Work Text:
Illusions of the sunlight
[...] With love gone, for so long
[...] And I've lost who I am, and I can't understand
Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love
[...] All this time spent in vain, wasted years, wasted gain
***
Being back at Heathrow after the past year felt surreal.
He hadn’t told anyone he was coming back; he wanted it to be a surprise.
He had left for India almost two years ago with the idea of a long tour that would take him through France, Germany, Turkey, Iran, and Pakistan before reaching India to meet Kate’s family. The journey had started as planned, alternating between the “backpacker” style and more secure, luxurious travel in potentially dangerous places.
In India, one of Kate’s uncles, a devoted Buddhist, had spoken to him at length.
Colin had told him that it seemed like he was struggling to find himself, to understand his place in the world, especially when comparing himself to his younger siblings, who seemed to already have all the answers.
Those conversations had led him to request the necessary permissions to embark on a spiritual retreat at one of the world’s most important centers in Dharamsala. The location, known for being the seat of the Tibetan exile community and the Dalai Lama, had deeply attracted him. He had managed to provide his family with an address where they could write to him, and he had withdrawn to live according to the discipline and simplicity of monastic life for six months. However, that experience had quickly extended to 12 months, as he felt he needed more time to reflect and grow.
In the end, though, he realized that, as enlightening as the experience had been, the answers he was searching for were not there.
It was time to return to reality.
Having been away for so long, he knew his belongings had been put into storage, and it was now too late to call anyone. So, he decided to crash at his father’s house. Since Hyacinth had started university, his father had been living alone in the large house. Colin would take the opportunity to greet him, then rest in his old room.
The plan was perfect.
***
He stepped out of the taxi, paid the fare, and paused for a moment to look at his house.
It was just the same. It felt like time had stopped in that corner of London. Looking at it from the outside, he could almost imagine being there a century earlier, standing before the same building that had belonged to his ancestors.
He felt lucky.
With purposeful steps, he approached the door and opened it, entering the large hallway. He breathed deeply and, smiling to himself, whispered, “I’m really home.”
Having closed the door behind him and set his suitcase down on the floor, his moment of serenity was interrupted by a noise. At first, he couldn’t distinguish it, but then he thought he heard what sounded like... moaning.
Worried, he followed the sound. It led him to his father’s room. The door was open, and when he stopped at the entrance, he froze.
In front of him, he could see his father naked, his ass clearly exposed and the rhythmic movements made it clear that he was thrusting into the woman he was holding by her hips and who was moaning softly with each thrust.
He couldn't see the woman clearly, except for her bright, vivid red hair, a color that was familiar to him. Thanks to the mirror in front of them, he could see the reflection of her abundant assets.
For a moment he felt aroused by the sight.
Then disgust crossed him, not only was he watching his father having sex, but after thinking about it for a moment he realized that there was only one woman who could match that description: Portia Featherington.
Quickly walking away from the scene, he retraced his steps, still feeling incredulous, and more than determined to leave that house at least for that evening.
After closing the door behind him he looked at the dark facade of Featherington House and shivered again at the thought of what he had just seen.
***
Uncertain about his next move, Colin started walking and found himself on Bond Street.
Deciding to visit his brother Benedict instead, he made his way towards his house.
Benedict, now a relatively well-known painter and art teacher at the Royal Academy, had moved into this luxury apartment when he began his studies and had never left. He shared it with his beloved wife, a young interior designer he’d met a few years ago at a Halloween party. They’d later bumped into each other again when Benedict went into the store where she worked, looking for the perfect gift for their sister Francesca’s new home. Benedict ended up buying a chandelier that Colin thought was impractical, far too expensive, and downright ugly. But Francesca’s then-girlfriend, now wife, Michaela, had loved it so much that she hired a moving company just to transport it to their new home in Glasgow.
After a few minutes of waiting by his brother’s door, Benedict opened it, looking annoyed at first. But as soon as he recognized Colin, he threw his arms around him in a warm embrace and asked with a laugh, “What happened to your hair?” Colin explained that he had shaved it off during his time at the monastery, and it hadn’t grown back yet.
Once inside, Colin set his suitcase by the door and asked about his nephews and niece. He was told they were already in bed. After the usual small talk, questions about his arrival and the like, Benedict and his wife asked if he had somewhere to sleep, which immediately brought Colin back to the scene he had left behind at his childhood home.
Benedict, noticing the change in his brother's expression, decided to break the silence.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"Did you know?" Colin asked, his voice low but filled with emotion. "About Dad and Portia?"
Benedict and Sophie exchanged a surprised glance, their eyes widening in a way that left no doubt in Colin's mind: they knew.
Colin couldn't hold his breath and continued, his tone sharper. "I saw it with my own eyes. He was with Portia."
"Portia?" Benedict asked, according to Colin, pretending to be puzzled.
"He was with a redhead. Who else could it be?
Sophie still seemed incredulous, but Benedict smiled mischievously. "Ah, yes... right after you left for your last tour, they started seeing each other."
"No one thought to tell me?" Colin asked bitterly.
Had they forgotten about him after all this time?
Didn't he deserve to know such important information about their father?
"I can't believe it."
Portia Featherington, of all people.
"I can't believe it." he repeated.
He stood up abruptly, causing the chair to squeak. "I'll find somewhere else to sleep," he said, and without waiting for a response, he headed for the door.
Grabbing his suitcase, which he had forgotten until now, Colin prepared to leave without looking back.
***
Leaving the house, he made his way to the subway, checked that he had the right keys, and bought a ticket. He was sure that she knew too, but they had drifted apart, and he wouldn’t have had any reason to think she didn’t know about their parents’ relationship. So, without giving it too much thought, he went to his best friend’s house.
Were they still best friends?
He knocked, and when no one answered, he inserted the key, briefly wondering if she had moved, but the key worked, and he entered the house, so different yet so familiar. He headed straight to the guest room, settled in, and realized it was probably better than being at home. He couldn’t wait to see Penelope. She was probably the one he had missed the most. His Penelope.
He went to bed thinking he would see her in the morning.
***
The next morning, Colin woke up feeling more rested than he had in a long time, his thoughts still lingering on Penelope. He sat up, surrounded by silence, and looked around. There was no sign of anyone, and the house was still. Despite the risk of disturbing her, he decided to knock on the door to her bedroom. When there was no answer, he tried the handle and, finding it unlocked, stepped inside. The room was empty.
Penelope hadn’t returned. He wondered briefly where she could be, but the thought didn’t linger. He wasn’t expecting her, after all, and she hadn’t left a note.
Not wanting to raid Penelope’s pantry, he figured he might as well go see Anthony. He assumed his brother knew about their father’s relationship with Portia, and at least he could ask him why no one had bothered to tell him about it.
He called for a taxi, and while waiting, opened his suitcase, grabbed a fresh set of clothes, and got ready. Once dressed, he climbed into the cab and gave the driver Anthony’s address.
When he arrived, he barely had time to get out of the taxi before he saw Anthony and Kate finishing up strapping Edmund into the car.
“Colin! What a surprise, brother! We weren’t expecting you!” Anthony exclaimed, grinning as he walked over and pulled him into a tight hug. “And your hair?”
Colin grimaced, knowing everyone would ask about his hair.
For a moment, he almost let himself be swept away by the familiar predictability of it all, but then he snapped back to reality and asked, “What’s going on? Where are you guys going?”
Anthony, still smiling, explained calmly, “It’s brunch at Father’s. It’s become a weekly thing. Have you seen him? Want to join us?”
Colin made a face at the mention of their father, a little thrown off by the question. He’d seen their father in a sense, though he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. But he wasn’t about to pass up the chance to learn more. “Sure, the more the merrier.” He waved at Kate and Edmund as he climbed into the car, then asked casually, “Who else will be at the brunch?”
Kate turned slightly in her seat. “Practically everyone—”
“Will Portia be there?” Colin interrupted, feigning casual interest.
There was a strange noise from Anthony, a barely audible grunt that Colin instinctively interpreted as discontent. Before Anthony or Kate could answer, Edmund piped up, his voice bright and enthusiastic.
“Of course, Grandma Portia’s always there! She’s the best!”
Colin’s eyebrows shot up. “Grandma Portia?” he asked, looking down at his nephew in disbelief.
Edmund nodded vigorously. “She told me I could call her that. I like having lots of grandmas. And don’t tell Grandma Mary, but Grandma Portia makes the best cakes!”
Colin blinked, processing this revelation. He glanced up, trying to catch Anthony’s expression in the rearview mirror, but neither Anthony nor Kate met his gaze.
Oblivious to his uncle’s inner turmoil, Edmund chattered on. “And my new cousins, Mena and Patty, are so fun! They’re my age, and we play all the time.”
With every word, Colin’s dread grew. He was now certain that when they arrived, he would be greeted not just by his father but by the entire Featherington family.
The car slowed as they neared the house, and just as Colin worked up the courage to ask about Penelope, Kate turned to him. “Penelope will be there too.”
Colin’s heart leapt slightly at the mention of her name, but before he could respond, the car came to a stop.
As they climbed out, Colin couldn’t help but hope Penelope would show up soon. She had to be as unsettled by all of this as he was. For years, she had sought refuge with the Bridgertons, distancing herself from her mother and sisters. It had to feel strange for her now, seeing her mother so deeply embedded in the Bridgerton family dynamic.
Bracing himself, Colin followed his brother and sister-in-law toward the door.
***
Entering the house, Colin immediately noticed the flurry of activity. Several people were bustling around, setting the table for what looked like an extravagant breakfast. The moment they noticed him, however, everything seemed to pause as heads turned toward him. Smiles broke out across the room, and one by one, they came to greet him. Even Portia Featherington, usually so formal with him, approached with a bright smile and wrapped him in a hug.
"I'm so happy to see you, young man," she said warmly, patting his shoulder as though he were still a boy.
Colin stiffened slightly, unprepared for such effusiveness from Portia.
It felt surreal, this new version of her, cheerful, almost glowing with energy. Before he could dwell on it too long, his gaze landed on Penelope, who was standing a few feet away, speaking animatedly to a man he didn’t recognize.
The man appeared to be older than Anthony, perhaps by a few years, with salt-and-pepper hair and an air of professional sophistication. Was that… her boyfriend? Colin’s stomach tightened at the thought. The man seemed far too old for her.
Curiosity propelled him forward, and as he approached, Penelope’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Colin! You are here!” she said, her voice warm as always.
The man turned, and Penelope quickly made introductions. “This is Peter Harris, the administrative director of the Royal National Theatre. Peter, this is Colin Bridgerton.”
Peter extended a hand with a polite smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Colin. Penelope’s told me a lot about you.”
Colin shook his hand but couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. “Likewise.” His tone was neutral, but his mind raced. Of course. The theatre. That’s how they met. He forced himself not to ask questions, it wasn’t the time or place. Instead, he excused himself politely and moved back toward the center of the room, where others were still greeting him.
The preparations continued, and soon enough, the enormous breakfast table was set. As everyone began taking their seats, Colin maneuvered toward Penelope, intent on sitting beside her. However, his plans were thwarted. She was already seated at his father’s right, with Mr. Harris on her other side. Across from them, Portia had positioned herself between his father and little Edmund.
Colin’s irritation grew. It was clear that little Edmund had insisted on sitting next to his “Grandma Portia,” and the arrangement had been made to accommodate him. For Colin, it only added to the sense of alienation he was feeling in what had always been his family’s home.
Breakfast itself was pleasant enough. The room buzzed with conversation, a mixture of Bridgerton and Featherington voices blending together in chaotic harmony. Colin ate quietly, glancing now and then toward Penelope, who seemed perfectly at ease chatting with Mr. Harris.
For a moment, Colin wondered if he had imagined the scene he’d witnessed the night before. Maybe that was another reason the kids called Portia Grandma.
Looking at his father and Portia now, they seemed so ordinary, so perfectly normal. It was almost as if nothing unusual had happened at all.
Just as he began to settle into the rhythm of the morning, thinking it was all a strange hallucination and a prank by Benedict, something unexpected occurred.
His father rose suddenly, tapping a knife against his glass to draw the room’s attention. The sound rang out, silencing the lively chatter as everyone turned toward him.
Edmund, ever curious, asked, “Grandpa, are you making a toast?”
“Something like that, Edmund,” his father replied, smiling indulgently at the boy before turning to address the rest of the table.
“I wanted to share some news,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “I realize this may come as a surprise to some of you, but Penelope and I are expecting a child.”
A collective gasp swept the room, and Colin’s fork clattered against his plate.
His father pressed on, raising a hand as if to calm the reaction. “We’re also getting married in two weeks. Let me assure you, this isn’t just because of the baby. I love Penelope deeply, and I want the world to know how much she means to me.”
The room erupted into cheers and congratulations. Family members rose to embrace Penelope and his father, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of joy.
Colin remained seated, frozen in disbelief. His gaze darted from his father to Penelope. Finally, he found his voice. “Impossible,” he muttered.
The room seemed to tilt. His pulse roared in his ears as his vision darkened at the edges. And then, to his horror, the world went completely black as he slumped forward, unconscious.
***
All is lost, hope remains, and this war's not over
There's a light, there's the sun
Taking all the shattered ones
[Shattered by Trading Yesterday]