Chapter Text
Colin Bridgerton was well aware of what society expected of him. Having called upon Marina Thompson twice and danced with her at two consecutive balls, it was expected that he would soon make his intentions known. By all accounts, Marina was a suitable match—lovely, poised, and passably engaging in conversation. Yet, he could not ignore the hesitation within him. She was everything society deemed desirable, and yet… he could not envision a life with her. Not for the long term.
What troubled him further was his current predicament. He knew he had no business lingering in the hallways of the Featherington house. Visitors were to remain in the drawing room, yet here he was, with no intention of calling on Marina at all.
The truth of the matter was that yesterday, as he danced with Marina, his attention had been elsewhere. Penelope. He had caught sight of her, her expression wounded, her gaze momentarily meeting his before she quickly looked away. That look had lingered with him, haunting him far more than Marina’s smiles.
Even Marina had noticed.
“You know,” she had said archly, as they completed a turn on the dance floor, “if you intend to spend the entire evening looking at my cousin while dancing with me, Mr. Bridgerton, you might as well ask her to dance instead.”
Caught off guard, Colin stammered, “I apologize, Miss Thompson. I only noticed that Pen—Miss Featherington—appeared upset. I wondered if something, or someone, might be troubling her.”
Marina had dismissed the concern with a wave of her hand. “My cousin is one and seven, Mr. Bridgerton. She can manage herself. She is prone to dramatics, nothing more.”
“She is not dramatic,” Colin replied, his tone firmer than he intended. “Penelope is sincere and kind-hearted. If something troubles her, it is not without reason.”
Their conversation lapsed into silence, but the unease in Colin’s chest had only grown. It was that unease that brought him here, determined to check on Penelope. Yet when he arrived, Varley informed him that Penelope was unwell and could not receive visitors. Colin knew the claim to be false; Rae, her lady’s maid, had discreetly exchanged a glance with him, silently indicating otherwise.
A modest bribe and some stealth later, he found himself quietly making his way toward Penelope’s bedchamber. Yet as he passed a door left slightly ajar, voices stopped him in his tracks.
“You must make haste, Marina,” Lady Featherington’s sharp tone carried into the hallway. “You are with child and without a husband. You must secure a match soon, or I shall ensure you marry Lord Greer.”
“You cannot force me to marry that man!” Marina’s voice was equally resolute. “I assure you, Mr. Bridgerton will call on me. I will see to it that he proposes. We will marry swiftly, and once the union is consummated, I shall let him believe the child is his.”
“And if he does not propose?” Lady Featherington pressed.
“Then I will leave him no choice,” Marina declared, her voice dripping with determination.
Colin froze, his heart pounding in his chest. The implications of their conversation were damning. Marina was with child and fully intended to deceive him into believing it was his. Worse still, she sounded so assured of her plan’s success.
A sharp gasp escaped him before he could suppress it. He backed away, moving swiftly yet quietly to leave the house altogether. His mind raced as he stepped into roads on the way back. He could not—would not—allow himself to be ensnared in such a scheme. Marina’s betrayal was clear, and with it came an unshakable certainty: a future with her was inconceivable.
As Colin reached his chamber, his thoughts were a whirlwind. One thing, however, became abundantly clear: he needed to see Penelope. He needed to know if she was aware of Marina’s treachery, and more importantly, he needed her help. This was her family, after all.
Without hesitation, he hastily penned a missive, he requested that she meet him in the garden at midnight, when the household would be fast asleep. Folding the letter, he sealed it and summoned a footman, instructing him to deliver it discreetly to Penelope’s lady’s maid, ensuring no one else would be privy to its contents.
Colin leaned back in his chair, he had a plan—a precarious one, no doubt—but he needed Penelope. Only with her help could he ensure its success.