Polin + N (the colour green).
Had some inspiration finally and it got quite long!
Canon-era, guest starring Kate and the heroes from another JQ series, the Lyndon Sisters series: Robert Kemble, Earl of Macclesfield (who is mentioned in The Duke and I as a friend of Colin’s and also appears briefly in Romancing Mister Bridgerton), from Everything and the Moon and Charles Wycombe, Earl of Billington, from Brighter than the Sun. I recommend the series very much! They are still bachelors at this time, although there are hints at Robert’s love story :)
You can also find it here at AO3.
—
“If anyone asks – well, if Portia Featherington asks,” his sister-in-law says through a too-bright smile, “you told me Penelope looked very lovely tonight.”
Colin frowns, eyes casting about the ballroom for the familiar sight of Pen’s bright red hair and yellow gown, nearly missing her because she is wearing green. Green. It suits her. And now he understands Kate’s odd request.
“It seems two viscountesses’ opinions and even a viscount’s and an artist’s are not enough to sway her that the choice was a good one and ought to be repeated and often, seeing as we are women and they are married men, but an eligible gentleman? She seemed far more receptive to the idea after that.” Kate’s eyes gleam. “And,” she continues, “Even better were it more than one. I know you have several eligible gentlemen friends here tonight. Might you put a hint in Lord Macclesfield’s ear to ask her to dance?”
His friend is a notorious rake he would previously have hesitated to draw into close proximity to a lady like Penelope, but he knows that nowadays Macclesfield is hopelessly besotted with some mystery woman he refuses to say much about other than that she is leading him a merry chase. So, there’d be no harm in it and it would certainly make an impression on Lady Featherington to have a future marquess who so rarely bestows his attentions on eligible young ladies single out her daughter so markedly.
And Penelope looks so free and easy tonight, as she should always look, even more than before – He shakes his head. It doesn’t do to think on it. “Yes, of course, Kate,” he acquiesces, making a beeline for his old friend.
“Will you do me a favor, Macclesfield?” Colin says without preamble, having already greeted him earlier in the evening.
“What sort of favor?” Macclesfield demands suspiciously, knowing him too well to agree without question.
“Dance with a friend of mine.”
“What friend?”
“Miss Featherington.”
“Prudence Featherington?” Macclesfield shudders.
“Good God, of course not Prudence Featherington! I wouldn’t ask my worst enemy to dance with her, if I had one,” he mutters. “I should’ve been more specific. Penelope. The redhead in the green dress,” he says, discreetly tilting his head in her general direction until Macclesfield’s eyes land on Pen. “She’s a capital girl, but her mother insists on dressing her in colors that don’t flatter her –”
“There’s nothing wrong with the green,” Macclesfield says, brow wrinkling. “Rather nice, actually. It’s a good color for a red –”
“That’s the thing,” he interrupts impatiently. “Her mama normally forces her into yellows.”
Macclesfield shudders. “Oh, good God,” he mutters. “Poor girl.”
“My sister-in-law believes that if a few eligible gentlemen such showed her marked attention tonight it will convince her mother to allow her to wear more favorable colors more often,” Colin explains. “And that –”
“Is where I come in,” his friend finishes good-naturedly. “Lead the way.”
—
“I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lord,” Penelope says, curtseying after Colin makes the introduction.
“I assure you the pleasure is all mine, Miss Featherington. Bridgerton here spoke so highly of you.”
Penelope smiles sunnily at Macclesfield, with none of her characteristic shyness with strangers. “If I am not mistaken, I have heard good things about you as well, my lord.”
Macclesfield looks amused. “From whom?”
“Mrs. Brightbill is your aunt, I believe?”
“Unfortunately,” Macclesfield says with an affectionate smile that belies his dramatic sigh. “Are you acquainted?”
“Only very recently. We met at the modiste. As a matter of fact, she persuaded my mama that she should allow me to purchase this gown.”
“Then Aunt Brightbill has better taste than I knew. It suits you.”
Penelope blushes faintly. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Ah, and here is our friend Billington,” Macclesfield says, beckoning him over. “Billington, have you met Miss Featherington?”
“I have not had the pleasure.”
There is nothing strictly improper in the way Billington bows over Penelope’s gloved hand or the kiss he bestows upon it, but there is a gleam in his eyes Colin does not like in the slightest.
“I’m afraid you will only have a few moments of Miss Featherington’s time, as we are to dance the next set,” Macclesfield informs their friend. “And you, Billington?” he continues meaningfully. “I believe you’ve yet to make your way to the floor.”
Billington looks a bit panicked but he covers it with a smooth smile. He knows he’s prey in a setting like this.
“And Miss Featherington is a capital young lady. More sense than most of the party put together, so if you are to dance, I believe you could find no better partner.”
That is to say, she’s not of the scheming vulture variety of debutante.
At that, Billington relaxes, instantly apprehending Macclesfield’s meaning.
Colin finds himself scowling. Macclesfield is one thing, but Billington is a more dan –
“Are you engaged for the waltz, Miss Featherington?”
The waltz????
“I am n –”
“Miss Featherington’s waltz is mine, I’m afraid,” he interrupts smoothly.
Penelope frowns. “Your name is not on my dance card, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Well, it should be. Now that you have informed me of the oversight, I shall remedy it at once.” He holds out his hand, but much to his surprise, she hands it to Billington instead.
His scowl only deepens at his friends’ amused looks. Bloody bastards.
—
“Did Billington even ask your mama if you had permission for the waltz?” Colin, now standing alone at the edge of the ballroom, demands as soon as she and Lord Macclesfield are done with their dance and Lord Macclesfield has ambled off, leaving them alone.
“You didn’t ask when you tried to wrest my dance card from him.”
“I didn’t – that’s not the point. I have known you forever and know you have permission. He, on the other hand –”
Penelope shakes her head. “It would have been pointless. Mama would never say no to an earl. And I daresay she’d have boxed my ears as soon as we got in the carriage if I considered granting you my waltz instead.”
Colin looks very put out at that.
“Oh, don’t look like that. It is merely the usual mercenary machinations of the marriage mart. Lord Billington, as an eligible gentleman of title, is in need of an heir. He must marry someone someday. You, on the other hand, seem quite firm in your resolve not to marry as a general matter and have put a rather fine point on your resolve not to marry me specifically –” Not that her mama knows that.
“Pen –”
She waves a hand and shrugs. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought it up. But she thinks that the only way to get through the embarrassment of that day – after spending ages dodging what she assumes are his attempts to make apologies that would only have embarrassed her further and having time to lick her wounds – is to joke about it as though it was some amusing incident or they will never be easy with one another again. And the fact remains that, for all that Colin broke her heart, she still, very pathetically, misses their old comfortable friendship. She would much rather have him in her life that way than not at all or only as nodding acquaintances.
“Not to mention, even were you inclined to marry, you are very far down the line for the family title. And even were you born to Anthony’s place instead . . . well, what would a viscount be to an earl?”
“Billington is a rake,” Colin says through gritted teeth.
“Good heavens, Colin,” she laughs, “if you speak so critically of your friends, I should hate to hear what you say of your enemies –”
“I have no enemies,” he grumbles.
“How nice for you,” she says airily. “Still,” she continues, voice turning sly, “I do think it unfair of you to speak so of your friend. Even, dare I say it, hypocritical.” Oh, it hurts to think of it, but she must. “How does the saying go? One should not throw stones if one lives in a glass house?”
“Penelope,” he sputters, clearly not expecting she would turn her barbed wit on him. And on such a subject!
She’s rather proud of herself. “I am innocent, not oblivious.”
He’s very red in the face now, tugging uncomfortably at his cravat.
And just then, Lord Billington returns to claim his waltz.
“Impeccable timing, my lord,” she murmurs. “I do believe Mr. Bridgerton was about to leave me to my own company, as he seems rather desperately in need of refreshment.”
He casts a still red-faced Colin an amused look and nods at him before leading her to the dance floor.
