Love appears in moments, how long can I hold a moment, as my moment fades, I yearn to catch sight or sound of you, to feel the surging of my heart erupt into joyous sounds of laughter.
Chris Watson
ePub
A4Romancing Mister Bridgerton – The Second Epilogue
“Y
ou didn’t tell her?”Penelope Bridgerton would have said more, and in fact would have liked to say more, but words were difficult, what with her mouth hanging slack. Her husband had just returned from a mad dash across the south of England with his three brothers, in pursuit of his sister Eloise, who had, by all accounts, run off to elope with—
Oh, dear God.
“Is she married?” Penelope asked frantically.
Colin tossed his hat on a chair with a clever little twist of his wrist, one corner of his mouth lifting in a satisfied smile as it spun through the air on a perfect horizontal axis. “Not yet,” he replied.
So she hadn’t eloped. But she had run away. And she’d done it in secret. Eloise, who was Penelope’s closest friend. Eloise, who told Penelope everything. Eloise, who apparently didn’t tell Penelope everything, had run off to the home of a man none of them knew, leaving a note assuring her family that all would be well and not to worry.
Not to worry????
Good heavens, one would think Eloise Bridgerton knew her family better than that. They had been frantic, every last one of them. Penelope had stayed with her new mother-in-law while the men were searching for Eloise. Violet Bridgerton had put up a good front, but her skin was positively ashen, and Penelope could not help but notice the way her hands shook with every movement.
And now Colin was back, acting as if nothing were amiss, answering none of her questions to her satisfaction, and beyond all that—
“How could you not have told her?” she said again, dogging his heels.
He sprawled into a chair and shrugged. “There really wasn’t an appropriate time.”
“You were gone five days!”
“Yes, well, not all of them were with Eloise. A day’s travel on either end, after all.”
“But—but—”
Colin summoned just enough energy to glance about the room. “Don’t suppose you ordered tea?”
“Yes, of course,” Penelope said reflexively, since it had not taken more than a week of marriage to learn that when it came to her new husband, it was always best to have food at the ready. “But Colin—”
“I did hurry back, you know.”
“I can see that,” she said, taking in his dampened, windblown hair. “Did you ride?”
He nodded.
“From Gloucestershire?”
“Wiltshire, actually. We retired to Benedict’s.”
“But—”
He smiled disarmingly. “I missed you.”
And Penelope was not so accustomed to his affection that she did not blush. “I missed you, too, but—”
“Come sit with me.”
Where? Penelope almost demanded. Because the only flat surface was his lap.
His smile, which had been charm personified, grew more heated. “I’m missing you right now,” he murmured.
Much to her extreme embarrassment, her gaze moved instantly to the front of his breeches. Colin let out a bark of laughter, and Penelope crossed her arms. “Don’t, Colin,” she warned.
“Don’t what?” he asked, all innocence.
“Even if we weren’t in the sitting room, and even if the draperies weren’t open—”
“An easily remedied nuisance,” he commented with a glance to the windows.
“And even,” she ground out, her voice growing in depth, if not quite in volume, “were we not expecting a maid to enter at any moment, the poor thing staggering under the weight of your tea tray, the fact of the matter is—”
Colin let out a sigh.
“—you have not answered my question!”
He blinked. “I’ve quite forgotten what it was.”
A full ten seconds elapsed before she spoke. And then: “I’m going to kill you.”
“Of that, I’m certain,” he said offhandedly. “Truly, the only question is when.”
“Colin!”
“Might be sooner rather than later,” he murmured. “But in truth, I thought I’d go in an apoplexy, brought on by bad behavior.”
She stared at him.
“Your bad behavior,” he clarified.
“I didn’t have bad behavior before I met you,” she retorted.
“Oh, ho, ho,” he chortled. “Now that is rich.”
And Penelope was forced to shut her mouth. Because, blast it all, he was right. And that was what all of this was about, as it happened. Her husband, after entering the hall, shrugging off his coat, and kissing her rather soundly on the lips (in front of the butler!), had blithely informed her, “Oh, and by the by, I never did tell her you were Whistledown.”
And if there was anything that might count as bad behavior, it had to be ten years as the author of the now infamous Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. Over the past decade, Penelope had, in her pseudonymous guise, managed to insult just about everyone in society, even herself. (Surely, the ton would have grown suspicious if she had never poked fun at herself, and besides, she really did look like an overripe citrus fruit in the dreadful yellows and oranges her mother had always forced her to wear.)
Penelope had “retired” just before her marriage, but a blackmail attempt had convinced Colin that the best course of action was to reveal her secret in a grand gesture, and so he had announced her identity at his sister Daphne’s ball. It had all been very romantic and very, well, grand, but by the end of the night it had become apparent that Eloise had disappeared.
Eloise had been Penelope’s closest friend for years, but even she had not known Penelope’s big secret. And now she still didn’t. She’d left the party before Colin had announced it, and he apparently had not seen fit to say anything once he’d found her.
“Frankly,” Colin said, his voice holding an uncharacteristic strain of irritability, “it’s less than she deserved after what she put us through.”
“Well, yes,” Penelope murmured, feeling rather disloyal even as she said it. But the entire Bridgerton clan had been mad with worry. Eloise had left a note, it was true, but it had somehow got mixed into her mother’s correspondence, and an entire day had passed before the family was reassured that Eloise had not been abducted. And even then, no one’s mind was set at ease; Eloise might have left of her own accord, but it had taken another day of tearing her bedchamber to bits before they found a letter from Sir Phillip Crane that indicated where she might have run off to.
Considering all that, Colin did have something of a point.
“We have to go back in a few days for the wedding,” he said. “We’ll tell her then.”
“Oh, but we can’t!”
He paused. Then he smiled. “And why is that?” he asked, his eyes resting on her with great appreciation.
“It will be her wedding day,” Penelope explained, aware that he’d been hoping for a far more diabolical reason. “She must be the center of all attention. I cannot tell her something such as this.”
“A bit more altruistic than I’d like,” he mused, “but the end result is the same, so you have my approval—”
“I don’t need your approval,” Penelope cut in.
“But nonetheless, you have it,” he said smoothly. “We shall keep Eloise in the dark.” He tapped his fingertips together and sighed with audible pleasure. “It will be a most excellent wedding.”
The maid arrived just then, carrying a heavily laden tea tray. Penelope tried not to notice that she let out a little grunt when she was finally able to set it down.
“You may close the door behind you,” Colin said, once the maid had straightened.
Penelope’s eyes darted to the door, then to her husband, who had risen and was shutting the draperies.
“Colin!” she yelped, because his arms had stolen around her, and his lips were on her neck, and she could feel herself going quite liquid in his embrace. “I thought you wanted food,” she gasped.
“I do,” he murmured, tugging on the bodice of her dress. “But I want you more.”
And as Penelope sank to the cushions that had somehow found their way to the plush carpet below, she felt very loved indeed.
o O o
Several days later, Penelope was seated in a carriage, gazing out the window and scolding herself.
Colin was asleep.
She was a widgeon for feeling so nervous about seeing Eloise again. Eloise, for heaven’s sake. They had been as close as sisters for over a decade. Closer. Except, maybe…not quite as close as either had thought. They had kept secrets, both of them. Penelope wanted to wring Eloise’s neck for not telling her about her suitor, but really, she hadn’t a leg to stand on. When Eloise found out that Penelope was Lady Whistledown…
Penelope shuddered. Colin might be looking forward to the moment—he was positively devilish in his glee—but she felt rather ill, quite frankly. She hadn’t eaten all day, and she was not the sort to skip breakfast.
She wrung her hands, craned her neck to get a better view out the window—she thought they might have turned onto the drive for Romney Hall, but she wasn’t precisely certain—then looked back to Colin.
He was still asleep.
She kicked him. Gently, of course, because she did not think herself overly violent, but really, it wasn’t fair that he had slept like a baby from the moment the carriage had started rolling. He had settled into his seat, inquired after her comfort, then, before she’d even managed the you in “Very well, thank you,” his eyes were closed.
Thirty seconds later he was snoring.
It really wasn’t fair. He always fell asleep before she did at night as well.
She kicked him again, harder this time.
He mumbled something in his sleep, shifted positions ever so slightly, and slumped into the corner.
Penelope scooted over. Closer, closer…
Then she organized her elbow in a sharp point and jabbed him in the ribs.
“Wha…?” Colin shot straight awake, blinking and coughing. “What? What? What?”
“I think we’re here,” Penelope said.
He looked out the window, then back at her. “And you needed to inform of this by taking a weapon to my body?”
“It was my elbow.”
He glanced down at her arm. “You, my dear, are in possession of exceedingly bony elbows.”
Penelope was quite sure her elbows—or any part of her, for that matter—were not the least bit bony, but there seemed little to gain by contradicting him, so she said, again, “I think we’re here.”
Colin leaned toward the glass with a couple of sleepy blinks. “I think you’re right.”
“It’s lovely,” Penelope said, taking in the exquisitely maintained grounds. “Why did you tell me it was run-down?”
“It is,” Colin replied, handing her her shawl. “Here,” he said with a gruff smile, as if he weren’t yet used to caring for another person’s welfare in quite the way he did hers. “It will be chilly yet.”
It was still fairly early in the morning; the inn at which they had slept was only an hour’s ride away. Most of the family had stayed with Benedict and Sophie, but their home was not large enough to accommodate all of the Bridgertons. Besides, Colin had explained, they were newlyweds. They needed their privacy.
Penelope hugged the soft wool to her body and leaned against him to get a better look out the window. And, to be honest, just because she liked to lean against him. “I think it looks lovely,” she said. “I have never seen such roses.”
“It’s nicer on the outside than in,” Colin explained, as the carriage drew to a halt. “But I expect Eloise will change that.”
He opened the door himself and hopped out, then offered his arm to assist her down. “Come along, Lady Whistledown—”
“Mrs. Bridgerton,” she corrected.
“Whatever you wish to call yourself,” he said with a grand smile, “you’re still mine. And this is your swan song.”
As Colin stepped across the threshold of what was to be his sister’s new home, he was struck by a sense of relief that was as unsurprising as it was unexpected. For all his irritation with her, he loved his sister. They had not been particularly intimate while growing up; he had been much closer in age to Daphne, and Eloise had often seemed nothing so much as a pesky afterthought. But the previous year had brought them closer, and if it hadn’t been for Eloise, he might never have discovered Penelope.
And without Penelope, he’d be…
It was funny. He couldn’t imagine what he’d be without her.
He looked down at his new wife. She was glancing around the entry hall, trying not to be too obvious about it. Her face was impassive, but he knew she was taking everything in. And tomorrow, when they were musing about the events of the day, she would have remembered every last detail.
Mind like an elephant, she had. He loved it.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” the butler said, greeting them with a little nod. “Welcome back to Romney Hall.”
“A pleasure, Gunning,” Colin murmured. “So sorry about the last time.”
Penelope looked to him askance.
“We entered rather…suddenly,” Colin explained.
The butler must have seen Penelope’s expression of alarm, because he quickly added, “I stepped out of the way.”
“Oh,” she started to say, “I’m so—”
“Sir Phillip did not,” Gunning cut in.
“Oh.” Penelope coughed awkwardly. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Bit of swelling around the throat,” Colin said, unconcerned. “I expect he’s improved by now.” He caught her glancing down at his hands and let out a chuckle. “Oh, it wasn’t I,” he said, taking her arm to lead her down the hall. “I just watched.”
She grimaced. “I think that might be worse.”
“Quite possibly,” he said with great cheer. “But it all turned out well in the end. I quite like the fellow now, and I rather—Ah, Mother, there you are.”
And sure enough, Violet Bridgerton was bustling down the hall. “You’re late,” she said, even though Colin was fairly certain they were not. He bent down to kiss her proffered cheek, then stepped to the side as his mother came forward to take both of Penelope’s hands in hers. “My dear, we need you in back. You are her main attendant, after all.”
Colin had a sudden vision of the scene—a gaggle of chatty females, all talking over one another about minutiae he couldn’t begin to care about, much less understand. They told each other everything, and—
He turned sharply. “Don’t,” he warned, “say a word.”
“I beg your pardon.” Penelope let out a little huff of righteous indignation. “I’m the one who said we couldn’t tell her on her wedding day.”
“I was talking to my mother,” he said.
Violet shook her head. “Eloise is going to kill us.”
“She nearly killed us already, running off like an idiot,” Colin said, with uncharacteristic shortness of temper. “I’ve already instructed the others to keep their mouths shut.”
“Even Hyacinth?” Penelope asked doubtfully.
“Especially Hyacinth.”
“Did you bribe her?” Violet asked. “Because it won’t work unless you bribe her.”
“Good Lord,” Colin muttered. “One would think I’d joined this family yesterday. Of course I bribed her.” He turned to Penelope. “No offense to recent additions.”
“Oh, none taken,” she said. “What did you give her?”
He thought about his bargaining session with his youngest sister and nearly shuddered. “Twenty pounds.”
“Twenty pounds!” Violet exclaimed. “Are you mad?”
“I suppose you could have done better,” he retorted. “And I’ve only given her half. I wouldn’t trust that girl as far as I could throw her. But if she keeps her mouth shut, I’ll be another ten pounds poorer.”
“I wonder how far you could throw her,” Penelope mused.
Colin turned to his mother. “I tried for ten, but she wouldn’t budge.” And then to Penelope: “Not nearly far enough.”
Violet sighed. “I ought to scold you for that.”
“But you won’t.” Colin flashed her a grin.
“Heaven help me,” was her only reply.
“Heaven help whatever chap is mad enough to marry her,” he remarked.
“I think there is more to Hyacinth than the two of you allow,” Penelope put in. “You ought not to underestimate her.”
“Good Lord,” Colin replied, “we don’t do that.”
“You’re so sweet,” Violet said, leaning forward to give Penelope an impromptu hug.
“It’s only through sheer force of luck she hasn’t taken over the world,” Colin muttered.
“Ignore him,” Violet said to Penelope. “And you,” she added, turning to Colin, “must head immediately to the church. The rest of the men have already gone down. It’s only a five-minute walk.”
“You’re planning to walk?” he asked doubtfully.
“Of course not,” his mother replied dismissively. “And we certainly cannot spare a carriage for you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of asking for one,” Colin replied, deciding that a solitary stroll through the fresh morning air was decidedly preferable to a closed carriage with his female relations.
He leaned down to kiss his wife’s cheek. Right near her ear. “Remember,” he whispered, “no telling.”
“I can keep a secret,” she replied.
“It’s far easier to keep a secret from a thousand people than it is from just one,” he said. “Far less guilt involved.”
Her cheeks flushed, and he kissed her again near her ear. “I know you so well,” he murmured.
He could practically hear her teeth gnashing as he left.
“Penelope!”
Eloise started to jump from her seat to greet her, but Hyacinth, who was supervising the dressing of her hair, jammed her hand on her shoulder with a low, almost menacing, “Down.”
And Eloise, who normally would have slain Hyacinth with a glare, meekly resumed her seat.
Penelope looked to Daphne, who appeared to be supervising Hyacinth.
“It has been a long morning,” Daphne said.
Penelope walked forward, pushed gently past Hyacinth, and carefully embraced Eloise so as not to muss her coiffure. “You look beautiful,” she said.
“Thank you,” Eloise replied, but her lips were trembling, and her eyes were wet and threatening to spill over at any moment.
More than anything, Penelope wanted to take her aside and tell her that everything was going to be all right, and she didn’t have to marry Sir Phillip if she didn’t want to; but when all was said and done, Penelope didn’t know that everything was going to be all right, and she rather suspected that Eloise did have to marry her Sir Phillip.
She’d heard bits and pieces. Eloise had been in residence at Romney Hall for over a week without a chaperone. Her reputation would be in tatters if it got out, which it surely would. Penelope knew better than anyone the power and tenacity of gossip. Plus, Penelope had heard that Eloise and Anthony had had A Talk.
The matter of the wedding, it seemed, was final.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Eloise said.
“Goodness, you know I would never miss your wedding.”
“I know.” Eloise’s lips trembled, and her face took on that expression one makes when one is trying to appear brave and actually thinks one might be succeeding. “I know,” she said again, a little more evenly. “Of course you wouldn’t. But that does not lessen my pleasure in seeing you.”
It was an oddly stiff sentence for Eloise, and for a moment Penelope forgot her own secrets, her own fears and worries. Eloise was her dearest friend. Colin was her love, her passion, and her soul, but it was Eloise, more than anyone, who had shaped Penelope’s adult life. Penelope could not imagine what the last decade would have been like without Eloise’s smile, her laughter, and her indefatigable good cheer.
Even more than her own family, Eloise had loved her.
“Eloise,” Penelope said, crouching down beside her so that she might put her arm around her shoulders. She cleared her throat, mostly because she was about to ask a question for which the answer probably did not matter. “Eloise,” she said again, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you want this?”
“Of course,” Eloise replied.
But Penelope wasn’t sure she believed her. “Do you lo—” She caught herself. And she did that little thing with her mouth that tried to be a smile. And she asked, “Do you like him? Your Sir Phillip?”
Eloise nodded. “He’s…complicated.”
Which made Penelope sit down. “You’re joking.”
“At a time like this?”
“Aren’t you the one who always said that men were simple creatures?”
Eloise looked at her with an oddly helpless expression. “I thought they were.”
Penelope leaned in, aware that Hyacinth’s auditory skills were positively canine. “Does he like you?”
“He thinks I talk too much.”
“You do talk too much,” Penelope replied.
Eloise shot her a look. “You could at least smile.”
“It’s the truth. But I find it endearing.”
“I think he does as well.” Eloise grimaced. “Some of the time.”
“Eloise!” called Violet from the doorway. “We really must be on our way.”
“We wouldn’t want the groom to think you’ve run off,” Hyacinth quipped.
Eloise stood and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve done quite enough running off recently, wouldn’t you say?” She turned to Penelope with a wise, wistful smile. “It’s time I began running to and stopped running from.”
Penelope looked at her curiously. “What did you say?”
But Eloise only shook her head. “It’s just something I heard recently.”
It was a curious statement, but this wasn’t the time to delve further, so Penelope moved to follow the rest of the family. After she’d taken a few steps, however, she was halted by the sound of Eloise’s voice.
“Penelope!”
Penelope turned. Eloise was still in the doorway, a good ten feet behind her. She had an odd look on her face, one that Penelope could not quite interpret. Penelope waited, but Eloise did not speak.
“Eloise?” Penelope said quietly, because it looked as if Eloise wished to say something, just wasn’t sure how. Or possibly what.
And then—
“I’m sorry.” Eloise blurted it out, the words rushing across her lips with a speed that was remarkable, even for her.
“You’re sorry,” Penelope echoed, mostly out of surprise. She hadn’t really considered what Eloise might say in that moment, but an apology would not have topped the list. “For what?”
“For keeping secrets. That wasn’t well-done of me.”
Penelope swallowed. Good Lord.
“Forgive me?” Eloise’s voice was soft, but her eyes were urgent, and Penelope felt like the worst sort of fraud.
“Of course,” she stammered. “It is nothing.” And it was nothing, at least when compared to her own secrets.
“I should have told you about my correspondence with Sir Phillip. I don’t know why I didn’t at the outset,” Eloise continued. “But then, later, when you and Colin were falling in love…I think it was…I think it was just because it was mine.”
Penelope nodded. She knew a great deal about wanting something of one’s own.
Eloise let out a nervous laugh. “And now look at me.”
Penelope did. “You look beautiful.” It was the truth. Eloise was not a serene bride, but she was a glowing one, and Penelope felt her worries lift and lighten and finally disappear. All would be well. Penelope did not know if Eloise would experience the same bliss in her marriage as she’d found, but she would at least be happy and content.
And who was she to say that the new married couple wouldn’t fall madly in love? Stranger things had happened.
She linked her arm through Eloise’s and steered her out into the hall, where Violet had raised her voice to heretofore unimagined volumes.
“I think your mother wants us to make haste,” Penelope whispered.
“Eloeeeeeeeeeeeese!” Violet positively bellowed. “NOW!”
Eloise’s brows rose as she gave Penelope a sideways glance. “Whatever makes you think so?”
But they didn’t hurry. Arm in arm they glided down the hall, as if it were the church aisle.
“Who would have thought we’d marry within months of each other?” Penelope mused. “Weren’t we meant to be old crones together?”
“We can still be old crones,” Eloise replied gaily. “We shall simply be married old crones.”
“It will be grand.”
“Magnificent!”
“Stupendous!”
“We shall be leaders of crone fashion!”
“Arbiters of cronish taste.”
“What,” Hyacinth demanded, hands on hips, “are the two of you talking about?”
Eloise lifted her chin and looked down her nose at her. “You’re far too young to understand.”
And she and Penelope practically collapsed in a fit of giggles.
“They’ve gone mad, Mother,” Hyacinth announced.
Violet gazed lovingly at her daughter and daughter-in-law, both of whom had reached the unfashionable age of twenty-eight before becoming brides. “Leave them alone, Hyacinth,” she said, steering her toward the waiting carriage. “They’ll be along shortly.” And then she added, almost as an afterthought: “You’re too young to understand.”
o O o
After the ceremony, after the reception, and after Colin was able to assure himself once and for all that Sir Phillip Crane would indeed make an acceptable husband to his sister, he managed to find a quiet corner into which he could yank his wife and speak with her privately.
“Does she suspect?” he asked, grinning.
“You’re terrible,” Penelope replied. “It’s her wedding.”
Which was not one of the two customary answers to a yes-or-no question. Colin resisted the urge to let out an impatient breath, and instead offered a rather smooth and urbane: “By this you mean…?”
Penelope stared at him for a full ten seconds, then she muttered, “I don’t know what Eloise was talking about. Men are abysmally simple creatures.”
“Well…yes,” Colin agreed, since it had long been obvious to him that the female mind was an utter and complete mystery. “But what has that got to do with anything?”
Penelope glanced over both shoulders before dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. “Why would she even be thinking about Whistledown at a time like this?”
She had a point there, loath as Colin was to admit it. In his mind, this had all played out with Eloise somehow being aware that she was the only person who didn’t know the secret of Lady Whistledown’s identity.
Which was ridiculous to be sure, but still, a satisfying daydream.
“Hmmmm,” he said.
Penelope looked at him suspiciously. “What are you thinking?”
“Are you certain we cannot tell her on her wedding day?”
“Colin…”
“Because if we don’t, she’s sure to find out from some- one, and it doesn’t seem fair that we not be present to see her face.”
“Colin, no.”
“After all you’ve been through, wouldn’t you say you deserve to see her reaction?”
“No,” Penelope said slowly. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, you sell yourself too cheaply, my darling,” he said, smiling benevolently at her. “And besides that, think of Eloise.”
“I fail to see what else it is I have been doing all morning.”
He shook his head. “She would be devastated. Hearing the awful truth from a complete stranger.”
“It’s not awful,” Penelope shot back, “and how do you know it would be a stranger?”
“We’ve sworn my entire family to secrecy. Who else does she know out in this godforsaken county?”
“I rather like Gloucestershire,” Penelope said, her teeth now charmingly clenched. “I find it delightful.”
“Yes,” he said equably, taking in her furrowed brow, pinched mouth, and narrowed eyes. “You look delighted.”
“Weren’t you the one who insisted we keep her in the dark for as long as humanly possible?”
“Humanly possible being the phrase of note,” Colin replied. “This human”—he gestured rather unnecessarily to himself—“finding it quite impossible to maintain his silence.”
“I can’t believe you’ve changed your mind.”
He shrugged. “Isn’t it a man’s prerogative?”
At that her lips parted, and Colin found himself wishing he’d found a corner as private as it was quiet, because she was practically begging to be kissed, whether she knew it or not.
But he was a patient man, and they did still have that comfortable room reserved at the inn, and there was still much mischief to be made right here at the wedding. “Oh, Penelope,” he said huskily, leaning in more than was proper, even with one’s wife, “don’t you want to have some fun?”
She flushed scarlet. “Not here.”
He laughed aloud at that.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” she muttered.
“Neither was I, as a matter of fact,” he returned, completely unable to keep the humor off his face, “but I am pleased that it comes to mind so readily.” He pretended to glance about the room. “When do you think it would be polite to leave?”
“Definitely not yet.”
He pretended to ponder. “Mmmm, yes, you’re probably correct at that. Pity. But”—at that he pretended to brighten—“it does leave us time to make mischief.”
Again, she was speechless. He liked that. “Shall we?” he murmured.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
“We need to work on this,” he said, giving his head a shake. “I’m not sure you fully understand the mechanics of a yes-or-no question.”
“I think you should sit down,” she said, her eyes now taking on that glint of cautious exhaustion usually reserved for small children.
Or adult fools.
“And then,” she continued, “I think you should remain in your seat.”
“Indefinitely?”
“Yes.”
Just to torture her, he sat. And then—
“Nooooo, I think I’d rather make mischief.”
Back to his feet he was, and striding off to find Eloise before Penelope could even attempt to lunge for him.
“Colin, don’t!” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the reception room. She managed to yell—of course—at the precise moment when every other wedding guest paused to take a breath.
A roomful of Bridgertons. What were the odds?
Penelope jammed a smile on her face as she watched two dozen heads swivel in her direction. “Nothing about it,” she said, her voice coming out strangled and chirpy. “So sorry to disturb.”
And apparently Colin’s family was well used to his embarking on something requiring the rejoinder “Colin, don’t!” because they all resumed their conversations with barely another glance in her direction.
Except Hyacinth.
“Oh, blast,” Penelope muttered under her breath, and she raced forward.
But Hyacinth was quick. “What’s going on?” she asked, falling into stride beside Penelope with remarkable agility.
“Nothing,” Penelope replied, because the last thing she wanted was Hyacinth adding to the disaster.
“He’s going to tell her, isn’t he?” Hyacinth persisted, letting out an “Euf” and an “Excuse me,” when she pushed past one of her brothers.
“No,” Penelope said firmly, darting around Daphne’s children, “he’s not.”
“He is.”
Penelope actually stopped for a moment and turned. “Do any of you ever listen to anyone?”
“Not me,” Hyacinth said cheerfully.
Penelope shook her head and moved forward, Hyacinth hot on her heels. When she reached Colin, he was standing next to the newlyweds and had his arm linked through Eloise’s and was smiling down at her as if he had never once considered:
• A) Teaching her to swim by tossing her in a lake.• B) Cutting off three inches of her hair while she slept.• or• C) Tying her to a tree so that she did not follow him to a local public inn.
Which of course he had, all three of them, and two he’d actually done. (Even Colin wouldn’t have dared something so permanent as a shearing.)
“Eloise,” Penelope said, somewhat breathless from trying to shake off Hyacinth.
“Penelope.” But Eloise’s voice sounded curious. Which did not surprise Penelope; Eloise was no fool, and she was well aware that her brother’s normal modes of behavior did not include beatific smiles in her direction.
“Eloise,” Hyacinth said, for no reason Penelope could deduce.
“Hyacinth.”
Penelope turned to her husband. “Colin.”
He looked amused. “Penelope. Hyacinth.”
Hyacinth grinned. “Colin.” And then: “Sir Phillip.”
“Ladies.” Sir Phillip, it seemed, favored brevity.
“Stop!” Eloise burst out. “What is going on?”
“A recitation of our Christian names, apparently,” Hyacinth said.
“Penelope has something to say to you,” Colin said.
“I don’t.”
“She does.”
“I do,” Penelope said, thinking quickly. She rushed forward, taking Eloise’s hands in her own. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
“That’s what you needed to say?” Eloise asked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
And from Hyacinth: “I am enjoying myself immensely.”
“Er, it’s very kind of you to say so,” Sir Phillip said, looking a bit perplexed at her sudden need to compliment the host. Penelope closed her eyes for a brief moment and let out a weary sigh; she was going to need to take the poor man aside and instruct him on the finer points of marrying into the Bridgerton family.
And because she did know her new relations so well, and she knew that there was no way she was going to avoid revealing her secret, she turned to Eloise, and said, “Might I have a moment alone?”
“With me?”
It was enough to make Penelope wish to strangle someone. Anyone. “Yes,” she said patiently, “with you.”
“And me,” Colin put in.
“And me,” Hyacinth added.
“Not you,” Penelope said, not bothering to look at her.
“But still me,” Colin added, looping his free arm through Penelope’s.
“Can this wait?” Sir Phillip asked politely. “This is her wedding day, and I expect that she does not wish to miss it.”
“I know,” Penelope said wearily. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” Eloise said, breaking free of Colin’s grasp and turning to her new husband. She murmured a few words to him that Penelope could not hear, then said, “There is a small salon just through that door. Shall we?”
She led the way, which suited Penelope because it gave her time to say to Colin, “You will say nothing.”
He surprised her by nodding. And then, maintaining his silence, he held open the door for her as she entered the room behind Eloise.
“This won’t take long,” Penelope said apologetically. “At least, I hope it won’t.”
Eloise said nothing, just looked at her with an expression that was, Penelope had just enough presence of mind to notice, uncharacteristically serene.
Marriage must agree with her, Penelope thought, because the Eloise she knew would have been chomping at the bit at such a moment. A big secret, a mystery to be revealed—Eloise loved that sort of thing.
But she was just standing there, calmly waiting, a light smile touching her features. Penelope looked to Colin in confusion, but he was apparently taking her instructions to heart, and his mouth was clamped firmly shut.
“Eloise,” Penelope began.
Eloise smiled. A bit. Just at the corners, as if she wanted to smile more. “Yes?”
Penelope cleared her throat. “Eloise,” she said again, “there is something I must tell you.”
“Really?”
Penelope’s eyes narrowed. Surely the moment did not call for sarcasm. She took a breath, tamping down the urge to fire off an equally dry rejoinder, and said, “I did not wish to tell you on your wedding day”—at this she speared her husband with a glare—“but it seems I have no choice.”
Eloise blinked a few times, but other than that, her placid demeanor did not change.
“I can think of no other way to say it,” Penelope plodded on, feeling positively sick, “but while you were gone…That is to say, the night you left, as a matter of fact…”
Eloise leaned forward. The movement was slight, but Penelope caught it, and for a moment she thought—Well, she didn’t think anything clearly, certainly nothing that she could have expressed in a proper sentence. But she did get a feeling of unease—a different sort of unease than the one she was already feeling. It was a suspicious sort of unease, and—
“I am Whistledown,” she blurted out, because if she waited any longer, she thought her brain might explode.
And Eloise said, “I know.”
Penelope sat down on the nearest solid object, which happened to be a table. “You know.”
Eloise shrugged. “I know.”
“How?”
“Hyacinth told me.”
“What?” This from Colin, looking fit to be tied. Or perhaps more accurately, fit to tie Hyacinth.
“I’m sure she’s at the door,” Eloise murmured, with a nod. “In case you want to—”
But Colin was one step ahead of her, wrenching open the door to the small salon. Sure enough, Hyacinth tumbled in.
“Hyacinth!” Penelope said disapprovingly.
“Oh, please,” Hyacinth retorted, smoothing her skirts. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t eavesdrop, did you? You know me better than that.”
“I’m going to wring your neck,” Colin ground out. “We had a deal.”
Hyacinth shrugged. “I don’t really need twenty pounds, as it happens.”
“I already gave you ten.”
“I know,” Hyacinth said with a cheerful smile.
“Hyacinth!” Eloise exclaimed.
“Which isn’t to say,” Hyacinth continued modestly, “that I don’t want the other ten.”
“She told me last night,” Eloise explained, her eyes narrowing dangerously, “but only after informing me that she knew who Lady Whistledown was, and in fact the whole of society knew, but that the knowledge would cost me twenty-five pounds.”
“Did it not occur to you,” Penelope asked, “that if the whole of society knew, that you could simply have asked someone else?”
“The whole of society wasn’t in my bedchamber at two in the morning,” Eloise snapped.
“I am thinking of buying a hat,” Hyacinth mused. “Or maybe a pony.”
Eloise shot her a nasty look, then turned to Penelope, “Are you really Whistledown?”
“I am,” Penelope admitted. “Or rather—” She looked over at Colin, not exactly certain why she was doing so except that she loved him so much, and he knew her so well, and when he saw her helpless little wobbly smile, he would smile in return, no matter how irate he was with Hyacinth.
And he did. Somehow, amidst everything, he knew what she needed. He always did.
Penelope turned back to Eloise. “I was,” she amended. “No longer. I’ve retired.”
But of course Eloise already knew that. Lady W’s letter of retirement had circulated long before Eloise had left town.
“For good,” Penelope added. “People have asked, but I shan’t be induced to pick up my quill again.” She paused, thinking of the scribblings she’d embarked upon at home. “At least not as Whistledown.” She looked at Eloise, who had sat down next to her on the table. Her face was somewhat blank, and she hadn’t said anything in ages—well, ages for Eloise, at least.
Penelope tried to smile. “I am thinking of writing a novel, actually.”
Still nothing from Eloise, although she was blinking quite rapidly, and her brow was scrunched up as if she were thinking quite hard.
And so Penelope took one of her hands and said the one thing she was really feeling. “I’m sorry, Eloise.”
Eloise had been staring rather blankly at an end table, but at that, she turned, her eyes finding Penelope’s. “You’re sorry?” she echoed, and she sounded dubious, as if sorry couldn’t possibly be the correct emotion, or at least, not enough of it.
Penelope’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I should have told you. I should have—”
“Are you mad?” Eloise asked, finally seeming to snap to attention. “Of course you should not have told me. I could never have kept this a secret.”
Penelope thought it rather remarkable of her to admit it.
“I am so proud of you,” Eloise continued. “Forget the writing for a moment—I cannot even fathom the logistics of it all, and someday—when it is not my wedding day—I shall insist upon hearing every last detail.”
“You were surprised, then?” Penelope murmured.
Eloise gave her a rather dry look. “To put it mildly.”
“I had to get her a chair,” Hyacinth supplied.
“I was already sitting down,” Eloise ground out.
Hyacinth waved her hand in the air. “Nevertheless.”
“Ignore her,” Eloise said, focusing firmly on Penelope. “Truly, I cannot begin to tell you how impressed I am—now that I’ve got over the shock, that is.”
“Really?” It hadn’t occurred to Penelope until that very moment just how much she’d wished for Eloise’s approval.
“Keeping us all in the dark for so long,” Eloise said, shaking her head with slow admiration. “From me. From her.” She jabbed a finger in Hyacinth’s direction. “It’s really very well done of you.” At that she leaned forward and enveloped Penelope in a warm hug.
“You’re not angry with me?”
Eloise moved back and opened her mouth, and Penelope could see that she’d been about to say, “No,” probably to be followed by, “Of course not.”
But the words remained in Eloise’s mouth, and she just sat there, looking slightly thoughtful and surprised until she finally said…“No.”
Penelope felt her brows lift. “Are you certain?” Because Eloise didn’t sound certain. She didn’t much sound like Eloise, to be honest.
“It would be different if I were still in London,” Eloise said quietly, “with nothing else to do. But this—” She glanced around the room, gesturing rather vaguely toward the window. “Here. It’s just not the same. It’s a different life,” she said quietly. “I’m a different person. A little bit, at least.”
“Lady Crane,” Penelope reminded her.
Eloise smiled. “Good of you to remind me of that, Mrs. Bridgerton.”
Penelope almost laughed. “Can you believe it?”
“Of you, or me?” Eloise asked.
“Both.”
Colin, who had been keeping a respectful distance—one hand firmly clamped around Hyacinth’s arm to keep her at a respectful distance—stepped forward. “We should probably return,” he said quietly. He held out his hand, and helped first Penelope, then Eloise, to her feet. “You,” he said, leaning forward to kiss his sister on the cheek, “should certainly return.”
Eloise smiled wistfully, the blushing bride once again, and nodded. With one last squeeze of Penelope’s hands, she brushed past Hyacinth (rolling her eyes as she did so) and made her way back to her wedding party.
Penelope watched her go, linking her arm in Colin’s and leaned gently into him. They both stood there in contented silence, idly watching the now-empty doorway, listening to the sounds of the party wafting through the air.
“Do you think it would be polite if we left?” he murmured.
“Probably not.”
“Do you think Eloise would mind?”
Penelope shook her head.
Colin’s arms tightened around her, and she felt his lips gently brush her ear. “Let’s go,” he said.
She did not argue.
o O o
On the twenty-fifth of May, in the year 1824, precisely one day after the wedding of Eloise Bridgerton to Sir Phillip Crane, three missives were delivered to the room of Mr. and Mrs. Colin Bridgerton, guests at the Rose and Bramble Inn, near Tetbury, Gloucestershire. They arrived together; all were from Romney Hall.
“Which shall we open first?” Penelope asked, spreading them before her on the bed.
Colin yanked off the shirt he’d donned to answer the knock. “I defer to your good judgment as always.”
“As always?”
He crawled back into bed beside her. She was remarkably adorable when she was being sarcastic. He couldn’t think of another soul who could carry that off. “As whenever it suits me,” he amended.
“Your mother, then,” Penelope said, plucking one of the letters off the sheet. She broke open the seal and carefully unfolded the paper.
Colin watched as she read. Her eyes widened, then her brows rose, then her lips pinched slightly at the corners, as if she were smiling despite herself.
“What does she have to say?” he asked.
“She forgives us.”
“I don’t suppose it would make any sense for me to ask for what.”
Penelope gave him a stern look. “For leaving the wedding early.”
“You told me Eloise wouldn’t mind.”
“And I’m sure she did not. But this is your mother.”
“Write back and assure her that should she ever remarry, I will stay to the bitter end.”
“I will do no such thing,” Penelope replied, rolling her eyes. “I don’t think she expects a reply, in any case.”
“Really?” Now he was curious, because his mother always expected replies. “What did we do to earn her forgiveness, then?”
“Er, she mentioned something about the timely delivery of grandchildren.”
Colin grinned. “Are you blushing?”
“No.”
“You are.”
She elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m not. Here, read it yourself if you are so inclined. I shall read Hyacinth’s.”
“I don’t suppose she returned my ten pounds,” Colin grumbled.
Penelope unfolded the paper and shook it out. Nothing fluttered down.
“That minx is lucky she’s my sister,” he muttered.
“What a bad sport you are,” Penelope chided. “She bested you, and rather brilliantly, too.”
“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “I did not see you praising her cunning yesterday afternoon.”
She waved off his protests. “Yes, well, some things are more easily seen in hindsight.”
“What does she have to say?” Colin asked, leaning over her shoulder. Knowing Hyacinth, it was probably some scheme to extort more money from his pockets.
“It’s rather sweet, actually,” Penelope said. “Nothing nefarious at all.”
“Did you read both sides?” Colin asked dubiously.
“She only wrote on one side.”
“Uncharacteristically uneconomical of her,” he added, with suspicion.
“Oh, heavens, Colin, it is just an account of the wedding after we left. And I must say, she has a superior eye for humor and detail. She would have made a fine Whistledown.”
“God help us all.”
The last letter was from Eloise, and unlike the other two, it was addressed to Penelope alone. Colin was curious, of course—who wouldn’t be? But he moved away to allow Penelope her privacy. Her friendship with his sister was something he held in both awe and respect. He was close to his brothers—extremely so. But he had never seen a bond of friendship quite so deep as that between Penelope and Eloise.
“Oh!” Penelope let out, as she turned a page. Eloise’s missive was a good deal longer than the previous two, and she’d managed to fill two sheets, front and back. “That minx.”
“What did she do?” Colin asked.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Penelope replied, even though her expression was rather peeved. “You weren’t there, but the morning of the wedding she kept apologizing for keeping secrets, and it never even occurred to me that she was trying to get me to admit to keeping secrets of my own. Made me feel wretched, she did.”
Her voice trailed off as she read through another page. Colin leaned back against the fluffy pillows, his eyes resting on his wife’s face. He liked watching her eyes move from left to right, following the words. He liked watching her lips move as she smiled or frowned. It was rather amazing, actually, how contented he felt, simply watching his wife read.
Until she gasped, that was, and turned utterly white.
He shoved himself up on his elbows. “What is it?”
Penelope shook her head and groaned. “Oh, she is devious.”
Privacy be damned. He grabbed the letter. “What did she say?”
“Down there,” Penelope said, pointing miserably at the bottom. “At the end.”
Colin brushed her finger away and began to read. “Good Lord, she’s wordy,” he muttered. “I can’t make heads or tails of it.”
“Revenge,” Penelope said. “She says my secret was bigger than hers.”
“It was.”
“She says she’s owed a boon.”
Colin pondered that. “She probably is.”
“To even the score.”
He patted her hand. “I’m afraid that’s how we Bridgertons think. You’ve never played a sporting game with us, have you?”
Penelope moaned. “She said she is going to consult Hyacinth.”
Colin felt the blood leave his face.
“I know,” Penelope said, shaking her head. “We’ll never be safe again.”
Colin slid his arm around her and pulled her close. “Didn’t we say we wanted to visit Italy?”
“Or India.”
He smiled and kissed her on the nose. “Or we could just stay here.”
“At the Rose and Bramble?”
“We’re supposed to depart tomorrow morning. It’s the last place Hyacinth would look.”
Penelope glanced up at him, her eyes growing warm and perhaps just a little bit mischievous. “I have no pressing engagements in London for at least a fortnight.”
He rolled atop her, tugging her down until she was flat on her back. “My mother did say she would not forgive us unless we produced a grandchild.”
“She did not put it in quite so uncompromising terms.”
He kissed her, right on the sensitive spot behind her earlobe that always made her squirm. “Pretend she did.”
“Well, in that case—oh!”
His lips slid down her belly. “Oh?” he murmured.
“We had best get to—oh!”
He looked up. “You were saying?”
“To work,” she just barely managed to get out.
He smiled against her skin. “Your servant, Mrs. Bridgerton. Always.”
