Gingersnaps
Bridgerton » Polin
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Title: Gingersnaps
Author: fairytalesandfolklore
Fandom: Bridgerton (Masterlist)
Relationship: Colin Bridgerton x Penelope Featherington
AO3 Rating: Teen & Up (a complete collection of author's notes, inspiration credits, content warnings and tags can be found on AO3)
Summary: After years of friendship, Colin finally realizes that he's in love with Penelope. Now all he has to do is work up the nerve to ask her to be his wife, but with the way things are going, his meddlesome matchmaking siblings might reveal his feelings before he gets the chance.
The first time Penelope arrives to join them for tea, Colin nearly drops his saucer (say nothing of his jaw) at the sight of her, for she's the very picture of a rose in full bloom, swathed in deep red silk, fire-kissed hair curling around her shoulders like candlelight. He doesn't realize he's been shamelessly staring until Anthony calls him out on it, fixing him with a look that's equal parts vexed and amused, and asks, "Are you ill, brother? Only you seem a bit flushed and out of breath." "Colin does seem rather thirsty," Benedict observes. "Perhaps he would like a tall refreshing glass of ginger lemonade." Without waiting for a reply, Benedict grabs a glass off of one of the nearby trays, places it in Colin's hand, and purposely waits for him to take a large sip before adding, "Ginger is, after all, Colin's favorite flavor…in all things." Colin chokes on his lemonade.
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It takes the third-born Bridgerton rather longer than he would care to admit to realize he's fallen in love with Penelope Featherington, but when he finally does, the intensity of his feelings hits him like a prize-winning racehorse.
It's so obvious, so clear to him that none who walk this earth shall ever be more perfectly suited for him, that Colin must admonish himself for taking so long to figure it out, wasting all those precious years they could have spent together.
In truth, it makes him feel rather stupid. Silver-tongued as a serpent, yet thick as a pine tree, his sister Eloise would affectionately tease him, and now he finally understands why. It makes him wonder just how long she (and likely the rest of his siblings) knew of his affections before he did.
But there's no sense in dwelling on the past, for now that this grand epiphany had befallen him, Colin was a man possessed; there was nothing else for it but to blaze ahead and do all that he could to woo his intended until she agreed to be his wife.
The only question was…how? Boundless though his wit was when it came to charming members of the ton (and indeed, the hard-won locals he'd effortlessly befriended in his travels) when it came to Penelope Featherington, Colin often found himself at a loss for words, silver tongue little more than gilded fool's gold.
Luckily (or unluckily, depending on which side of the coin one preferred to gamble with) his meddlesome brothers and sisters had taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker, taking their teasing to new heights with wordplay warfare, peppering hints at Colin's affections into the conversation at an alarmingly obvious rate, so that Penelope would either have to be willfully ignorant or a complete fool not to notice (and she was most certainly anything but foolish.)
Colin supposes he should have realized that his entire family had sussed out his intentions when his mother began inviting Penelope to their weekly family tea time, brushing it off when he'd asked why (in equal parts apprehension and delight) with a sly smile and a breathless, "Well, she's been like a sister to Eloise all these years, she's practically family by now, and did you know…" and then she's off, listing Penelope's various accomplishments like she would any potential suitor she's eager to marry off to one of her children. (Not that Colin minds, of course, happy to have an excuse to see Pen on a regular basis. It's the one time he's actually thankful for his mother's marriage-minded meddling.)
Though if they could all just keep their noses out of his business long enough for Colin to work up the nerve to tell her himself, that would be splendid. Alas, Colin isn't fool enough to delude himself into believing in miracles. So he endures their (oftentimes blush-inducing) tampering, attempting to make the best of it whenever he sees an opening.
It starts, as most fairy tales do, with a beautiful girl in a very pretty dress.
The first time Penelope arrives to join them for tea, Colin nearly drops his saucer (say nothing of his jaw) at the sight of her, for she's the very picture of a rose in full bloom, swathed in deep red silk with a delicate lace overlay, fire-kissed hair loose and flowing, curling around her shoulders like candlelight.
He's never seen her in red before, nor any color quite so rich and regal, so used to the garish citrus hues her mother would always force her and her sisters to don at parties. To say that it takes him by surprise is an understatement. He'd thought her beautiful before, certainly, but never had he seen her look so radiant, seeming to exude self-confidence in a way she never had in all the years he'd known her.
He doesn't realize he's been shamelessly staring at her for a good portion of the afternoon until Anthony calls him out on it, fixing him with a look that's equal parts vexed and amused, and asks, "Are you ill, brother? Only you seem a bit flushed and out of breath."
Colin shakes himself out of his reverie and opens his mouth to reply, hoping the right words for a believable excuse will come to him, when to his horror, Benedict clears his throat, a downright impish shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he glances back and forth between Colin and Penelope.
"Colin does seem rather thirsty," Benedict observes in a tone positively dripping with poorly feigned innocence. "Perhaps he would like a tall refreshing glass of ginger lemonade." He makes sure to put special emphasis on the word ginger.
Without waiting for a reply, Benedict reaches forward and grabs a glass off of one of the nearby tea trays, places it in Colin's hand, and purposely waits for him to take a large sip before adding, "Ginger is, after all, Colin's favorite flavor…in all things."
Colin chokes on his lemonade.
In an effort to be supportive (and, it would seem, entirely unaware of the lewd innuendo) Penelope chimes in, "I have heard that ginger has marvelous benefits for one's health."
"Yes," Colin agrees, leaning over into the space between them to snag a gingersnap biscuit from the tray beside her. "I believe I should like a daily dose of ginger." His eyes trail slowly to meet hers, and the intensity of his gaze makes Penelope's cheeks flush redder than a ripe tomato. "A lifetime supply, in fact."
• • •
To Colin's horror and amusement (because really, he can't blame them, for he knows he would do the very same to them without question were they in his position) this little scheme of theirs continues on as the weeks pass. Ginger puns. Pen puns. Feather puns. Any and all innuendos related to Penelope to tease Colin about his affections for her, talking in code right in front of her while she remains, it would seem, blissfully unaware of their intentions.
"I rather think Colin's favorite color changes by the day," Daphne remarks one afternoon in late spring after Penelope has posed the question. "Last Tuesday it was lilac, and today it is most assuredly the pale blue of a summer's sky."
"Funny how his favorite color always seems to coincide with the exact shade of Penelope's frock whenever she comes to visit with us," Eloise observes in an innocuous undertone, disguising an unmistakable smirk behind a large sip of tea while Colin splutters and turns crimson.
"Oh yes, Colin adores writing," Hyacinth proclaims on a sunny afternoon in early summer, while the whole family is gathered around discussing Lady Whistledown's recent column, reigniting the age-old question: Who Is Lady Whistledown? after Benedict jests that it could very well be Colin. "I always see him scribbling away in that journal of his."
Just then, a smirk worthy of a cheshire cat spreads across Hyacinth's face as she leans toward Penelope, and adds, "He has this one pen he is rather fond of. Wouldn't dream of writing with anything else. Colin, you know that pen you love, the one with the bright red feather?"
Colin glares daggers at his youngest sibling, whose smile merely grows wider as she picks up her saucer and innocently sips away at her tea.
Penelope, bless her, has not caught on to this very obvious slip of the tongue, and comments, "Oh, well that is something. It's not often you find quills with red feathers. Must have been a rare find."
"Quite a rare bird indeed," Colin agrees in a soft undertone, sighing as Penelope flashes him one of her dazzling smiles.
• • •
One day in early autumn, Penelope hears from Eloise that Colin has fallen ill, and so, first ensuring that her mother is well out of the way visiting with Philippa for the day and will not be around to pass judgment, Penelope sneaks into the kitchen and asks to shadow the baker to learn how to make gingersnaps, keen to take a plate over to Colin.
Curiously, when she arrives, Colin answers the door looking the very picture of health, though a steady blush blossoms in the hollows of his cheeks the longer he stands in the doorframe, staring at her in (what she hopes is pleasant) surprise.
"Pen?" he says, looking rather adorably like a fawn stepping into the sunlight for the first time. "What are you doing here?"
"I—" Penelope falters, now reflecting that it must look quite ill-mannered of her, showing up on his doorstep without first calling, especially while he's indisposed.
Ah, well. She's already here. No sense in admonishing herself for trying to do a nice thing.
"I heard you were ill, so I thought I would come by and bring you something to help lift your spirits," she explains.
"You heard I was— oh no." Colin groans as he recounts a memory from just the other day wherein Benedict and Eloise teased him for being lovesick.
"My apologies, Pen," Colin says, praying for a swift cold breeze to come and soothe the burn of embarrassment heating his cheeks. "My dear siblings seem to have played a prank on you."
"Oh," Penelope breathes softly, tentative smile slipping from her features. Colin's heart breaks at the sight of it. "Perhaps I should go—"
"No!" Colin all but shouts, then quickly recomposes himself. "No, I mean…please do come in. You've traveled all this way."
Penelope would hardly consider visiting her neighbors traveling all this way but she accepts his invitation regardless.
He leads her through the parlor, up the stairs and into a cozy sitting room where he'd clearly been reading just a few moments before. Leather-bound books, journals, and loose-leaf papers sprawl the length of a wooden desk in the far corner of the room, the open window making the edges of them flutter as they're caught in a balmy breeze. Colin directs her toward a plush loveseat underneath the window and sits down beside her, only just noticing that she's carrying a little tin under her arm.
"What's that you've got there, Pen?" he asks, eyeing the tin with interest, though trying not to get his hopes up. His mother has got them stashed all over the house, and more than once Colin has mistaken them for sweets, only to be disappointed when he opens them up to find a stash of needlework supplies inside.
"Oh!" Penelope exclaims, reminded of the very reason she'd come over in the first place, and pries open the little tin to reveal a generous assortment of freshly baked, positively heavenly smelling biscuits. "They're gingersnaps. Baked them myself — I thought it would add a personal touch. Ginger is your favorite, is it not?"
"Indeed it is," Colin replies in a suggestive tone, voice deep and rough with want, gaze raking hungrily over her figure. Penelope's tongue darts out to lick her lower lip, pupils growing wide as she stares into Colin's eyes. For a moment, he finds himself leaning forward, lips pursed, eyes fluttering closed, before he thinks better of it, and shakes himself out of his impulsive thoughts. He cannot kiss her without absolute confirmation that she feels the same, and right now, all he has is hope and an inkling.
In an effort to satiate a different kind of hunger, Colin takes one of the offered biscuits and shoves it none too gracefully into his mouth. A burst of flavor dances across his tongue like the coziest parts of autumn and winter all wrapped up in a single bite.
"Good gracious, Pen," he moans, and a rush of heat paints Penelope's cheeks the color of her carnation dress. "These are delicious. You said you baked these yourself? Amazing. Are there any other hidden talents I should know about?"
Just one, Penelope thinks slyly. But that's a secret she'll never reveal. She glances back up to find him staring at her — looking, if she didn't know any better, awestruck. Pink tinges the hollows of his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and Penelope wonders if perhaps Colin has caught some sort of fever.
"Colin, are you quite alright?" she asks, brow furrowed in concern. "Only you look a bit flushed."
"Oh, I—" Colin flounders, breaking his gaze to cast around for an excuse. "It must be the summer heat."
"It is September," Penelope informs him.
"Well, you know, the heat, it…it lingers," Colin says in a poor attempt at course-correction.
"So you are not unwell, then?" Penelope persists, not quite sure she believes him.
Colin sighs. He doesn't know why he keeps doing this, coming up with flimsy excuses to explain away his feelings, when all he wants is to shout it from the rooftops for all of the ton to hear. Perhaps he's afraid of rejection, coming from his dearest friend who's known him since they were both barely out of leading strings. (Perhaps he's been making excuses and denying his feelings for far longer than he realized.)
But would the sting of Penelope's spurn truly be worse than the agony he feels already, loving her from afar but never being able to say the words aloud? Or worse, waiting too long only to risk the possibility of losing her to someone more worthy of her hand?
Colin steels himself, summoning the courage to take that final leap and tell her. He's been waiting all season for the opportune moment, and now that they're alone together without his nosy siblings and mother hovering about, well…it isn't exactly the perfect moment, but it's likely better than he's bound to get.
"I— yes, as a matter of fact, I am sick," Colin confesses on a shaky exhale. "Lovesick, as it very much were."
"Oh." Penelope's features crumble into something he's seen so many times over the years but always failed to recognize — the same way she'd looked every time he'd ever been thoughtless enough to joke with her about which pretty young debutante she thought he should dance with next. In one word: heartbroken. She recovers quickly, seamlessly, like it's a practiced artform, painting on a smile he'd never been able to see through until this very moment.
"Oh, well that's…" she trails off, an unmistakable quiver to the tone she tries so hard to keep steady. "Wonderful. It's just wonderful. I'm so happy for you, Colin. What's her name, this mystery woman you met in your travels?"
And suddenly it all clicks together: she thinks he's fallen in love with someone else. What an utterly ridiculous notion.
"Met in my travels— Pen, I'm talking about you," Colin exclaims, equal parts exasperated and amused. He doesn't mean to grin like an idiot in a moment where she's clearly in distress, but the fact that she's so upset by the idea of him loving someone else can only mean one thing…
"What?" Penelope blinks in surprise, forgetting all propriety. The tin of gingersnaps slips from her grasp, but Colin is quick to collect it and place it carefully on the coffee table, a rush of heat sparking through him as their fingertips brush.
"I would've thought it obvious," he chuckles, unable to fight back the smile spilling across his lips in earnest now. "Given all the unsubtle hints my meddlesome siblings have been dropping all season, but here we are."
"Colin," Penelope says softly, and Colin's heart sings at the dulcet sound of his name on her lips. "I don't underst—"
"I love you," Colin confesses in a breathless rush, turning bodily toward her, eyes bright with determination. "I have been trying, for months now, to work up the nerve to tell you, to ask you to be my— well, I haven't yet found the perfect ring, nor concocted the perfect circumstances under which to ask you. After all, a woman like you deserves a grand gesture, and I—"
"Yes."
Colin falters, blinking in surprise. "Pardon?"
"Yes, of course I will marry you," Penelope says, a broad smile, caught somewhere between delight and disbelief, spreading across her lips.
"You will?" Colin asks, elation roaring to life inside him like a wildfire, only to be extinguished by a sudden downpour of self-doubt. "Not…not out of pity, I hope?"
Pen is, after all, the sweetest person he has ever known, and Colin would hate to see her settle for him simply because she's too kind to break his heart. But Penelope merely shakes her head, tentatively reaching forward to place a hand on top of his, and fixes him with that special smile of hers that never fails to make him feel like he hung the stars.
"Colin, you are all I have ever wanted," she says, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze to emphasize her conviction. "All these years, I never once thought you would ever return my affections."
And, that's…well, quite frankly, that's just about the most marvelous thing Colin has ever— hang on.
"Years?" Colin repeats, positively dumbfounded. "You have loved me for years?"
"Wasn't it obvious?" Penelope raises her eyebrows in surprise, and then it's all she can do not to laugh, the realization that Colin has been oblivious this entire time, weighed against the assumption that he knew and simply did not return her affections, is like a balm taking the sting out of years' worth of heartache.
Colin blinks a few times, allowing a moment for his brain to finish processing this incredible revelation.
"Do you mean to tell me," he says in the same tone one would use when speaking of senseless tragedy, "that all this time, we could have been together, but both of us were too steeped in our own self-doubt to realize each other's feelings?"
Colin exhales on a long-suffering sigh, shaking his head in fond amusement.
"We do make quite a pair, don't we?" he says, reaching out to take Penelope's hand, and marveling at how perfectly it fits within his own.
Penelope's answering giggle is better than any aria he could ever hope to hear, and with a smile that could light up the whole of the ton, Colin leans forward to kiss his future wife.
