“What are you trying to say, Miss Cowper? Are they not old friends?”
“The oldest of friends, really. Ever since the Featheringtons moved in across the street.”
“Across the street from the Bridgerton house?”
“Directly.”
“I see.”
“I love you with my past, and I love you for my future. I love you for the children we'll have and for the years we'll have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles.”
“Well, I think Penelope is quite fortunate to have you as a friend.”
“. . Yes. She is, um — Well, a very good acquaintance of . . . the family, of course.”
“Are you alright?”
“Never better.”
“Penelope’s here?” Anthony barked. “Why?”
“She’s my wife,” Colin returned.
“She’s never attended before.”
“She wanted to see me win,” Colin shot back, rewarding his brother with a sickly stretch of a smile.
“Penelope’s here?” Anthony barked. “Why?”
“She’s my wife,” Colin returned.
“She’s never attended before.”
“She wanted to see me win,” Colin shot back, rewarding his brother with a sickly stretch of a smile.
“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.”
Colin was everything anyone could dream of in a fiancé. He stuck to her side like glue the entire evening, and Penelope didn't even think he was doing it to protect her from gossip. In all truth, he seemed rather oblivious to the talk.
Colin had been overly protective since the first moment she'd told him she was pregnant; now that she was only a month from her due date, he was insufferable.
“How can you think of food?” Gregory said angrily.
“I always think of food,” Colin replied, his eyes searching the table until he located the butter. “What else is there?”
“Your wife,” Benedict drawled.
“Ah, yes, my wife,” Colin said with a nod.
And he was learning that everything he thought he'd known about kissing was rubbish.
Everything else had been mere lips and tongue and softly murmured but meaningless words.
“Now, that was nice of Eloise,” Colin murmured.
“What?” Penelope asked innocently.
His eyes gleamed. “The door.”
“The door? Oh!” she yelped. “The door.”
Here he was, considered one of the most popular and sophisticated men of the ton, and he'd been reduced to a bashful schoolboy, hanging on Penelope Featherington's every word, just for a single scrap of praise.
“Very well. Shall I pretend to flirt with the imaginary cellist?”
“No. With the dashing suitor you just met by the refreshments. Me.”
“You?”
“I’m the perfect person to practice on! You don't have to be embarrassed. You know me.”
Colin was everything anyone could dream of in a fiancé. He stuck to her side like glue the entire evening, and Penelope didn't even think he was doing it to protect her from gossip. In all truth, he seemed rather oblivious to the talk.
"I seek you out at every social assembly because I know you will lift my spirits and make me see the world in ways I could not have imagined. You are clever and warm and. . . I am proud to call you my very good friend."
“You miss me. You miss me, but you would never court me, is that correct?”
“Pen, I…”
“I overheard you… at my Mama’s ball last season, telling everyone how you would never, ever court Penelope Featherington.”
Daphne had been right. His love hadn't been a thunderbolt from the sky. It had started with a smile, a word, a teasing glance. Every second he had spent in her presence it had grown, until he'd reached this moment, and he suddenly knew.
“I am proud of your sensitivity. But living to please others? I imagine it can be wearying at times. Painful, perhaps. So, I do not blame you for putting on armor lately. But you must be careful that the armor does not rust and set so that you might never be able to take it off.”
“I love you with my past, and I love you for my future. I love you for the children we'll have and for the years we'll have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles.”
“Yes, you must. Uh… Well… Um… I will go and leave you to it.”
“Oh. I will go.”
“Uh, Penelope. I… I hope… Well, I… I wish very much for your happiness.”
“Thank you. For all your kindness. If I secure a proposal, it will be because of you.”
“I want you,” he whispered.
She looked up at him, startled.
“I just wanted you to know that,” he said. “I didn't want you to think I stopped because you didn't please me.”
Anthony turned to Benedict and said, “They'll be married within a year. Mark my words.”
Colin crossed his arms. “Anthony!”
“Maybe two,” Benedict said. “He's young yet.”
“Pen, I, uh… I have not been able to sleep, not been able to… eat. I—I can—I can barely even speak these days. My entire thoughts consumed by—”
“By what?”
“By our kiss. By you.”
Colin had been overly protective since the first moment she'd told him she was pregnant; now that she was only a month from her due date, he was insufferable.
“Morning, family.”
“You slept late.”
“. . Did I? Hmm.”
“Something keep you up?”
“Not at all. I slept peacefully. No sooner did my head touch the pillow that I was met with complete and immediate darkness. Not even a dream.”
“. . Congratulations?”
Funny how it no longer seemed like home.
He'd grown up here, but now it was so obviously his brother's house.
Home was in Bloomsbury. Home was with Penelope.
Home was anywhere with Penelope.
Penelope couldn't speak without smiling. “He said he wanted Cressida to be forced to watch me in my triumph.”
“Oh. My. Word.” Eloise looked as if she might need to sit down. “My brother is in love.”
Penelope's blush turned a furious red.
“Oh, come now, I do not see a gentleman amongst us.” [laughing]
“And I concur with you there… Oh, forgive me. But it is tiring, is it not? The necessity imposed on us to remain cavalier about the one thing in life that holds genuine meaning. Do you not find it lonely?”
“Something wrong, Pen? Between us, I mean. I wrote to you, this summer, as I always do, and… you did not respond. Admittedly, very few did, but… If you are going to make me say it out loud… I miss you.”
“I love you with my past, and I love you for my future. I love you for the children we'll have and for the years we'll have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles.”
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.
Eventually she would find someone else and settle down into a happy and contented life.
Now that thought—that she might have married another— nearly left him paralyzed with fear.
“You—you liked it?” he finally asked.
“Liked it? Colin, I loved it! I—”
“Ow!”
In her excitement, she'd started squeezing his hand a bit too hard. “Oh, sorry.”
“Wind or not, you certainly seemed pleased when I landed in the mud.”
“I apologized!”
“Yes. And you were so very charming about it. Teasing me. Mercilessly, in fact. And I think I know why. Because we were children.”
He was still furious with her for publishing that last column, and he was bloody ashamed of himself that he was actually jealous of her for having found a life's work and purpose, but even with all that, he loved her.
Anthony turned around. “Colin!” he barked. “If you don’t wish to find yourself a widower, kindly muzzle your wife.”
Colin walked over to Penelope.
“I love you,” he said, kissing her on the cheek.
“Colin. Finally free from your admirers… Are you well?”
“There is a question I have been needing to ask you.”
“. . .Colin.”
“I—”
[Lord Debling] “Miss Featherington. I believe it is time for our dance.”
“Ten pounds,” Daphne repeated, shaking her head. “I’m going to tell your wife.”
“Go ahead,” Colin said indifferently as he nodded toward the hill sloping down to the Pall Mall course. “She’s right there.”
Georgie grinned and kissed Colin’s nose. “Is it too much to ask for one of you to favor your Aunt Georgie and come out a little bit gingery? Just a little? I could use another redhead in the family.”
“Good night, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Do you not need a chaperone?”
“Spinsters do not need chaperones.”
“You are not a spinster.”
“I am in my third year on the marriage mart with no prospects to show for it. What would you call that?”
“I’m sorry again for reading your writing. But you truly write so well. You make it seem effortless, which is so difficult to do. I’d very much like to read more one day if you would let me.”
“Please. Do not say things you do not mean.”
“But I do mean it. It is everything I have wanted to say to you… for weeks.”
“But.. Colin, we are friends.”
“Yes, but we… Forgive me. Um… I do not know what I was thinking.”
And in that moment, Benedict realized what he'd probably been too stupid (and stupidly male) to notice: Penelope Featherington was in love with his brother.
And in that moment, Benedict realized what he'd probably been too stupid (and stupidly male) to notice: Penelope Featherington was in love with his brother.
“Do you remember when we first met? I was riding my horse, minding my own business, when I was assaulted… by a devilishly yellow head covering.”
“It was not my fault. The wind blew it off my head!”
“Wind or not, you certainly seemed pleased when I landed in the mud.”
“It is my business because I care about you. You cannot marry that man. He will leave you, and he is too particular. And he is.. He is just not right for you, Pen.”
“I don't know. I don't know when, I don't know how, and to be honest, I don't care. But I know this much is true: I love you, and I hate myself for not seeing the real you all these years.”
He wanted her to love this, to love him, and to know, when they were lying in each other's arms, sweaty and spent, that she belonged to him.
Because he already knew that he belonged to her.
“Colin! We are at your house!”
“What? Oh god. Could the carriage driver not keep on driving?”
[both laughing]
“Do you think anyone saw us? I was not paying much attention to anything.”
“Colin, you’ll ruin things between me and Debling.”
“Perhaps that is for the best.”
“What do you mean?”
“Pen… you cannot marry him. You hardly know him.”
“I know him well enough.”
“I hear he is leaving. For three years.”
“I know that already, Colin."
“No one is perfect,” he said quietly.
“I know.” She leaned over and planted an impulsive kiss on his cheek. “You're the imperfect man of my heart, and that's even better.”
“You should know. I spoke to Penelope.”
“..Did you? What did… What did she say?”
“Well, I apologized for revealing the story about you two.”
“Oh, I see. Um… Thank you for that. Excuse me.”
“Penelope,” he said urgently, “there will be people who want to hurt you.”
His words had been meant for her, but they turned around and pierced his own heart.
“Oh, for God's sake, Penelope,” he said testily. “You clearly agreed with—”
She gaped at his audacity. “When did I give you leave to interpret my sighs?”