Chapter Text
The words still echoed in her mind—we’ll get through the wedding, then we’ll see what the marriage is.
But how could she face a lifetime after “getting through” the one day she had dreamed of since she was ten? What was she doing here, in this grand ballroom filled with laughter and planning, when her heart felt so heavy? If she truly loved him shouldn’t she let him go? It’s not right that planning their wedding, the one she dreamed of since she was ten years old, should feel like this: a noose tightening instead of a ribbon binding.
No.
She cannot let that happen. Her love cannot become a cage. The day is meant to be beautiful, sacred; their day cannot be haunted.
“I do not want to go through with this wedding,” she said quietly. Across the room, the murmur of their mothers’ voices continued, blissfully unaware. The ballroom, too grand for this private unraveling, echoed her words far too easily. He froze.
“Pardon?”
“This wedding,” she said again, steadier this time. “Our marriage. It’s all I’ve ever wanted…”
His jaw tightened, and he turned half away, voice sharp and cold.
“Clearly it isn’t.”
She flinched and it felt like a slap. His eyes avoided hers, burning with something she couldn’t place—hate? Anger? Or something worse.
“And for it to become something to get through, something to be decided—I simply cannot. Not like this.”
He shifted his weight, fists clenched at his sides—though not in fury, but restraint. His voice dropped, bitter. “What do you suggest instead? Because right now, I can barely look at you. I’m still too angry to speak to you. And I don’t see that changing. Not before the wedding.”
“Then we cancel the wedding.”
His eyes snapped back to hers hard, unreadable.
“What?”
“If you can’t look at me without anger… if you can’t speak to me without pain… then we shouldn’t be doing this.”
“I told you,” he said through clenched teeth, “I’m not calling off this wedding. I am—”
“A man of honour,” she interrupted quietly. “Yes. You said.”
His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, the coldness melted away, replaced by something raw and vulnerable she hadn’t expected to see.
“Don’t worry,” she continued, “Your honour will remain intact. Because it will be me who calls it off.”
“No,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You’re not making sense. You can’t—there may still be consequences. A child may still—”
He stopped himself. His hands unclenched, trembling slightly as if fighting to hold himself together.
He finally met her eyes full of pain, anger, and beneath it all, undeniable love.
“I don't mean to be cruel,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you know me well enough to believe that.”
“Isn’t that the problem?” he said, voice thick. “I don’t know you,Penelope.”
Her breath caught.
“Then why do you want to marry me?”
He looked away, and she thought she saw a single, painful flicker of regret.
“I have to marry you,” he said at last. “And that is the end of it.”
Before she could answer, a soft voice interrupted from behind them.
“Would you care for some refreshments, my lady, sir?” Varley asked politely, bowing slightly.
They both started, the charged silence broken abruptly.
Penelope glanced at Colin, searching his face for the love she hoped was still there beneath the anger, but he looked away, tight-lipped and unreadable. The polite interruption of Varley’s voice was a small mercy, yet it left everything unsaid, hanging heavy between them like a thick fog. Colin said nothing as he stepped away, leaving Penelope standing alone in the vast ballroom, the cold weight of his silence pressing down on her. She forced herself to smile politely at her mother’s eager questions about flower arrangements and guest lists, but inside, her heart was a storm of doubt and sorrow.
Later, after the last carriage had rolled away and the grand house had fallen into stillness, Penelope slipped out into the cool night air. She needed to breathe. To think. To escape the suffocating walls that felt more like a prison than a home. The streets were empty, lit only by the flicker of gas lamps and the distant glow of the moon.
She wanted to be alone but fate, cruel and unyielding, had other ideas.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked, voice clipped. Then he waved a hand, already dismissing the question. “Actually, don’t answer that. I do not wish to know. I’ll leave you to your secret dealings.”
His words landed like a slap. Penelope drew in a quiet breath. “And what secret dealings have I caught you in the midst of? You’re alone too. Or perhaps…” She hesitated. “Perhaps your plan was to not be alone for long.”
Something flickered in his gaze. “What are you implying?”
“Nothing,” she said, though her voice trembled with more meaning than the word allowed.
Colin stepped closer, tension simmering beneath his calm facade. “No, don’t lose your confidence now. If you want to accuse me of something, then do it. Or perhaps you’re afraid to hear the answer. Afraid to have your worst fears confirmed.” He gave a hollow laugh. “Surely Lady Whistledown knows what men of the Ton get up to at night. Perhaps your fiancé is simply enjoying the last of his freedom. Making his own choices.”
Penelope flinched at the bite in his voice. “There’s no need to be cruel, Colin.”
“Why not?” he murmured, the corners of his mouth twitching “Wouldn’t that make us well matched?”
But even as he said it, the heat began to fade from his words. He turned his face slightly, and suddenly he looked tired. Not angry—just broken.
“I’m sorry,” Penelope whispered. “I’m sorry you found out the way you did. It should have been me who told you.”
He swallowed hard, voice low. “Yes. It should have been.” He paused. “Why didn’t you?”
She looked down, hands clenched in her skirts. “Because I was happy. Exceedingly happy. And I.. I couldn’t bring myself to end it. I knew once you found out, you’d hate me. Eloise warned me. But I was selfish. I held onto your love while I still had it, even though I didn’t deserve it.”
Colin said nothing. The silence between them was heavy and suffocating.
“I see now,” she continued, voice trembling, “how wrong that was. And I will always be sorry for it.”
He looked away, jaw clenched. “Do you regret what you wrote?”
“About Eloise?” she asked softly. “Yes.”
“What about Miss Thompson?” His voice was quieter now. “About me?”
There was a pause.
“No,” she said gently.
His head turned sharply, pain flashing in his eyes. “No?” The heartbreak that had been simmering inside him cracked, spilling into his voice. “You ruined her. You shamed your family. You humiliated me, Penelope. You wrote about me as if I were some foolish boy. And you don’t even regret it?”
“I regret the hurt,” she whispered. “But Colin… Marina didn’t love you. You were a means to an end for her. You were kind and generous, and she used that. She lied to you.”
His mouth twisted. “And how are you any different from her now?”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I—” he broke off, breathing hard, as if trying to hold it all in.
“I should have told you in person,” she said. “But back then, we barely knew each other. I didn’t know if you’d believe me. And if you did—well, you were enamoured with her. I thought you might marry her anyway.”
He turned back toward her then, eyes narrowing, voice low and bitter. “We’ll never know what I would’ve done. Because you didn’t respect me enough to let me choose.”
“I do respect you”
“No, you don’t!” The words came sharp and sudden, a flare of heat in a sea of hurt. “Don’t lie to me—not now. You hid behind that damn pseudonym and spun me into some caricature of a man too stupid to see the world around him. If that’s respect, then I’d hate to see your contempt.”
Penelope recoiled slightly, lips parting in a soft gasp. Then she stepped closer. It was instinct, not calculation. The way she looked at him, her eyes full of tears made something inside him falter.
“I wasn’t mocking you,” she said, voice barely audible. “I was trying to help. I wanted you to see what you couldn’t.”
His breath caught. All the anger drained from his posture as fast as it had come.
After a moment, she gathered herself. “I want to ask you something, and I want you to answer honestly. If you had the choice—if we hadn’t been intimate… would you still want to marry me on Saturday?”
Colin didn’t answer at first.
His eyes locked with hers, and for a moment, something warred behind them—anger, yes, but something softer, more uncertain, flickering beneath the surface. His lips parted, then pressed shut again. He looked like he wanted to say something else. Something truer. But whatever it was, he swallowed it down. And then he said it.
“No.”
Just one word. Soft. Shaky. Like it hurts to speak it. Penelope didn’t move. Didn’t speak. She simply stood there, blinking, as if the weight of that single word had knocked the air from her lungs.
No.
It echoed in her mind, louder than the apology that had preceded it, louder than the months of quiet affection, louder even than the moment he’d asked her to marry him.
No.
Her throat tightened. She nodded as if she understood. As if she accepted it. But inside, something caved in. Something small and soft and hopeful that had survived all these years despite every unkind word, every overheard slight, every mirror that had told her she would never be enough. She had spent her life being passed over. Ignored. Ridiculed. It had taken every shred of courage she possessed to believe that maybe, just maybe, she could be loved. And for a time, she’d let herself believe it. But she saw it now. She’d been foolish to think that kind of happiness could last. To think she could build a marriage on secrets and luck and the desperate hope that love would be stronger than the truth. Of course he didn’t want her. Not really. Not when he saw her for what she truly was.
She’d ruined everything. She always did.
He was speaking again, something about the wedding, about the need to go through with it. But his voice sounded distant, muffled, like she was hearing it underwater. She barely registered his offer to fetch her a carriage.
“There’s no need,” she said, her voice steady only because it had been hollowed out. “I will be able to get myself back.”
He gave a small, bitter laugh. “Of course. Why did I think you’d need me?”
“Colin—”
“Please,” he said, turning from her. “Just not now.”
And that was it.
The final closing of the door.
She turned and walked away without another word, keeping her back straight, her chin high, even as tears stung her eyes. She wouldn’t cry. Inside, she was breaking. Not just from the pain of losing him but from the confirmation that everything she'd feared all her life was true.
That she wasn’t wanted.
Not truly. Not even by him. And if she truly loved him, she couldn’t keep him in a cage built of obligation and guilt. She would do what Marina hadn’t. She would set him free.
As she returned home, sneaking up to her room The door clicks softly shut behind her. She stands still for a moment, breathing in the quiet, taking in her last moments in the place that had been her sanctuary. Then she moves. She crosses over to the hearth and removes her cloak, folding it with care and placing it over the back of the chair. She knows what she has to do now. There is no room left for hoping. Colin had spoken. He did not want her now he fully knew her. And she will not be the woman who stays where she is not wanted. Not again, not with him.
Penelope moves to her writing desk and pulls out a fresh sheet of parchment. The candlelight flickers as she sits. She picks up the quill and begins to write. The words come surprisingly easily, probably because a part of her always knew she would eventually have to say goodbye. With the last line written, she folds the letter carefully, seals it with wax, and sets it aside.
Then she stands, smooths her skirts, and crosses to the far corner of the room. She kneels and lifts the edge of the rug. She pries the floorboard up gently. Beneath it is everything she has saved. All her Whistledown money. Her safety net which she now had to use. She replaces the board. Straightens the rug, it's like she wasn't there. Back at the wardrobe, she packs quickly. Plain dresses. A cloak. One pair of boots. Enough to carry, not enough to miss. She needed a bit of time to get away. When she’s done, she moves to the door. Her hand rests on the handle. She glances back once at the sealed letter on her desk. The wax is still warm. The edges are crisp. One letter to change so much. She wavers slightly worried she isnt doing the right thing. But then the no comes back into her mind. He was certain when he said it. Meaning she had to be certain now. And then, without a word, she opens the door and walks out.
The next morning as the Featherington household is still unaware that it's missing a member, a letter is delivered to the house across the street. Rae feels he deserves to read it in private. She has an idea what it says. Unfortunately the recipient is in no state to read it just yet. He is still suffering the effects of his activities the night before. And so the words remain unread, sitting there in the envelope and she travels further and further away.