Chapter Text
March 1819
Colin had stepped away for a moment to speak to his brother, and Penelope stood alone with her lemonade. She’d just taken a sip when she heard her name. It was her engagement ball, of course, so that wasn’t a complete surprise, but she’d stood at the edge of countless ballrooms over the years and never once had she heard her name in the whispered way it had just been spoken.
She may have given up Lady Whistledown when she became engaged to Samuel, but she still knew how to place herself for eavesdropping, so she slid behind a large potted plant, in front of which stood Lord Fife and a group of his cronies.
“—must have left her a sizable portion,” Mr. Cavender said. “Bridgerton is smart to move quickly and snap her up before anyone else could.”
Lord Fife nodded. “The way I heard it, he has been calling on her weekly throughout her mourning period. He went haring up to Melton Park before anyone else had even heard Melton was dead. He’s been positioning himself for a while.”
“Come now, Fife, don’t be obtuse,” someone— Lord Cho, she thought— said. “He’s clearly been in love with the chit for years.”
Someone else piped up. "Do you not recall the months after she married Melton? We were forever scraping him off the floor at White’s once he learned of it.”
Then it was a flurry of voices, all at once and overlapping.
“—thought he was going to drink himself to death—”
“I heard that the viscount hid all their guns—”
“That was just a rumor, I think.”
“—does seem happier now.”
“I’d be happy, too, with my face in a bosom like that.”
She couldn’t hear any more, not another word of Colin’s friends —acquaintances, really— casually discussing how miserable he’d been. How miserable she’d made him. She edged out from behind the palm, skirting the wall until she reached the balcony doors, praying that no one else had decided they needed fresh air.
“Darling, what are you doing out here? I was bringing you more lemonade and I saw you skulking around.” He bent to press a kiss to her cheek. “Penelope, are you crying?”
She shook her head and wiped firmly at her eyes. “No. No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” He drew her into his arms, rocked her back and forth. “You’re crying on a balcony at your engagement ball.”
“I overheard Lord Fife and his friends—”
“Oh, good god. Pen, they’re hardly reliable sources of information. You needn’t trust anything they have to say.”
“They said you nearly drank yourself to death when you found out that I was married, Colin. I can’t pretend that I didn’t hear it.”
He took her hand in his and pulled her along the balcony, down the steps and into the garden. He didn’t stop until the far reaches of the garden, past the last line of lighted torches, to a little bench, tucked away in a corner.
“I didn’t tell you,” he said, his eyes shining in the near darkness. “And I’m sorry. At first, I didn’t tell you because you were married, and it wouldn’t be fair, and then I didn’t tell you because you were so sad after Melton died.”
“And after we got engaged?”
“Then I didn’t tell you because you were happy, and I didn’t want to ruin things between us.”
Then he was crying, so quietly that Penelope would have missed it had she been looking away. She reached up her arms, wrapped them around his shoulders, and he lowered his head to rest on her breasts. She stroked his hair for several minutes before either of them could speak.
“We are going to be married, Colin, and I can’t help but think that neither one of us has been completely honest with one another. Let’s not have any more secrets between us.”
He squeezed her hand and nodded.
“I was desperately in love with you,” she said. “Even before I came out. You were so handsome and charming, and you were nice to me, when not everyone was. Do you know, when Samuel proposed, I was thinking about you, and I said yes because he was a nice man, and you were in Italy and you probably weren’t coming back for at least a year?” She laughed, but it wasn’t her normal, joyful laugh. “And even when you did, I knew that you didn’t see me as anything other than Eloise’s friend.”
“I don’t think I would have known,” he said. “If you hadn’t gotten married, I don’t think I would have ever realized how I felt about you. When Eloise said ‘Oh, Penelope’s with her husband,’ it was like my heart stopped, like I had missed out on a chance that I never even knew I had. And I went to Anthony to ask why he’d let you marry Melton— as though he had any control over you— he poured me a whisky, and it helped me cry. And all I wanted to do those first months was cry, and drinking helped.”
“Oh, Colin.”
His head was still cradled on her bosom, and his tears soaked through the fabric of her dress.
“They were right. I did nearly drink myself to death.”
“What stopped you?”
“Anthony and Benedict found me one night. Well— they followed me one night, to see where I’d been going, and they intended to confront me and drag me home when I came out of the tavern, but then I staggered out and passed out in the gutter. And they knew that I had a much bigger problem than they’d thought.”
“You don’t drink now.” She’d noticed it since they reunited, how odd it was compared to most young men.
“I had to stop altogether, or I knew that I’d go right back into it. Being that out of control—” He took a deep, shuddering breath. “I don’t ever want to experience it again.”
“I’m proud of you.”
He sat up then and wiped at his eyes. “I knew you would be. Did you know that? When I stopped drinking, even though I did it for me, sometimes I would think, ‘Penelope would be proud of me.’”
“I am.” She sighed. “I’m sorry that my marriage kept us apart, and I’m sorry that I hurt you.”
“Don’t be. Pen, you can’t be, because who knows how this would have turned out otherwise? I’d probably be off somewhere in the Mediterranean, and then, twenty years from now, we’d finally see each other and figure it all out.” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms. “But I am sorry that your marriage made you feel as though you weren’t desirable. You know— you must know— how beautiful you are, how much I want you, every time I look at you.”
“I do now.” She squeezed his hand and he laced their fingers together, and they sat for a long time, her head on his shoulder and his head resting on hers.
December 1819
“Mrs. Bridgerton, a Mr. Jacob Thomas is here. I told him that you were not available, but he was quite insistent.”
“Oh. Please see him in, Stephens. And will you find Mr. Bridgerton and ask him to join us?”
“Of course, Mrs. Bridgerton.”
She hadn’t thought of Mr. Jacob Thomas in nearly two years, not since she had read the letter of condolence he had sent after Samuel’s death. When he entered the room, she saw that he was just as she remembered him— an attractive man, well-built and of average height, with ordinary brown hair and ordinary brown eyes.
She rose to great him. “Good morning, Mr. Thomas. It has been quite a while since we last saw one another.”
“It has, Mrs. Bridgerton.” He crossed the room to stand in front of her, and clasped her hands in his. It was a familiar gesture, but he had been close friends with Samuel, and they had spent a great deal of time in company together.
Just then, Colin entered the room. “Hello, love. Ah, Thomas. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Since Cambridge, I think. How are you, Bridgerton?”
“I’m very well, as you can see,” Colin said, a besotted grin on his face. “Only about a month ago, my wife presented me with a son.”
“I saw the announcement in the papers. May I offer my congratulations? With such wonderful parents, I’m sure he is a delightful boy.”
“He is,” Penelope said. “We are thrilled with him.”
“I saw that you had named him Samuel. Is he— was that—?”
Penelope smiled. “Yes, of course. As soon as we saw him, we knew that no other name would do.”
Tears shone in Mr. Thomas’s eyes. “When I read the announcement and saw his name, I knew I had to come.”
“Oh,” Penelope said. “Oh, it was you.”
“Yes,” he said, and nothing more.
She could never quite say, in the future, what compelled her to do it, but she reached up and put her arms around Mr. Thomas. His shoulders shook, though he did not make a sound. She looked helplessly at Colin, who shrugged at her.
Then she knew what to say. “I love my husband, Mr. Thomas. I love him so much that I want to shout it from every rooftop in London. I cannot imagine what you have suffered, and how you have suffered it alone. Samuel was a good man, and I am glad that he had someone who loved him the way you clearly do. I am sorry that you did not get more time together.”
Mr. Thomas straightened. “Thank you, Mrs. Bridgerton. I do not deserve your grace.”
“What do you mean?”
“I took your husband’s affection from you. And then— I stayed away and wrote my letter of condolence and ran like a coward because I couldn’t face seeing you as a grieving widow, when I felt as though I was the grieving widower.”
“Oh, Mr. Thomas,” she said, and she needed a moment to collect herself. When she finally had, she took his hand in hers. “When I was grieving for Samuel, I was grieving a young man whose life was cut short much too soon, a young man who was kind and who was my friend. You were grieving much more. You deserve every bit of my understanding and compassion.”
“I thank you.”
“Won’t you please sit with us and have tea? You have come all this way and we have offered you no refreshment.”
“I— I couldn’t. Not after what I have done.”
“Nonsense,” Colin said, speaking up for the first time in awhile. “You did nothing but fall in love. Each of us in this room knows what that is like. Surely you heard about me, after Penelope and Melton married.”
Mr. Thomas nodded.
“There is nothing society could have said, nothing they could have done, that would have ever made me believe that loving her was wrong. I imagine you feel the same way.”
Mr. Thomas nodded again.
“You can be assured of my silence,” Colin said.
“And mine. We would never expose someone to the derision of society simply for falling in love.”
“I— thank you,” Mr. Thomas said, and accepted the cup Penelope handed him.
They sat in silence for several minutes, Penelope wondering how she would ever be able to make small talk after the conversation she just had. Just as she was about to bring up the weather, Mr. Thomas set his teacup and saucer down.
“For what it is worth, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said, “Samuel wanted children very much, and if he had been able to have them, he would have been an excellent father.”
“Yes, he would.”
“But he would also be thrilled to see you so happy. It was the greatest regret of his life that you were hurt in his attempt to have a family.”
“Oh.”
“He genuinely wanted to have a real marriage with you, you know. He did not ask you because of convenience. Of all the women in the ton, you were the one he believed he might be able to love.”
“Did he? I had wondered, all these years, why he chose me.”
“It was because you were witty, and you made him laugh, and he sensed that there was more to you than you presented to the ton.”
“There is,” Colin said staunchly.
“I know. He learned that once you were married. And he felt tremendous guilt for robbing you of the opportunity for a real marriage, romance, children,” he said. “Now, though, knowing that you have what he was not able to give you, I know that his heart would be full of joy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Thomas. It means a great deal to me for you to say that.”
“It is the truth. And please, you must call me Jacob."
“Of course, and you must call me Penelope. I— would you like to see the baby?”
“I would like it very much, if you do not mind.”
“Not at all.” Penelope nodded at Colin, who left the room to retrieve little Samuel.
They came back in quietly. Samuel was sound asleep, having barely stirred when Colin retrieved him from his bassinet.
“Would you like to hold him?”
“Oh— oh, I couldn’t.”
“You could, if you would like to. He likely won’t notice at all.”
So Mr. Thomas— Jacob— took Samuel in his arms, staring down at him as though he could not believe his eyes. “He is a beautiful baby. I think— no, I know— that I can say—” His voice broke and he took several deep breaths. “Samuel would be touched beyond belief when he heard the name.”
He stroked a hand across Samuel’s forehead, then placed him gently into Penelope’s arms.
Out of the corner of her eye, Penelope caught a glimpse of Colin’s face. He looked as though he was bursting to say something, but unsure whether he should. Finally, it seemed, he could hold it back no longer. “When I worked on estate matters at Melton Park, I found Melton’s journals in his study. I thought— er, I did not think it wise to leave them there, so when I came to set up Penelope’s house last February, I brought them here and stored them away. I have not read them, but would you like—?”
“Yes.” Jacob did not say the word so much as he breathed it. “Yes, if you would, I— I would be grateful beyond what I can say.”
Colin nodded. “I will be back in a moment. I locked them away in a trunk in the attic, so I will have to find the key and retrieve them.”
“Thank you.”
Several minutes later, Colin returned, carrying a small trunk, his hair mussed from digging around in the attic. “Here you are. Since you brought your carriage, I thought I would leave them in the trunk to make for easier transport. Here is the key.”
“I cannot thank you enough, Bridgerton. There are no words for how much this means to me.”
Colin gave a stiff nod. “It is the decent thing to do. Melton made sure that my wife was well cared for, and I would be remiss if I did not return the favor, in whatever small way I can.”
“I do not mean to be rude,” Jacob said, “but I—”
“Of course. Please know that we will always be at home to you.”
“Thank you,” he said, and took Penelope’s hand in his, squeezing it lightly. He turned to Colin and extended his hand to shake. Then he took the trunk in his arms and walked out to to his carriage.
When he was gone, they walked to the nursery to put Samuel back down.
They stood for a long time, watching him sleep, before Colin spoke. “I cannot help but understand him.”
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“Not wanting to lie with another man. But wanting someone so desperately, and knowing that you cannot have them, and knowing that society would tear you apart for it if they knew. And even knowing that, it cannot stop the longing.”
“The poor man.”
“I hope that someday, he is able to find the sort of happiness that I have found.”
“So do I.” She looked up at him. “Thank you for never giving up on me. On us.”
He put his arms around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I will never give up on you. Thank you for giving me a chance.”