Penelope sits at her desk in the drawing room, staring down at her diary before her. Her heart races, but her breathing is shallow as she counts the days.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

For as long as she can remember, she's been a keen observer, a noticer of even the slightest details. As a child she could tell her mothers' moods simply by looking at her, she could see the frustration in the Featherington's servants' smiles, and the snide glances the ton made toward her sisters when they were too loud in public. A self-described wallflower, Penelope prided herself on her ability to see through everyone's facades, beneath the surface, and uncover the little lies others held close to the vest.

So it was incredibly uncharacteristic that she would fail to notice something so obvious about herself.

For months, she'd watched her sisters navigate the newest chapter of their lives and listened as they each perseverated on the smallest of changes within themselves—bouts of nausea, changes in appetite and mood, the way they'd hover at the mirror to look for small changes to their appearances—and yet, never once, had she noticed the same within herself.

But then again, for the last several months, Penelope had been caught up in own life—a whirlwind love affair and engagement, the truth about her alter ego coming to light, her marriage and new status within society, a bustling family that hardly allowed for moments of quiet and reflection.

A slight, tentative smile draws on to her lips as she considers it and a rush of emotion hits her—uncertainty and denial, fear and worry, happiness and excitement—and once more, she flips through the pages, this time counting the days slowly.

As she does, she pauses on a few select entries—the day she received Eloise's first letter from Scotland, the long entry about the night she was revealed as Lady Whistledown to the ton and the long, passionate reconciliation between her and Colin later that same night, her now-unfounded fear that her marriage may not survive her secret.

Her thoughts now seem strange to her as she skims the diary entries in which she'd pondered an annulment, how heavy the weight of Whistledown sat on her shoulders and the deep guilt she felt as she watched Colin grapple with it. Now, the mere thought of that seems such a foreign concept—unthinkable, sacreligious.

Taking a breath, she reminds herself of her purpose and examines the pages—still no marks, she notes, before moving onto the next entries about their wedding. A bittersweet smile stretches across her lips as she remembers how everyone had simply faded away as she as Colin danced together at their wedding breakfast and then how empty the bed felt on their wedding night when Colin slept on the chaise outside of their room.

So far, their life together had not been perfect—and yet, looking back at it now, there was not a single detail that she could think to change. Their story was theirs, and she could not help but love it, even with its flaws.

Penelope's heart flutters when she reaches the pages about the day Colin took her to see the house where he planned for them to live, the day he gave her a glimpse into what the future held for them. Her eyes close as she remembers it—she does not need to rely on her written memories. With her eyes closed, she could still see them, standing before the mirror, her hands trembling and his eyes intense. Slowly, he'd undressed her, holding her gaze as he told her all of the things he loved about her and showed her all the ways in which she was beautiful.

Opening her eyes, she lingers on the page for a moment and she can not help but laugh at the seemingly prophetic words that she'd written—she had been thankful for the time they had together when it was just the two of them and no one else because soon, she'd said, they'd have a family of their own and would not be able to enjoy each other so freely.

Quickly, she glances over the pages about the night he proposed—the fight they'd had, everything that happened in the carriage from the things Colin said to her to the way that he'd touched her to the way it made her head spin as he'd held her hand as he lead her into the Bridgerton house to announce their happy news. Then, from there, she counts back just shy of ten entries and then the X's appear, small and neat at the top of the next seven pages.

A soft giggle bubbles out of her as she notes the irony—she'd spent years now meticulously tracking a cycle that was no much more than an inconvenience to her, then, when it actually mattered, she'd suddenly stopped.

"Pen—" Colin says, his voice halting as he enters the room. "You're not yet dressed."

"Oh, I…" She stops, her cheeks flushing slightly as she closes the diary. "I lost track of the time."

"We are due at my mother's in—"

"It is rather fitting that I would be late," she interjects, turning herself toward her husband. Her stomach flutters as she watches Colin's head tip to the side. "I am late," she tells him.

His brow furrows. "We are not due until half past—"

"No. Colin. That… that is not what I mean."

He stares at her blankly, his confusion evident.

Stepping forward, she takes his hands in hers and gives them a light squeeze. "Colin, I am late. I cannot be absolutely certain just yet, but… I think… I am fairly sure that…"

"Oh," he murmurs in just more than a whisper. "Oh, my—"

"…I am with child."

"How…" he breathes out, his eyes wide as his words fail him.

Penelope laughs gently at his shock, waiting a beat for the rest of the question to come and when it does not, she smirks. "I do believe you know how."

"Right… that… that is not quite what I meant to ask," he says, his voice hoarse and breathless as he presses his eyes closed—and then, a smile stretches across his face. His flutter eyes open and she finds that they are bright and full of wonder as if to consider the situation in a new light. "When did this happen?"

A smile twists onto her lips. "That first day you brought me here, I believe."

Colin stares at her for a moment, his features soft as his eyes still filled with amazement as her news settles. "That truly was the start of something wonderful, was it not?"

She nods. "It truly was."

For a moment, neither says anything—and then, in a burst of laughter, Colin reaches for her, pulling her close as he kisses her. His hands are on either side of her face and she reaches up, her own hands rubbing over his fingers. The kiss is soft and sweet, and she can feel him smiling against her mouth.

"Pen, we are going to be parents!" he exclaims as he breaks the kiss, one hand still cupping her face as the other slips to her waist. Excitement bubbles up within her and her own laugh sings out, her arms sliding around his back as he spins them both around. "We are going to have a baby."

Starting a family was not something they had talked about directly; though, she is not sure that anyone ever did. Upon marriage, it was simply implied—and then, if it did not happen, it then became a topic of conversation for everyone.

"So, I take it that you are happy."

He blinks incredulously. "Is that not obvious?"

A grin twists onto her lips. "Well, I do not want to make assumptions."

"And you?" he asks, lifting her chin and waiting until her eyes meet his. "Are you happy?"

"Over the moon."

Colin's hand slips up over her cheek, his fingertips gently caressing the sweet spot behind her ear as he leans in, his lips brushing teasingly over hers. His breath is warm and inviting—and it takes every ounce of strength that she has to take a step back.

"Colin, we cannot—"

He blinks, incredulously as he reaches for her hand, gently pulling her back to him.

"We were not late before, but we are now dangerously close to running the risk of being more than fashionably late for dinner with your mama."

"Then we shall be late."

"I am still not dressed."

"And I do not see how that is a problem."

A grin twists onto her lips. "We promised, Colin. With Benedict away retrieving Eloise and Kate and Anthony still in India, the house must feel so empty."

"She has Gregory and Hyacinth." Penelope's brow juts up and Colin sighs, nodding as he lets go over her hand. "Alright. If you insist."

"I do," she says, a little pang of regret stinging at her core—it would have been nice to spend the night together, just the two of them, relishing in all the future held for them and dreaming of what was yet to be. "I will not be long."

She turns to leave the drawing room, but Colin's voice beckons her back.

"Are we telling anyone?" he asks. "We should decide upon that before we go."

"I had not thought of it," she admits. "Everyone will have to know eventually."

"Your mama will be furious if she finds out secondhand—especially if it just accidentally came tumbling out of Hyacinth's mouth."

There was a time not long ago when she would not have cared how her mother heard of her news, after all, she had allowed her to hear of her engagement in a Lady Whistledown column along with the rest of the ton. But since then, her relationship with her mother and sisters had begun to heal, for the first time in her life, they actually felt like a family. She knew that none of the Bridgertons would ever do something to intentionally hurt her mother's feelings, but an innocent comment could be made in passing or the voicing of an ill-timed question would do exactly that. She and her mother had made amends, she did not wish to jeopardize that.

"I… I think I like it as our little secret," Colin admits. "Just for now."

Penelope nods. "I like that—a happy secret this time."

"Indeed. Perhaps we could plan a time—"

"Yes, of course," she cuts in, agreeing. "To tell both of our families, at once."

Colin nods and bites down on his lip, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And what do you think their reaction will be when they come to realize our baby shall be born in six or seven months time, not nine?"

Penelope blinks, pressing her lips together as she stares at him. "I suppose they are fortunate that I am Lady Whistledown and that detail will not be something advertised for all to scrutinize." Colin chuckles lightly. "Besides that, I do not care. Our child was conceived in love and that is all that truly matters."

Leaning up onto the tips of her toes, she presses a kiss to his cheek. "Now, I really must go and change or we will be late for dinner and we've just decided that our excuse is not one we are willing to give."

"I will make sure the carriage is ready and waiting."

She nods, pressing one last fleeting kiss to his cheek before turning and ascending the stairs toward the bedroom, her stomach fluttering with excitement over their happy little secret.