Work Text:
Entry from Colin Bridgerton's journal, written the evening of the day the banns were first called for his marriage to Miss Penelope Featherington.
Today I danced.
If you read this statement and did not know me you might assume that a rare occurrence, but it is not, not truly- my place is firmly within the social whirl that is the ton, my brothers and I of high enough status by birth to be considered a catch by the most eager of Mamas, never without a partner and indeed, my life has been full of travel- the ballrooms of Vienna, soirées in Paris, carnival in Venice...
And today I truly learned what it is to dance, to feel oneself merge with another to a rhythm, heart and mind and soul synchronised in perfect melody.
The strangest thing, especially as there was not even a note of music to be heard.
I have danced with Penelope before, many times indeed: as children, shambling, laughing as our dance tutor uttered commands, Eloise partnered by Benedict and stumbling upon each move until the tutor quite lost his temper and refused to instruct us all.
When Penelope was a young woman, at the dances laid on for those who would soon debut, a chance to practice; finding myself surprised by the grace and flourish she had acquired through repetition, alone in her room.
On her first evening at Vauxhall Gardens, an evening almost destroyed by a spiteful Cressida, Penelope delightful in her own choice of dress- a jig I think, one I shall never forget, the night I believe we truly became friends.
Still, more: at the request of my Mama when Penelope found herself alone (are the men of the ton truly that blind? I must thank them, with gratitude indeed), and the night I revealed her guardian’s crimes, a chance I could have turned into such a wondrous thing if only I had not been so damned foolish and insulted her instead, damnable creature that I was.
And then this season: when I realised where my heart lay but could not bring myself to tell her, believing myself unworthy of such a wondrous woman, and again when Debling almost stole her from me, breaking the rules of polite society perhaps but what choice did I have? She is my heart, there is no other.
Those dances will live in me always, building blocks of the man I became and the life I will have but today?
Today I danced.
Not in the ballrooms of the ton nor even in the lantern lit streets of Rome, as I danced with the Contessa, learning only that no matter how I strayed from home I was always the same rather lost Colin, third son, charming- insubstantial.
The morn would always be special- the wedding banns, finally: something I perhaps should have done a year ago instead of breaking her precious heart but there was a cloud nonetheless, a sense of something out of place, incomplete, untold.
I knew she cared for me when I kissed her, that I was no mere replacement for an engagement that almost happened, ruined by my actions; perhaps she did not yet love me but we were friends and she responded as only a lover would, a responsiveness and passion I certainly had never experienced, one that will forever now keep me away from the brothels and widows, seeking only her, my Penelope, soon to be my wife.
I did not know whether she loved me, not as I do her: with everything I am, everything I have ever been and everything I hope to be.
When I see her I see beauty and sunsets and the most sensual locks splayed across silken pillows on cold winter mornings, but I also see more- a daughter perhaps, the same waves and shade, mayhap with my darker blue eyes; her own eyes, their depth reminding me of two blue pools- words I told her as we made our love real, her gifting me her future- the centrepiece of the face of a small son, perhaps with my own curls and her laugh and fierce intellect- that would be joy indeed.
Yes, we waltzed- inappropriately, perhaps- after the Banns were called and the church emptied itself of the usual Sunday morning worshippers, to no music, only the beat of our hearts and the joy on our faces.
What inspires this madness, you may ask? Indeed, it is no surprise: a declaration.
My Penelope, my fiancee, soon my wife, loves me.
She loves me: flawed, insubstantial, inadequate me. Not merely this but she has loved me for all the years we have known each other, quiet and undemanding, watching as I in my foolishness chased other dreams, other women- such an idiot.
I do not think I have ever smiled so much; all those past pains and inferiorities fading from existence as in my mind there was only her, as there only ever will be from now.
I am blessed. A woman who knows me so well yet loves so deeply? How can I be deserving of this gift? I do not know but I will endeavour to ensure that I am, with each passing day and year.
Penelope - Pen- and I have not followed a typical pathway, the road was long and the engagement swift certainly; I cannot spell out the details of our romance lest Mama or worse Hyacinth find this journal yet we have been blessed to find ourselves without a chaperone at times, moments that will haunt me and, if I am lucky, will be those that play out as my life draws to a close, but none of which will ever be as beautiful as knowing my Penelope loves me, has loved me so long and will love me always.
Truly I do not deserve this- but I will: I will ensure it.