No Gods, No Masters

She did long to dance, truly. She had not had many opportunities to dance, and, as she was swiftly approaching the mid-point of her second season, she doubted she ever would. She was a rather good dancer, although there were few that had the opportunity to experience that side of Miss Penelope Featherington. There were fewer, still, that felt the need to comment upon it.  

She could not find a smile as she watched the dancing end and resume again with a new song, some dancers continuing with the same partner, and others asking for a spin with a new one. As she stood to the side of the excitement, she couldn’t help but wonder why it couldn’t be her being asked to dance for once. Sure, she danced the obligatory dances with the Bridgerton boys at each ball, but she longed to be asked by someone who specifically wanted to dance with her. Penelope. Not because she was the best friend of Eloise Bridgerton, not because anyone’s mother asked them to, but because they deigned her specifically interesting enough to waltz with.

She was so lost in thought, she hardly noticed the new presence beside her until she heard a voice. “Why, isn’t it just ever so tiring?” the feminine voice asked, prompting Penelope to turn her head towards the source.

Cressida. Penelope’s frown was immediate. As though her evening had not been bad enough, the person she could not have possibly wanted less to do with was standing beside her, positively simpering. She was baiting her, but with what Penelope did not know. “Sorry?” She replied, keeping her eyes somehow both on Cressida and anxiously circling the ballroom for any means of escape.

“I was just inquiring whether it was as tiring as it looks.” She responded, the smirk that was playing behind her eyes hardly being fought off of her lips.

“Tiring as what looks?”

“Why, constantly praying for any man to ask you to dance, of course.” The giggle that left her lips was anything but joyful, “I can imagine it is not quite as tiring as actually dancing, more than likely. I also don’t suppose you would have much dancing to compare your constant daydreaming to measure, but I did not think it would hurt to inquire.” Cressida reminded Penelope of a snake. A scaled, beautifully colored serpent, stalking pray and unhinging its jaws at any sign of weakness.

Penelope imagined she looked just like a fish on land, mouth open and gasping for air. She was very consistently at a loss for words, but right now she could not foresee finding them again in the near future.  

“I-“ she began, still unsure what she was to say in response to such a cruel question, “I-oh, I-“ she could not seem to find anything cutting that would stick. Cressida was openly smirking at her now, the cruelty of her remark having hit its mark like a masterful marksman to a soaring pigeon.

“Anyway, Miss Featherington, have a wonderful evening. I hope one of these seasons a man asks you to dance.” Her parting remark stung more than the previous, having hit such an obvious weak point for the young debutante.  

“Oh, off so soon, Miss Cowper? And here I thought you might love to stay for Miss Featherington’s comparison between dancing and, what was it you said, ‘praying for any man to ask her to dance’? You did seem ever so curious.” She felt a breath she did not even know she was holding release at the familiar voice that appeared to her side. She turned her head in his direction, then, knowing she would find the kind, towering countenance of Mr. Colin Bridgerton. She found his green eyes, and noticed they were not looking at her, but instead trained on the rapidly reddening face of Cressida Cowper. His eyes, usually open and kind, were hard and cold as they all but glared at the calculating blonde.

“Why, Mr. Bridgerton, I had not the slightest inkling you could hear us.”

“Then, perhaps you should be more reticent of those who are within ear shot, Miss Cowper. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I’ll be off to share a dance with Miss Featherington,” his eyes found hers for the first time following his sudden appearance, “that is, Miss Featherington, if you will allow me the honor.”  

All Penelope could bring herself to do was nod. Colin was her knight in shining armor, and she doubted very much that he even knew. That dance, with the feeling of his hand on her waist, the warmth of his hand on her own, the swelling giggle that threatened to burst from her lungs at any moment, was the second best moment of that entire second season.

The first was seeing the beat red face of the avidly watching Cressida Cowper, whose expression could effectively be pegged somewhere between resentment, jealousy, and mortification.

 _____________________________________________________________________________________

 Penelope gently pulled herself from her reverie. She felt her lips drift absently into a smile as she plaited her hair for bed, the dim candlelight accompanying her memory from a decade prior. She had, back then, held little hope that she would ever become Mrs. Bridgerton. But as she tied the end of the braid and looked in the mirror at her avidly reading husband, Mr. Colin Bridgerton himself, she couldn’t help but sigh wistfully at just how wrong she had been.

“Why do you sigh so, wife?” Colin questioned, looking up at her from his book as she rose from her vanity.

“Why, no reason, husband. Just feeling tired. The day has been rather long, wouldn’t you agree?” She peeled back the covers and climbed into bed, hoping the warmth of the blankets and the warmth of her unreasonably hot husband might chase away the winter chill. She drifted closer to his side of the bed, nestling herself tightly against his side as he moved his arm to make room.

“It has been a long day, yes, but as for the length of the day being a reason for your sigh? I find that highly debatable.” She felt the gentle kiss on the top of her head and found herself longing to be even closer to him, despite the impossibility of such a feat.

“Leave it to you, husband, to not let sleeping dogs lie.” She chanced a look up at him, expecting to find him still engrossed in his novel, but was surprised to find him looking down at her.

He leaned down and met their lips together, a gentle press that Penelope felt deep in her stomach. “My love, these lips could find much better things to do than sigh, do you not think?” She reached for his mouth with her own again, only to be met by empty air. “But I think we shall have to wait until you tell me what the matter is to explore those opportunities, lovely girl.”

“Colin, it’s really nothing.” She excused, then found herself looking away. Suddenly, she found the pattern of the bed quilt more interesting than ever before. “Besides, you’ll think it’s rather silly, I’m afraid.”

“Now, Pen,” he began as he cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, “nothing in that head could ever be construed as silly.” The kiss on her forehead was gentle, and she found herself sighing again. She had a feeling she would not be escaping this so easily.

“I’m sure you don’t even remember, but I was just thinking of a time during my second season where you, my white knight, heroically came to my rescue from the dragon that is Cressida Twombley.” She smiled fondly up at him, hoping that would be the end of it. Instead, he frowned. The frown puzzled Penelope, and she found herself mirroring him, “Whatever is the matter? You know how things were, are, and always shall be between Cressida and me.”

“I do, but it just,” it was his turn to sigh as he lightly pushed a curl behind her ear, “pains me that there are all these memories in that pretty head of yours that trouble you so. You are so beautiful, Penelope, and the fact that anyone ever made you feel less than is just too much for me to bear.”

She found herself shaking her head, “you misunderstand me, husband. Yes, Cressida was cruel, but the memory was more about you. How handsome and heroic I thought you were, coming to whisk me away to the dance floor when I had not one dance the entire evening. How, I know without a doubt, you’d do it again today. Although, I imagine, the ending of our dance would be returning to our home in the carriage, not you being whisked away by your mother.”

Penelope found herself giggling, but Colin’s eyes remained serious. She wasn’t so sure she liked it when Colin was so serious. The gears in that head of his turning like that tended to have some dangerous results. She gave him time to think, taking the time to admire his dark hair, the emerald of his eyes, the chiseled cheeks and jawline that she had been dreaming about longer than she cared to admit. She reached for his cheek, gently resting her palm along the newly-scruffy skin.

“Come.” He spoke suddenly, his eyes still serious, “Up, out of bed you go.” He threw the sheets from the both of them, bounding out of the bed and grabbing his dressing gown. “Put your dressing gown on.”

Penelope faltered for a moment, looking at him. What was happening? Had he gone mad? She continued to stare, thinking on what to say, “Where are we off to at this time of night, love?”

Colin ignored her question. Instead, he all but pulled her out of bed. He helped her into her dressing gown, and Penelope slipped on her slippers. She decided that perhaps she would play his reindeer games. He offered her his arm, and she took it despite feeling rather formal for an adventure in bedclothes. He led her swiftly out of the bedroom door, his large steps almost pulling her to catch up. She could not imagine where he was taking her. To the kitchens? Perhaps he was hungry? She knew not how to cook or bake, but she was hopeful that there might be something left behind from dinner that evening, perhaps a bit of bread. They continued down the corridor, down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the library.

Had he dragged her down there for a book? She had her own beside her bed, surely he-

Colin stopped suddenly once securely inside the library. He released her arm. “Colin? I really do not understand. Did we truly come here for a book?” He turned to her, an amused smile playing at his lips. He said nothing, but a strange expression overtook his features. Penelope felt herself blush. Even after two years of marriage, he still had that strange effect on her. She averted her eyes, suddenly overcome with a nervousness long ago replaced by the knowledge of what a husband and wife do together in bed.

If other wives were like her, and other husbands like him, then nervousness should never exist in a marriage.

She felt him approach her, then. He grasped her chin between his fingers, bringing her gaze up to match his own. The green of his eyes would never not be distracting, she knew. “Excuse me Miss Featherington, but would you allow me the honor of a dance?” The question was accompanied by a deep bow. Through her giggles, Penelope curtsied and took the hand he had reached out to her. She allowed him to lead her in a simple waltz. The feeling of his large, firm hand through her thin nightgown warmed her. She could feel the familiar butterflies in her stomach as her gaze kept firmly to his. Their hands were grasped together, and their bodies were much too close for the confines of a ballroom. The entire thing, despite being between herself and her husband, despite being in their own home, felt terribly scandalous.

Colin leaned down to press their cheeks together. The touch, warm and slightly rough, made her shiver. “Why, Mr. Bridgerton, I am a lady.” She responded to the touch. His only response was to draw her closer, replacing his cheek with his lips.

“I know that now, Pen.” He kissed her again, this time on her jaw. His hand on her back as they danced held fast. She was consumed by him as he brought his kisses lower, lower, lower, trying but failing to keep the pace of the dance. He, too, had seemed to have given up entirely as both hands stretched across the small of her back. The dancing slowed to a complete stop as his mouth reached her collar bone. She grasped his hair lightly, the strands soft between her fingertips. “I wasted so much time not knowing that. You were perfect for me Penelope,” he stopped his kisses then, pushing his forehead against hers, “you were perfect and I wasted so much time just not realizing. You were right in front of me the entire time, and yet all I did was attempt to defend you from people like Cressida and dance with you out of-“ he inhaled deeply, shaking his head, “I want to dance with you for the rest of our lives. Not because I want to, but because I need to. You are mine, Pen, and I don’t intend to waste another moment.”

The kiss was searing. Unexpected. Everything was fast, the movement of his lips, to the grasping of his hands, to the way she gave him everything she had in return. She felt her back bump the bookcase, not having realized they had even been moving. He pulled away, breathing harshly, his lips gravitating back to her throat. She keened as he pulled her hips forward, feeling his want against her.

“Colin, we- are we to do this here? In the library- I” thoughts were few and far between as he raised his head, pupils large and focused only on her. He slid her dressing gown from her shoulders, attaching his lips to the newly found skin. He traveled lower, then, unlacing her gown as he went until it pooled around her feet.

“Beautiful.” He practically growled against her chest, his mouth finding purchase on her hardened nipple. Her head flew back, hard enough to hurt if he had not moved his hand there for stability. The rapid knocking on the door to the library startled both of them apart, red faced, thoroughly kissed, and panting. She quickly slid her nightgown to cover herself, her dressing gown long ago discarded and too far away. He adjusted himself, attempting to look the part of gentleman of the house.  

“Yes?” She called out, her voice quivering. Colin’s smirk was dastardly at best at the sound of her voice, and if she weren’t already flushed, she surely would be now. The sound of the heavy door opening was deafening in the old library.

“My apologies, my lady, my lord. I have come to check if the fires were out.” The maid that appeared before them was young, her eyes unsuspecting that anything was even amiss.

“We’ll just be heading up to bed, then. Goodnight.” Colin answered for them both, ushering them out of the room with a hand too low for anywhere except the bedroom.

Her giggle upon entering their bedroom was hysterical. “Colin! That poor girl.”

“She was none the wiser.” He took off his robe, finding his way to her. “Now, where were we?”

“I can’t seem to remember.” She replied, coy. Her night gown was on the floor before she could breathe.

Tonight was a typical night for you and John. The Garrison, which you frequented on the weekends to get away from the mess of children (whom you loved dearly) at home, was about as seedy a place you would expect a Blinder and his girl to hang out. You felt John’s warm hand on your lower back as you spoke to the people around you, friends of your’s and John’s, and felt completely at ease. You leaned up gently and brushed your lips to his, the familiar action drawing out a promise of more when you were alone. 

“Hey, love, are you enjoyin’ yourself?” He said against your ear as he turned you towards him. You were in the middle of the room, surrounded by people, and yet he was the only one you cared to see. 

“Yes, I’m having a wonderful evening, my darling.” You gave him a light kiss again, which he quickly deepened with a pull of your hips towards his, the feeling of his strong hands on your waist a wonderful addition. He pulled away slightly, his hands slack at your waist, his forehead against yours. 

“I’m goin’ to get another drink, wouldja like one?” you nodded absentmindedly, the warmth in your body from the previous two whiskey drinks making your head heavier. He smirked, grasping your hip tightly with his hand as he excused himself towards the bar. 

You found yourself alone as you waited, knowing John wouldn’t take long- one of the many perks of dating a Shelby was not having to wait for anything very often. You had your eyes on him through the crowd, watching him hold up two fingers as he ordered. Distracted, you didn’t feel the clammy hand on your arm until it was too late. You turned toward the source of the hand, a frown etched on your face. 

You didn’t recognize the man, a stout, red faced man, closer to your height than certainly John. “Can I help you?” You found your lips asking before you had time to think about the words. You didn’t care if you could help him, but he would certainly take that as invitation to tell you how you could. 

“A beautiful woman like you could certainly help me.” He leaned towards you, clumsily brushing your hair from your cheek. 

“I’m seeing someone, don’t think I can help you the way you want me to.” You deadpanned, inclining your head towards John at the bar. The man clucked, laughing. 

“Well he left you alone out here, didn’t he? That makes you fair game, don’t i-” 

You felt John at your back before you heard him. “Who’s this, love?” He asked, voice steeled towards the man and handing you your drink. Normally, the reaction of any smart man in Birmingham was to apologize profusely to a Shelby brother after an offense as great as this. 

“Not sure. He won’t leave me alon-” 

“We were just chatting. You left her alone, didn’t you? Makes her fair game for me, I’d say.” He grabbed your arm, attempting to pull you from John’s grasp. Before you could blink, John had pulled you back, pulled his cap off, and held the blade to the man’s throat. 

“Listen mate, I’m only going to tell you once: get your fuckin’ hands off my girl before I let you bleed out on this fuckin’ floor, do you hear me?” His voice wasn’t loud, but it commanded authority. The shutter that ran through you was familiar, but surprising given the circumstances. 

The man let go. You ducked under John’s arm, position yourself behind him. You heard what must have been an apology from your assailant, but both you and John ignored it in favor of each other. “You hurt, love?” You shook your head, kissing him soundly and wrapping your arms around him. 

“You know, you can’t just threaten every man that tries to kiss me with certain death.” You breathed against his cheek, his arms woven tightly around your waist and holding you against his chest. 

“Of course I fuckin’ can. I’m John fuckin’ Shelby, ain’t I?” You shook your head and grabbed his hand, leading him out of the bar and starting the trek home.