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The sun was shining on the distant horizon, its bright, warm rays illuminating the vast garden of the Bridgerton home. Each fine sparkle adorned the grass and the refined flowers that accompanied them. Colin lay sitting on the long patio bench, watching his two older brothers — Anthony and Benedict — continue their fencing training.
Because, sure enough, even when Anthony remained busy with his duties as Viscount and spent most of his attention on his now wife, Kate, he set aside some of his hours for the family.
Furthermore, his brother loved fencing. It was one of those activities that he used as a release and to relieve stress. Colin would have the next turn with either Benedict or Anthony, depending on whichever defeated the other first. But noticing the commitment that both conveyed, he was aware that it would take a while to discover the winner.
While the seconds passed, and along with them, the competitive confrontation between both brothers, the third son of the Bridgertons could not stop his head from begging form memories.
He had not seen Penelope for days and soon it was his trip to Europe. She wasn't even at the Featherington family ball, after they had both shared a dance together. Pen, his friend, had completely missed the party. He had even asked the guests, Portia, her sisters. No one saw her again that night, not even Eloise or Benedict.
And that's not all, the most shocking thing is that the redhead has not gone to visit him. Not to him. Not even Eloise, who was her best friend and she was so used to her company.
He would be lying if he said that there wasn't some need to see her, because evidently, wherever Colin went, no matter where, his eyes were drawn to find the girl with the autumn hair. Sometimes, without expecting it. Anyone could assume their encounters were the work of fate. Intentional, perhaps.
Since Colin —when he was at the balls or somewhere else— would look to the right, and there was Penelope. He looked to the left, and there was Penelope. Whenever he returned to the Ton, the redhead was part of his daily life. He found her as quickly as a bird finds his nest.
It didn't bother him, on the contrary, he enjoyed every little moment in her presence. But, there was an insignificant inconvenience, now that he remained so far away from her - not by choice, but because neither of them had seen each other this time - he felt that tiny emptiness inside him. As if a small part of his being had disappeared or left with her.
It was normal, though. It was the habit of having her by his side and the sincere appreciation he had for Pen.
He would pay her a visit, of that he was sure. As they say in the old sayings, if the mountain does not go to Muhammad, let Muhammad go to the mountain.
Before leaving to travel the world, he would make an appointment to meet at the Featherington house, simply to see her, make sure she was okay, and say goodbye. It's the least a friend could do.
