#colin|penelope

Penelope is maybe 20 at most. Colin is perhaps 23.

They are also a part of the upper class. This allows them essentially a longer childhood in some ways for the era. They are emotionally pretty on par with a somewhat shy and sheltered 18 year old today who has never had a relationship and a 20 year old college kid who was also a bit hiddenly shy but has dated around a bit.

This means that neither of them have ever had to compromise on a larger, but intimate, and more important scale.

They don't know how to fight from a place of common goal. This is what they have to learn together.

I am going into detail with how this affects multiple scenes, so here is a cut for everyone. :)

Colin looking at other suitors with Penelope:

Lord Ashwyn is an OC (i have no idea where i got this name from so if it’s from something else i genuinely have no clue and would love to be reminded lol)

Written with book more in mind, but also has obvious show references i think

Disclaimer: all rights reserved, i used to write all the time but i haven’t in ages but i felt *inspired* and decided to have a go at it…apologies for any mistakes i wrote this at 2am a few nights ago and wasn’t really trying for perfect accuracy 😅

been struggling trying to figure out if i should make it longer or leave it as it is…

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“Miss Featherington, you look rather lovely tonight.” Pen smiled at the man over her glass. Pulling it away from her already stained lips, she nodded to the man and turned around to face the new season. She wasn’t looking for a husband anymore, no one would have her anyway. She was simply here to work (although no one else knew that of course). No need to be kind to those who weren’t kind to her before. Even if she did change her dresses and her hair, it wasn’t *only* for that small glimmer of hope she was holding out on.

She felt eyes on her and turned her head slightly to see the same man as before staring at her from the other side of the refreshments table. She knew he’d been staring at her now for scandalously too long. She did the only thing she could think of then and decided to try and scare him off.

“If you keep looking at me like that, Lord Ashwyn; everyone here will think you’d like to eat me.” Penelope said it as a jest. Just a simple joke to make him slightly uncomfortable so she could go back to slowly dancing around the perimeter of the room and to hopefully get this “gentleman” to leave her alone. She had stopped by the refreshments table just to give her hands something to do while her eyes wandered and her ears strained to listen. While browsing the crowd as she always does, she did, in fact, observe someone observing *her*. ‘Which, Pen had thought to herself, is what probably landed herself in this very unfortunate situation.

“I am considering it.” Lord Ashwyn mumbled drunkenly. This whole conversation was improper; let alone the fact that this particular gentleman didn’t seem to remember the “Only-Two-Glasses-Per-Person” societal rule. Quite obviously.

She eyed him, giving the most likely self-proclaimed “gentleman” her best, most unimpressed look. She was about to just simply walk away from him when he started speaking once more, ”Should you like to dance tonight, Miss Featherington? Maybe we can discuss all the ways in which a man can *devour* a woman.”, Penelope almost couldn’t believe her own ears. Obviously she already knew all the ways in which a woman could be pleased, at her age of eight and twenty; she had paid off a maid with Eloise Bridgerton, but the blunt openness of this “Gentleman”! He had to be intoxicated some great deal. Regardless, Penelope was now more eager than ever to somehow find an escape.

It would be harder than she now thought originally though, with him having asked for her hand in a dance. In society it was proper to never deny a dance if one’s dance card was not already full or if you’re not otherwise occupied. Pen is a known spinster which makes it all the more a pain to rid herself of this seasons leftovers. She scolded herself silently, fore if she was not one for a social gathering (and general society says she shouldn’t be) she may not have found herself in her current situation.

“Miss Featherington?”

“Yes, Lord Ashwyn, my apologies. It’s just that i believe i misheard you-“

“I assure you…” He slurred slightly on his s’s while holding a hand out to her,” You did not mishear me. I asked for you hand in dance”

There are not many times when Penelope Featherington is shocked into silence but this was, for certain, one of those rare occasions. She took a small but noticeable step back and hesitated. She ran through ideas on how to tell this man off without causing a scene or worse; a scandle; but couldn’t come up with any on time. The next song began to play and before she knew it she was being whisked around by Lord Ashwyn.

She hated every painstaking second of it. She hated the way he spoke, hated how obviously drunk he was, hated how he would whisper naughty things to her when he could. Who or what exactly did this man take her for? A rake herself? A desperate? A woman who threw herself at anyone who would give her attention? She didn’t even try to hide her facial expressions. She decided it would be best to just get this over with and then maybe retire for the night, in whole.

She allowed herself to fixate on the music. Allowed it to take over her mind and let her mussel memory do the talking; or well, dancing. She ignored his comments, ignored his wandering hands, ignored the faces that looked at her with pity, disgust, confusion, and everything in between. Once the song was over she’d be free to slip away and never be seen for the rest of the dreaded evening.

“Pardon me.”

Penelope was in the middle of spinning when the interruption happened. In her daze she tumbled backwards slightly and a hand caught her on the shoulder. Coming back to her senses she turned around to apologize to the victim of her off balance dancing, “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t see you-Colin?! -I mean- Mr. Bridgerton!? What are you doing here?”

There looking magnificent as always was him. Colin Bridgerton. Definitely not the one she’s holding out hope for. Nope. Not him. Not the man who first; told everyone who would listen he’d “never court Penelope Featherington” and then after she forgave him said to her face that they were just friends. Not the man who she begged to kiss her out of desperation and fear of dying without ever having felt a kiss. No not that man. She had told him she was done with his lessons. Done with trying to find a husband. Done with hoping someone out there would love her how she wants. So what did he want and what was he doing there?

“How shocked you are to see me. What am i doing here? At a ball? Miss Featherington, I think all that twirling made your mind twirl as well.” Colin’s hand was still on her shoulder holding her back to his chest. It felt almost like protective armor; his hand. His chest.

“Pardon me, Lord Ashwyn. But i must speak to Miss Featherington. It’s an urgent matter.”

“I do not-“ Penelope began.

“Do you wish to keep dancing with a man who is blatantly trying to get under your dress skirt?”, Colin had leaned down to her ear level and whispered it.

“Whatever you are saying to her, you may say in front of me, Bridgerton.”

“I said, “do you want to keep dancing with a man who is blatantly trying to hold his drunkenness together.”

“Now-“ Lord Ashwyn seemed to sober up a little at being loudly exposed by another man. He stood straighter and puffed out his chest a little. It almost made Penelope laugh. Lord Ashwyn looked to Penelope with his hand out,” I should like to finish our dance.”

“I think i shall go speak with Mr. Bridgerton. It seems quite serious. Lord Ashwyn.” She curtsied and walked away as quickly but as not noticeably as she could. She knew *he* was hot on her tail though. She could feel his presence. Feel the endless oceans of his eyes as she tried to get away. That deep blue was getting closer and she didn’t know what was about to happen. She could feel it though, she was about to either sink or swim, and this was going to be the deciding moment.