and packed him into the ducal carriage.
Colin stared listlessly out the carriage window as it began to move.
After Penelope had left him, he had all but run from the ball to walk aimlessly through the empty streets.
As dawn broke, he found himself at Mondrich’s and the blessedly deserted rooms. The fashionable gentlemen were no doubt only starting their journey home from the ball. The other members, traders, and professionals were already waking up and getting ready to start their day. Only a man like Colin, a man without honour, without loyalty, without a useful occupation would have nothing better to do than to wander into the deserted club in the early hours and sit listlessly in a corner.
It was too early for Will or any of the other workers to be tending the rooms, but there was a young maid sweeping the floors. She had taken one look at the pathetic figure he made slumped over a table and was kind enough to provide him with a bottle of brandy from behind the bar. And so, Colin had proceeded to get thoroughly soused.
Then, sometime later, he had staggered upstairs to an empty room and fell asleep, waking only to violently expel the contents of his stomach into a chamber pot. Then he returned to the club rooms so he could continue drinking.
He could not recall much of what had happened, the conversations and laughter around him washed over him, and time lost all meaning.
At some point, a group of rowdy gentlemen had found him in the club and convinced him to join them in carousing the town. He did not notice where they took him; the details were all lost in a blur of impressions: loud laughter ringing in his ears, dimly lit bar rooms, pretty barmaids speaking sweetly and pressing suggestive touches on him which went ignored until at some point they had ended up at Will’s old boxing club.
Colin could not bring himself to return home.
He could hardly bear the sight of himself in the mirror, let alone face the judgement of his mother or Anthony. For they would no doubt take one look at him and smother him with their loving concern until he broke and confessed that he had ruined his friend’s life.
Why had he said those words, he had asked himself, again and again.
He had been embarrassed by the other gentlemen’s words. Not embarrassed of her, never. He’d been embarrassed at the scrutiny, their sly looks and their suggestions. He had not wished to explain himself to these men; he did not believe they were capable of understanding the friendship he shared with Penelope.
So, he had denied them their sport by denying that he was courting Penelope, denying the outlandish notion that he and Penelope were anything more than the best of friends.
Colin had only been thinking of himself. Of his feelings. But what of Penelope? His friend. He had not spared a moment to think of her, of what damage he would cause her. And then he’d taken himself on another trip without a second thought and abandoned her to face the taunts and ridicule of the Ton, alone.
No, he did not deserve his family’s concern. He did not deserve anything. What he did deserve was to be thrown on a rat and disease-infested ship to a far-flung colony. Every time Colin thought of Sir Rupert leering at Penelope, he wanted to empty the contents of his stomach all over again.
He wondered if she hated him now. He would embrace her hatred if it meant he still meant something to her.
He feared that she did not hate him. That he meant so little to her now that even hatred was too strong a word for her emotions for him.
He was drawn out of his thoughts when the rocking of the carriage stopped, and he was surprised that they were not at Bridgerton House or Number Five.
Simon had brought him to Hastings House.
💐💐💐
“Good evening, brother,” Daphne greeted him cheerfully as though he was not slumped in her drawing room without a coat, waistcoat, cravat, and wearing a three-day-old shirt stained with sweat, blood, and God knows what else.
Colin grunted in reply.
“You should have ordered the servants to draw him a bath before allowing him on the furniture, Daph,” Simon said, standing up from the armchair to greet his wife. “You did not see the sorry state I found him in.”
His sister only laughed and patted the duke fondly on the chest as though to congratulate him on a job well done. Simon smiled at her, placing his hand tenderly on Daphne’s rounded belly before he left the room.
Colin watched as Daphne waddled over to seat herself on the settee beside him and looked at him expectantly.
His sister’s glowing face and obvious contentment only served to make Colin’s misery and guilt worse. Was this not what Penelope deserved too? A happy marriage to a doting husband to light her sweet face up with joy.
But he had ruined her chances of such happiness.
“I do not wish to speak about it,” Colin said churlishly.
“I see.” Daphne nodded at him, “So you are planning to continue on like this, are you? This is the answer to your troubles?”
Colin groaned, “Daph-”
“Brother, whatever has happened, it cannot be that terrible. And you know a burden shared is a burden halved. Perhaps there is something Simon and I can do to help.”
He opened his mouth to tell her to mind her own business, but then- perhaps it was the drink, the exhaustion, or the patient and unyielding expression on Daphne’s face that loosened his tongue, and before he could even stop himself, the whole sorry story came spilling out.
“Oh, Colin,” Daphne said in dismay when he had finished. “I had not heard any of these awful whispers, or else I would have written to you to come home at once.”
Colin stared up at the ceiling, his throat tight and chest heavy. “I do not know what to do Daph. How can I fix this?”
When he looked back at her, she had risen from the settee and was pacing the room slowly, discomfort written on her face.
“I cannot sit still for too long,” Daphne explained to his inquiring look, her hand smoothing over her stomach. “We should speak with Mama or Lady Danbury; they always have a trick up their sleeve with these sorts of things.”
“What could Mother or Lady Danbury possibly do to reverse the damage that I have caused to Pen? Hold a ball?” He suggested sarcastically.
“What I mean, brother,” Daphne said impatiently, “is that the Ton’s memory is short and fickle. A lady can be raised to the highest heights and named a diamond one moment and then declared ineligible the next, through no fault of her own. Fortunes can be reversed, and reputations can be restored in a blink of an eye. If you know the rules of the game, you can bend them to your advantage. Have the last two years taught you nothing?”
Colin blinked slowly, the brandy-soaked wheels in his mind coming to life and beginning to turn. “During your first season,” he recalled, “One moment you were on the brink of marrying Berbrooke, and the next you had a houseful of suitors.”
Daphne laughed, “Yes, well, that scheme was quite ingenious although I will never admit it to Simon.”
Colin frowned, “That was because you caught the eye of the duke, the most elusive and desirable gentleman of the season. Daph, where do you expect me to procure a duke to fall in love with Pen to restore her reputation?”
Daphne rolled her eyes, it was most unbecoming of a duchess, and Colin almost made a comment to vex her.
“You do not have to find a duke. And I was not saved from being Lady Berbrooke because Simon chose to court me. Simon pretended to court me. It was all an act. Well, it started that way. Simon wished for the ambitious Mamas to leave him alone, and he said that men always find a woman more desirable when other men are interested, and I was so desperate to be saved from Nigel Berbrooke, I agreed.”
Colin blinked. “That is... demented.”
Daphne scoffed, “Well, I am not saying that you find a duke to pretend to court Penelope. All I’m simply suggesting is that the Ton is malleable, and their opinion is easily swayed. Mama and Lady Danbury can be a formidable force when they come together. If they put their minds to an issue, I am sure they can come up with some solution.”
But Colin had already tuned her out; his mind was slowly working through Daphne’s revelation.
Was it true? Were men so easily led, if one gentleman expressed an interest in a lady, that lady immediately became more desirable in their eyes?
The logic of it was ridiculous. It made no sense. Penelope was desirable. She was smart, witty, kind, and had an excellent sense of humour. But apparently, that was not enough for the Ton.
The beau monde was punishing Penelope for an offhand comment he had made and an opinion he had expressed.
Colin stood up.
The sudden movement must have startled Daphne, who turned to him in alarm. “Are you going to be sick? Do not be sick on my carpet.”
“I must go.” He announced.
And then, without waiting for a response, Colin bolted from the room.