Colin Bridgerton had many talents—he knew how to converse, how to dance, and even, some said, the secret to obtaining extra scones at afternoon tea. But above all, he knew how to ride a horse. Or so he thought—until that moment.
A fresh breeze blew as he guided his horse with the confidence of a man who didn’t have a single problem in the world. At least, he didn’t—until he was struck, without warning, by something absurdly yellow.
The object—which he quickly identified as a hat, though in his dazed state, it could have been a flying creature—hit him with such precision that it entirely obscured his vision. His horse neighed, he lost control, and then came the sound. Not a sound of glory or triumph, but that unmistakable squelch of someone landing directly in the mud.
“Oh, God! Are you alright?”
It was a feminine voice. A voice full of concern, but with an unexpected lightness, as if its owner could both help and laugh about the situation afterward.
Colin pulled the hat off his face, blinking against the sunlight, and was met with a sight as unexpected as the attack. A young woman with auburn curls, cheeks flushed, was rushing toward him. She seemed… alarmed? No, more like… flustered.
He blinked. Then he smiled, despite being covered in mud. “Well, I think we can agree this wasn’t the most elegant moment of my life.”
Her brow furrowed slightly as she came to a stop in front of him. “Are you certain you’re alright?” she asked again, the concern in her tone deepening as her gaze scanned him from head to toe. “That was quite a fall.”
Colin straightened, brushing some of the mud off his jacket, though it was a futile effort. “I assure you, I’ve survived far worse than an assault by such an unusual adversary as this, Miss…?” He trailed off expectantly, his smile unwavering despite his disheveled state.
“Penelope Featherington,” she supplied, her cheeks coloring as she dipped into a quick curtsey.
"Miss Featherington," he repeated, savoring the name. "Consider me thoroughly introduced, though perhaps not as gracefully as I’d hoped.” He bowed. “Colin Bridgerton, at your service.”
Penelope’s eyes widened slightly, and he saw the spark of recognition. “Oh, I’ve met your sisters! Eloise and Daphne. They were very kind.”
“Well, that’s news,” Colin said with exaggerated skepticism. “Especially coming from Eloise.” He continued smoothly, holding up the offending yellow hat. “But what a formidable enemy you’ve unleashed upon me, Miss Featherington.”
Penelope immediately blushed—a deep, charming red that spread to her ears. “I’m so sorry! It was the wind, I swear! It took the hat, and before I could catch it…”
“There’s no need to apologize,” he interrupted, handing the hat back to her. “Though I must admit, this hat seems to have quite the sense of adventure. Do all your accessories behave so boldly, or is this one an exception?”
That earned him the laugh he didn’t expect—a soft, melodious sound that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. “I think my hat saw an opportunity for adventure and… seized it.”
"Ah, typical of hats," Colin said, shaking his head with mock gravity. "They spend their days confined in wardrobes, plotting their escape. And when given even the slightest chance, they seize it with alarming enthusiasm—especially in the hands of distracted young ladies."
Penelope turned a delightful shade of pink, a mortified yet amused expression flickering across her face. "I truly am sorry," she said, her voice tinged with both embarrassment and sincerity. "The wind took it. I swear, I didn’t plan… well, any of this."
Colin nodded, his lips quirking into a grin. "So, the wind is to blame, is it? A most devious accomplice."
She regarded him with what seemed to be amusement in her gaze.
"I must say," she ventured, a shy smile curving her lips, "this isn’t exactly the sort of entrance I would imagine for a gentleman. But, as far as first impressions go… it was certainly memorable."
It was the witty of her remark that caught him off guard. He tilted his head slightly, his smile now more intrigued. She had something—a combination of shy grace and sharp wit. He was about to say more when another voice broke the moment.
A red-haired woman with a rigid appearance appeared like a storm, accompanied by his sister Daphne, who looked concerned.
“What happened here?” She demanded, her eyes wide as she took in Colin’s current state. “What did you do, Penelope?”
“It was an accident, Mama,” Penelope quickly replied.
“Oh, Heavens, Penelope. I can't leave you alone for one minute.” She turned to Colin. “You must forgive my daughter’s lack of politeness, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Colin, are you alright?” Daphne inquired, her brow furrowing.
“Perfectly fine,” he replied, waving dismissively. “Just a demonstration of my skills… or lack thereof.”
Penelope bit her lip to suppress a laugh, but Colin noticed. And for the first time, someone’s restrained laughter left him… curious.
“Well,” Lady Featherington said, clearly uncomfortable, “I believe we’ve intruded enough. Penelope, come.”
“Wait!” Colin interrupted, surprising even himself. “Miss Featherington, your family must come for tea this afternoon. Consider it a personal request.” He looked to Daphne, who didn’t seem to object.
Penelope blinked, surprised, and her mother, of course, accepted before she could respond. As the group dispersed, Colin stood for a moment, looking at where Penelope had been.
He couldn’t help but feel that his fall from the horse had somehow led him to a most unexpected and intriguing encounter—one that would undoubtedly become far more significant than he could possibly imagine.
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