3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Colin

Colin's worst fears were realised. He sat stiffly on the floor, loose checkered trousers strangely soft and thin against his legs, a faded grey t-shirt revealing far too much arm, while Penelope and Eloise sat together on the sofa, dressed in clothes much like his own.

Eloise looked positively boyish, swinging her legs and slouching as she cradled her mug of steaming tea and asked an endless stream of questions of Ava. Penelope, though—Colin knew it was highly improper to look at her dressed so, and yet his eyes kept drifting back to her. The deep blue fabric of her shirt clung to her curves in a sinful manner, stretched over her chest and caressing her skin. University of Nottingham, the fabric declared, as if she were a student there.

And the trousers. Christ! Her shapely legs were almost on display! Colin could make out the swell of her thigh through the thin, pale blue fabric, and he could not say what the colour did for her complexion. Indeed, he did not think he had seen Penelope in any colour aside from yellow and pink.

Blue suited her entirely too well.

She did not look back at him. Her focus seemed entirely enthralled by the things Ava had to say, and she even interjected with questions of her own, questions Colin could not even follow, as if she were a student of the university plastered across her shirt.

Colin didn't think he'd been anywhere near Nottingham in his life, and suddenly he felt as if Penelope were about to up and disappear there. He swallowed hard and endeavoured to follow the flow of the conversation, which seemed to cover Ava's university career (an undergraduate at Durham, a postgraduate with Imperial college London, and were those places not at opposite ends of the country?).

The moment Colin felt he'd caught the flow of the conversation, Penelope shifted in her seat, tucking one leg over the other, and his thoughts completely evaporated from his grip. Did everyone go around wearing such revealing clothes in such times? How could everyone be so highly educated with such visions surrounding them?

It boggled the mind.

Colin could not do this. He could not sit here, with such imagery in the room. Indeed, even Ava had slipped into soft clothing she called pyjamas, which left little to the imagination, though that did not seem so strange, somehow. Perhaps because he was so used to seeing Penelope in well-adorned gowns. That must be why his thoughts were so drawn to her.

She was his friend. He should not be thinking on the shape of her thighs or the way her fiery hair cascaded over her shoulders. Not when there was a real crisis to deal with: had their families realised they were missing yet? Their vanishment was sure to be all over Whistledown first thing in the morning.

If he were a true friend, as he always thought he was, he ought to be thinking of Penelope right now, not his own uncertainty. How might he navigate her needs?

"Tea," he blurted, and everyone turned to look at him. He scrambled to his feet. "Anyone for a fresh cup?"

"Oh yeah, go on then," Ava said, pushing to her feet. "Peppermint?"

She collected the mugs and headed for the kitchen, and Colin hurried after her. "I will make it," he offered. "I do not want to interrupt your conversation."

"Oh, okay cool." Ava set down the mugs. "Kettle's there. Fill it from the tap, flick the switch to boil. Tea bags are there. Peppermint's green."

"Very well," Colin said.

Ava hesitated, narrowing her eyes. "You need a hand, just shout, yeah? It's a small flat. I'll hear you."

"I do not require assistance," Colin assured her.

"Alright, dude." Ava winked at him and returned to the living room, and Colin breathed out for what felt like the first time all evening. God, but his head was pounding. He braced himself against the counter as the hum of voices started up again.

Okay. What did he need to do? He stared at the white mug in front of him, another reminder of how far he was from home: the thing was a monstrosity! So much larger than the petite china cups he was used to.

Tea. He had to make tea. He had to find a way of reconciling with Penelope—he knew in his bones that he could not stand to remain in her bad books. It was maddening; such a short time had passed since she first called him 'Mister Bridgerton', and yet it tore at him like an illness. He had to ensure her safety here. Eloise's too; this place seemed full of impropriety. He would have to work hard to preserve their innocence.

And he had to get them home in one piece. The last thought was such a large unknown that he shook it away. Ava seemed competent, and he had to admit he understood nothing of the research she had spoken of. This was so far from his expertise. He had to focus on what he could do, and that began with tea.

She'd said to fill the kettle from the tap.

It was a simple task. Colin pushed off the counter and set himself to it, plucking the kettle from its stand and casting around for the tap. Numerous plates and mugs filled the sink, but Colin found to his pleasure that simply tilting the kettle let him fit the spout under the faucet.

It was a challenge to fill it with the thing lopsided, though. The water kept spilling over the top. Hefting it thing away from the sink, he eyed the awful gap between the top of the water and the top of the kettle. She had said to fill the thing. How on earth—oh! Enlightened, he grabbed his mug and filled it with water, ladling it into the kettle until it was full. Then, feeling confident, he flipped the switch on the side.

Nothing happened.

He watched it for an inordinately long time, until the peeling purple paint on the side seemed etched into his brain. Then, cursing his own stupidity, he replaced it onto the stand he'd removed it from.

Success! He beamed as a faint blue light illuminated the switch and a low roar sounded from the kettle. See: it was a simple task. He could make tea for Penelope. He could put himself out for her gain. It was a small step towards balancing their friendship, nowhere near what she needed, but he endeavoured that from this day forward, he would not put himself before her needs.

The kettle began to roar louder, and louder. Colin rifled through the bags of tea he'd been directed to, turning a mint-scented bag over in his hands. It reminded him of the powder he'd returned from Greece, sprinkled into a mug. Of course, tea did not dissolve, but encased in these little bags, the herbs might infuse into the hot water. It was genius!

He dropped a bag into each cup just as the kettle began to scream. It must be ready. He reached out just as boiling water began to flow freely from the spout, pooling over the countertop, pouring onto the floor. Colin cried out, reaching for the thing and drawing back with a yelp when the metal burned his hands.

It was a weapon: unreachable and dangerous. He cast around, but saw nothing to staunch the flow of water. At least it seemed to have stopped pouring from the kettle now (the blue light had gone out, and it had stopped screaming), but there was still scalding water over the floor. He could not allow one of the ladies to be burned for his error!

There was nothing else for it. He drew his shirt over his head and dropped it into the puddle, cursing when it seemed to collect but little of the water, and when he reached for it, it was scalding to the touch.

"Colin? Are you well?"

He turned, hands braced in front of him, to see Eloise, Ava, and (God help him) Penelope standing in the doorway, full witness to his failure.

"That thing is a danger," he announced, jabbing a throbbing hand towards the kettle.

"Did you attempt to mop the water with your shirt, brother?" Eloise demanded, before dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"Do not come in," Colin warned, as a giggling Ava stepped into the kitchen. "It is burning."

"Yeah, it's boiling water," Ava said. She patted him on the arm. "Dude, I think the only danger in this kitchen is you. Points for trying, though."

Did she just… touch him? Colin drew back, astonished. Ava seemed not to notice as she grabbed a roll of white tissue from atop the cupboard and began unravelling it all over the floor.

"You can probably pour the tea if you want," she said. "Lift it from the handle. The metal gets hot."

"I realise," Colin said through gritted teeth, plucking the heavy kettle from its platform and pouring boiling water into each mug.

Looking up, he noted that Penelope had abandoned the doorway, returning to the living room, and his hopes sunk to his knees. He had failed to make her tea without ensuring he was the centre of attention. He was doing a very poor job of making it up to her, indeed. And now he did not even have a shirt to wear.

Eloise

"Is he asleep?" Pen whispered, her blankets drawn up to her neck as she looked down on Eloise from her perch on the sofa. She nodded across the dark room towards where Colin lay cocooned in his own blankets, near the front door.

Eloise squinted at him. He wasn't moving much, and his breathing seemed regular. "I believe so." She pushed up on the inflatable mattress she'd been given, sitting up against the sofa and looking at Pen through the grey light. "What do you think of her?"

"Of Ava?" Pen asked, tucking her hands under her chin and shifting closer. "She is quite unlike anyone I have ever met."

"She is incredible," Eloise said in a rush. "I believe I could talk with her for hours without growing bored, even when I do not fully understand her words. I do not believe I have ever felt this way."

Pen grinned through the darkness. "Is this your way of telling me you grow bored of my conversation?"

"Oh, on the regular," Eloise teased, "though you absolutely must tell me everything about your…" she dropped her voice to the barest whisper, "business ventures."

"Oh, El." Pen reached out and squeezed her hand. "I have so longed to do so. Though it seems those endeavours will not help us here."

"I suppose not," Eloise sighed, looking around at the darkened room. A red light glowed from the black box in the corner; the inflatable mattress shifted beneath her; her trousers felt strange on her legs. Everywhere she looked, she found evidence of how far they were from home.

She supposed she ought to be more afraid than she felt, but with Ava's presence nearby, and Pen's company, she could not deny she was more excited than fearful. "Pen," she whispered, "if you could study any subject at university, which would you choose?"

Pen hesitated. "I do not know," she said. "When you and Ava spoke of it earlier, I confess I was overwhelmed by the options. And more than half of students now women? I do not know how anybody chooses."

Eloise leaned back to take in Pen's shifted expression. "You are lying," she announced. "I thought there were to be no more lies between us."

"I am not," Pen protested, and then she sagged. "I suppose… I was fascinated by the concept of studying literature at a high level, though I could never expect to do such a thing myself. I do not know how I might keep up."

"You think too poorly of yourself," Eloise protested. "You are one of the most eloquent writers I have ever known, and I have never known anyone to understand concepts within fiction like you. Not to mention—you have the entire Ton enraptured by your prose, Pen. If anyone could thrive in such a field, it would be you."

Pen flushed, but Eloise could tell she was pleased by the compliment. "And what about you?" she asked Eloise. "What subject would you choose?"

Eloise opened her mouth, and closed it again. She had always dreamed of advancing her mind, though it was true what Pen said: there were so many options to choose from. She could learn physics, or politics, or women's studies, or mathematics, or—"there are too many choices," she bemoaned. "I want to learn it all."

Pen laughed, and across the room, Colin shifted under his blankets. Eloise shut her mouth sharply, and Pen did the same. Their eyes met.

"It is late," Pen whispered.

"Good night, then," Eloise said, sliding back under her blankets on the inflatable mattress. She did not know how she could possibly sleep after such a day; her mind was so full of thoughts and ideas she had repressed for so long. And yet, the softness of the blankets and the lull of Pen and Colin's breathing filled the room with calm, and before she could find a topic to dwell upon, she had fallen fast asleep.

A moment, and many hours later, Eloise woke to the rich smell of bacon cooking. She jerked upright, dislodging her blankets and startling at the vision of the strangest room she'd ever seen. Sunlight streamed through the window, scarcely blocked by the beige curtain, and a low humming came from the kitchen.

Above her, Pen slept on her back with her mouth open, one hand trailing towards the floor, and across the room, Colin snored with one arm flung across his face. Eloise grinned, scurrying upright and slipping into the kitchen. Colin would be furious when he realised he hadn't woken to the sounds of Ava moving around. He'd placed himself near the door as their protector, and had slept through everything.

"You are a cook as well?" Eloise said, as she entered the kitchen. Ava was humming as she worked at the stove, sliding a tool around the pan and flipping what looked like the fattest pancake Eloise had ever seen.

"Oh, hey," Ava greeted, throwing an easy smile over her shoulder. "Yeah, I can cook. I'm no pro, but I get by. I guess you had like a family chef or something, right? Nowadays, people tend to cook for themselves. Unless they're rich, I suppose." She slid the beige thing onto a plate and held it out for Eloise. "Pancake?"

"Pardon me?"

"It's a pancake," Ava said. "You didn't have those?"

"Of course," Eloise said. "They are typically thinner in my experience."

"Ah," Ava grinned. "Yeah, we have those too. I prefer them fluffy. Bacon?" She slid a tray from the oven, slid two rashers of bacon onto Eloise's pancake, and returned to the stove. "So, how rich are you? Back home, I mean? Are you some proper fancy lady?"

"I suppose," Eloise said, eyeing Ava and then attacking her pancake with a decidedly un-ladylike manner. It was exquisite! "The Bridgerton family is definitely well-known. My eldest brother, Anthony, is a Viscount."

Ava whistled. "Fancy. Probably—I don't really know how fancy that is."

Eloise stared at her bacon. "I am not so good at being a lady," she admitted. "Mother despairs of me, I know. I am supposed to be finding a husband, like my sister Daphne. She was the season's diamond, and she married a Duke."

Ava flipped the next pancake and turned to face Eloise. "How old are you?"

"I am recently nineteen," Eloise said.

Ava leaned back and whistled, looking her up and down. "And your Mum's disappointed you're not married yet? Jesus."

"You are not married, then?" Eloise asked, surprised how hard her heart was beating as she anticipated the answer. Why should she care?

"God, no." Ava grimaced. "I'm only twenty-three. Can you imagine?"

"Then you are a spinster," Eloise remarked, fascinated. "I always imagined I would be a spinster."

Ava spluttered. "What? I thought spinsters were supposed to be old!"

"A spinster is an unmarried woman of three and twenty," Eloise told her. "A woman deemed barely marriable by any man."

"Well, thank god for that," Ava said with a rasping laugh which illuminated her entire face. The purple tips of her hair curled towards her collarbones, the colour vibrant in the morning light. "It'll be a cold day in hell when I marry a man."

"Your language is truly abominable," Eloise said, unable to keep the grin from her face. "You know, I believe you blasphemed at least five times in the past minute?"

"Well goddamn it," Ava said, spreading her arms wide, her deep brown eyes glittering with mirth. "Guess I'll be banished to hell, or whatever. Not that I'm not already headed that way many times over."

"I am sure you exaggerate," Eloise said. "You seem a truly kind-hearted soul."

Was that a blush which covered Ava's cheeks? "Thanks, Eloise," she said softly.

"Why should you never marry a man?" Eloise asked. "Do you not believe in love?"

"No," Ava said, standing straight and looking Eloise in the face with a strange defiance. The mirth was gone from her now, and Eloise longed it to return with a sudden fire. "It's because I'm gay. I'll never marry a man because I'll never love a man, because I like women. If I ever marry, it'll be to a woman, not to a man."

Eloise's jaw dropped as the smell of burning permeated her senses. Ava returned to her pancake with a loud swear, and Colin appeared in the doorway, looking rather rumpled with his hair sticking up in every direction.

"Is that food?" he said as if the foundation of Eloise's life had not just shifted.

Eloise felt she could scarcely move, even as Ava fed Colin an abominable number of pancakes, and Pen appeared, perching on a kitchen chair with her own food, looking decidedly at the table instead of Colin's still-shirtless form (the animal).

If I ever marry, it'll be to a woman.

In this world, women were free to marry other women. The concept swirled and burned in Eloise's thoughts; she imagined walking down an aisle to see, not a man at the other end, but a gowned lady, smiling bright for everyone to see.

She imagined kissing a lady like she had once seen Daphne kissing Simon in the drawing room, before they realised they had a witness. It had been a passionate kiss, and while Eloise had been happy to see her sister so enthralled, it had never seemed right to her. She had never longed for such a thing.

She thought of Theo, of the energy which had passed between them. She had thought it attraction, but now, looking back, she had felt none of that urge that Kate seemed to feel any time Anthony entered the room—she had seen the fire which passed between the two betrothed, because whoever could not?

It was why, when Theo had stepped in, his head dropping close to hers, Eloise had fled. She did care for him. She cared for his thoughts and his friendship, but the idea of kissing him had felt wrong.

She looked up now, to where Ava leaned against the stove, hands flapping as she spoke with Colin about the day's plan (return to the site of their arrival; read the instruments; scour the internet for information). Eloise felt a strange warmth build in her stomach, a strange energy hum in her fingertips, and she wondered what it might feel like to kiss Ava like she'd seen Daphne kiss Simon.

The thought, once present in her mind, would not leave her alone.