Becoming Polin: A Bridgerton Novel (Colin x Penelope)

FIVE・futile, fleeting, failure

Penelope dashed into the grand room and made a beeline for the refreshment table. Lemonade in hand and the growing dryness of her throat relieved, she maneuvered into the shadows behind a pillar nearby for respite.

The emotion that had bubbled to the surface during her short conversation with Colin remained steadfast, practically as stubborn as him. 

How dare he... The audacity of the man!

Penelope all but growled to herself - the frustration threatening to boil over, the ballroom's growing heat probing her to do just that with silent urging. Another stray tear sauntered down her cheek. She quickly disposed of it before up-ending the remaining contents within the glass she held.

No. She would not let his... presence... ruin the months of work she put forth.

Months spent burning the letters she'd saved that were signed by his ink, taking up extra lessons in ladylike endeavors (alongside Prudence, begrudgingly), training her mind to rewire all thoughts concerning him, and reading male-only educational literature left behind by cousin Jack (which had led to Penelope's daily ritual of appreciating her naked figure in the mirror). Months spent fighting tooth and nail with the incessant desire to curl up into herself within the confines of her bed - and never leave. 

Penelope refused, under any circumstances, to let one Mr. Colin Bridgerton weasel himself back into her life after she'd promptly set all trace of him ablaze. 

She shook her head softly in an attempt to rid herself of the intrusive thoughts he brought. In truth, seeing him at Court had rattled her. She had not expected him to make it (wasn't he supposed to still be traveling?!) and his radical change in appearance had taken her breath away.

Colin stood towering above her in all his rugged glory. She immediately noticed the aura about him - one that exuded a certain strength of character she admittedly missed last season. 

Penelope prided herself on her keen observation skills. It was why Lady Whistledown was such a rapid success - aside from her penchant for brilliant writing. She could pick out the smallest of needles in the proverbial haystack that was good society with ease.  

The air around Colin was thick with the promise of a man who was more sure of himself than ever - much like he had been before courting Marina. And Penelope immediately chastised herself for never picking up on the fact that this man, this wonderful gentleman she adored despite the crushing agony her unrequited love enticed, had clearly been without said aura the entirety of this season last. 

How she had missed such a glaringly obvious change in his demeanor was beyond her. And for a fraction of a second - the briefest of unconscious moments - her heart burned for him. For the pain he had tirelessly masked. The pain that Penelope should have anticipated and done something about. 

She hated that she had missed it.

She hated that she still cared.

And she hated how... delicious he looked.

It was admittedly a strange feeling to describe, the urge his sight elicited deep within her. He was positively delectable - as if she could devour him similar to that of an eclair. He had done away with his cravat completely, exposing the silky cream of his skin against the blue of his shirt as well as the peppering of hair on his chest. The desire to run her tongue along his neck, tasting the sweet salty sweat from travel, was all she could think about. 

She felt wanton and scandalized by the notion. The long locks on his head did nothing to help ease her improper thoughts. What would it be to run her fingers through it? Was it soft, much like Eloise's own mane? Its wild, untamed length reminded her of windswept days - particularly that fated day. The one that resulted in their official meeting and her subsequent revolution: he was everything to her. The reason she awoke in the morning and the air that she breathed.