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bosbas · 18 hours

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Chapter 9: I cannot be your friend, so I pay the price of what I lost

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 4.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, small part of the dialogue in French, colin being incredibly down bad it's insane, Penelope DOES NOT have feelings for colin in this, the bridgertons being tapped in as fuck

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

A/N: this one wrote itself basically. so enjoy! happy weekend and a big smooch

June 6 – It seems that one Mr. Nigel Berbrooke has returned after an extended unexplained absence. He was spotted at the gentleman's club last night, though only for a very short time. This author heard that Mr. Berbrooke was asked to leave only an hour into his appearance due to a particularly aggressive threat he made toward Simon Basset. It’s safe to say that he has been uninvited from the Duke’s ball this evening, and perhaps from the rest of the social season’s events as well, depending on how lenient the Duke and Duchess of Hastings decide to be.

However, information regarding his whereabouts for the past month is scarce, and this author lacks any reputable sources about what the man has been up to while away from London. But rest assured, dear readers, that any information I receive will be relayed through this very column.

Colin looked nervously at his reflection for what seemed like the hundredth time, adjusting his cravat ever so slightly. He sighed in frustration, accepting the fact that his appearance wouldn’t look quite right no matter what he did.

Tonight was Daphne’s ball, and he knew for a fact that you would be in attendance. As much as he was trying to convince himself that this ball was no different, he knew it wasn’t going to be the same. Not after his talk with Anthony. There were some concerningly similar aspects between Kate and Anthony and his friendship– could he even call it a friendship? –with you, and Colin was not too hard-headed to be able to admit that.

But he didn’t want to scare you off. As much as he liked you, he knew you were skittish after everything that happened with Lord Barlow. Besides, Colin didn’t even know if you liked him, too, or if you considered all of this as just an attempt to make you look desirable to other candidates.

Frankly, Colin wasn’t even sure he could convince you to ever marry him. Maybe just being friends, or whatever it was the two of you had now, would suffice. Truthfully, he would take anything.

Tonight, he just wanted a dance. And perhaps a chat, too.

Based on the past few times Colin had spoken with you, he had concluded that you might be his favorite person in the ton to talk to. The mere thought of speaking with you tonight stirred excitement in his stomach. Every time you engaged in conversation, he found himself utterly captivated, forgetting everything else around him. What's more, you seemed genuinely interested in his what he had to say, a rarity among the ton. For the first time, he felt truly understood, and he hoped desperately that you reciprocated his sentiment.

“You look fine,” assured Eloise. “Now can we please go? We’ll never hear the end of it from Daphne if we’re late!”

Colin grumbled in annoyance but begrudgingly made his way to the carriage. In truth, he'd do just about anything to be near you. Even if he didn’t immediately dance with you– knowing full well you would be flocked by hordes of gentlemen wanting your hand in marriage– he still liked to simply… observe you. How your eyes crinkled shut when you laughed, the way you nervously bit your lip when someone you didn’t particularly like asked you to dance, the way you fiddled with your gloves when you were itching to get out of a conversation.

Bloody hell, Colin thought, maybe he did have feelings for you. Well, not love, that would be absurd. But certainly something more than the petty rivalry that had consumed your interactions for weeks on end. It was a sobering realization, especially after relentlessly antagonizing you for the better part of seven weeks.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about you that Colin barely noticed once the carriage had arrived at Daphne and Simon’s residence.

“Colin, darling, is anything the matter?” his mother inquired, tapping him on the arm and gently leading him toward his sister’s home.

“No, no, sorry. Everything’s alright, just got a bit distracted there,” he smiled back.

Christ, he had to get a grip. You’d be put off immediately if you saw how he was acting now. He smoothed his coat down as he entered the ballroom, eyes immediately searching for you in the crowd.

He quickly spotted you speaking to a man he’d never seen before with Isabelle and Carlos by your side. Damn, thought. He’d have to wait to ask you to dance.

But it was no bother. In the meantime, he attended to his duties as the most beloved Bridgerton. He sought out his sister and Simon to thank them for hosting the ball, of course, and danced with Penelope Featherington.

Yet his focus stayed on you. He found himself glancing over to where you were every few minutes, just needing reassurance that you were still there. And also because he quite liked looking at you in general.

Colin shook his head, bringing his attention back to Penelope. He had to remind himself to pull himself together. Even though Colin had spoken to Anthony, you had no reason to believe anything was different between you two. And it wasn’t. Everything was the same. It was only Colin who had changed. Who wanted something different, something more.

“What’s on your mind?” asked Penelope after she noticed Colin’s drifting attention.

“Ah, nothing,” he responded dismissively. “Does Lady Montclair look particularly… subdued tonight, do you think?”

“Y/N?” Penelope clarified, looking over at where you were standing next to Louis.

“Oh heavens, don’t look now!” Colin whispered, panicked. “She’ll see us both looking and know we were talking about her.”

Penelope laughed in disbelief. “Could it be? That my dear friend Colin Bridgerton is finally falling for someone? Have you truly found roots in England? Is that why you’ve stayed for so long this season?”

Colin could only smile bashfully. She had never seen him quite like this. And though it was unusual, it was fairly endearing to see him so flustered over a girl.

“Well, go talk to her, then. What are you doing dancing with me?”

“Penelope, I dance with you at every ball. I can go speak with her after. And don’t tell anyone! I’m not even sure if she likes me.”

“Very well then,” relented Penelope, but Colin did not miss the knowing smile she sent him.

After the dance concluded, Colin chatted with his brothers for a few minutes before making his way over to you and Louis, wanting to avoid seeming overly eager. But once he started walking toward you, your head shot up, as if you could tell that he was getting nearer.

Your eyes met for a split second, but you immediately turned your head away, choosing instead to look at your gloved hands, which were fidgeting nervously. Colin frowned in confusion at your reaction, but continued walking, thinking that perhaps you had seen someone else behind him.

As he reached your side, he saw you chewing anxiously on your lip and his frown deepened. But he pushed through. This was what he wanted, after all. You were what he wanted.

“Lady Montclair,” he bowed. “Would you care for a dance tonight?” he asked, a hopeful smile on his lips as he reached for the dance card on your wrist.

But you pulled your hand away abruptly, refusing to meet his eyes. “No, thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” was your curt response.

Colin’s confusion morphed into frustration. What was the matter with you?

“That’s alright, I understand if you want to save space on your dance card for more…serious suitors,” he cringed as he heard himself speak. But at the end of the day, he was well aware that you were looking for a titled gentleman to be your husband. “We could take a turn about the ballroom and chat for a bit,” he offered, looking at you hopefully once again.

You finally met his eyes, and he could tell you were searching for something as you looked at him, a pained look on your face.

“No, thank you,” you repeated firmly, an edge to your voice.

Colin rolled his eyes. This was so typical of you. You let him in for about three seconds and then went back to keeping him at arm’s length for whatever unknown reason.

“Are we really back to doing this?” asked Colin, exasperated. “I thought we were friends, at the very least.”

Your spine was suddenly rigid, and a fury ignited in your eyes. “We were never friends, Mr. Bridgerton,” you ground out. “You were simply doing Eloise a favor. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s someone else I must dance with.”

Your voice was cold and uncaring, and Colin was slapped with a reminder of how things used to be as you sidestepped him to go toward the other side of the ballroom.

Three steps into your journey, it was clear that there wasn’t actually anyone waiting to dance with you, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why you were so desperate to get away. Even at the peak of your hatred toward him, you were always open to verbally sparring.

Colin turned around to Louis, shooting him a questioning look. But your brother could only shrug. Who knew what went on in the depths of your brain? Louis had noticed you had been slightly on edge ever since you returned from Hyde Park with your sisters yesterday afternoon, but he wasn’t expecting you to be this hostile, especially after getting along so well with Colin.

Feeling his desire to speak with you outweigh his pride, Colin turned back and grabbed your hand, turning you to face him. “If what you want is to go back to arguing, I’m happy to do that,” he said, heart sinking to his stomach at the thought of going back to how things were.

He sounded positively pathetic. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was keeping this fragile dynamic alive, keeping you near him. If Anthony and Kate could do it, couldn’t the two of you?

You seemed on the brink of tears, but your voice held an unspeakable fury. “What I want is for you to leave. Me. Alone,” you emphasized each word with a pointed jab at his chest. “Please,” you whispered, your voice faltering. “I do not wish to dance with you, or to chat with you, or even to be near you at all. Good night.”

With that, you pivoted away, heading towards the refreshment table, tears welling in your eyes. And Colin was left standing there, hand lingering over the spot on his chest you had prodded.

He felt a familiar anger rising through him. It didn’t matter that you were the only person in the world who understood him. It didn’t matter that you were completely beautiful and incredibly smart, either. And it certainly didn’t matter that he’d fallen for you. Because you still hated him. And he was a fool to ever think things could be different.

Colin was rooted to the spot, unable to move as he watched you smile and greet some gentleman or other. He flinched as he saw the man kiss the back of your hand, and watched, seething, as he led you to the dance floor.

Deciding he needed something stronger than lemonade, Colin turned around and grabbed a glass of champagne, downing it in one go. He couldn’t believe you didn’t think he was your friend. What the hell else could you call it?

He spotted Eloise and Penelope chatting close by and stomped over to them. He was sure he looked like Gregory after a fight with Hyacinth, pouting with his arms crossed, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“I thought you were going to talk to Y/N,” said Penelope, confused to see him back so soon.

Colin shot her a murderous look. “She wants nothing to do with me, apparently. She said the only reason I talked to her was out of a favor to Eloise.”

Eloise coughed awkwardly. “Well, didn’t you?”

“No!” shot back Colin defensively. “Not entirely, at least. I don’t know. I need to leave.”

You were still dancing with the unnamed man, and Colin was very much still seething as he watched the pair of you twirl around and smile at one another.

Usually, it was frustrating to watch you dance with other people because you were never like that with him. But this well and truly hurt. It hurt to see you like this when he knew, now for a fact, that he could never have that with you again.

“I need to leave,” he repeated. He couldn’t bear to watch you do this all night.

Snatching another glass of champagne and downing that one, too, he bid his goodbyes to Penelope and Eloise and made his way across the ballroom to the exit.

“Are you leaving already, darling? You’ve barely been here an hour,” Colin heard next to him as a hand reached out for his elbow.

Turning around, he faced his mother, who looked like she was in the middle of a conversation with Anthony and Benedict.

Colin nodded. “I’m sorry, mother. I just can’t. I can’t stay,” he responded, voice breaking as he glanced back toward you again.

Seeing you lean to whisper something in your suitor’s ear, he slumped forward, practically feeling physical pain at the sight.

“I must go,” Colin said firmly, giving his mother a quick squeeze and rushing to the door.

Violet nodded, bewildered, and followed where Colin’s gaze had been. Finding you dancing with Lord Norcliffe, Violet sent a knowing look to Benedict and Anthony.

“I suppose Hyacinth was right,” she said sympathetically.

“And don’t you dare tell her! It’ll get to her head,” responded Benedict.

---

“The Bridgertons will be in attendance tonight,” your mother informed you carefully as you sat in the carriage on the way to yet another ball.

“And by the Bridgertons you mean…”

“She means Colin, yes,” answered Jacques, earning a stifled laugh from his wife, Chiara.

Ever since they’d been back and learned of your intense hatred for Colin, Jacques had not been able to stop making a mockery of it. Usually, you were quite agreeable, and it was rare that you found yourself at odds with someone who wasn’t your sibling, so this seemingly unprompted hatred was quite amusing to your brother.

You groaned and glared at him. “No one asked you to come tonight, you know. In fact, no one asked you to come to England at all! You could have stayed in Tuscany, and I would have been much happier.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to tease you about this,” answered Jacques, completely unbothered by your biting tone.

“Whatever,” you grumbled in response, only slightly comforted by Chiara’s apologetic smile as she softly scolded her husband.

It had been four days since your run-in with Nigel, and three since you saw Colin at Daphne’s ball, and the thought of seeing him again made you feel sick. It was already bad enough that he was disgusting and had no respect for you, but it was made infinitely worse by the fact that you had let yourself grow to care for him. In a friendly way, of course. You could never have married him, anyway. But it was still embarrassing that you fell into his charming trap and thought that you could become something more than a conquest for him.

“Be nice,” your mother whispered in warning as you approached the Bridgertons.

You shrugged her off, not needing a reminder. You had been brought up to be the perfect lady. You weren’t about to forget yourself now. You refused to give Colin that power.

You greeted the family warmly until you got to Colin. “Mr. Bridgerton,” you said, giving him a curt nod.

Not waiting for a response, you moved to stand away from him as you looked out at the crowd. Perhaps you would find a gentleman who was actually enjoyable to talk to, though your chances seemed slim.

Colin shifted uncomfortably on his feet, watching you intently. It seemed that your behavior at Daphne’s ball hadn’t been a fluke, after all. He ground his teeth in annoyance, growing increasingly irritated by the fact that you were just standing there.

Why weren’t you doing anything? It was infuriating. Perhaps it would have been less infuriating if it were anyone else, but it seemed like anything you did was particularly vexing to him.

Making his way over to you, he stopped beside you. Wanting to slip back into the comfort of your tumultuous dynamic, Colin took a shot at your attire. “I see the modiste-”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice shaking, barely above a whisper, and your gaze locked ahead of you.

Colin was taken aback. You had never, in all the time that he had known you, backed down from an argument. It seemed that you just… didn’t want him around at all. You hated him enough that you didn’t want to be near him. And in any way that mattered, it was worse than when you were antagonizing him.

“I’m sorry,” Colin said desperately. “I didn’t mean- Look, can we please talk? Just quickly, I just want-”

But you didn’t even let him finish. “There’s nothing to say.”

Colin scoffed, a futile attempt to hide how hurt he was really feeling. “What do you mean there isn’t anything to say? I have things to say, at least. Just talk to me.”

You finally turned to face him, feeling your stomach drop as you looked at his desperate eyes searching yours for an answer.

“Let me rephrase. I do not wish to speak with you, in any capacity, now or any time in the future. I do not care to hear what you have to say, Mr. Bridgerton, and I would appreciate it if you could respect that, though I know that’s not usually in your nature.”

Colin could only sputter, staring at you in disbelief as you walked away. He felt his stomach turn uncomfortably as you reached a man he didn’t know, but whom you’d danced with at Daphne’s Ball.

He had to have done something wrong. Colin hadn’t the slightest clue what, but you obviously had something against him, and it clearly wasn’t just you being silly.

He swore under his breath. You were impossible. Not even Eloise knew why you hated him! How on earth was he supposed to know how to fix this when you refused to speak with him? It was almost easier when all you did was hurl insults at him and step on his feet as he poured lemonade down your dress.

Over on the dance floor, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Colin, mentally scolding yourself every time you did. This was not how you were supposed to be acting toward the man who had jumped at the first opportunity to compromise you.

The only reason you were dancing with Lord Norcliffe now was because he had not arrived in London until after your whole debacle with Lord Barlow. You supposed he could have heard what happened from someone else, but he was safer than the rest of the men of the ton, you thought grimly. It would’ve helped if he was interesting to talk to, or even nice to look at, but you supposed you couldn’t be very selective.

Curtsying and thanking Lord Norcliffe for the dance, you made a beeline toward Carlos and Philippe across the room.

“You look like you don’t want to be here,” commented your brother, amused.

You rolled your eyes at him. “Astute observation, Philippe.”

Carlos laughed and gave you a comforting pat on the head. “But what happened to your season in England? I thought you were excited to be here?”

“My mother and father were certainly excited,” you mused, taking Philippe’s lemonade and drinking from it.

Seeing their confused looks, you briefly explained your encounter with Nigel Berbrooke, and they suddenly became very concerned.

“Ce connard! Il est où? Je vai le tuer,” growled Philippe under his breath, not wanting the rest of the ton to hear his threat (That asshole! Where is he? I’m going to kill him).

“Philippe, it’s alright,” you assured him, glancing over at Carlos and seeing that he, too, had understood your brother’s words despite not speaking French. “I believe Simon Basset took care of him at White’s a few days ago.”

“That’s just as well, or I’d have done it myself,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You can just come to Spain next year, cariño,” Carlos said warmly.

You smiled up at your brother-in-law, silently thanking him for the offer even though you knew your parents would never allow it.

Colin watched enviously as you had a conversation with your older brother and your older sister’s husband. He wished he could talk to you again. Even if nothing got resolved between you, he liked to hear your voice. He loved how stubborn you were and how frustrated you got when you forgot the English word for something. He just missed you, he supposed.

Which is why, as Colin watched yet another man approach you and write their name on your dance card, he decided he couldn’t do this anymore. The watching, the waiting, the wanting. He couldn’t do any of it anymore.

“I need to leave,” he said firmly.

Daphne, who had been standing beside him, turned to face him, startled. “Leave where?”

“India, Egypt, Morocco, back to Greece. I don’t care. I just need to get out of here.”

“What? Why?” asked Daphne, still confused.

“You know why,” Colin responded flatly, giving her an unimpressed look.

Daphne instinctively turned to look at you, laughing as the man you were dancing with whispered something to you. She turned to look back at her brother with a disappointed look.

“I can’t imagine leaving would be the best option.”

“Why not?” Colin shot back. “What good can my presence possibly do?”

Daphne put a hand on her brother’s elbow, giving him a sympathetic look. However, her voice was firm. “You always leave when it gets hard, you know? You’re always the first out the door and onto a different continent. Why are you so scared of staying?”

Colin was stunned. He didn’t know his motives were that obvious. But he supposed it made sense for Daphne to know since she knew him better than most people.

“I’m not scared of staying,” Colin insisted defensively. “I just think it’ll be better for everyone if I go.”

Daphne furrowed her eyebrows and shook her head. “And do what? What could you possibly be doing that is so important that you would abandon the woman you love?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Colin argued, his voice growing strained as he felt his chest getting tighter. “None of it matters. She doesn’t love me back. I could be down the street or in Brazil and she wouldn’t even notice. She clearly hates me and wants nothing to do with me, so why should I stay?”

Daphne crossed her arms, looking more than a little disappointed. “Well, I won’t be the one to stop you if you decide to go. But really think about whether you want to be the person who leaves time and again. Things could change. It's only been a few days since she's been like this.”

She had a point, but Colin was too upset to admit it. Daphne was right. He couldn’t just leave now. If anything, it would hurt him more than being near you with you not speaking to him. It was the strangest feeling, knowing you loved someone but feeling powerless to do anything about it.

Colin knew he couldn’t continue like this. Perhaps he couldn’t leave, but he could certainly stay as far away as possible.

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