Jut another dip into Bridgerton fanfiction with my number one ship. 😍

Warning: This story has been known to drive people to snack.

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September, 1804

Colin Bridgerton stared in longing at the pear tart in his hand, his perfect pastry. In all his thirteen years, he didn't think he'd ever seen its like. "My perfect pear pastry," he recited, wondering if he could find another "p" word to describe it. "Precious," he tried. "Prized... Patient?"

He'd been waiting patiently for it, after all - all day long, and even longer if one counted the fact that he'd been after Cook to bake pear tarts all summer. Mrs. O'Hara had cruelly denied him, even when he told her the cooking at Eton was slapdash and nothing at all compared to hers, she'd said pears weren't in season and that his flattery wouldn't change that.

But she and the seasons had finally taken pity on him, and just in time, with only one week to spare until he was sent back to school. He'd not been excited about wasting one of his last free Saturdays on a luncheon in Hyde Park with his family, rather than having some real fun with his friends at The Bartholemew Fair, sneaking into the bare-knuckled boxing competition, but Mother was so sentimental about having the whole family together before term started.

Also, Footman John leaned down at breakfast and told him the Cook had baked pear tarts especially for him, so he decided to be a dutiful son. And his dutifulness had paid off. Dessert had been in his grasp moments ago, but Colin didn't even get a bite before everyone was in uproar.

"Penelope?"

"Penelope!"

"Miss Penelope!"

"Miss Featherington!"

It seemed he was not done being dutiful.

Some ten minutes ago, their party had been interrupted by the family across the square and their missing daughter that had, funnily enough, disappeared during a game of "hide and go seek." Either she was lost or just terribly good at hiding.

Colin groaned and tucked the tart back into its napkin before slipping it into his jacket. He couldn't enjoy it properly, anyhow, not until Eloise's new friend, this Penelope person, had been found. And he would rather eat something this special at his leisure than shove it down his gullet hastily, like a biscuit on the run.

He stared around him, rather annoyed that El's little friend wasn't found already. He hadn't seen much of her, except for the hair.

What did she have such violently red hair for, anyhow, if not to make her easier to spot?

He chided himself for being annoyed, thinking there might be reason to worry. Her mother had said she hadn't been seen since before lunch. He didn't like to think of anyone missing a meal.

He glanced back at the tent, seeing that Lady Featherington, the mother, was still torn between grousing about what a naughty thing the girl was and near-weeping that she'd surely been drowned in The Serpentine.

His own mother was presently trying to calm the woman down, assuring her that she'd sent her sons in search... all but Gregory who was five and, though he was miffed at being left out of the search party, Anthony had told him that someone must protect the women. When they'd left him, he'd been marching back and forth with a stick over his shoulder like a rifle.

Eloise was more than miffed at being left behind, caterwauling that Penelope was her greatest friend in the whole, entire world - even though they'd only started playing together last week. Still, she made such a fuss that Benedict had finally allowed her to join him in his search. Anthony had gone off with Penelope's older sisters trailing behind him. They didn't look like much help. Last he'd seen, they'd been arguing over who had more need of the parasol they were hitting each other with.

Colin sighed and marched south along the bank, glad his sisters weren't so useless. When he'd left, even Daphne and Frannie, who weren't searching, were making certain there would be bandages in case of calamity and Hyacinth was offering Lady Featherington her favorite blanket for comfort, the silly little thing.

Colin had volunteered to search along the river since he was the best at swimming. Even Anthony admitted it. Not that he thought he'd be diving into the Serpentine, but he wasn't afraid to do it if he had to. He stopped as the bank dropped off steeply, a large, thorny bush sticking out halfway off the bank, with only a few rocks sticking out of the mucky water below.

He picked his way carefully over them, keeping his balance and avoiding the stickery bush. Once he'd come around the edge of it, he was annoyed to find that there were less rocks going back to the bank, though he supposed, if he could make the jump to a large one a few feet away, he could hop to the bank again prettily easily.

He took a deep breath, bending his knees.

"Don't!"

He stilled at hearing the small, but forceful voice, his arms wheeling at his side for balance. "Don't what?"

"Don't jump on that one. It's tricky. And slippy," the voice said, followed by a sniff.

He slipped his coat over his hand, gripping a thorny branch and pushing it to the side to find a small, dirty girl sitting on a fallen log, with only one shoe - a girl with hair too extremely red to ignore. "Aren't you her?"

The girl tilted her head. "Her?"

"Penelope, aren't you? El's new friend."

"I don't think so. Not anymore." She sighed. "Mama probably won't let me keep her now."

He let out a laugh. "And what does that mean?" He avoided the tricky rock and carefully used the thorny branch to swing his way to the log. She wasn't impressed, still sniffling.

"I was only allowed to go play with her if I played like a lady and made a good impression," she said.

"Well, that's nonsense. El never plays like a lady."

"Even if she didn't, I was supposed to. Mother says I might as well stay home if I can't behave like Prudence and Philippa do."

"Are those your sisters?" He stepped along the log until he could hunker next to her. "I don't think they're very well-behaved at all. Last I saw, they were whacking each other with a parasol."

"But they never ruin their dresses, not like me." She was still sniffling, staring down at the moss and mud-streaked, but still extremely yellow, dress she was wearing.

"I'm sure you didn't mean to do it."

"Somehow that never matters to Mama," she said, sounding somehow older than... Was she nine like El? She was so much smaller, it was hard to tell.

"It won't be so bad. Come on. Everyone's looking for you."

She twisted her soiled ruffles in her fingers. "Maybe you could go back and tell them you couldn't find me."

"But then I won't get my big hero's welcome," he said with a laugh. "I did find you first, after all."

"Well, I am sorry, but I'd rather not go back," she said primly.

"What happened, anyhow?"

"I was playing 'hide and go seek' with Eloise and I thought... Well, she's so much braver than me. She even hid all the way up a tree when it was her turn," she said, her voice starting to shake, "so I thought if she could find me on that big rock, then she'd think I was brave and be impressed," her voice devolved into little sobs now, "but then I jumped and it was all slippery and I slid and it scraped my leg and I lost my shoe and I jumped over here, but it was too late and now I've impressed nobody and made the worst impression ever and I shall never have a friend of my own and-"

"You impressed me!" he cut in, hoping to stop her from going into a full fit of tears. He hated it when girls cried. It always ruined whatever fun they might be having and they could never be cheered out of it no matter what.

She glanced up, startled. "How?"

"Like you said, that's a tricky rock. And you didn't even fall in the water. You only lost a shoe. If I'm impressed, El's gonna be." He gestured to her knee, all scraped and bloody under the torn stocking. "And I bet that hurts."

She dried up a little. "It did at first. Not as much now. 'Cept if I do this." She pressed on the cut and hissed.

He hissed in sympathy. "Well, then don't do that, silly!"

She let out a slight, watery laugh.

"I think you're very brave," he said. "That's why you stayed lost."

She glanced his way, tilting her head.

"Most people get a cut like that, they'd scream. But you didn't. Otherwise we'd have found you."

She seemed to consider it, smiling. "I guess I didn't. Though I did cry a little."

"Anyone would." He leaned down to examine her knee. It was a pretty good scrape. "I'm no doctor," he said, putting on his most serious voice, as deep as Anthony's, "but I think we can still save your leg if we go back now."

She dropped her smile. "Then it will have to be lost. I'd rather have a peg leg than go back to Mama."

He laughed. "And live here? I wouldn't be neighbors with such a tricky rock if I were you."

She sighed. "Perhaps I can push this log into the water and ride it out to sea."

Colin nudged her, playing along. She was a funny little thing. "Then I'd have to go with you. Mother says I'm to start acting like a gentleman now that I've started school. And a gentleman wouldn't leave a lady to sail the high seas on a log all alone. There could be pirates out there."

"Then I shall fit in very well once I've got my peg leg," she said on a giggle.

"Peg-Leg Pen, the Pirate," he laughed.

"Pen?"

"Oh... Penelope, I mean."

"You can call me 'Pen' if you like," she said with a grin.

"It does have a certain flair. As for me, I shall be..."

"Captain Colin, the... Clever," she tried.

"That's a good one. But how do you know I'm clever?"

"You just seem like you must be."

He grinned, puffing up a bit. "So you know my name?"

She shrugged. "Not every family is named after the alphabet. You're quite famous for it. My mother isn't nearly so clever. She only got to one letter."

"Now I see it. Penelope, Prudence..."

"Phillipa, Portia... That one's my mother," she added. "Mama doesn't like a lot of things, but when she finds something that she does like, she uses it all up. Like the letter 'p' or the color yellow." She smiled ruefully at her dress.

"I rather like the letter 'p'. It makes a very satisfying popping sound, after all. Before I'd found you, I'd been trying to find another 'p' word for my perfect pear pastry. I'd got to prized and precious."

"Don't those sort of mean the same thing?"

"I guess they do." She was a smart one. "Perhaps you can think of a better one while we... pick our path to the park," he suggested playfully.

She didn't play along. "The only 'p' word I can think of is punished," she said miserably, then grew silent.

He decided not to press her to go back again... for now.

There was a loud gurgle in the silence and Penelope held her stomach, embarrassed. "I'm sorry!"

"Good God! Don't be sorry! You didn't even eat lunch, did you?" He reached into his jacket without thinking, pulling out the slightly crushed napkin. He did hesitate a bit before holding it out to her, but not for long. "I'll not let you starve before you even begin your life of piracy. Do you like pear tarts?"

"I think my life of piracy is at an end already anyhow." Penelope's hand hovered over it before she drew back. "Isn't this your precious, prized pastry?"

"It's nothing," he lied. "Cook makes a batch every day. I'm nearly sick of them." He pressed the tart into her hand. Really, it was a matter of priority. He needed to get her back and, if a bribe helped... "Go on. You'll need your strength," he said with a grimace. "I've met your mother. She looks... pitiless."

"Mama's not as... pernicious as she looks," she finally said, unwrapping the tart and taking a bite. "Her eyebrows are just drawn that way. This is quite good. I wish our cook made these every day."

So do I, he thought but didn't say. Perhaps he could wheedle another batch out of Cook for his heroic acts today... if he could get the girl to come back. Still, he'd let her eat first, take her last moments of freedom.

He knew very well what it was like to know that, no matter what you did or said, you'd be heading for doom the minute your mother saw you. No one wanted to be that close to punishment, whether it took the form of a scolding, bed without dessert, a week mucking out the stables, or - worst of all - a five page letter of apology and abject praise to his sister for tossing her favorite book into the pond to see how long it floated. The letter had been Eloise's idea. She was diabolical. He didn't know why a nice girl like this wanted to dangle after his sister.

"Do you feel better?"

She swallowed the last of it, nodding. "For now. I suppose I shall have to face Mother before dark." She met his eyes and he couldn't help noticing hers were as blue as his Mother's favorite curtains. "Thanks for being so... pleasant and polite."

So they were back to 'p' words. "Those are a good ones," he said, standing and pulling her up. "Besides, I'm not. I'm in it purely for the purpose of praise."

She laughed. "Your hero's welcome."

"I don't rescue shoe-less damsels for nothing, you know! Can you walk?"

"I've still got one shoe." Her face lit up a little. "Do you think I can hop it?"

He considered it carefully. "I think it would be a shame not to try."

They made a sort of game of it as they picked their way up the bank, him giving her points as she hopped her way around the muddier bits, taking them away when she dropped her stockinged foot. Their laughter ended as soon as they cleared the trees, however.

"Penelope Featherington!"

They'd been spotted... and by her mother.

"I just thought of another 'p' word," she said in horror.

"Parent? Portia? Punishment?" He chuckled as the angry woman bore down on them.

"Prisoner." She smiled and saluted. "It was nice knowing you."

He laughed loudly, now quite certain Pen was his favorite "p" word.

TBC

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Just a sweet little start. I haven't even done a cover. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. LOL

Hope you guys enjoy this bit of fluff and food and Polin! 

More to come by the weekend.

This was originally done for a gift exchange. The requester wanted something involving Colin Bridgerton's love for Penelope Featherington... and for food. She wanted it fluffy, sensual, and sexy. I hope I hit the marks while keeping it clean... apart from relentless horniness, innuendo, and euphemisms, of course.