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by kibass91

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23. The last issue of Lady Whistledown

Summary:

Penelope Featherington reveals her shocking secret identity as the infamous gossip columnist in a heartfelt letter to Lady Violet Bridgerton.

Notes:

Hello all, or should I say Dear Gentle Readers?

English is not my native language - so forgive me if there will be any mistakes. This idea was alive in my head for far too long - and it deserves to be written.

If you like it - let me know, if you don't - please, share your opinions.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

"Lady Bridgerton,

I hold the utmost esteem for you and treasure the kindness with which you have treated me over the years. I possess the deepest respect and affection for you, and it is for this reason that I feel compelled to share the truth directly, from my own hand.

I believe you may have wondered what caused the rift between Eloise and myself at the beginning of the season. We were once exceedingly close, and I can imagine that not only you but others as well were perplexed by the sudden cooling of our relations. Likewise, you must have questioned why, after our engagement, my meetings with Colin abruptly ceased.

The cause for both occurrences is the same.

I am Lady Whistledown.

I wished to confess this to you in person, but my courage failed me. I hope for your forgiveness, but I ask only that you do not cast this letter aside upon reading my confession.

I deeply regret the distress I have caused your family, yet I can assure you that my intentions were always noble. Although my deeds may have brought turmoil, they were performed with the highest motives at heart. I sought to explain this, but my words fell upon deaf ears. Alas, I cannot fault either Colin or Eloise for this; I am deeply sorry for the pain I have caused. All I ever wished for was the safety and well-being of your family. This was the only recompense I could offer in return for the kindness you bestowed upon me. Even if it seemed that my actions were cruel, such as the exposure of Marina or the mention of Eloise's presence at political lectures, I assure you, I acted with the least harm in mind. When faced with two evils, I chose the lesser—this was the principle by which I was guided.

I hope this letter has illuminated, even in some small part, the reasons behind the estrangement between Colin, Eloise, and myself.

I realize that I could have found a better solution, or perhaps devised a way to wield Whistledown's influence without damaging my relationship with your family. But at the time, I saw no other path. I was too frightened, too young—perhaps this may offer some meager excuse for my actions. Although I do not seek forgiveness, I do seek understanding. Forgiveness must be requested in person—perhaps one day I will summon the courage to look you in the eye once again.

Lady Bridgerton, I am sorry that I have delayed this confession for so long. I attempted to abandon Lady Whistledown, but I know too well the venomous nature of Cressida Cowper's words to stand by silently while she tarnished your good name. I had written of your family far too often to remain ignorant of how swiftly her column would turn against the Bridgertons. To take up the pen once more, to prove that Lady Whistledown, for all her eccentricities, writes only the truth and not vile speculation about a most honorable—and, if I may say so, beloved—family, was a matter of honor.

I hope that one day you will find it in your heart to understand me. Everything I have done, and all that I shall do, is born of my love for your family.

In time, I made several rash and dangerous decisions, and I must answer for them. I owe it to society and to the Queen to face judgment for all that I have done. I have lingered too long in the shadows, too fearful to stand tall and say, 'It was I.' That was my greatest mistake, and for it, I must pay.

And I am ready to pay that price.

With remorse and respect,

Penelope"

Clutching the letter, which she had read a hundred times or more, Violet Bridgerton gazed at her reflection in the mirror. She had expected much from this night, but after the events of Colin and Penelope's wedding breakfast, it had become all too clear—the Queen wanted blood. And Penelope was ready to offer it.

"Mother, everyone's gathered. We're just waiting for you," Eloise knocked gently at the door. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, dearest," Violet sighed, adjusting the sleeves of her gown.

"Splendid," her daughter smiled warmly.

"How are things between you and Penelope?" Violet inquired, observing Eloise linger by the door.

"Oh, we're fine," Eloise replied with a trace of surprise. "The start of the season was difficult—we both had unresolved matters, but they've since been settled. Why do you ask?"

"She is family now," Violet smiled softly, recalling the faces of Colin and Penelope on their wedding day. The parallel to her own love story with Edmund warmed her heart. Yet Penelope's letter had shaken her to the core; it was difficult to reconcile that the young girl who had grown up alongside her children, a girl Violet had long considered her own, could have pulled off such a feat—shaking society to its core for years!

"And as you two were once at odds, I should not like to witness such tension persist through Colin and Penelope's marriage."

Eloise flushed slightly.

"I promise it will not happen again. I've always thought of her as a sister—we simply quarreled for a time. It's normal for families to squabble over trifles, isn't it?"

"Quite," Violet smiled warmly. "I'm glad to see you've reconciled."

"As am I," Eloise squeezed her mother's hand affectionately.

Penelope's confession had upended the very fabric of high society—that much was clear to Violet. But the girl bore the weight of it with a resilience that impressed Violet greatly. The silence that followed the Queen's departure was oppressive—it would have been far better had everyone continued their gossip, rather than staring in mute astonishment at the poor girl.

"How are you, my dear?" Violet whispered to her son, who had not taken his eyes off his wife. Penelope seemed frozen to the spot, pinned by the many watchful eyes.

"That's not the right question, Mother," Colin chuckled softly. "It seems scandal will always follow our family, but with Lady Whistledown on our side, it doesn't seem quite so terrifying, does it?" His gaze softened as he watched Penelope. "I believe we need to talk."

"Now Varley! The Bugs!" came the shrill cry of one of Penelope's sisters, who dashed off towards the housekeeper. And then something wondrous occurred: out of nowhere, butterflies appeared, fluttering through the hall. Violet could not suppress a delighted laugh. The timing was perfect—a beautiful metaphor for Penelope herself. She had emerged from her cocoon, a resplendent butterfly.

While others were captivated by the unexpected spectacle, Violet searched the room for her new daughter-in-law. It seemed Penelope had taken advantage of the moment and slipped away. Colin looked concerned.

"I'll go find her. Enjoy your evening, Mother," her son said gently, giving her fingers a light squeeze of reassurance. As Violet glanced around the room, she noticed Lord Anderson approaching with a smile. Perhaps all was well now, and she could allow herself the luxury of accepting an invitation to dance.

"It seems you promised me a dance, Lady Bridgerton," Lord Marcus smiled. Violet nodded, placing her hand in his offered one. She felt certain her son would be able to manage on his own, and she allowed herself to forget, just for a moment, that it had been thirteen long years since a gentleman had asked her to dance.

She did not see Penelope slip out of the hall, escorted by none other than Lady Danbury. Nor did she witness her son combing the room in search of his wife, only to find her gone. Nor did she see Eloise and Francesca, huddled together, excitedly discussing plans to leave for Scotland with their Kilmartin cousins. And sadly, she did not see Penelope hand three letters to a servant with strict instructions not to deliver them until after her departure.

When the dance ended, a servant approached her with an envelope. Worriedly exchanging glances with Marcus, Violet asked who had sent it.

"Lady Whistledown," the servant winked, and Violet felt her heart freeze. Letters from Lady Whistledown never bode well, especially after the public unmasking of the girl.

"I am constantly amazed by how much influence your family holds," Marcus remarked with a playful smile as he eyed the thick paper envelope. "To gain Lady Whistledown as a daughter-in-law—my congratulations, Lady Bridgerton."

Violet responded with a quick smile before immersing herself in the letter's neat, precise lines. Her sharp eyes caught the smudged ink, likely caused by tears as it was written. It was no wonder—Violet felt the urge to cry herself.

"Is something amiss?" Marcus asked gently, guiding her to a chair as concern filled his voice. Violet looked up at him helplessly.

"She's run away."

"What?" Marcus frowned as Violet rubbed her temples wearily. "May I...?"

Words failed her. She cradled her head in her hands, staring at the floor as Marcus quickly scanned the letter.

"We must find your son," Marcus declared resolutely, rising from his seat. "She cannot face the world alone."

"No, she cannot," Violet sighed. "Poor girl," tears welled in her eyes. "We must find Lady Featherington as well. Perhaps she knows where Penelope might have gone."

Without further discussion, they moved through the hall together.

Penelope's letter lay abandoned on the chair.

Chapter 2: Chapter 2

Notes:

Another chapter is added. Please, enjoy)

I'd like to hear your opinion

Chapter Text

If you were to inquire of Mr. Colin Bridgerton how it feels to be wedded to Lady Whistledown, you would likely find yourself on the receiving end of a well-aimed fist. Perhaps more than once.

This question had been posed to him several times as he sought to reach his wife, but her petite figure had already vanished into the swirling whirlpool of the ball's colors. Curse these garish hues and the imagination of whoever chose to make a brilliant orange the theme of the evening: each time a flash of bright ginger caught his eye, he thought it might be his restless wife—only for it to reveal itself, upon closer inspection, as nothing more than a feather.

"A peculiar choice of bride," one of the elder gentlemen remarked quite loudly. "Had my wife been such a gossipmonger, I would have—"

"And what, pray tell, would you have done?" Colin inquired with a voice as smooth and pleasant as could be mustered. "What would you have done to your wife?"

"Locked her up at home, never to show her face in society again!"

"Now I see why you remain unmarried, Lord Greer," Colin retorted coolly. "Not every man has the wisdom to appreciate an intelligent woman. One must possess a certain wit to enter into marriage with one."

"And what exactly are you insinuating?" the man scowled, but Colin sighed deeply, ignoring the breach of propriety, and left the question unanswered. His thoughts were far more consumed by the whereabouts of this most intelligent wife of his. Marrying an intelligent woman is one thing, but locating her when she decidedly does not wish to be found—well, that is quite another matter entirely.

Quickening his pace, he extricated himself from the unpleasant gentleman and scanned the room once more for a sign of those fiery red curls—nothing. His gaze fell upon Eloise, and he made his way toward his sister.

"Have you seen Penelope? I can't seem to find her anywhere."

"No, I haven't," Eloise replied, her eyes darting around curiously. "Perhaps she's with her mother? Shall we look for her?"

"That would be most agreeable," Colin smiled faintly.

"And how are you?" Eloise asked.

"If you inquire about how it feels to be married to Lady Whistledown, I shall whisk Penelope away on a honeymoon for a full year," he warned, though a playful glint lingered in his eyes. Eloise burst into laughter, reassured that her brother was indeed in good spirits. If he could jest about Lady Whistledown rather than brood like a grumpy old man, all must be well.

"I do hope you'll return before Mother's masquerade ball," she remarked. "She would be inconsolable if you were to miss it."

"Rest assured, I would never forgo an opportunity to boast about my wife. Alas, you will need to find another companion for idle chatter against the wall—I fully intend to dance with her all night," Colin declared, his tone teasing.

"You are beginning to vex me," Eloise grumbled. "Not only have you married my dearest friend and now plan to spirit her away, but you also intend to rob me of her company altogether? We shall see what Penelope has to say about this," she added, narrowing her eyes at her brother.

"It is a small price to pay for the pleasure of being able to officially call her your sister, is it not?" Colin replied with a winning smile.

"I have always considered her a sister," Eloise huffed. "I would gladly trade you for her."

"Now you have us both—isn't that better?"

"Considering you're intent on stealing her from me, hardly," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

Just then, a servant in bright livery approached them silently, as Colin once again cast his gaze around the room in hopes of spotting his elusive wife.

"A message for you, sir," the footman said, extending an envelope towards Colin.

"Thank you," he replied automatically, taking the letter in hand.

"That is Pen's handwriting," Eloise observed with a frown. "Open it."

Colin swiftly tore open the seal and scanned the lines penned by Penelope's unmistakable hand—a hand he could recognize amongst a thousand others.

"Dear Colin,

I am deeply sorry for the trouble I have once again brought upon your family. You must know that this was never my intention. My unmasking as Lady Whistledown had become inevitable, especially after Her Majesty graced our wedding breakfast with her presence. While I may be skilled with a quill, I find myself at a loss for words to describe the terror I felt when she threatened your family once again. I can never bear the thought of bringing harm upon you in the future—that is why I send this letter. Perhaps one day I shall muster the courage to look you in the eye and say this aloud, but whatever bravery I possessed has been spent on my public confession. I hope that, in time, you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

You once said that Cressida's threat would forever stand between us. Today's events have neutralized Cressida—but far more difficult times lie ahead when society will seek to call me to account. I do not wish this cloud to hang over us.

I will not oppose an annulment. Any archbishop would readily grant it under these circumstances, and thus you will find upon your desk a letter from me addressed to him. Lady Whistledown may not have dreamed of marriage, but Penelope Featherington did. What she did not dream of was becoming the cause of her beloved's disgrace in society. Understanding the inevitable consequences of my actions, I believe it is best that I face them alone, without casting a shadow over your family. Even with the Queen's mercy, I comprehend the difficult road that lies ahead. Whistledown insulted, slandered, and laid bare society's secrets—such offenses will not be easily forgiven. Therefore, in my current state, I must withdraw for a time to gather my strength before facing the repercussions. There are also other matters that now demand my attention more urgently than the opinions of the ton.

I would not object if you showed this letter to Eloise. I lacked the time to write her one separately, but if she reads this… Eloise, I am sorry to have failed you. As a friend and as a sister-to-be. I have never had a closer friend than you, and I regret the pain I have caused. I shall forever cherish the memory of our friendship and of you.

Lady Whistledown has penned her final issue. It is safely stored away, and once you have finalized our separation, it will be published. I have done my utmost to bear the burden of responsibility—this, I believe, is the fairest course of action.

I love you. And I always shall. Though I release you with a heavy heart, I sincerely hope that you will find solace in your travels and your writings. Perhaps these are not the words you wish to hear, but I truly believe that one day I shall find a bookshop where "An Englishman's Travels in Greece" or "An Englishman's Travels in France" adorns the shelves (do not omit the sections you thought fit only for my eyes—I am certain your readers will find them most delightful). Perhaps you will choose another title, but I trust you understand my meaning.

Perhaps one day another woman will grant you what you seek—someone whose name is not tied to scandal, whose actions pose no danger to your family, and whose reputation remains unblemished.

By the time you return home, I shall be gone. I can only hope that, in time, you will find it within yourself to forgive me.

Yours ever,

Penelope."

All color drained from Colin's face. Eloise, who had been watching him closely as he read, frowned deeply. Whatever cheer he had possessed was now utterly gone.

"What does it say?" Eloise asked softly.

"It is addressed to both of us," Colin replied, his voice low and heavy. "Mostly to me, but there is a part for you as well."

Eloise, ever proud of her quick reading skills, found herself stumbling over each line, her breath catching at every smudged ink blot she encountered. When she had finished, she pressed her lips tightly together and handed the letter back to Colin. He carefully folded it and placed it inside his breast pocket.

"What shall we do?" Eloise asked with determination.

"We?" Colin raised an eyebrow. "You will return home with Mother and the rest. As for me, I shall… I shall search for my wife. It seems she intends to flee from me. It's not a pleasant feeling, I must admit," he sighed. "I'm beginning to regret what I said to Anthony before his first wedding."

"You jest," Eloise glared at him, her temper rising. "You may be discontented with Lady Whistledown, but I am concerned for her! She is my dearest friend, and I will not allow you to search for her alone. And besides, what did she mean by these 'new circumstances'? And since when have you taken up writing?"

"I haven't the faintest idea, but I intend to find out," Colin responded with a furrowed brow. "We must first inform Mother that you will be accompanying me. I would rather not have her driven to madness with worry."

"Let us go then."

Their search was not a long one—Lady Violet, in conversation with Marcus Anderson, was in animated discussion with Lady Featherington, who clutched a similar sheet of paper with a grim expression.

"I presume, Mr. Bridgerton, that you have received a letter from my daughter," Lady Featherington whispered in a subdued tone. Colin was taken aback—Portia was usually so

brash and loud, but the events of this evening seemed to have quite undone her.

"Indeed," he replied. "Do you have any notion as to where she might have gone?"

"I am sorry, but I have not the faintest idea," she answered just as quietly. Colin noticed the glimmer of unshed tears in her eyes.

"Not a single clue?"

"None at all."

"Did anyone see her leave, or with whom?" Colin pressed.

"My sister may have spotted her," Lord Anderson interjected. "I shall go and inquire."

"Thank you," Lady Violet offered him a warm smile before turning her gaze to her children. "What are we to do?"

"You are going home," Eloise declared firmly, earning a surprised look from their mother. "And Colin and I shall search for Penelope."

"Eloise, this matter is between myself and Penelope," Colin frowned. "I'm certain you will have the chance to speak with her later. For now, I must find her before she gets herself into trouble. I dread to think how the ton will react, and she is likely fleeing straight into its jaws!"

"Perhaps she has realized that marriage is nothing more than a prison for women," Eloise quipped, though her words were met with a sharp glare from her elder brother.

"And why, pray, are you looking at me in such a manner?" she huffed. "She did not marry me, after all."

"No, but it seems she has fled from you as well."

Eloise had no retort to offer.

Stripping off her dress, Penelope exhaled deeply. Shivering slightly, she cast a final glance around the room. Licking her lips, she gazed at the sofa and smoothed the blanket with her hand.

"I've gathered your belongings, ma'am," Ray's voice came from behind, and Penelope blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the tears that were welling up. "Are you certain this is what you wish?"

"Yes. It's fortunate I didn't have many possessions, isn't it? Everything that didn't fit in my bag, I won't need anymore," she said quietly. "I am leaving. I've already explained everything to Colin in my letter."

"Are you certain this is a wise decision?" Ray's heart ached with sympathy for the sweet young lady before her. Raised in a lack of affection, having made her share of mistakes, and knowing love—now she wished only to escape?

"Ray, you are not obliged to follow the fallen Lady Whistledown," Penelope said as she approached and took her hands. "I thank you for every day you have been by my side. I do not wish for you to fall under cross-examination. And you will, should Colin receive my letter. He will rush to find me through the ballroom, but I managed to slip away. His next destination will be this house," she said, gesturing around the room. "This room, most likely. I will understand if you do not wish to join me in my travels; thus, you will be rewarded for all your efforts. I believe you might return here—though I doubt Colin will let you go, as you will be his reminder of me. But one day he will release me. And all will be well," she said, taking a shuddering breath and looking away.

"I will not abandon you," Ray replied softly. "My things are packed as well. I do not intend to leave you in such a state."

"Thank you. Could you please loosen my corset? I so wish to breathe fully... And, I suspect, it is not too healthy for the child when its future mother cannot breathe properly," she smiled through her tears.

Dressed anew and cloaked, Penelope left her dress on the bed and exited the room. Ray awaited her with two bags in hand.

Emerging from the house through the servant's exit, the two women disappeared into the night. A black, unremarkable carriage awaited them at the corner. Once inside, Penelope took a deep breath. Lady Danbury had not failed her.

"Milady... We are indeed going to Lady Danbury's estate, are we not?" Ray inquired timidly, drawing the curtains as tightly as possible.

"Not to the town house," Penelope responded quietly. "Lady Danbury suggested waiting out the storm at her estate beyond Mayfair."

"As far as I know, she is friends with Lady Bridgerton," Ray observed cautiously, glancing at her mistress. "Are you certain they will not search for you there?"

"Lady Danbury would not divulge," Penelope smiled. "She understood who I am, knew I am Lady Whistledown. And she did not reveal my secret even to the Queen of England. She allowed me to make my own move."

"My own move?"

"Tonight, at the ball, I had to confess that Lady Whistledown is me. I would not wish all those dear to me to be in the path of the inevitable backlash. I truly would not wish that," Penelope whispered, caressing her stomach. "It will be alright," she murmured, squeezing Ray's hand as she tenderly stroked her palm. "I will manage."

"I know, ma'am. You have always managed," Ray tried to smile, though her heart broke for her small mistress. She thought of the sweet young lady whom everyone had neglected—and of the woman now sitting beside her. Hardship and care had dimmed her once bright sparkle, but her heart remained as large.

Penelope stared at the encroaching darkness outside the window, reflecting on her current predicament. It could hardly be called enviable, yet she was determined to secure her future—and that of her child with Colin. She had managed to endure all the day's adventures. Her heart still clenched tightly. And where had her bravado gone now? Instead of speaking with Colin, explaining herself to all, receiving the well-deserved scolding, and begging for forgiveness, she was fleeing down the night road. Who was there to blame but herself?

No one.

She simply did not wish to receive a reprimand on the same evening that had already set her against the Queen and all of high society. That was enough for today.

She was infinitely grateful that Lady Danbury had not refused to listen. That she had noticed her, miraculously descending from the pedestal and leaning against the column, as her legs trembled.

Penelope glanced at the drowsy Ray, smiled sadly, and drifted into memories.

Penelope's hands had trembled as she descended from the pedestal. Swallowing hard, she looked at the crowd, which seemed temporarily to have lost its appetite for her blood. Distracted by the butterflies, they laughed merrily and frequently glanced at the brightly winged beauties flitting through the air. Yet sooner or later, they would remember the fallen Lady Whistledown. And what then? Penelope did not wish to know. Nor did she wish to put Colin and his family in jeopardy.

"You look unwell, Mrs. Bridgerton," she heard Lady Danbury's insinuating voice near her ear. "Are you alright?"

"I have just voluntarily walked into the lion's den—do you think I am well?" the girl replied with a rueful smile.

"Your performance was impressive. The Queen was close to suspecting that Lady Whistledown was someone from the Bridgerton family, but I know the family well enough to guess that it was not one of them," Lady Danbury said, narrowing her eyes. "There is only one person who loves the Bridgertons more than I do."

"You knew it was me," Penelope gasped in astonishment.

"Let us say I suspected," the woman smiled. "You are not the only lady in society who can keep secrets."

Penelope smiled. They stepped out of the hall and settled in a niche hidden from prying eyes.

"Lady Danbury, I would like to ask you a favor," Penelope bit her lip for a moment before gathering her courage. "I would like to take the blow away from Colin and all the Bridgertons."

"What blow are you speaking of?" the woman inquired with interest.

"Lady Danbury, I am precisely the person who will bring that blow. Society may be distracted by butterflies," Penelope said, glancing at the ballroom door, "but as soon as they grow bored, they will remember whom they can unleash their wrath upon. Or whom they can stab with their knives."

"Mrs. Bridgerton, with all due respect, your new family has endured even greater scandals. Remember the scandalous near-wedding of your new brother—I thought he would never recover from such a scandal," Lady Danbury said with a shudder.

"The Viscount and Viscountess have just found their happy ending," Penelope smiled, recalling the joyous future parents. "I was terribly worried about Kate while the Queen was at our wedding breakfast—she is carrying a child. I would not want similar scandals—I do not wish to put her through new trials."

"And why do you think she will not be troubled by the fact that you are about to do something foolish?" Lady Danbury narrowed her eyes. "Do not attempt to tell me you are not planning something FOOLISH—we both understand that you are. I merely wish to convey that you are making a mistake."

"I believe I am trying to do the right thing," Penelope sighed. "I wish to take the blow from the Bridgertons one last time. In the way I know how."

"And sacrifice yourself again?" the woman asked. "Do not attempt to argue with me. You placed Colin Bridgerton above your own family in the first year of Whistledown's existence, tarnished yourself as much as possible in the pages of your own column... If that young man cannot understand and accept your love, that is his problem, not yours. You have sacrificed too much for the Bridgertons. And they understand that. And your husband will understand that."

"This time I wish to do something not only for the Bridgertons who walk this earth," she smiled. "It will be alright. I am fully aware of what is happening. And I am also aware of my choice. Believe me, I would not wish to reappear in society and face ostracism again."

"The Queen has granted you her forgiveness. She does not expect you to exit the game. Your public confession was beautiful," Lady Danbury admitted, and Penelope raised her eyes to her.

"And dangerous. What if the Queen had not accepted my confession so well? I am certain that decapitation would have been the most merciful punishment. And what if others were harmed besides myself? I could not bear it. I need time to comprehend, to accept, and to put everything in order…"

"And to what order do you aspire?" Lady Danbury inquired with genuine concern. The mood of the newly minted Mrs. Bridgerton left much to be desired. Lady Danbury could almost physically sense Penelope's tension—the very tips of her fingers itched to touch the girl, to somehow show her that she need not bear her burdens alone.

"I do not know yet," Penelope confessed, her hands trembling. "I suppose my thoughts are far from any semblance of order at present, and I would dearly like a brief respite. Alone, somewhere the clamor and fuss will not find me. I usually could lose myself in my books, but now I cannot afford that luxury. Living openly is no simple matter," she added with a wistful smile.

"I shall tell you what I once told a member of your new family—when I was slightly older than you, I was once terrified by the attention bestowed upon me."

Penelope lifted her eyes to her, glowing with curiosity and disbelief.

"It is hard for me to believe that you were ever afraid of anything, Lady Danbury," the girl remarked, and Lady Danbury smiled.

"And it was hard for me to believe that a clever, yet not the most popular young woman of society could defy the Queen. And more than once. I think we both have a capacity to astonish, Mrs. Bridgerton."

"Indeed, we do," she smirked. "And how did you manage the situation?"

"I resolved to show them my teeth," Lady Danbury replied with a mischievous grin. "There is no more fearsome force than a woman who has resolved to fear no longer."

"I would like to say that the confidence Colin helped me find will suffice for this—but I would be lying. And I do not wish to lie any longer. I cannot face them," she gazed toward the ballroom door, "cannot face Colin, Eloise, Lady Bridgerton... I would rather the earth open up and swallow me, though I do not think God will be so obliging. I do not blame Him," Penelope scoffed, and Lady Danbury laughed heartily.

"Penelope Bridgerton!"

"Forgive my invoking of the Lord in vain. Yet I wish to act rightly—and lift the burden of this marriage from Colin."

"Run away? In your state?" Lady Danbury's brow arched sardonically.

"Pardon?" Penelope bit her lip.

Lady Danbury paused thoughtfully before responding. She studied the young woman before her, sensing the depth of her fear and fatigue. A young girl cast into the harsh world of society too soon—and she had resisted as best she could.

"I like you, Mrs. Bridgerton," Lady Danbury said quietly. "Thus, I shall offer you a bit of advice. You are with child. You have recently wed, and I have witnessed your swoon, you mentioned not only the Bridgertons of the earth, so I surmise you also mentioned the Bridgerton growing within you. I have given this world four children—believe me, I can understand when a young woman, newly wed, is already expecting. I am surprised that Violet did not notice, though with eight offspring it is quite difficult to keep track of all, so I do not blame her in the least."

Penelope looked at the woman in bewilderment. Touched by her words, she continued to wait silently for what Lady Danbury would say next. She did not keep her waiting.

"I wish to convey that sometimes a woman truly needs time to sort herself out. I fully comprehend this. I wish to assist you. At present, you are in a state where you might wreak considerable havoc—and if no one helps you, you will. I suspect you already have a plan—it is hard for me to imagine such a clever woman as yourself running off without one. I would like to offer you some time—to be my guest. I respect women who are not afraid to voice their opinions—and you have already shown all of society that you have one. However, I would never forgive myself if I did not extend a helping hand when it is needed. You are unlikely to seek help from anyone else," she raised a hand as Penelope opened her mouth to object, "do not attempt to dissuade me. Therefore, I wish to grant you the time you need to think. I invite you to stay at my estate. Not at the city house—I believe it will be sufficiently distant to avoid disturbance, yet close enough should you change your mind. You have concerned yourself long enough with those around you. It is time for you to allow someone to care for you."

Tears streamed down Penelope's cheeks. She extended her hand to Lady Danbury, who gently clasped the girl's palm. With her free hand, Penelope quickly wiped her wet cheeks. Taking a deep breath, she smiled.

"When I intended to ask you for a favor, I did not foresee that you would offer me sanctuary. I wished to ask you to deliver these letters," she produced three envelopes. "They are addressed to my mother, Colin, and Lady Bridgerton. I cannot speak with them—not at this moment. Yet I would still like to ensure they receive these."

"Have the servants take care of it," Lady Danbury shrugged. "And then go home and pack your things. I would have suggested you leave a note for your husband, but as you have a letter... I shall not inform anyone of your whereabouts or what has transpired. Consider this your respite, which you so desperately need."

"Thank you, Lady Danbury."

"We shall exit now. You will go home, and I shall return to mine. In an hour, a carriage will await you—entirely black. I will instruct the driver to collect you at the corner, by the servants' entrance—thus drawing less attention. You will be taken to my estate—and I shall visit you in a few days."

Penelope nodded obediently, absorbing the woman's instructions and mouthing the plan. Memorizing every detail, she looked into Lady Danbury's eyes and saw genuine concern and empathy.

"Thank you for your kindness and understanding, Lady Danbury," Penelope whispered once more, feeling the tears continue to flow down her cheeks. "I am infinitely grateful."

"I believe it is time we set the plan in motion," the woman smiled. "Deliver the letters. I shall await you at the exit."

Penelope complied.

The carriage came to a halt. Penelope emerged from her thoughts and frowned. There should not have been any stops—perhaps something was amiss with the carriage?

Trying not to disturb the dozing Ray, she drew back the curtain.

"Lady Danbury instructed us to stop for the night at this inn, my lady," the coachman spoke softly. "She directed us that you require rest. The evening has been quite taxing for you."

"Rest it shall be," Penelope smiled. "Please attend to our belongings while I arrange lodgings for us all."

Stepping out of the carriage, she wrapped her cloak tightly around herself. The inn appeared rather respectable—at least, it was clean and orderly. Resting here would be most welcome.

With a deep breath, she opened the door.

Chapter 3: Chapter 3

Summary:

Another chapter is dropped. Enjoy!

Chapter Text

Eloise Bridgerton could scarcely recall many instances in her life when she found herself bereft of words. Indeed, she could count them on one hand: when her father passed away; when she severed her friendship with Theo; when the Queen declared her to be Lady Whistledown; when she quarreled with Penelope; and when Penelope fled. They had just mended the rift between them, set right what lay broken—and then, out of the blue, she vanished. Without so much as a note to indicate where she intended to go! As though Eloise had not agreed to flee with her...

She sat quietly on the sofa in Colin and Penelope's drawing-room, while her brother stormed about, interrogating the servants. Dunwoody entered the room silently, bearing a tray.

"Dunwoody, I do hope you shan't abandon Colin. You know well enough that he is a good man, only..."

"Only, when Mrs. Bridgerton fled, he became somewhat... discomposed?" the butler remarked with a wry smile. "I understand, Miss Bridgerton. I have known Miss Pene... Mrs. Bridgerton long enough to discern that something of great consequence must have occurred to prompt such a drastic step."

"I fear I do not quite comprehend why she did it. But we shall do all in our power to find her," Eloise frowned.

"If I may say so, I believe that you and Mr. Bridgerton possess the means to locate Mrs. Bridgerton. Yet that is but half the battle—you must also ascertain why she fled. If that remains unresolved, she will not allow herself to be brought back."

"I'm afraid that without speaking with her, we shall not rectify anything. Where is Colin?" Eloise inquired, noting the unusual silence.

"His last outburst emanated from above. From Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton's bedchamber," Dunwoody observed with his usual politeness. "Perhaps your brother would wish for a bite to eat. Would you care for company?"

"No, thank you," Eloise rose from the sofa, taking the tray in hand. "Thank you very much, Briarly. I shall speak to Colin about your raise—it's simply outrageous that you receive no additional compensation for Colin's outbursts."

"Thank you, Miss Bridgerton. I am confident that once Mrs. Bridgerton steps through the threshold of this house once more, your brother's outbursts will cease entirely. Of all the women, only Lady Bridgerton and Miss Pene... Mrs. Bridgerton possess the peculiar talent of tempering your brother's disposition. A remarkable talent, indeed," he added with a chuckle, and Eloise smiled in return.

"Indeed."

Balancing the tray, Eloise ascended the stairs. She nudged open the door with her hip and found Colin seated at the desk, staring darkly at the sheet of paper before him. Eloise's sharp eyes caught sight of the pillow and blanket on the sofa, but she refrained from asking questions, choosing not to fan the flames of Colin's already dour mood.

"I thought you might..."

"I'm not hungry," he cut her off, his gaze still fixed on the paper.

"What did the servants say?"

"Nothing. No one saw how or where Penelope vanished. As though she simply evaporated," he sighed. Eloise gently squeezed his shoulder.

"What is that?"

"Her letter to the Archbishop. She describes in vivid detail why he is compelled to grant us an annulment. Quite convincingly," Colin chuckled. "Were I in his place, I would have dissolved our marriage the moment I finished reading the letter," he stood up and approached the liquor cabinet, swiftly pouring himself a brandy. After downing half the glass, he stood before the lit fireplace. Eloise watched him in silence, observing the gears turning in his mind. She took advantage of his reverie to pour a glass for herself, but no sooner had she brought it to her lips than she heard her brother's voice.

"Put that down. I'll ask Dunwoody to fetch you some wine, but brandy is too strong a drink for a lady."

"Don't be stingy," Eloise teased. "What else is in that letter? May I read it?"

"I don't think so," Colin replied, gazing thoughtfully at the fire. Finishing his drink, he looked at the paper in his hands—then threw it into the flames. He watched silently as the paper burned, while Eloise took a small sip from her glass. "There is one problem with that letter—it no longer exists. For I have no intention of divorcing my wife. My marriage is the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I am certainly not going to do what Pen so clearly wishes me to do."

"Splendid! Only, do tell me, what is our plan?" Eloise sprang to her feet.

"We shall go to Mother's. Perhaps Lord Anderson has already returned with news from Lady Danbury."

Eloise obeyed in silence, following her brother after setting down her glass. They descended the stairs, and Colin briefly informed the butler that they were bound for Bridgerton House.

Eloise sat quietly, gazing out the carriage window as they set off, yet one thought continued to gnaw at her. It felt slightly improper to ask, especially with Colin's pursed lips visible in her peripheral vision.

"Colin, purely from a technical standpoint... why is it impossible to annul your marriage? Did you have a wedding night? Pen was very distraught after your wedding breakfast, and I didn't think that..." Even the memory of how inconsolable Pen had been made Eloise's heart ache. Colin sighed.

"We... consummated the marriage before the wedding," he admitted after a brief silence. "And that is all you need to know. The marriage is consummated."

"And no remarks regarding the farm?"

"Do you still wish to learn how a lady bears a child?" Colin raised an eyebrow.

"Considering your tale would include you—no, thank you very much," Eloise grimaced. Colin smirked. "I'd rather give Penelope a good shake."

"Even considering her tale would include me?" he chuckled.

"How revolting... It is dreadful that I can no longer discuss certain topics with Penelope. For certain of them will involve you," Eloise pulled a face.

"You mean to say, you two discussed this subject?" Colin's eyes widened in shock.

"And where do you think my interest in children came from?" Eloise arched an eyebrow. "Pen told me about a maid who was unmarried and expecting a child. Now I realize she was speaking of Marina, but at the time we were trying to prevent it for ourselves."

"Rest assured, you have nothing to fear," Colin chuckled. "But Penelope and I..." he trailed off, frowning. He pulled the ill-fated letter from his pocket, rereading it. His hands began to tremble.

"What is the matter with you?"

"Other matters," Colin whispered, his voice trembling. He recalled how Penelope had placed his hands on her abdomen on Francesca's wedding day. How her words—sharp and honest—had once again turned his soul inside out... Had she meant to convey something else with that gesture? Could it be possible...

"What has happened, Colin?" Eloise asked in concern, taking the letter from him and reading its bitter lines once more. "I don't understand. What is wrong?"

"Penelope may already be with... child. My child."

Eloise bit her lip. Her brother looked... strange. Perhaps that was the best word to describe the mixed emotions on his face: disbelief, hope, despair, pain, happiness, and bitterness. Leaving him to his own thoughts—stunned by his possible revelation, he was hardly capable of conversation—Eloise found the place he had mentioned. "Therefore, in my current state, I must withdraw for a time to gather my strength before facing the repercussions. There are also other matters that now demand my attention more urgently than the opinions of the ton."

Eloise had always prided herself on her capacity for clear thought—and there was logic in Colin's words. What else, if not fear for an unborn child, could have driven Penelope to abandon everyone and everything? To flee, without support or assistance! And though they had often discussed the joys of an independent life—well, Eloise had extolled such a life in all the colors of the rainbow, while Pen silently listened, letting her friend vent—surely, Penelope must have felt lonely and frightened? To flee into the unknown, under the cover of night... Even if she had ensured a life of comfort for herself (Eloise was still in awe of the sum Pen had earned. Not that she needed the money, but the mere fact that her friend had earned such a sum on her own filled Eloise with a sense of wonder that made her knees tremble), that did not mean she could navigate a world fraught with dangers for a solitary woman, with swindlers and God knows what else lying in wait! The thought made Eloise feel sick.

When the carriage halted before Bridgerton House, Colin helped his sister alight before they ascended the steps of their childhood home. They were carried down the corridor to the drawing-room, where Violet was pacing the floor in measured steps, visibly agitated.

"Mama," Eloise announced their arrival softly.

"Have you found her?" Violet asked with hopeful anticipation, but her hope faded the moment she saw their distressed faces. Sinking into a chair, she furrowed her brow.

"Mama, what exactly did she write to you?" Colin asked, moving closer to his mother and kneeling before her. He gently took her hand in his and looked up at her.

"She wrote that she does not wish to place our family in danger again," Violet said quietly. "That it would be the right decision for her to go far away. But it isn't so!" she cried, clutching her son's hand more tightly. "She should be with us, with family! Especially after such an evening."

"I agree, Mama," Colin said softly. "And I will bring her back, no matter what it takes. But for now, I need to understand what precisely she wrote. Her letter might hold an answer or a clue. Do you have it?"

"No. I gave it to Lord Anderson to read," the widowed Lady Bridgerton said quietly.

"Mama, what did Lady Featherington say?" Eloise asked, sitting down beside her mother and taking her free hand.

"She has the same letter as I do. She does not wish to bring trouble upon her own family or her new one. And she wished to take the blow herself."

"This is nonsense," Eloise said. "What blow does she keep talking about?"

"She is Lady Whistledown, and that explains something," Colin said thoughtfully. "She fears that the ton will strike at her—and she wants to keep away until the storm passes. Why does she not want to weather this storm with family? Does she not understand that it is best for everyone to stick together in such times?" Colin's expression changed as Violet's words struck him.

"I do not think it is so simple, dears," Violet said, squeezing her children's hands. "You were raised in a family that is unlike most of the upper crust. Edmund and I did everything we could to make you understand how important family is. And how much family loves you. And that no matter what happens, family will support you. And understand. And not abandon you. And forgive."

Violet paused before continuing. Eloise and Colin sat in silence, waiting for her to speak further.

"Perhaps I seem a bit mad in all this madness of the marriage season, but I assure you, it is not so. Marriages of love are a rarity in our society, even rarer than marrying in one's first season or having eight children in one family," she smiled. "Though we have lost your father, we have our family, which Edmund and I built in love and harmony—and that is the only thing I knew and wanted for each of you. And for the families you will build in the future... I would wish for each of you to have love, the seeds of which we so strived to plant in you. But not every family is like that. I rarely spoke to you of the family I was raised in—I often wished to run away from my mother. But my father was a most remarkable man. And he loved me with all his soul. And I promised myself that I would never follow my mother's example," she said softly. "Penelope... We are alike," Violet smiled, releasing her hand from Colin's grasp to stroke his cheek. "We were both insipid wallflowers," at this comment Eloise flinched as if struck, though Violet did not notice, continuing to gaze at her son, who looked utterly stunned. "Neither of us were popular in society. Yet we were both fortunate enough to find true love. Though she has faced more trials. I would not claim to fully understand what went on in Penelope's home, but only a blind person would fail to see how much she yearned for you. Both of you," Violet stroked Eloise's cheek. Tears streamed down Eloise's face, which she quickly wiped away. "Of course, she loves our whole family, and we all love her—I always considered her one of us. But you two have always been her support and her anchor. But recent... events may have broken her. And if she has never received support from her family, why should she seek refuge in it if she does not know she can receive that support?"

"Then she shall receive it," Colin said resolutely. Kissing his mother's forehead, he stood and rubbed his face with his hands. "Thank you, Mama. I think it is time to show her what true family is."

Violet smiled.

"Have you learned anything?"

"No," Colin replied quickly. "None of the servants have seen her; Ray is also missing. I suspect she did not want to leave Penelope... in such a state."

"She told me she felt like a ghost," Eloise admitted quietly. Colin turned towards his sister. "When we fled from the ball last season. Apparently, it is one of her talents she is now using against us."

"I cannot help but admire it," Colin exhaled quietly. "Even if I am tempted to smash something because I cannot get inside her head and understand how to find her."

"Find whom?" Francesca asked as she entered. "Why do you all look so glum?"

"Penelope has run away," Eloise answered. Francesca froze.

"What do you mean?" Francesca asked. "How did she run away?"

"Without looking back," Colin said bitterly. "She ran off, and we do not know where."

"Perhaps Lady Danbury knows? I saw them leave together," the girl said, approaching her brother and grasping his hand tightly. "We could go to her and inquire."

"Lord Anderson went there directly after the ball," Violet said quickly. "I hope he will return tomorrow with news—and... are you certain you saw Agatha leaving with Penelope, dear?"

"Absolutely. They left the ballroom, and then I did not see them again."

"Thank you," Colin said, rushing to his sister and quickly kissing her forehead. Hurrying out of the room, he made his way to the exit. Eloise followed him.

"And where do you plan to go at this hour?" she asked, stopping him at the door.

"To fetch my wife," Colin replied, looking at her with ''Are you joking or truly do not understand?'' in his eyes. "Where else?"

"At this hour," Eloise repeated slowly. "I suppose you do not care much for the rules of the upper society, but further disregarding moral norms... Is that wise?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Since when do you care about norms and rules, Eloise? My wife is God knows where and with whom, and I have a lead that will take me to her. Do you think I care about these silly morals?"

"You could go to Lady Danbury in the morning," Eloise suggested. "And I, of course, will accompany you," Colin smirked.

"Is your reluctance to let me go now solely because you should have been in bed long ago and in deep sleep by now?" he raised an eyebrow, and Eloise pressed her lips together.

"I am not so..." she began, but Colin, despite his benign demeanor, sometimes remembered that he was the elder brother. And sometimes, when his emotions were truly at their peak, he could make Eloise shrink and remember who the elder brother was with just a look. "I want to go with you, but Mama will never let me go," she confessed in a whisper. "Pen is my best friend, and I do not want you searching for her alone."

"Eloise, it would be best if you went to bed. If I am fortunate, I will reach Lady Danbury's house quickly, speak with Pen, and persuade her to come with me. Then you can chatter away to your heart's content. I have no wish to spend another night away from my wife," he bit his tongue quickly when Eloise shot him a piercing look. But she said nothing. The image that had puzzled her a few hours earlier—the blanket and pillow on the sofa—confirmed some of her suspicions, and she resolutely pressed her lips together.

"Either you take me with you, or I shall tell Mama on you, and neither of us will get to act until morning," she said quickly, grabbing her cloak with one hand and trying to put it on. Colin sighed, took the cloak from her, and helped her put it on.

"To blackmail me with telling Mama... Will you truly stop at nothing?"

"For Pen? No," she said with a cheerful snort and hurried to the door. "Are you coming?"

Shaking his head, he followed her.

Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Chapter Text

As soon as the door to Lady Danbury's townhouse swung open, Colin spoke with the air of urgency, "We should very much like to speak with Lady Danbury."

The servant, standing with impeccable decorum, replied, "It is rather late, Mr. Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton."

"I am aware," Colin responded impatiently, "But it is a matter of life and death."

"Well, if it is a matter of life and death," came Lady Danbury's amused voice from behind them, "then do let these young ones inside. It would be quite improper to keep them on the threshold—especially at this hour."

Following the servant into the drawing room, they were enveloped in the warmth of candlelight reflecting off the dark wood and rich tapestries. The siblings settled on the sofa, awaiting Lady Danbury's arrival.

"Tea?" the servant inquired, pausing at the threshold.

"No, thank you," Colin replied swiftly.

"How unlike you, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Danbury remarked with a smile as she entered the room. "Normally, the biscuits vanish into thin air when you make an appearance."

"Lady Danbury, thank you for receiving us at such a late hour," Eloise began carefully, clasping her brother's arm. "We do apologize for the intrusion, but our business cannot wait."

"Indeed?" Lady Danbury settled into an armchair, her curiosity piqued. "I am listening."

"Francesca mentioned that she saw you leave with Penelope. Might you have any knowledge of where she went?" Colin asked softly, and the lightness faded from Lady Danbury's face as her sharp eyes fixed on him.

"Suppose I do," she sighed after a pause.

"So, you do know where she is?" Eloise's voice was filled with hope.

"Suppose I do," Lady Danbury repeated, her gaze shifting to Eloise.

"Can you tell us where she went?" Colin's voice was more steady now, though under Lady Danbury's penetrating gaze, he felt like a boy awaiting his punishment. But he was no longer a boy—he was a man.

"Why must you know?" she inquired with the precision of someone well-versed in the art of discourse.

"To bring my wife home."

"In my conversation with Mrs. Bridgerton, she made it abundantly clear that she desires a divorce. So why should I prioritize your wish to bring her home when her wish is to stay away?" Lady Danbury's words struck like a blow, and both Bridgertons flinched.

"I admit there have been disagreements," Colin began, his voice laden with the weight of his regret, "but everything can be mended. Right now, we must buy time and prevent her from going too far—she is unacquainted with the dangers beyond Mayfair, and the thought of her being harmed… it is unbearable."

"If that is your only concern, Mr. Bridgerton, then you may rest assured. I have personally seen to it that your wife reached her destination in safety and comfort," Lady Danbury replied, her keen eyes never leaving his. Colin's hands clenched into fists.

"That is not the only concern," he said quietly. "I want my wife back. I love her, and I want her back in our family."

"And did you love her as much when the truth about Lady Whistledown came to light?" Lady Danbury rose, moving to the decanter of wine, pouring two glasses, and placing them before the Bridgertons. Filling her own glass, she resumed her seat.

"I learned the truth before our marriage," Colin admitted. "And it did not change my feelings. I loved Penelope then, and I love her now. It was difficult to reconcile with Lady Whistledown, but my foremost concern was always her safety. I saw her deliver her final issue—alone, under the cover of night, in one of London's less reputable districts… Unthinkable!"

"And yet, something in your reaction must have been so devastating that she chose to flee. Had she been certain of your support, she would hardly have fled, especially in her condition," Lady Danbury observed, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the siblings exchange a glance. "So, you are aware that she is with child? Good. Then tell me, Bridgertons, what could you have possibly said or done to Penelope Featherington—who, of all people, would sell her soul and more for your family—that made her decide to run to the ends of the earth to escape you?"

A heavy, uncomfortable silence settled in the room.

Lady Danbury sipped her wine, watching as the weight of guilt descended upon the young Bridgertons. Her eyes tracked every sign of their remorse. Much as she was fond of the Bridgertons, she was prepared to let them stew in their guilt a while longer before continuing. She would not betray Penelope's trust until she understood the full extent of what drove them in their search. She would confide in Violet when the time came, but these two would need to present a compelling reason before she considered revealing Lady Whistledown's whereabouts.

"She loves you. And your entire family. She has sacrificed much for your happiness, dear Bridgertons. If there is anyone in society who loves your family more than I do, it is her. A wallflower, a quiet girl with no bite, who was mocked, belittled, and never taken seriously. She put her own family's honor at risk to save you from an ill-conceived engagement—and her family was cast out for it. Do not think I was displeased with how things turned out—it would have pained me greatly to see you deceived by the likes of Miss Thompson. But she did not think of you when she plotted to trap you in such a marriage. She thought of her own comfort and gain. Penelope, however, thought of you, Mr. Bridgerton. Far more than she thought of herself or her own advantage."

"Lady Crane was shattered," Colin objected, and Lady Danbury pursed her lips. The boy needed a lesson. And a harsh one.

"Lady Crane is now far better off than most, as far as I know. Her son is titled, he will inherit from his uncle—who married her and saved her from disgrace, and her children from fatherlessness. Tell me, Mr. Bridgerton, why are you so concerned for this woman's fate when your own wife, carrying your child, is in an unknown place and planning to raise this boy or girl alone? They are in the same position, but Penelope had the courage to take responsibility. Perhaps she does not fully understand how difficult it will be, but rest assured—I will help her. I like your wife, Mr. Bridgerton. The difference between them is that Penelope took responsibility, whereas Lady Crane feared it. Penelope sacrificed her family's honor for yours. Miss Eloise, I remember how upset you were by that article last year. Care to tell me what exactly drove your friend to treat you so unfairly?"

Lady Danbury fixed her gaze on Eloise, who was nervously rubbing her hands.

"I was attending lectures. And I went a bit too far in my search for Lady Whistledown. The Queen suspected I was Lady Whistledown and threatened to punish my entire family. I told Penelope about it."

"Were the lectures the only variable in this equation?" Lady Danbury raised an eyebrow.

"Not… entirely. I," Eloise sighed and cast a guilty glance at her brother, "I befriended the printer's apprentice."

"And Penelope knew this?" Colin's eyes widened in shock.

"Had she used this, neither you, Francesca, nor Hyacinth would have had a chance of making respectable marriages, and our family would have been disgraced, Eloise!" Colin exclaimed.

"Indeed," Eloise sighed. "I deduced that Penelope was Lady Whistledown, and it broke my heart."

"And was hers not broken? I do not wish to diminish your suffering, Mr. Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton, I merely wish to give you both an opportunity to understand what this girl sacrificed to help your family, without being a part of it."

"She has always been an unofficial part of the family," Colin argued. "That will never change."

"Heartening to hear," Lady Danbury smiled slightly. "Yet, from what I gathered in our conversation, she did not feel part of your family even after becoming a Bridgerton. She intended to leave the wedding breakfast—do not think I did not notice. What could be clearer proof that she never felt part of your family?"

"She is our family. She is my family," Colin's voice was firm. "I know I did not handle the truth about her well, but that does not matter. She is the bravest and strongest woman I have ever known. I will have to work hard to win her back, but I will do it. I swear I will."

"I sincerely hope you mean that, Mr. Bridgerton. Otherwise, I shall personally request the Queen's approval for your divorce. I like Miss Penelope—and I want her to be happy."

"She left a letter for the archbishop, vividly detailing the reasons why he should grant us a divorce," Colin said with a bitter smile.

"And where is it now?"

"I burned it. You may not believe me, but I will make her happy. I will do whatever it takes."

Lady Danbury smirked.

"My dear boy, I am inclined to believe that your mere presence is sufficient to make her happy. Anyone with eyes can see how deeply she loves you. I observed the two of you before you knew the truth about Penelope—you were so proud, so joyous… I wish to see you both as that radiant couple once again, basking in each other's mere gaze."

"And we shall be," Colin vowed. "I sincerely wish to make amends, Lady Danbury. I want my wife back. She deserves it. She has earned her family."

"Oh, she has earned peace more than anyone," the lady remarked. "I shall soon be making my way to her. I could take you along. But you must decide what you will say to her and what lengths you are willing to go for her. She mentioned her fear of society's judgment. She fears that the consequences of her actions will strike you and your child harshly. She dreads the ghosts that might harm your family—your kin. She has given up everything for you. What are you willing to sacrifice for her?" Lady Agatha looked deeply into his blue eyes. They were filled with determination, and she approved.

"Anything."

The journey to Lady Danbury's estate took Penelope and Ray approximately three days. They stayed at inns along the way—the coachman insisted they stop to rest, and Penelope did not object, generously paying for the comfort of all travelers. The coachman had coins on him, but Penelope forbade him from using them and instructed him to return them to Lady Danbury. While she took full advantage of Lady Danbury's generous invitation to stay, she could not bring herself to use the contents of her purse. She was determined to start—well, or at least attempt to start—a new life, and she needed to understand the aspects that eluded the attention of a lady of high society.

She listened intently to the conversations of other lodgers and gauged the cost of lodging. She was adept at bargaining. At a quite reasonable (according to other guests) rate, she rented three rooms for herself and her companions. Without further ado, she paid for all meals, the changing of horses, and a substantial amount of food for them. She knew she was buying herself time to think when she retired to her room alone. At least that time allowed her to cry without witnesses.

Each morning, she awoke feeling shattered after tossing in bed for hours and weeping. Ray, who came every morning, tactfully remained silent but helped her cover the traces of her half-sleepless nights and gently squeezed the shoulders of her young mistress when she could not contain her emotions.

By the sunset of the third day, they finally arrived at Lady Danbury's estate. The efficient coachman hurried to announce their arrival, delivering a letter from Lady Danbury to the butler. When Ray and Penelope alighted from the carriage, they were shown to their rooms to rest. Declining dinner, Penelope quickly took a bath and went to bed, hoping that, for once, peace would find her.

Awaking the next morning, she stared aimlessly at the ceiling. For the first time in a while, her mind was blank—she no longer had to plan her escape or ponder how to survive another day, jostling in the carriage and battling bouts of nausea. Speaking of which…

As soon as the thought of nausea entered her mind, she felt a vile wave rising in her throat. Leaping from the bed, she rushed to the chamber pot and barely made it in time, expelling bile—the missed dinner made itself known. After expelling everything she could, she slowly rose to her feet, rubbing her aching temples and stroking her belly.

"I'm sorry, little one," she whispered. "Mother will not leave you or herself unfed again. It is crucial that you are a healthy boy. Or a healthy girl. I do not yet know who you are, but I already love you dearly. I promise to make your life very, very happy."

Given who the child's father was, she needed to strive to fulfill at least the first promise—to eat, before the child started making its way out.

Quickly finishing her morning routine, she took a deep breath and opened the curtains. A pleasant mist of dawn was faintly visible in the distance, and Penelope felt an irresistible urge to take a walk—three days of sitting had taken their toll, and she was yearning to be free—to breathe deeply and stretch her legs.

"You're already up?" Ray exclaimed in surprise upon seeing Penelope in a light dress. She stopped on the staircase and approached her.

"Yes," Penelope smiled, taking Ray's hands. "I have a strong desire to walk and eat. Do you think it would be too much to ask if we find the butler and request a bit of food and a blanket?"

"Not at all, Mrs. Bridgerton," a male voice said behind her. Both women turned around. There stood a servant in butler's attire, looking at the two women with curiosity. "I shall arrange everything. Lady Danbury has given explicit instructions to coddle and pamper you until her arrival—and I would be honored to prepare an early breakfast for you."

"Please, call me Penelope," the young woman smiled. "And I would be delighted if you could join us and show us a park where we might have breakfast. After three days of travel, I would trade much for a promenade in the fresh air."

"As you wish, Mrs. Penelope," the man smiled. "I shall arrange for the breakfast preparations. Please come down in fifteen minutes—all will be ready."

Ray departed with the butler, and Penelope decided to explore the house—she had never before visited Lady Danbury's country residence, so her natural curiosity overrode her discomfort.

She examined the portraits on the walls—Lady Danbury's children were considerably older than Penelope, so she had never seen them in society. Yet now she looked at them—each was unique in its way, but she invisibly searched each child for features of Lady Danbury. It was hard to believe that her features did not prevail; with the confidence she displayed everywhere, Penelope somehow felt that her features did not overshadow her husband's. And there was he—the late Lord Danbury, who had passed away long before Penelope herself was born. And beside the silver-haired man was a tall, beautiful woman with dark, vibrant eyes. She stood so upright that her posture might well rival even that of the Queen.

"How long have you served Lady Danbury?" she asked, hearing footsteps behind her. Her keen observation had not failed—she guessed correctly that it was the butler.

"Since she was widowed. I wouldn't say I was particularly noticed at that time—I have come a long way from an ordinary kitchen boy to a butler—but Lady Danbury decided I had earned such an honor."

"What was she like back then?" Penelope asked. "When she was widowed and had to raise her children alone?"

"Strong," the butler replied after a moment's thought. "She accepted all of life's blows with dignity and endured."

"I forgot to ask your name, forgive me," Penelope said, snapping back to reality. "It seems my manners have yet to catch up," she wrinkled her nose. The butler chuckled softly.

"My surname is Stowell. But you may call me Bran, Mrs. Penelope," the man responded warmly. The young woman nodded and mouthed his name.

"So, Mr. Bran, you have known Lady Danbury for quite some time. She raised her children alone, did she not? Given her name, I assume she decided not to remarry and to care for herself and her children on her own. Of course, she had you, she had friends, but it's not an easy decision—and she made it," Penelope said, and the man guessed that all of this was not for nothing. The sudden arrival of the young lady, Lady Danbury's stern orders to coddle and pamper her until his arrival, her questions about how Lady Danbury had raised children without a husband… He was not a fool.

"I suppose that is so," he replied cautiously, and Penelope nodded—perhaps not to him but to her own thoughts.

"She is a very strong-willed woman. I admire her," she said, glancing back at the portrait.

"Many admire her, many fear her. But in my memory, I have seen no one braver than her. Come, Mrs. Penelope. I think Ray is already waiting for us."

They descended—and Ray was indeed waiting below, with a basket and blanket. Penelope smiled—Ray had not abandoned her. As she began her life as a strong and independent single woman, she had not anticipated that Ray would follow her—but she did, and Penelope was determined to make her maid's lot as comfortable as possible. She also mused: living a life like Lady Danbury's, a free woman with a child—wasn't that an option? She had enough money, she had seen to that; perhaps she would buy a small house somewhere, where neither society nor gossip would reach her, nor numerous Bridgertons come to call her to account. It sounded like a plan, but Penelope realized how much she needed to learn before bringing it to fruition.

She needed to consider where to go and when. What kind of house she desired and how many servants she would need. What preparations she needed for the arrival of the child. She had a plethora of questions. And who better to ask than a woman who had already been a mother and, quite possibly, a grandmother? A woman who had extended a helping hand and had not abandoned her in a difficult time.

Ray and Mr. Bran discussed something as they walked through the garden. Penelope watched the day unfold—feeling a surge of energy. They wandered through a charming garden—the summer had just begun, and she felt a wonderful connection with nature. Her new life was also just beginning, and she needed strength to embark upon it. What better way to start the day than with breakfast?

Mr. Bran led them to a lovely spot: a quaint gazebo in a corner of the garden, where they spread a blanket on a bench and Ray quickly laid out the food.

"Ray," Penelope called, seeing the maid sitting and merely gazing at the table, too timid to touch the food. "Mr. Bran. Please join me. I am weary of having breakfast alone."

Her words prompted action, and for a time, they silently filled their plates and clinked their utensils. When it was time for tea, she poured it into cups for everyone and took the first sip.

"Delightful tea," she smiled. "Thank you for arranging everything so swiftly, Mr. Bran."

"It was no trouble, Mrs. Penelope. Believe me, it is a pleasure to be in your company."

"And the same goes for me. Thank you also for showing me these wonderful gardens—they are a feast for the eyes."

"As you can see, Lady Danbury's gardeners are well worth their salary," remarked Mr. Stowell, then fell silent. But both women at the table laughed at his little joke, and he felt a weight lift from his heart.

"Indeed, they are," Penelope said. "The gardens are wonderful, and I would like to spend the day here, if you don't mind."

No one minded. Penelope spent the entire morning in the garden, strolling among the trees and enjoying the pleasant morning mist, contemplating her plans. First, she needed to understand where to go that would be sufficiently safe for an unmarried lady with a child. Second, she needed to figure out how to wisely manage the remaining funds—she needed to provide for herself and the child. Perhaps in the new location, she might find work—work for their mutual benefit. Thirdly—and this was the point that troubled her most—she needed to devise a plan for when Colin eventually discovered the child. She berated herself slightly for mentioning it in the letter—if he had not known about the child, it would have been much easier for him to decide on divorce. But the worm was there—and serious: she did not want to deprive Violet of her grandchild. Yet she certainly did not wish her appearance to once again bring harm to the Bridgertons.

The headache that had become her constant companion intensified with these thoughts, and Penelope decided that she had had enough fresh air for now. Upon returning to the house, she was surprised by the unusual cheerful commotion in the hall.

All the servants were chatting merrily, gathered around someone who was laughing loudly in response to someone's joke. Intrigued, Penelope stepped forward but stopped.

"Mrs. Penelope!" Mr. Bran called, smiling. "We would like to introduce you to Lady Danbury's grandson—Mr. Gareth St. Clair. Mr. Gareth, this is Mrs. Penelope Bridgerton—your grandmother's guest."

Penelope greeted the young gentleman before her with a short nod.

"Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Bridgerton. It is a great delight to see a new face—no offense," he said with a playful smile at those present, but no one appeared offended—instead, they seemed encouraged by his presence. "A treat for the eyes to see such a lovely creation."

Against her will, Penelope blushed.

Chapter 5: Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Mr. St. Clair—Gareth, as he had so courteously requested to be called no fewer than five times—was the most charming of gentlemen, and the grandson of Lady Danbury. Having just returned from Eton, where he had completed his studies, he had decided to visit his beloved grandmother. This thought baffled Penelope somewhat—it was difficult to imagine Lady Danbury having a grandson who was fully grown. Upon discovering that she had not yet arrived, he expressed his wish to await her return and to entertain the charming guest in the meantime. Penelope merely smiled at the compliment; she was a new face, and naturally, she inspired intrigue.

She requested Mr. Bran to escort her and Ray to the library, a request he gladly fulfilled, and she soon immersed herself in the comforting quietude of the shelves. Ray, eager to be of assistance, insisted on helping with the cleaning, and Mr. Bran tasked her with dusting the books. There were many. He emphasized that she should not rush, as she, too, was a guest, but Ray was reluctant to leave her little mistress alone. She was concerned for her young lady and followed her in silence. After all, a young, unmarried man had appeared in the household, and her mistress's honor was under her vigilant watch.

As Penelope's fingers traced the spines of the books, she couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. How many times had she and Eloise spent such peaceful hours, perusing books and studying literature whenever her mother allowed her to visit her friend at Aubrey Hall? Penelope blinked away the tears that threatened to spill. She missed her dear friend terribly and found the separation almost unbearable—but she wished Eloise nothing but happiness. Their friendship had only just begun to mend, and here she was at Lady Danbury's estate, while her friend was likely at home. Or perhaps planning her departure to Aubrey Hall. It must be beautiful there now...

"Am I interrupting?" a male voice asked from behind her, and Penelope started, emerging from her reverie of Aubrey Hall.

"No," she replied with a smile, turning to Gareth and greeting him with a slight nod. "Your grandmother's library is astonishingly vast. Poor Ray will be occupied for quite some time."

"It's no trouble, Mrs. Bridgerton," Ray's voice called from behind the shelves. "There's not much work to be done here. I suspect Mr. Stowell was trying to outwit me and give me a chance to rest."

All three of them laughed.

"It's true," Gareth nodded gravely. "My grandmother's guests must rest. But since you insisted, Ray, he ensured that your workload would be minimal," he added with a smile as he walked down the aisle. "Perhaps because it is so vast, I tended to avoid this room as a child, as though it were engulfed in flames."

"Not fond of reading?" Penelope inquired.

"Not particularly," Gareth admitted. "I did quite well at Eton, but reading was never my favorite pastime. And you? Do you enjoy it?"

"Very much so," Penelope confessed, turning back to the spines of the books. "However, I know several gentlemen whose interests lie far from books. What then is your passion?"

"My passion lies in taking a break from studying and finding an occupation that will comfort me for the rest of my days. And avoiding my father for as long as possible."

"Complicated relationship?" Penelope asked, raising an eyebrow.

"To say the least," Gareth replied with a smile. "So if I have the chance to disappear—I take it."

Penelope chuckled softly. She understood all too well the complexities of such relationships—how many times had she hidden from her own mother behind books when they were in the same room, or behind the door of her bedroom? Countless.

"May I inquire, if it's not too personal a matter?" she began, and Gareth looked up from the table he was examining.

"You may."

"Is your father too involved in your life? Or not involved enough, and you cannot forgive him for it?" she asked.

"You speak as if you are familiar with such situations."

"Believe me, I am more acquainted with parental troubles than most," she smiled. "Let us do this: I will share my situation with you, and if you wish, I will listen to yours. I have always been a most excellent listener."

Gareth nodded, and Penelope, selecting a book from the shelf that caught her eye, settled herself on a settee by the window.

"Since my debut, my mother insisted that my sisters and I be the center of attention. I was not the most attractive debutante—indeed, I would not be mistaken in saying that I was the least attractive—and given that I was forced to debut a year earlier than customary, I was ill-prepared for such an event. I was a kitten amidst lions—and I cannot say that I learned to swim. My mother was deaf to my pleas to postpone my debut. She presented all three of us at once—it was a disaster. I was seventeen—what sort of wife could I be? I had barely ceased to be a child myself, and they expected me to become someone's mother. It was a nightmare," she added with a bitter smile.

She noticed Gareth had raised his head, intrigued by her story, but she found herself lost in thought, reflecting on the girl she had once been before continuing.

"My pleas fell on deaf ears—my mother, my sisters. They derived pleasure from mocking me, and I never found their conversation topics interesting enough to join in. Thankfully, I had a close friend, and we found joy in each other's company."

"You were fortunate," Gareth said softly. Penelope nodded.

"Unspeakably so," she continued. "I was a guest in my friend's home, yet I felt more at ease there than in my own. I was ridiculed by society. I was mocked. My mother cared nothing for it—she was determined to marry us off to any gentleman who would have us and be rid of us. It was not a pleasant reality for a girl fresh out of childhood. Nor could I count on my father—he cared nothing for me or my sisters—but I found solace in books."

She paused, gently stroking the spine of the book in her hands. Gareth couldn't read the title, but the way she held it, as though it were a lifeline that could pull her out of the depths of memory, spoke volumes.

"My mother… she disliked how much I read. 'You are muddling your thoughts, Penelope,'" she said, imitating her mother's tone as best she could, and Gareth chuckled. It was amusing now, though perhaps not so much to seventeen-year-old Penelope. "But what was I to do if my books were far more interesting than many members of high society?" she asked, casting a guilty glance at Gareth, who only laughed heartily.

"My grandmother would agree with you. She delights in the writings of Lady Whistledown, and I dare say she prefers her company to that of most society members."

"Oh," Penelope's mouth formed an adorable "o," and Gareth smiled. "I wasn't aware Lady Danbury held such high regard for that column."

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how many times I heard during the off-season that she simply had to get her gossip fix," Gareth rolled his eyes. "I sometimes visited her during my holidays—and it was dreadfully dull," he added in a whisper, and Penelope shot him an indignant look.

"Mr. Gareth!"

"Oh, you did manage to say my name!" he exclaimed triumphantly. "My goal is achieved. But what of your mother? Does she enjoy Lady Whistledown's column?"

"I wouldn't say so," Penelope muttered. "Lady Whistledown was rather pointed in some of her remarks, and my mother didn't appreciate it. But she didn't heed her advice. In some instances, I think she even despised her."

"Despised her?"

"When Lady Whistledown exposed my cousin—she… was about to marry my friend and present things in such a way that her child, who was fathered by another man, would be seen as my friend's own," Penelope recounted, a bitter taste in her mouth. She still felt uneasy recalling what she had done to her cousin. But it had been for Colin… and her conscience was silenced by her feelings for him.

"Not a particularly clean story," Gareth frowned. "Your friend was fortunate that Lady Whistledown saved him from such a burdensome match. She did manage to intervene in time, didn't she?"

"She did," Penelope replied bitterly. "But my friend didn't take kindly to it. He was hurt that he had been so thoroughly deceived. And that he had become the laughingstock of society," Penelope added quietly, her voice almost a whisper. The library was not a loud place, and Gareth heard every word.

"He was lucky to learn the truth before being saddled with another man's child," Gareth observed quietly. "I don't know your friend, nor do I know how old he was, but at eighteen, I wouldn't have wanted to become the father of someone else's child."

"I thought the same. But he didn't see it that way. And still doesn't."

"You knew about this situation?"

"Yes."

"And what did you do?"

"I tried to speak with her. I tried to speak with him. When, in the dead of night, I overheard my mother and cousin plotting to ensnare him in their web, I sought to warn him. I didn't understand how a lady comes to have a child, and I dared not speak of such things. But I did tell him that her heart was not free, that it had been bound long before she accepted his proposal," Penelope said, turning her head towards him. Her fiery curls tumbled over her shoulders, and she brushed aside a stray lock that threatened to stray into her mouth.

"That was bold of you," Gareth acknowledged.

"Thank you," Penelope replied with a bitter smile. "And as for my mother—she was far from pleased. We were shunned, and rightly so, though it did nothing to ease our predicament."

"The children paying for the sins of their parents? Hardly fair," Gareth remarked, shaking his head.

"After Papa's passing, Mama took charge of us. She did everything she could to keep us afloat—I saw how hard it was for her. Papa had squandered my sister's dowry, and she could not marry. Things changed when our cousin arrived—he provided the dowry for my sister. Mama was overjoyed and promptly turned her attention to my other sister. She wrote me off as a wallflower and dismissed me entirely. In some ways, it was easier that way," she smiled. "I could breathe freely… for a time. Then it was revealed that my cousin was a swindler, a scoundrel. He stole money from society's elite and fled into the night, leaving us in peril once more. Before that, Mama had arranged his engagement to my second sister, but he cared no more for his fiancée than Mama cared for me. I am glad Mama did not attempt such a scheme with me," she sighed.

"I daresay she knew you were smarter than your sister."

"I daresay she knew I would not play her games," Penelope corrected with a smile. "She was fortunate again—a second good man married my second sister. Do you know what she did next?"

"Did she set about finding a husband for you?" Gareth guessed, scrutinizing her.

"She decided it was time to give up on me and instead awaited the birth of my sisters' children—my cousin left a document stating that the firstborn son would become Lord Featherington. Both my sisters are now expecting, and the race for a son consumes them entirely. I am curious to see the outcome, but I will be content if one of them bears a healthy, strong boy. My brothers are fine, kind men, and I trust one of them will raise a good new Lord."

"You do not partake in this race?"

"Hardly," Penelope whispered, her lips curving strangely, as though she fought back tears. She sighed and looked at him.

"You are married, too, Mrs. Bridgerton," Gareth emphasized the last words, causing Penelope to flinch.

"You are right. But we are speaking of parents now, are we not?" Penelope asked, and Gareth narrowed his eyes in the manner of his grandmother. Clever. She does not wish to speak of herself. But Gareth was no fool either.

"And how did your mother react to your betrothal?"

"To the one that happened or the one that didn't?" she asked slyly, and Gareth smiled.

"Both."

"To the one that didn't—I realized I would only matter to her when a lord's ring graced my finger. She did not care that I did not love the man who wished to propose, but I had spent too much time among the Bridgertons to settle for anything less than a marriage of love."

"I believe your dreams did come true, Mrs. Bridgerton," Gareth once more emphasized the title. "And how did she react to the second engagement?"

"Oh, she was furious. I could have been a Lady—but became a Mrs. instead. She was livid," Penelope smiled at the memory and glanced at Gareth, who gazed at her with sympathy. This girl. This woman—she was a married woman. But what was she doing so far from home and husband?

"I am sorry."

"But I am not," she smiled so brightly and warmly that Gareth felt a warmth spread in his chest. "I do not regret it. I have many regrets in this life, but that is not one of them. I believe I made my mother believe in love. She is not the kindest of women, but she cared for us in the way she knew how. The way she could. She is a woman, and power in this world rests in the hands of men—and she did all she could. I think my fiancé at the time and I rekindled her belief in love. So I understand my mother—partly. She wielded what power her marriage to my father and his name afforded her, while I made my mistakes. She overlooked things, I admit, and I have done much that I regret, but in her own way, she loved me," she smiled again. "I have shared my story with you. My mother found herself in many scrapes, but in the end, she earned her peace. At least, I did my best to ensure it was so."

"You are more generous than I," Gareth shook his head.

"Believe me, I am not," she smiled and flinched as a ray of sunlight danced across her face.

"My story is simpler," Gareth said. "I always felt my father loved my brother more than me. I never understood why, but my brother George was my pillar. When my brother died—I was but a boy. I thought my father would come to love me after we both lost him, but I was wrong."

"I am sorry," Penelope whispered softly and approached him, lightly touching his shoulder with the tips of her fingers. He smiled faintly.

"My father hates me. And I do not know why. I fear I lack the magnanimity to forgive him—so I choose to believe what I know. I know my mother loved me. I know my father hates me. And that is all I know of my parents."

"Your story is harsher than mine," Penelope frowned. "But you have Lady Danbury."

"Grandmother is indeed the one person who loves me," Gareth's face softened into a warm smile at the thought of the elderly lady. "And since you are here, my lady, tell me—what brings you here and not to the embrace of your loving husband? You sought a marriage of love—and you have it. So why are you not with your husband?"

"You have your grandmother's knack for asking uncomfortable questions, Mr. St. Clair," Penelope narrowed her eyes as she returned to her place by the window. "I have already said that I have done much that I regret."

"Have you truly done something so dreadful?" he pierced her with a sharp gaze, and Penelope felt as though Lady Danbury herself was staring at her, not her grandson.

"That depends," she paused before continuing. "Would angering and turning society against oneself suffice as something dreadful?" Penelope did not avert her gaze. "For years, I laid bare what they hoped to keep hidden beneath the veil of night. Challenging the Queen herself—would that be dreadful enough, Mr. Gareth?" Penelope sighed wearily and looked at him. "Being Lady Whistledown—would that be dreadful enough?"

Gareth, who had risen from his seat to approach her, was about to sit back down but missed the chair entirely. Despite herself, Penelope smirked. Embarrassed, he rose to his feet, his face a picture of astonishment.

"You are Lady Whistledown?" he asked in awe. Penelope swallowed. She had prepared herself for a wholly different reaction. Contempt, mockery, perhaps immediate withdrawal from any further conversation… But she had forgotten with whom she was speaking.

"In the flesh," she said cautiously. "You… are not disappointed? Do you not wish to tell me how terrible it is, what I have done?"

"Are you jesting? I am thrilled!" a broad, boyish grin spread across his face, and Penelope timidly smiled in return. "You have an excellent pen and a gift for writing."

"Thank you," Penelope smiled. She nervously smoothed the book in her hands, and Gareth smiled.

"Your reaction speaks volumes. Your husband found out about Lady Whistledown and did not take it well?" he asked quietly. She bit her lip.

"That's correct—he did not take it well," Penelope smiled bitterly, and, excusing herself, quickly left the library. Ray followed her, but Penelope requested to be left alone.

Tears streamed down her cheeks.

After spending the day absorbed in a book, Penelope managed to pull herself together, at least somewhat. Emotionally, she had ordered herself to stop dwelling on what was lost and refrain from tears. Physically, however, she appeared rather disheveled—her eyes were red from crying, and her cheeks were swollen.

She did not come down for dinner. Ray brought her a tray to her room, and she forced herself to eat a few morsels, though she had little appetite. Truth be told, she had no desire for anything at all. The conversation with Mr. St. Clair—though she admitted he had been a most agreeable companion—had reopened a wound in her heart that had yet to heal. She bore him no ill will, for they had both entered into the discussion willingly. She had longed to speak with someone, and speak she had.

She missed them. She missed Colin, Eloise, all the Bridgertons—and the mere thought of them brought such a pang of longing that it threatened to tear her heart asunder. She wept, consumed by self-pity, sorrow for her unborn child, and regret over the choices that had led her to this place. She wanted to be with him, with Colin, with her husband—but fear held her captive, and she had already penned a letter to the archbishop. Who knew—perhaps at this very moment, Colin was becoming a free man. The thought made her want to howl with grief, and she sobbed into her pillow.

She would be strong again—if not for herself, then for her child. But under the cover of night, she allowed herself to be weak for just a little longer.

Morning came unexpectedly. Penelope opened her eyes to find the light streaming through the loosely drawn curtains. She had asked Ray not to close them fully the night before, and now the soft, warm light of a new day gently embraced her. A new morning, a new hope, a new dawn.

She prepared herself for the day—she had become quite adept at it since the time when only Varley had been available to assist her mother and three daughters—and then she descended to breakfast. It would be foolish to ignore someone who had more right to remain in this house than she did.

"Mr. Gareth, Mr. Bran, good morning," she greeted them cautiously. Mr. Bran was overseeing the setting of the breakfast table, while Gareth quickly rose to his feet at the sound of her voice.

"Mrs. Bridgerton!"

"You know, you may call me Penelope," she smiled as she took her seat at the table. "Considering all that we discussed yesterday," she added in a lowered voice.

"Very well, Mrs. Penelope," Gareth responded with a warm smile, and Penelope felt a small sense of relief. He was not angry with her, nor did he intend to chastise her for her many transgressions—this brought a measure of peace to her heart.

"What are you reading?" she asked, noticing the stack of papers beside him.

"I am perusing the chronicles of London's high society," Gareth replied, patting the rather substantial stack.

"But you said you didn't enjoy reading," Penelope frowned.

"I did graduate from Eton, which means I am soon to be thrust into the upper echelons of society, where I shall have to fight for my right to remain unmarried and childless for as long as I please," he grimaced, and Penelope let out a soft laugh. "I must know my enemy. I do not wish to be a kitten amidst lions."

"Oh, I understand perfectly," she smiled. "Should you have any questions, do ask. My knowledge of society may not be vast, but I hope to enlighten you on certain matters."

"I am certain you can tell me many stories," Gareth noted. "My grandmother holds your stories in the highest regard, and I trust her opinion implicitly," he added meaningfully, patting the stack, and Penelope realized what he was referring to.

"Those are my columns," she remarked.

"Indeed," Gareth smiled broadly. "What would you say to a little reading in the garden? Ray could join us. You have your book from yesterday, and I could bring your columns—we could spend the morning in the gazebo. I would greatly value your opinion on many of the events that have transpired in society."

"You can read my opinions in my columns," she pointed out, taking a sip of tea. She appreciated his tactful suggestion that Ray join them, for even in her self-imposed exile, she would not flout propriety by being alone with a gentleman. Ray nodded eagerly when Penelope caught her eye.

"But how much remains unwritten," Gareth observed, pretending not to notice their exchange.

"In that case, I agree," Penelope replied, and a broad smile appeared on his face, making him look almost boyish, and Penelope was immediately reminded of Gregory Bridgerton in his charming youthful innocence.

They finished their breakfast leisurely, and Ray went to Penelope's room to fetch her book. Penelope found herself once again captivated by the portrait of young Lady Danbury. She gazed into the painted woman's eyes, and her resolve to be strong grew stronger. She could be strong—with the support of such a woman, Penelope was certain she could manage it.

As she descended the stairs and waited for Gareth, they were about to head out with Ray, who was holding Penelope's book, to the garden and settle in the gazebo when a commotion on the driveway caught their attention.

It was Lady Danbury's carriage.

"Grandmother!" Gareth exclaimed cheerfully, while Penelope turned deathly pale as she saw who had emerged from the carriage after Lady Danbury.

"She has many guests this year," Gareth remarked, glancing at Penelope. "What is the matter?"

"I know who arrived with Lady Danbury," she replied, her gaze fixed on the new arrivals. Gareth frowned.

"And who might that be?"

"My husband."

Standing on the driveway, helping Lady Danbury and Eloise out of the carriage, was Colin Bridgerton.

Chapter 6: Chapter 6

Chapter Text

She stood there—in a light blue gown, her hair arranged in a high coiffure—reminiscent of the style he himself had once undone, allowing her locks to cascade down over her creamy shoulders. Her face was deathly pale, and Colin felt an odd mixture of relief and confusion. She was here—just a few steps away from him. She was alive, unharmed. Yet she stood beside another man. Who was he? His gaze swept slowly over her form—she shrank, becoming so small that he feared she might once again vanish into the air.

He made to approach her when Lady Danbury's cane halted him in his tracks.

"And what, pray, do you think you are doing, Mr. Bridgerton?" the lady inquired sharply.

"I am going to my wife," Colin declared, his eyes fixed on the figure of Penelope.

"No, you are not," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument. "She is my guest, and I promised her peace, which I shall ensure. I have told you before, Mr. Bridgerton, I like your wife. If you have no desire to spend the rest of your life in search of her, you will heed my words." Colin sighed. "I will speak with her myself, and when she is ready, she shall speak with you."

"Colin," Eloise touched his arm, her gaze turning to Penelope—pale, withdrawn, so small that her heart ached for her. "Let us listen to Lady Danbury."

"If you have not noticed, she is as white as paper," said Lady Danbury with a sigh. "Recall the state in which you parted? She likely thinks you've come to deliver news of a divorce."

"Never!" Colin protested.

"Then prove it—not to me, but to her. Now, you will wait whilst I greet my grandson, after which I shall take your wife aside and endeavor to ease the way for your conversation. And only when I say so, Mr. Bridgerton, shall you speak with her."

"And what of me?" Eloise interjected. "She isn't divorcing me, so surely I am in no danger?"

"She left you as well, Miss Bridgerton. I daresay her wounds are yet unhealed. Do you think I have forgotten the scene at their betrothal?" she added with a glance at Colin. Eloise frowned. "It was not a pleasant sight."

"I am here to bury the hatchet and let its ashes scatter to the wind," Eloise said, gazing sorrowfully at Penelope's still figure.

"She knows not of your intentions. Consider her position—what she needs now is peace," Lady Danbury urged softly, and Colin gave a quick nod, his eyes darting toward the man standing beside his wife.

Lady Danbury moved with regal grace toward the threshold, where Penelope stood, her gaze never leaving the Bridgertons.

"Grandmother!" Gareth greeted her with a radiant smile as he stepped forward to embrace her. She returned the gesture with delight.

"I did not expect you so soon, my dear!" the lady beamed. "A true gentleman."

Lady Danbury gave an approving hum as she glanced at her grandson.

"I have already made the acquaintance of your charming guest. A delightful companion. Only trouble is—she's already married."

"Mrs. Bridgerton," Lady Danbury turned to Penelope, who was pale as a sheet. Her hands, previously clenched into fists, now dropped to cover her stomach.

"Lady Danbury," Penelope tore her gaze from the driveway and looked at the older woman with tear-filled eyes. "It is a pleasure to see you. But... why?" Her voice was scarcely more than a whisper.

"Let us retire inside, Mrs. Bridgerton. We have come a long way, and a little refreshment would do us all good. I promised you peace, and I shall keep my word. Now, come inside."

"Of course," Penelope swiftly wiped the tears from her cheeks and darted into the house, ascending the stairs and disappearing into her allotted chamber in the blink of an eye. Grandmother and grandson exchanged glances—both equally grim. Lady Danbury waved a hand, and the two Bridgertons approached.

"Mrs. Penelope has confided a few things to me, but I suspect the matter is far worse than she has let on."

"Did she say much?" Colin asked, his voice tight.

"Not overly much. But I daresay any man would be fortunate to find himself married to Lady Whistledown."

"But not every man is," Colin remarked as he stepped closer. "And we shall not discuss my wife behind her back."

"Your wife who has fled far from you?" Gareth squinted at him. Colin gave him that look—the one that always sent shivers down Eloise's spine. For all his geniality, Colin could indeed be intimidating.

"We may have had our differences, but I do not believe my relationship with my wife concerns you in the least," Colin rebuked him, and Gareth's eyes narrowed.

Lady Danbury exchanged a knowing glance with Eloise before clapping her hands to draw the men's attention.

"Hush, the both of you! Mr. Bridgerton, Gareth will not be stealing your wife. Gareth, Mr. Bridgerton has had a long journey, and he is not in the best of tempers. And I will not tolerate brawls in my home. Is that understood?" She waited for them both to nod before continuing. "Good. Now, we shall all freshen up from the road, and then we shall decide how to proceed. Bridgertons, this is my favorite grandson, so no ill-treatment of him. Gareth, this is Mrs. Bridgerton's husband and sister—do not vex them. Goodness! I feel as though I am speaking to my own children once again," she muttered.

All three smiled.

"I am certain you were, and remain, a splendid mother, Lady Danbury," Colin remarked graciously.

"My mother always aspired to be like you, Grandmother," Gareth added with equal politeness.

"Men!" Lady Danbury and Eloise groaned in unison.

They all dispersed. Gareth, realizing that Penelope's company was now firmly out of his reach, withdrew to the garden to examine her drawings, while the three newcomers went to wash off the dust of the road.

Penelope flinched when she heard the knock at the door. Seated on the window ledge, she gazed out at the garden where she had longed to stroll, though her thoughts were far from cheerful.

"May I come in?" Lady Danbury's voice carried softly as she peeked through the doorway.

"Of course," Penelope offered a small smile. "I am a guest in your home."

"Mrs. Bridgerton, I promised you peace," Lady Danbury began, and Penelope raised her eyes to meet hers. "And I intend to keep that promise. Though Miss Bridgerton and Mr. Bridgerton arrived with me, they shall not disturb you until you are ready to speak with them."

"He came... regarding a divorce?" Penelope swallowed hard and lifted her chin. "I left a letter for the archbishop, but I suppose it may not have been sufficient."

Lady Danbury shook her head. "No. He is not here about a divorce."

"Then why has he come?" Penelope frowned.

"Mrs. Bridgerton—" the woman began, but Penelope interrupted her.

"Please, call me Penelope."

"Penelope," Lady Danbury inclined her head and gestured for her to sit down. "I believe he wishes to amend what has happened. I believe he wants you to return with him."

"For what purpose? I have freed him of me—was that not what he desired?"

"I think it unwise to assume we can speak for others, concerning their desires," Lady Danbury replied diplomatically.

"You know, I too desired many things. I wanted to be heard as Penelope, long before I used Lady Whistledown to make my voice known. I wanted to flee, to lick my wounds. I know I've caused harm—but how long must I pay for my mistakes?" she asked, her voice trembling. "I have repented enough."

"Have you considered that perhaps no one is seeking to punish you?" Lady Danbury suggested.

"You weren't there when both Eloise and Colin learned the truth," Penelope whispered, her eyes welling up with tears. "I do not blame them—I was not kind in the papers I wrote that angered them. I'm not trying to play the victim; I know this is my own fault. But I am tired of apologizing for it," she said, her hands falling helplessly to her lap. "I never wanted to be the villain in this story, but how could I protect them when they refused to listen? When no one would listen?"

Lady Danbury reached out and gathered Penelope into a warm embrace. The older woman gently stroked her disheveled hair as Penelope wept into her gown.

"I never wanted to hurt Marina," Penelope sobbed, looking up with tear-filled eyes. "I begged her, I pleaded with her to abandon her plan."

"And what did she say?" Lady Danbury asked softly.

"She only put into words what I already feared. She said he would never see me as a woman, but that he saw one in her."

"Well, that is debatable," Lady Danbury observed wryly. "Considering that you are now carrying his child, I dare say he did see the woman in you."

Penelope smiled faintly through her tears.

"I begged her," she repeated. "I behaved horribly and as rudely as I could toward her. I tried to persuade my mother—that deceiving Lady Bridgerton with her eight children was pure folly."

"I agree."

"Marina and Colin were planning to flee to Gretna Green. I found her bags. I was terrified. Colin was too young, and I would never have forgiven myself had I done nothing to protect him."

"But you did try. You tried to reason with him, did you not?"

"And to what end? No one listens to Penelope, but Lady Whistledown had a voice. I will not apologize for using it," she sniffed, wiping her nose.

"Nor should you. Penelope, why did you fight so fiercely for Colin?"

"Because he didn't deserve any of it," Penelope said, her lips pressing into a firm line. "I know what everyone thinks—or rather, what most people think—that I tarnished Marina's name just to keep Colin for myself. As if I could dream of such a thing in my first season! As if I could ever have dreamed of such before that season!" She let out a bitter laugh. "I wanted to save a good man from a trap, and I am glad that I succeeded."

"And you did succeed. But surely, even for a moment, you must have considered keeping him for yourself?" Lady Danbury asked with a sly smile.

"There is a difference between keeping someone and dreaming of them. Did I dream of Colin noticing me? Of course. I am only human. But did I do what I did to keep him for myself? Certainly not! How could I? He is not a possession to be hoarded."

"You are right, of course. What happened after?"

"Colin spoke of his wish to travel, and I wanted that for him. I wanted him to be happy. That was all."

"Did you ever attempt to speak with Miss Bridgerton? She did admit to her friendship with the printer's assistant."

"She became too engrossed in her pursuit of uncovering Lady Whistledown," Penelope sighed. "And I, too, became too wrapped up in my own endeavors to provoke the Queen."

"Ah, that… What on earth were you thinking?" Lady Danbury frowned. "The Queen began her hunt for you in your second season!"

"So I hear... I think I reveled too much in my position in the shadows, where no one could find me. But I got carried away. She got carried away in her quest—and I in mine. I do not blame her."

"She entrusted you with her secret."

"And I acted dishonorably by revealing it. But not in a way that would destroy her—was it not wiser to choose the lesser of two evils?"

"You could have confessed to the Queen. Requested an audience, thrown yourself at her feet, and begged for mercy," Lady Danbury narrowed her eyes. Penelope scoffed.

"Lady Danbury, you are a clever woman. Do you think anyone would have noticed that Eloise and I were… always together?"

"You were inseparable."

"And would anyone believe that Eloise Bridgerton's shadow would not stand up for her? Would anyone believe that her shadow could commit such an act? And could anyone named Penelope Featherington challenge the Queen herself?" Penelope asked, and Lady Danbury paused to consider.

She had seen the girl from her very debut: young, curious, small, and silent. She had indeed always been a shadow—first, the shadow of her sisters, cousin, and mother, and then the shadow of Eloise Bridgerton once she came out. Always in the background. The chances of the Queen believing her, rather than suspecting her of protecting her friend, were slim indeed.

"No," admitted Lady Danbury. Penelope, who had been patiently awaiting her response, nodded in acknowledgment.

"I thought as much," she replied softly.

"When did she discover you?"

"After I had published a piece about her. It was at my mother's ball. I wanted to speak with her, to explain myself, but... we exchanged many cruel words. I do not wish to repeat such an encounter."

"I do not doubt it," Lady Danbury said, gently clasping Penelope's hand, causing her to flinch. The expression on her face was so vulnerable that Lady Danbury felt the sudden urge to embrace the girl once more.

"And after all this, she chose to befriend your greatest foe? Do not think I have forgotten how she treated you."

"She was in need of company. But... I could never quite understand her choice. She said that, in the beginning, she sought a way to punish me."

"Violet couldn't understand it either. She and I often wondered what could have driven a wedge between you two—you were like sisters."

"She kept my secret. For that, I am grateful. But I paid dearly for it. And I do not wish for them to pay the same price simply for being in my company."

"And what makes you think anyone should have to pay any price at all?" Lady Danbury asked, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Our exalted society thrives on scandals—and you gave them plenty to talk about. You provided exactly what they desired, and you might be surprised to learn how many held Lady Whistledown in high esteem and still do."

"And how many of them wish to settle accounts with her for exposing the secrets they had hoped would remain behind the closed doors of their homes, clubs, and brothels?"

"I daresay Lady Whistledown has influential friends and allies who would not allow her to come to harm."

"And who might they be?" Penelope scoffed.

"Let us take, for instance, the Duchess of Hastings," Lady Danbury smiled. "She would not have been so pleased to marry that wretch, Berbrooke. Or the Queen—she would never forgo a new game, and you, my dear, were a worthy opponent. I, myself, shall not stand idly by—you know full well the weight my word carries in society. Let us not discount your husband and your new family either—they surely will not see you harmed. What are the feeble whispers of a few fools who could not conceal their misdeeds compared to such strength?"

Penelope fell into deep thought. She clasped her fingers together and bit her lip. There was logic in Lady Danbury's words. Logic and reason. She could agree with it, no doubt. She could return to society and... and then what? Walk among them with her head held high by day, only to weep alone at night under the burden of her sins? The letter to the Archbishop still existed, and though it had been written by her own hand, it loomed over her—over them. Colin had been right—there would always be something hanging over them. And given the way their marriage had begun, it was foolish to hope for anything good.

"I shall speak with them," Penelope said after some contemplation.

"When?"

"This evening. After dinner."

"Together, or each in turn?"

"Eloise will not allow me to speak with Colin alone, as she herself craves a conversation. And Colin is too much of a gentleman not to yield to a lady. Even if the lady in question is his sister," the girl remarked. Lady Danbury gave a knowing chuckle.

"I shall let them know."

"Thank you."

Lady Danbury squeezed Penelope's hand once more before leaving the room. Penelope wiped her tear-stained cheeks and rose from the bed. Though she had consented to the conversation, part of her still wished to avoid it altogether. But for her own sake and for the sake of her child, she knew she must be strong. If she could not summon the courage to speak with her friend and husband, then what hope was there for any independent future?

Colin tried to savor the food, but he might as well have been dining on parchment. The lump in his throat made swallowing nearly impossible. How he longed to retreat to a private room with Penelope, to fall to his knees and beg her not to leave him. Yet all he could do was mutter monosyllabic replies to questions directed his way, all the while striving not to gaze at Penelope too often. He was successful at the former—thanks to Eloise kicking him under the table when anyone spoke to him—but miserably failed at the latter.

"When did you marry?" Gareth inquired, jolting Colin from his thoughts.

"About two months ago," Penelope responded.

"Two months and two days," Colin replied simultaneously, their eyes meeting briefly before Penelope was the first to look away.

"It was a beautiful ceremony," Lady Danbury remarked, sensing the tension but opting not to press the subject further.

No one wished to continue the conversation. Lady Danbury, Gareth, and Eloise resumed discussing some topic, though Colin, try as he might, couldn't focus on their words. Fortunately, the torture of dinner soon ended, the tension in the air seeming to strip everyone of their appetite, prompting Lady Danbury to order tea and dessert to be served in the east drawing room.

"Penelope, Miss Bridgerton, Mr. Bridgerton—I think you will find the painting in the west drawing room to your liking. Bran will escort you."

In silence, they followed the butler, who courteously opened the door and allowed them to enter. He offered refreshments, which all three politely declined, before quietly closing the door behind them.

The moment the door shut, Eloise flew at Penelope in a whirlwind, enveloping her in a tight embrace, pressing her whole body against her friend.

"Pen, we were so worried!" Eloise exclaimed.

Penelope hesitantly returned the embrace, resting her face against Eloise's shoulder.

"I'm fine."

"And the baby?" Eloise quickly asked, and Penelope paled, stepping back a little.

"You know?"

"You left us a clue about your 'new circumstances' that required more attention than society's disapproval. We guessed that only concern for a child could drive you to flee," Eloise explained. "And, if need be, I was prepared to interrogate Colin because he still hasn't explained to me where babies come from. I thought to ask you, but if the process involves too much of Colin, I'd rather remain ignorant."

Both Colin and Penelope chuckled at that.

"It involves far too much of Colin. And myself," Penelope replied, causing Eloise to wrinkle her nose.

"Then spare me the details. But why did you run away? And why did you do it without me?" Eloise demanded.

"Eloise!" Colin protested.

"What? I'm still unmarried and have no intention of holding my tongue. Why, Penelope?"

"I thought I made myself quite clear in my letter," Penelope said carefully as she sat down, her head spinning at the mere mention of it.

"The letter Colin prayed over the entire time?" Eloise quipped.

Colin sighed. Eloise would forever be Eloise, unchanged, but no, he hadn't "prayed" over the letter. He had merely re-read it.

"Prayed?" Penelope echoed, turning to her husband. His anxious eyes hadn't left her face. "Did you, by any chance, bring the second?"

"The second?" Colin asked, confused.

"The letter to the Archbishop," she swallowed and clenched her fist. The color that had just begun to return to her face drained away again. "I thought I had signed everything necessary."

"I burned it."

"And now you need me to write it again?"

"I'll burn it again. I don't want a divorce from you."

Eloise quietly sat down, uncharacteristically silent.

"Pen…"

"Eloise, may I speak with Colin alone?" Penelope blurted out. "I'll talk to you later, I promise. But right now, I need to speak with Colin. Alone, please. Ask Bran to show you to my room, please."

Eloise nodded quickly, offering no further words. Once the door clicked shut, Penelope turned her eyes to Colin.

"Pen," Colin began again, but she cut him off.

"Do you no longer feel trapped?" Penelope asked, her voice trembling with restrained anger. "Colin, tell me, do you no longer feel trapped? I gave you the key and opened the door. You're free! There is no trap anymore—what more could you possibly need?"

"You. I need you," he said quietly, taking a cautious step toward her. She froze, her eyes still glimmering with anger.

"And how long has that been the case?"

"For as long as I've known myself. You've always been someone very special to me—I don't want to lose you."

"Special?" She scoffed. "Special to you?"

"Exactly."

"Special enough to tell other gentlemen you'd never court me, even in their wildest fantasies?" Penelope asked, tilting her head and studying her husband's face.

"Pen, I—"

"Oh, or was I special when you decided to forsake all women, except me, because—quote—'You're my friend, you don't count'? Believe me, I felt very special then."

"Would you have preferred I abandoned you as well?" Colin squinted at her.

"Oh, perhaps I was special when you didn't receive my letters because I managed to salvage enough pride to stop sending things that only made me feel more like a pathetic girl who couldn't pull herself together and sort out her feelings! Or maybe I became special after I sacrificed my family's honor to spare you any harm!" Her voice rose into a shout. She was trembling—whether from rage or helplessness, she could no longer tell. She lashed out with her words like a whip, and still, she couldn't stop. "Damn my memory, Colin, but I remember every word you ever said to me. 'You're my friend, Pen. You're special to me, Pen. We're friends, Pen. You were in my dreams, Pen, I love you, Pen…'" She let out a bitter laugh. "And you know what else I remember? 'I would never even dream of courting Penelope Featherington.' I used to think I wasn't worthy of your love, but it turns out you weren't worthy of mine. I will never forgive you. This is just another piece of your planned trap..." She was trembling, oblivious to the tears streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes brimmed with pain.

"Pen, listen," Colin fell to his knees before her and took her hands in his. "I know I've messed up, and—"

"And you'll spend your life begging my forgiveness?" she snapped. "I've heard that before."

"Then I'll say it again. And I'll do it."

"Colin, I'm trying to do something right in this life," she said wearily. "I'm trying to save your—Bridgerton's—reputation. I take responsibility for my decisions, and I pay for them myself. Everyone wins—society will forget about Lady Whistledown soon enough, and some debutante will cause a stir, making them forget your disastrous marriage."

"I do not consider our marriage a disaster," Colin said.

"Then why was I left alone on our wedding night and every night since? It hardly seems like a happy marriage," Penelope said with a faint smile.

"No, it doesn't," Colin admitted. "But I was angry. And I needed time."

"Oh, and you have plenty of time now."

"Pen. Please."

"Please what?" she frowned. "Please what?"

"Be with me. Stay with me. Give me a chance to be with you, to be with our child."

"I gave you chances, Colin. I gave you a chance when you returned from your second journey. I gave you a chance when I spoke to you at Francesca's wedding. But you told me that there would always be something between us. Back then, it was Cressida and her meaningless blackmail... Now it will be my status. But unlike Cressida's blackmail, this is forever. And it will forever hang over your family's name. It will disgrace it. Isn't that what you used to care about?"

"I don't care anymore."

"You do, and you know it."

"No, Penelope. If you choose to return to London, to Mayfair, I'll challenge every man who dares to look at you sideways. I'll rip the tongue from anyone who speaks an unkind word to you. I'll cut off the hand of anyone who points at you, and I'll tear the heart from anyone who threatens you. I won't tolerate anyone who dares to threaten, blackmail, intimidate, or speak ill of my wife. If you choose never to return to society, I'll follow you. It will break our family's heart, but perhaps they'll learn to answer their letters," he added with a smile. "We'll travel to the ends of the earth and raise our child. Our children. We'll see the world together. I'll give it to you, Pen. I'll give you the entire world. You'll see with your own eyes what you've only read about."

He watched her closely, noting every subtle change in her expression. She was listening to him, holding her breath.

"Your speech... I have long known you were adept with words, Pen, but that was truly bloody brilliant. You have always been skilled with the pen—your letters were the ones I looked forward to reading above all others. I am not certain if you are aware, though were Eloise to find out, she would surely mock me, but I have kept every one of them. And I can recite them all by heart.

You are right—I have committed many acts of which I am not proud. And I shall not ask your forgiveness... but I would like the chance to earn it. I love you. And I love this child," he said softly, his fingers brushing gently against her abdomen. She flinched slightly, but for the briefest of moments, their hands intertwined, and she drew a ragged breath.

"You know, when you stood there before everyone, I thought I had never seen anything more beautiful. You were magnificent, and all I could think was what a fool I had been, blind to it for so long. My mother explained certain things to us, and I regret that I did not know sooner—perhaps then I might have persuaded Cressida otherwise, and you need not have revealed yourself. I am so sorry, Pen! I did not listen when you were the voice of reason, when you urged me not to marry Marina. I did not heed you when you advised we simply pay Cressida and be done with it. I left you to face it all alone. And I shall never forgive myself for that. You asked me to be by your side, to hold you, to kiss you, to remain with you—and I was not. I failed you, and for that, I shall pay the price for a lifetime."

"You have nothing for which to atone," she said softly, "not even for my forgiveness." She withdrew her hands from his and gently caressed his cheek. He leaned into her touch like a kitten, pressing his lips to her other hand. "I have heard you."

"You had the courage to stand before the Queen herself, to face all of the ton and confess everything to them. I doubt I have ever seen a woman so brave. And if you will permit me to remain at your side, to bask in the warmth of your presence, then I can count myself a man who has found his purpose in life."

"Colin..." Her voice wavered.

"Please?" he implored.

"Colin, I need time," she whispered. Her hand still rested on his cheek, her thumb lightly tracing the curve of his cheekbone. "I am still afraid."

"You have all of us. There is nothing left to fear. You have a family that loves you and awaits your return. And a part of that family is on his knees before you now, begging you to come back to us."

"Colin, give me time," she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before rising and making her way toward the door.

Colin remained on his knees before the sofa where she had sat. A smile lingered on his lips.

For the first time in what seemed an eternity, he felt a flicker of hope.

Chapter 7: Chapter 7

Notes:

Here I am again:) Sorry for a delay - but I'm not Colin Bridgerton and writing sometimes is not going rather... swiftly Anyway, hope you'll enjoy a new chapter))

Chapter Text

Eloise sat upon the bed, awaiting Penelope. She was, in truth, quite astonished at herself for having heeded Penelope's counsel and departed, thus granting the married couple a moment of private discourse. Formerly, she would never have passed up such an opportunity for spectacle; yet, the mere fact that Penelope had requested her to wait alone in her chambers spoke volumes indeed.

Though she was in expectation of Penelope's arrival, Eloise could not suppress a startled jolt when the door softly creaked open.

"Pen?" she called, uncertain.

"Were you expecting someone else?" Penelope inquired with a playful smile as she entered, closing the door behind her.

"I cannot say," Eloise replied in jest. "Perhaps I thought Colin might burst in, snatch up your belongings, and drag you off to his chambers. He has been lamenting incessantly about how he can no longer endure the nights spent apart from his dear wife…"

"Is that so?" Penelope arched a brow, her lips curving into an amused smile. "Well, he must endure a little longer," she added, seating herself beside Eloise.

"Have you resolved to punish him?" Eloise asked, her voice a blend of disbelief and admiration. "Did your conversation fare so ill?" At the thought, her tone grew less merry.

"Nay, not at all," Penelope shook her head. "It is merely that… so much has transpired, both between us and otherwise, that I am not yet prepared to let it all be forgotten. We have weathered much together, and there have been too many wounds along the way."

"And when did all this happen?" Eloise furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Oh, believe me, there was time enough," Penelope responded with a rueful smile, clasping her friend's hand. "I am truly glad you are here, El. Truly."

"And where else should I be?" Eloise frowned slightly in mock offence. "Mind you, I am still cross with you," she added with a huff. "Why did you not confide in me that you were planning to flee? We might have absconded together! You could have told me you sought peace and quiet, and we would have joined Francesca and her husband in Scotland." Catching the skeptical look Penelope gave her, Eloise clicked her tongue. "Ah yes, the family farewells… dreadful. We would have concocted some scheme!"

"I did devise a plan," Penelope murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "At that ball hosted by Lady Danbury. I knew not where I might turn, and she offered me her hand, a reprieve—time to gather my thoughts and decide what it was I truly desired. I wished to escape."

"Escape is not the answer, Pen, but it is a splendid temporary solution," Eloise conceded with a nod. "I understand why you did it. But I want you to know this: should your marriage to Colin ever disappoint you beyond repair, I shall run away with you. Far from the marriage market and the witless suitors…" She gave a dramatic shudder, causing Penelope to laugh.

"I promise," Penelope replied with a smile, and both ladies dissolved into laughter. "Now, tell me of your travels. How were the sights?"

"Well, considering I've only ever seen the road to Aubrey Hall and back again, I must say it was a refreshing change of scene," Eloise quipped, and the two of them, as if in perfect synchrony, flopped back onto the bed. They laughed again at their simultaneous movement and clasped each other's hands in a familiar gesture. They were together once more—Pen and El, El and Pen.

"Do you think you will have a son or a daughter?" Eloise asked softly, still holding Penelope's hand.

"I do not know," Penelope admitted earnestly. "I haven't given it much thought."

"And which would you prefer?" Eloise inquired.

"A healthy child," Penelope answered with a tender smile. "I care not whether it be a boy or a girl. While my sisters partake in a senseless race to produce heirs, I only wish to deliver a healthy babe."

"A race of heirs?" Eloise asked, intrigued.

"My mother made it known that cousin Jack left a will, declaring that the next Lord Featherington would be the first-born son of one of my sisters, provided the child is born in wedlock…"

"…or your own child," Eloise finished the thought. "And you have no interest in such matters?"

"Not in the slightest," Penelope shrugged and glanced at her friend. "My sisters may scheme and plan to take over our house in Mayfair, choosing new drapes and redecorating to their heart's content—I am indifferent. My only concern is to bring forth a healthy child and raise them to be a good person."

"And if all your sisters bear sons?"

"Then, I presume the inheritance shall be passed to the eldest child."

"And if all three of you have daughters?"

"Then the matter must wait for the next child."

"And if no son is ever born?"

"Then eventually, one will be born, and he shall inherit," Penelope replied serenely.

"And if it is *your* son? Does your mother even know you are with child?" Eloise propped herself on one elbow, peering down at Penelope.

"She does not," Penelope shook her head. "She has been unaware of my condition since she tried to wed me to Lord Debling. After Colin and I were betrothed, she was too preoccupied with wedding preparations—and then with blackmailing Cressida. I daresay she has much to occupy her mind even now."

"And you would not stake a claim for your son if he is a boy?" Eloise frowned.

"For heaven's sake, Eloise," Penelope sighed, closing her eyes in weariness. "I know not what answer you seek. I ran away to shield your family—the Bridgertons—from the ruinous taint of my reputation as Lady Whistledown. I know not where I shall live, but I am certain I shall find comfort and safety—I have secured enough means to avoid poverty. I will ensure that my child and I want for nothing. I cannot bear to think so far ahead as to what will happen once the child is born. I only know that my continued presence near your family would keep you under constant scrutiny. There would be gossip, whispers, suspicions—whether I was ever in collusion with you all. It terrifies me. And if I can, in any way, shield myself and my child from such things, I shall do it."

"You *are* our family, Pen," Eloise said earnestly, sitting upright and taking both of Penelope's hands in hers. "There will always be gossip. Our family has always attracted attention, and a little extra will hardly kill us. You are my family—and always have been. I am certain we all feel the same. I remember how happy everyone was at your wedding to Colin. And forgive me, but you sound as though you have already decided to part ways with him and flee to the ends of the earth."

"I know," Penelope sighed.

"When the truth about your activities with Colin was revealed, and he sought to rebuke me, he asked what you could possibly have done to deserve such treatment. And though I detest quoting my brother," Eloise wrinkled her nose, meeting Penelope's eyes, "I shall do it nonetheless. So, what has he done that you find so difficult to forgive?"

"There is nothing for which I must forgive him, El. I have already forgiven him all that I could," Penelope said, her lips curling into a wry, bittersweet smile as she closed her eyes. "I bear him no ill will. But it will take more than a few weeks to restore the trust between us. How long did it take you to forgive me? And that's to say nothing of the entire season it took us to rebuild our friendship and trust," she raised a brow, and Eloise frowned.

"And how, precisely, did he betray your trust?" Eloise asked. "I can imagine he was angry and displeased upon learning the truth, but he almost immediately sought to forgive you. He asked me as much."

"And what did you tell him?"

"I told him I was trying. And I asked whether he could forgive you."

"And what did he say?"

"That I was fortunate never to have fallen in love," Eloise's reply caused Penelope to open her eyes and look at her friend.

Penelope remained silent, digesting Eloise's words, her heart heavy with the burden she had long borne. She had sent Eloise away deliberately, unwilling to expose Colin's harsh words and their quarrels to his sister. Yet, the pain of those words still lingered. She had forgiven him—that much was true. She always forgave him, in everything. But trust, once shattered, is not so easily restored. Trusting him again, especially after he had spoken of a "trap"? That was a wound too deep to ignore.

The thought of enduring such pain again, of hearing that cruel comment once more, made her insides twist. Perhaps she had been wrong to write that he did not know himself, but she knew him—knew the Colin who wore a mask of indifference, and he was not her Colin. She had given him her thoughts, her hopes, her innocence, her body, her heart, and her soul—only to be accused of setting a trap? Now, when she longed to save him from what truly would be a trap—being bound in marriage solely for the sake of their child—he resisted. She had told no one of her condition beyond a select few, and perhaps, she mused, that had been a mistake. If she had kept the secret of the child, might it have been easier for Colin to choose freely?

"He accused me of… trapping him," Penelope finally forced the words from her throat.

"He… what?" Eloise's eyes widened in shock, disbelief plain in her expression. Penelope sat opposite her, crossing her legs as their fingers intertwined.

"He said it when I asked if he intended to break the engagement. He claimed to be a man of honour… by then, we had already…" Penelope swallowed, averting her gaze from Eloise, her eyes fixated on their entwined hands. "We had been… intimate. I was devastated. I was hollowed out. I understand that he was hurt, that he had every right to be angry with me… but not like that." She began to cry softly. Eloise, stunned and deeply concerned, drew her friend into an embrace. The idea that her brother—the most placid, agreeable, and kind-hearted of men—could have said something so cruel to his betrothed, now his wife, seemed incomprehensible.

"I am not Marina," Penelope continued, her voice shaking. "I won't stand to be compared to her. I started my work as Lady Whistledown long before she came into our lives, and I never used it for personal gain—not once. I gave Colin everything—my thoughts, my words, my love, my soul and body—and he dares to liken me to a woman who sought to trap him in a loveless marriage, even passing off another man's children as his? Marina's name is thrown at me every time someone seeks to scold me for my actions, and you know what? If I had to live it all over again, I wouldn't change a thing. I would still sacrifice Marina's reputation to preserve Colin's happiness. But if Colin truly believed his happiness lay with Marina, why did he not marry her when the truth came out? If he truly loved her? I would have endured the heartache and let him go. But now, he throws her in my face at every turn—and I cannot bear it any longer. I would rather raise my child alone than live with such dishonour, depriving him of his chance at true happiness."

"I'm sorry," whispered Eloise, the weight of her own past missteps pressing on her mind, recalling how she too had invoked Lady Crane's name the night they had quarreled bitterly.

"I am so weary, El," Penelope trembled. "I want so desperately to leave the past behind, but they remind me of it again and again, over and over! How can I bear it?"

"You shall bear it with your head held high," Eloise's voice firmed, her lips pressed in a determined line. "Did you not face the Queen herself without flinching? What has changed since then?"

"I have, El. I am exhausted. All my life, I fought to be seen—and now, I would give anything for a moment of oblivion, for the peace of being unseen."

"That's in the past, Pen! You keep asking for the past to remain where it belongs—but you are the one clinging to it. It is already behind you," Eloise repeated emphatically. "You are a Bridgerton now. Whether you like it or not, you must face this head-on. Lady Whistledown never backed down from a challenge. Perhaps it's time to awaken her once again?"

"Lady Whistledown is licking her wounds," Penelope shook her head.

"Lady Whistledown got off rather lightly," Eloise scoffed.

"Lady Whistledown longs for quiet and peace."

"Lady Whistledown never sought quiet and peace," Eloise's eyes narrowed. "Was that not the very point of her enterprise?"

"It was," Penelope conceded reluctantly. "But Lady Whistledown no longer wishes to speak."

"Then perhaps it is time for Penelope Bridgerton to finally speak up?" Eloise suggested, her lips curving into a soft smile. "Penelope Featherington had Lady Whistledown and a few of us by her side. But now Penelope Bridgerton has the entire Bridgerton clan—may God help you. Are your grievances truly greater than the hope for a happy future with us?"

"I've asked Colin for time. I need to learn how to trust him again," Penelope admitted softly. Eloise nodded in understanding.

"That is wise. And I fully intend to have a word with him about what he said to you. It is outrageous! If I were a man, I'd challenge him to a duel."

"Eloise! Your own brother?" Penelope gasped, and the two women burst into laughter.

"What? I'm a far better shot than he is," Eloise shrugged with a grin. "If he dares to speak such things, he should at least be prepared to answer for them."

"Please don't," Penelope pleaded. "I'm not quite ready to become a widow yet." Then, with a teasing smile, she added, "Besides, we weren't exactly trading compliments ourselves that night. Should I challenge you to a duel as well? Or you me?"

"Do you shoot well?" Eloise asked, her eyes narrowing playfully.

"Only with words," Penelope raised her hands in surrender, and the two women laughed again.

The night passed almost imperceptibly for Colin. He had been far too restless to sleep, and upon waking at dawn, he found he could no longer close his eyes. This had been the pattern for a week now, and while he had a fair notion of what caused it, he found himself quite powerless to alter the state of things.

Dressing quickly, he ventured out into the garden. The world still lay in the quiet slumber of early morning, but he welcomed the solitude, the chance to reflect on all that had transpired of late—his wife's sudden departure, their last conversation. A week had gone by since, and true to his word, he had given her the time she requested.

Their exchanges had been brief, nothing more than common pleasantries, while they participated in conversation, shared laughter at Gareth and Eloise's playful bickering. Gareth insisted that knowledge of Italian was of little practical use, while Eloise, ever sharp, declared him a fool, arguing that the study of foreign languages broadened the mind. Eloise soon dragged her brother into the conversation, asking him how he managed to travel through regions where Greek was the predominant tongue without knowing the language. Colin, smiling, replied that foreigners were not an uncommon sight there, and that with a guide by his side, he had managed quite well with English—a response that earned him a grateful smile from Gareth. Eloise rolled her eyes, Lady Danbury smiled into her tea, and only Penelope, pale and quiet, sat stroking her belly. Colin's hands trembled with the desire to do the same.

Though he yearned to be near her, he held back, suppressing his impulses. She had made it abundantly clear that she needed time. And if he had failed to exhibit enough patience or self-restraint in other matters, he could at least offer her this. It was a torture of sorts, being so near to his wife, so near to the child they had created together, yet unable to touch, to hold either of them.

He mused whether he had ever felt anything remotely like this for Marina—and realised he had not. This was Pen. His Pen. His brave little girl, who had endured so much on her own, and it made perfect sense that she would continue to act as though solitude were her only means of survival. He could not seem to convince her otherwise, could not make her believe she no longer needed to bear her burdens alone. But she had built a wall around herself, growing closer to Eloise, who, for reasons unclear to him, now regarded him with a rather wolfish suspicion, always mumbling something about needing to find Penelope—and find her she did. Colin felt as though he were reliving the days following his return from Greece, heartbroken once more, with Eloise commanding Pen's undivided attention while he… he was left on the outside, a mere observer in his own life.

At times, Colin found himself resenting the gentlemanly manners his mother had instilled in him.

He was jolted from his thoughts by a sharp kick to his shin, courtesy of Eloise.

"My apologies," he murmured, looking up to find all but Penelope staring at him. "It appears I was somewhat lost in my thoughts."

"And where do you plan to travel next, Mr. Bridgerton?" asked Lady Danbury, a sly smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"I suspect that question must now be posed to more than just me. I shan't travel anywhere without my wife, and for the present, there are far more pressing matters at hand."

"What could be more important than a honeymoon?" inquired Gareth.

"Our child. I think it unwise to embark on a journey when the baby has not yet been born."

"You're competing for the title as well?" Gareth's eyes widened as he turned to look at Penelope, who sat quietly, still caressing her belly.

"What title?" Lady Danbury asked, casting a glance at Colin, who furrowed his brow, though Eloise appeared entirely unsurprised. He narrowed his eyes at his sister, but she merely looked away.

"The baby race," Penelope sighed softly. "I'm sure you know that my cousin's will stipulates the title of Lord Featherington will pass to the first son born either to my sisters or to… us," she glanced at her husband. Colin met her gaze, and they held it for a long moment before the infectious laughter of Lady Danbury broke their reverie.

"A baby race! Oh, how delightful," she chuckled, and her mirth was so contagious that none present could resist smiling. "But how, pray, did this become a race?"

"My sisters married before me, and once my cousin's will became public, they found the idea of securing the title… highly appealing," Penelope explained. "When marriage loomed before me," she said, and Colin's face darkened at the memory of how that marriage had loomed, "I assumed I would be drawn into this rather absurd competition as well, but other events soon overshadowed the baby race—events of a more scandalous nature," she concluded, reaching for her cup, her throat parched.

"So, theoretically speaking, I may have the future Lord Featherington as a guest in my home?" Lady Danbury smiled.

"I care not whether it is Lord Featherington or Miss Bridgerton," Penelope remarked quietly.

"All that matters is that the child is healthy," Colin added, fully in agreement with his wife. He already loved the little one growing within her, the result of their shared love. His thoughts drifted, and he tugged at his cravat—it had not felt so tight earlier that morning.

"What remarkable accord," Gareth grinned, looking between the couple. "I daresay they shall win the race," he whispered to Lady Danbury and Eloise, though his voice carried enough for all to hear. Both women stifled their laughter.

"And why is that?" Eloise asked with a raised brow.

"Because those who most earnestly seek something rarely attain it. Unexpected blessings tend to favour those who do not chase them," Gareth shrugged, taking a sip from his cup. No one found cause to dispute his observation.

After breakfast, Penelope decided to retire to her room for a bit of rest — her complexion had grown even paler, and the moment she voiced her intention, Colin was at her side before Eloise could offer to accompany her. Gareth too seemed inclined to volunteer himself as a companion, but wisely reconsidered after a single pointed look from Mr. Bridgerton that clearly suggested he very much wished to continue living.

Colin gently took Penelope by the waist, holding her with tender firmness, and Penelope sighed. She was not, after all, some fragile vase; it was merely a passing dizziness, with a touch of nausea from breakfast. However, she didn't resist — the care he showed was not unwelcome, and in her heart, she knew she had given him hope. It would be ungracious to refuse such kindness, especially as each step seemed to worsen the unease in her stomach and head.

"Does this happen every morning?" Colin inquired softly, as he carefully guided her towards the house.

"Not always, but often enough," Penelope confessed. "I usually manage to get through breakfast. The baby doesn't much care for me skipping meals."

"As well they shouldn't," Colin snorted. "You're eating for two now, and you hardly touched anything at breakfast."

"Don't fret," Penelope gave him a faint smile. "The little one is much more amenable when it comes to luncheon and dinner."

"Perhaps that's a Bridgerton trait," Colin mused with a grin. "Mother used to say that when she carried each of us, we resisted early mornings and breakfasts alike, but never failed to rally for luncheon and supper."

Penelope chuckled softly. "That is useful knowledge indeed. Perhaps if I'd known, I'd have been better prepared for all of this."

"You should speak to my mother — she has more stories than I can ever recall. But for now, my memory is at your service," he replied, flashing her a charming smile that made Penelope's heart flutter.

"I thank you," Penelope smiled back. "I hope your recollections might offer some insight into what lies ahead next month — I do so hate surprises."

"Mother did mention that when she carried me, all she craved was biscuits. The cook had to devise new recipes, as none of the usual ones would do."

"And the famous butter biscuits you are so fond of, did they come into existence at that time?" Penelope teased.

"Indeed they did," Colin laughed. "I suppose I wished to ensure my favourite treats were well-established before I made my grand appearance into the world."

Both laughed at that, for the notorious biscuits were something of a family joke. When they had been merely engaged, Penelope had, in a fit of bridal frenzy, seriously contemplated bribing the family cook for the recipe so that Colin could always have them on hand. Though she had refrained, the thought remained, teasing at the back of her mind. But now, her stomach churned once again, and her head spun slightly.

"Thank you," Penelope murmured as they reached the door to her chambers, her hand resting lightly on the handle. "I can manage from here."

"Are you certain? Do you not need help?"

"To reach the bed?" she quipped with a wry smile. "I think I can manage that. Thank you for your help. I simply need to lie down."

She slipped behind the door, leaving Colin standing there, torn between gratitude and frustration. He wanted nothing more than to break down that cursed door and stay by her side. His insides churned with anxiety, yet he reminded himself once more that she had asked for time. However much it pained him, he had to give her that. To force his way in would be to invite another failure — and he could not afford that. He needed to learn to listen if he wished to repair what had been broken.

Descending the stairs, he found only Eloise, deeply engrossed in a book. She absentmindedly turned the pages, occasionally glancing up at the sounds of the house but never once sparing him a look.

"What did you and Penelope speak of that night?" he asked, seeking allies where he could.

"Girlhood matters," she replied nonchalantly, and Colin found himself growing more displeased by her cryptic response. "We always have much to discuss, Penelope and I."

"I don't doubt that. But I... I need your help. I cannot bear sitting idly by while she is up there. I must do something to win her back!" Colin exclaimed, his voice heavy with frustration as he ran a hand over his face.

"How about you start by listening to her? And doing what she asked?" Eloise remarked coolly, laying her book down on the table. "Pen is quite capable of making sound decisions, as we've both come to learn."

Colin knew exactly what his sister was referring to — the memory of Cressida's blackmail flashed before his mind, and guilt gnawed at him for not having listened to his wife then. The fact that everything had resolved favourably had been entirely Penelope's doing, not his. His own attempts had fallen woefully short.

"I understand that you feel the urge to act," Eloise said quietly, "and I understand better than anyone how hard this must be for you. But perhaps, just this once, you could try trusting Penelope's judgement from the outset? Frankly, after the things you said to her, I'm amazed she's even giving you this chance. If someone had said such things to me, I daresay they would be dead by now," she muttered darkly.

"What are you talking about?"

"The planned entrapment," Eloise spat the words out as though they were poison, and Colin felt the blood freeze in his veins. "How could you ever accuse her of such a thing?"

"She told you?"

"Oh, do not even think about blaming her for confiding in me," Eloise shot back sharply. "You are my brother, Colin, and I love you. But Pen has always been, and will always be, my dearest friend. And now, my sister. So tell me, what possessed you to accuse her of such a dreadful scheme?" She fixed him with a fierce glare, and Colin sighed heavily.

"I was angry," he admitted. "I wanted to hurt her as much as she had hurt me. She was Whistledown, Eloise! She ran the whole thing alone, without a thought for her own safety. How was I to know that I wasn't just a pawn in her game?"

"Was her only chance at marriage, which you so readily ruined, also part of her scheme?" Eloise asked, incredulous. "I was there, Colin. You flouted every rule of propriety, interrupted her dance with the only man who had shown any interest in her for three long years — her one and only prospect…"

"She is married to me!" Colin's eyes flashed with indignation.

"Then where is the trap, Colin? She even offered to call off the wedding — why didn't you agree?"

"I was upset!" Colin nearly shouted. "But... I didn't want to cancel the wedding. I wanted to marry her. I still want to build a life with her. Yes, she wrote some cruel things, I won't deny that. But you can't deny she was often right."

Eloise regarded him coolly. "Right she was. About Lady Crane, about me, you, Anthony, Kate — even Daphne. Pen was the one who declared Daphne the diamond of the season, and she wasn't wrong. She may have bruised a few egos, but she had the truth of it."

Colin let out a deep sigh. Penelope had always had an uncanny ability to see through people. Even now, she saw him with startling clarity.

The change in Colin's demeanour gave Eloise pause. She wasn't accustomed to seeing him like this: brooding, despondent. His usual sunny disposition was shrouded by dark clouds that seemed to linger day after day. But despite her own feelings, she loved her brother dearly. And while she had once envisioned a future where she and Penelope would grow old as spinsters together, she knew — now knew — how deeply Penelope loved Colin. And Colin loved her. Giving up that dream hurt, but losing her best friend would hurt far more.

"Look, I've interfered enough between the two of you."

"Perhaps," Colin smiled ruefully, "but who can blame you? You and Penelope are the best of friends."

"Perhaps if I hadn't been so possessive, you would have married her sooner, and some of this mess might have been avoided. But there's no point in rehashing the past. Just… be there for her, but let her make her own decisions. Let her learn to trust you again," Eloise advised softly, reaching out to take his hand. He grasped her fingers, watching her intently as she continued, "She was shattered by your words. Completely broken, if you will. This whole situation reminded her too much of Lady Crane — and she loathes the very idea of being compared to her. But for now, that's exactly how it feels to her."

Colin was horrified. No — more than that — he was utterly *aghast*. A wave of realization crashed over him with staggering force.

"So that's why she wants a divorce," he whispered.

"You both have a truly unhealthy saviour complex," Eloise rolled her eyes. "The situations are similar: Pen and Lady Crane both with child, both situations involving you. Penelope cannot bear the thought of becoming another Marina."

"But it's nothing like that! Marina took advantage of my naivety, whereas Pen... I love Pen. And this is my child! I will not abandon her."

"We understand that, you and I. But to her, it feels like another way of trapping you, do you see? And that is the last thing she wants. She loves you far too much for that."

"I… I had no idea things had gotten so bad."

"I won't pretend I'm innocent either. Pen and I have exchanged our share of hurtful words, things I deeply regret. But time has mended our friendship — and I will not let anything tear it apart again. What I've told you is only to help you see things from her perspective. Though, if I'm honest, I'd rather keep Penelope to myself, she's your wife now. And the thought of her living with Lady Featherington for the rest of her days is far worse than her living with you."

"Are you truly comparing me to Lady Featherington?" Colin protested.

"Are you even listening to me?!" Eloise snapped. "For heaven's sake, don't you dare tell Penelope what I've shared with you. She'd kill me. And after I rose from the dead, I'd kill you. Use your brain, Colin. Listen to Penelope and don't act impulsively, do you understand?" Eloise fixed him with a steely gaze, and Colin obediently nodded. His every instinct screamed to rush to Penelope's room, to fall at her feet and beg for forgiveness, but sheer force of will kept him rooted in place.

Eloise, seeing her words had finally sunk in, rose decisively. Colin stirred.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to check on Penelope — she was far too pale at breakfast for my liking."

"I'll escort you," Colin declared, making it clear that it wasn't a request. Eloise acquiesced.

In complete silence, they ascended the stairs, and Eloise disappeared behind the door. Colin made to follow — after all, she was his wife! — but Eloise frowned at him, and he obeyed. Pen had asked to be left to rest, and he reminded himself once again that he had to respect her wishes.

At least, that was until Eloise's scream rang out from the room.

Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Penelope could now say with certainty that she had grown accustomed to the fact that her mornings were seldom pleasant. Her babe was quite restless, and if she managed to sleep a mere few hours without being roused in the night by a twisting stomach or the need for relief, it was considered a peaceful night indeed.

Yet, every night since her conversation with Colin, the gears in her mind turned endlessly and without order. She replayed in her thoughts various scenarios of what might come—ranging from the most hopeful outcomes to the most dreadful, with the latter prevailing more often than not. She strove to think on the brighter side: Colin had fiercely leapt to her defense when Cressida commenced her foolish game of blackmail, and without hesitation, he had assumed responsibility for resolving the matter. They had all placed faith in Cressida's sense of reason, hoping, as did Eloise, for a glimmer of decency from her. Alas, they had woefully underestimated just how cruel Cressida could be. When she presented new demands, Colin had been prepared to lie to his brother and without a moment's doubt had offered his financial aid—despite the storm clouds looming over their marriage, he had still thrown himself headlong into her defense, just as he had once promised her at her mother's ball. And when Penelope resolved to manage the disaster of her own making, he truly stepped back, allowing her the trust she had asked of him.

And yet, the bitter words still clung to her heart like iron pincers. She detested the mere thought of Colin being unhappy, but could it be possible that he still wished to be with her after all that had transpired? It was hard to believe. Would their child be enough to bring him joy? The babe—perhaps. She had seen how tenderly Colin engaged with his nieces and nephews; of this, she had no doubt, he would make a fine father. But as for herself… The thought of facing his resentment and the strain she expected to follow filled her with dread. She had mastered the art of being on the fringes of society, but to be relegated to the edges of her own marriage—no, that was intolerable. She would rather have no marriage at all than one in which she was despised.

That morning, her health had been far from good. Even Rae, who had come to assist her with breakfast, had suggested bringing the meal to her chamber, concerned as she was with the pallor of her young mistress. Penelope declined, giving Rae's hand a friendly squeeze. She craved the fresh air—and, if truth be told, she longed for company. To be left alone with her thoughts had grown unbearable.

Barely able to touch her food, she sipped her tea, feeling the tumult of the babe stirring within her. Her head swam, her stomach clenched, and she could scarce follow the conversation around her. The noise in her head grew louder, breathing became difficult, and she struggled to maintain her composure, attempting to disguise her worsening condition from those around her.

It appeared her efforts were in vain. Colin, Eloise, Lady Danbury, and soon after, Gareth—who had just learned of the child—were all watching her intently. Accepting Colin's offered support, she realized just how much she now needed his care. She attempted to appear nonchalant, contributing to their light-hearted banter as she once did, but the moment she crossed the threshold of her bedchamber, her knees gave way, and she collapsed to the floor.

Penelope awoke to the gentle tapping on her cheeks and the sound of Eloise's soft sobs. Her head throbbed unbearably, and she longed to tell Eloise to quiet herself, but her lips refused to obey.

She found herself lying on the bed—strange, she distinctly recalled falling to the floor.

"A physician has already been sent for," Colin said as he entered the room, his eyes alight with relief upon seeing her awake. "Pen!" In an instant, he was at her side, grasping her hand. Gently tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingered on her cheek. "You frightened us terribly. How do you feel?"

"What happened?" she whispered.

"I found you unconscious," Eloise sobbed. "You weren't responding. Colin carried you to the bed and went to send for the doctor, but you woke up," she smiled through her tears. "How are you? Why didn't you tell us you were feeling unwell?"

"Not well," Penelope admitted softly. "I usually manage the dizziness and faintness easily, but today… it feels far worse than usual. A physician would be most welcome."

Colin clenched his fist—Penelope's fierce independence often stirred such a swell of frustration in him that he found himself wishing to shake someone. But who was that someone?

"Penelope!" came Lady Danbury's voice, full of concern, from the doorway, followed by the distinct tapping of her cane. Colin turned at the sound. Behind her stood Gareth, his expression one of alarm. "How are you?"

"I regret causing such trouble, Lady Danbury," Penelope replied quietly, attempting to sit up, but both Eloise and Colin, seated on either side of her, prevented her from doing so. She yielded, feeling an overwhelming sense of weakness.

"Nonsense! You must think first and foremost of yourself and the babe growing within you," Lady Danbury said with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

She sat beside Penelope and offered a reassuring smile.

"I… I thought I had already passed through this phase. The nausea, the dizziness—it wasn't pleasant before, but today has been quite dreadful," Penelope smiled faintly.

"You must not overexert yourself. As the only woman here who has borne children, I believe I have the right to offer you a small reproach," Lady Danbury frowned, and a wave of guilt swept over Penelope with such force that she shrank under it, growing smaller still. Colin, sensing her distress, felt compelled to defend his wife.

"Lady Danbury—" he began, but the lady waved him off.

"There is no need to defend your wife from me, Mr. Bridgerton. I mean her no harm. I merely offer counsel: set your quarrels aside for the time being. You must both focus solely on the child and on your health. It is up to you to ensure that the babe is born healthy and strong—Violet will never forgive me if I fail to look after you. So, I beg of you, concentrate on your well-being and your peace of mind. The physician has been sent for?" she inquired, and Colin nodded. "Good. Gareth and I shall await his arrival and see him to you. In the meantime, you must rest. Do you require anything?" she asked, and Penelope considered.

"Perhaps a cool cloth," she said with a weak smile, and as if by magic, Rae appeared, carrying the requested item. A soft moan escaped Penelope's lips as Colin, taking the cloth from Rae, placed it gently upon her forehead.

"You are in capable hands," Lady Danbury smiled as she took her leave. Gareth lingered in the doorway for a moment, offering her a concerned smile before following his grandmother out.

"Mrs. Bridgerton, I shall fetch more cloths," Rae said quickly and disappeared. Eloise and Colin exchanged a glance.

"You owe her a raise," Eloise remarked, and Penelope smiled.

"She's already received one."

"And she shall receive another," Colin nodded. "Do you need anything else? Water? Shall I open the window?"

"That would be lovely," Penelope agreed after a moment's thought.

"Eloise, the window," Colin commanded, and she promptly complied. He then filled a glass from the carafe on the bedside table and brought it to Penelope's lips. She reached out to take the glass, but was met with Colin's narrowed gaze.

"I can drink on my own."

"You've already walked yourself to bed, Pen," he said. Seeing her look, he sighed. "You're already carrying our child. Allow me the honor of at least giving you water."

Penelope relented. Her hand rested on her belly, gently stroking the slight firmness beneath her fingers. Colin extended his hand, and she placed his palm over the same spot. It felt right. The rounding of her belly was slight and scarcely noticeable to the eye, but to the touch, it was unmistakable. Seeing Colin's widened eyes and the unspoken question in them, she nodded. Tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked rapidly.

"Is that better, Pen?" Eloise broke the silence, her voice gentle. Noticing the exchanged glances between her brother and his wife, as well as their intertwined fingers resting on Penelope's belly, she tactfully fell silent and perched herself on the edge of the bed. She had no wish to intrude on their moment.

"Thank you, El," Penelope said, removing the cloth from her forehead. Eloise immediately caught it and, after dampening it again, moved to place it back on her friend's brow, but Penelope shook her head. "I truly feel better, I promise."

"It needs to be more than just 'better,'" Eloise frowned, plopping the wet cloth back onto Penelope's forehead. Penelope wished to appear strong in their eyes, but even to herself, she felt utterly wretched. A pang of sorrow squeezed her heart, and she bit her lip.

"What hurts?" Colin asked, having caught the look on her face. She shook her head.

"I hate being weak," she confessed after a few moments.

"Sometimes it is necessary," Eloise remarked. "But you are carrying a child now, and if being weak is what it takes to do so, then so be it. And I daresay it's only fair that you make Colin suffer a little for it—it is, after all, his fault you're not steady on your feet."

The three of them laughed. Colin kept his hand on his wife's belly, gently stroking the slight firmness where once he had only felt softness. Now, having touched the growing child within her, he felt as if he had received yet another undeniable proof that everything between them was real. The babe—this small blessing from above, their daughter or son—was growing inside Penelope. He was overwhelmed by an immense wave of tenderness toward her.

"It would indeed be fair," Colin conceded with a playful bow. "Your servant from now until forever," he added, his tone light, and the two ladies exchanged sly smiles.

"I'll remember that," Penelope teased, and Colin smiled while Eloise let out a merry laugh.

"Come in this way," Lady Danbury's voice suddenly echoed from the hall.

She entered the room, accompanied by a short, elderly man carrying a leather case. His eyes twinkled as he surveyed the scene, and a contented smile played upon his lips when he saw Penelope lying on the bed with a cloth upon her brow—thanks to Eloise, who refused to remove it, while Penelope, too weak to protest, lay still.

The examination proceeded swiftly. When the doctor requested everyone leave the room, Colin, as Penelope's husband, remained, despite Eloise shooting him a look that clearly said, *Do not miss a single word.* After the check-up, the doctor declared that all was well but chided Penelope for her overzealousness. He sternly instructed her to rest, eat, and take frequent breaks. Penelope listened carefully, sighing quietly at the determined look on Colin's face. With his resolve to protect her, she was convinced that, from now on, he would insist on carrying her everywhere, putting her to bed at the slightest yawn, and perhaps even feeding her by hand if need be.

The doctor left his instructions behind and departed to share them with Lady Danbury, leaving Colin and Penelope alone.

"Don't," Penelope said quickly.

"Don't what?" Colin asked, mentally noting all of the doctor's recommendations.

"I know that look on your face—you're going to do everything the doctor said, but I beg you, don't overdo it. I can take care of myself."

Colin swallowed his retort that he had heard that before.

"If you won't let me care for you, then at least let me care for the child," he offered, attempting a compromise. Penelope sighed.

"We certainly need to set some boundaries," she said. "I won't refuse your help, but you mustn't insist on it too much, alright?" She extended her hand to him with a mischievous smile. Colin returned the smile, but instead of shaking her hand, he lifted her fingers to his lips. Penelope's cheeks flushed crimson.

A week had passed since the doctor's visit, and Penelope was ready to admit that care could be exceedingly tiresome. It seemed as though everyone in the household had made it their chief purpose to tend to her: constantly inquiring after her well-being, ensuring she ate, drank, and walked properly. The moment she placed a hand upon her head, Colin, with no hesitation, would whisk her away and lay her down in bed. None would object or intervene, and Penelope... Penelope had resigned herself to it. Though the over-attention was somewhat wearisome, she endeavoured to be honest with herself: every gesture, word, and glance from him were filled with concern, as though he devoted his entire being to her care. And this softened her heart. If a week ago her mind had been clouded with fears of darker outcomes, now she found herself envisioning a brighter end more and more often.

Eloise kept her company during those quiet moments in her room. They were making up for all the time they had lost in the past year of separation, and Penelope felt, for the first time in a while, as though life were truly starting to fall into place.

Her relationship with Colin, too, was improving—steadily, step by step. At times, he would join her and Eloise in their quiet conversations, scribbling in his journal. Penelope would have given much to read those entries. She sensed, however, that should she ask, Colin might offer her access, though she did not wish to take advantage of her position. She wanted, just as much as he, to rebuild what they once had. She clung to the belief that despite their mutual fears—and her own personal terrors—they might yet find their happy ending. She believed, with all her heart, that she could make him happy, and it was clear that he was doing everything in his power to make her happy as well.

They conversed more now. Colin had developed the habit of falling asleep in the chair beside her bed. She had tried to send him away more than once, insisting he needed proper rest, but he would reply that the chair was comfortable enough and that nowhere felt as comfortable as in her company. She would squint and jest, asking if the chair was more agreeable than the sofa in their own home, to which Colin would blush and smile, saying it felt best to be near her. She often swallowed the words on her tongue, those that wished to point out that the sofa on the other side of the wall was hardly any farther from her. She lacked the confidence to broach that subject again.

If during the day she was under the constant vigilance of everyone, at night, before bed, Colin entertained her with conversations and stories he remembered from his mother about her pregnancies. Some details made Penelope blush, imagining them for herself—especially the tale of how Edmund Bridgerton had been present at nearly all of his children's births, holding Violet's hand through each one—while others sent her into uncontrollable laughter, such as the story of how poor Edmund had been woken numerous times one night by Violet, who demanded he bring her something delicious from the kitchen, though she didn't quite know what she craved.

"I wish we had stories like that," Colin admitted one night. Penelope was already nestled under the covers, on the brink of sleep, but his words drew her back from the edge of slumber. "Stories to tell our children—like how you sent me off to fetch biscuits or chocolate in the middle of the night."

"I doubt you'd enjoy that," she teased.

"Perhaps in the moment, I'd be praying for the child to arrive quickly, but for the sake of such stories, I'd be willing to endure," he smiled. Penelope smiled back. "Can you imagine if something happened that surpassed Mother's cravings for spicy peppers late at night? She made Father eat them too, you know. He wept, but he ate them. The next day, there wasn't a drop of milk left in the house, but that's a story for another time," he laughed, and she smiled.

"Thank you," she said softly, and Colin paused in his gentle caress of her fingers.

"For what?"

"For being here. Even after I ran away. I am truly grateful to you," she whispered, lightly squeezing his hand.

"There's no place on earth I'd rather be," he replied, bringing her hand to his lips and leaving a tender kiss upon her knuckles. "I love you. You are my wife, and not even death could part us—I would find you even then. I would never leave you, no matter how many letters you sent to the Archbishop—I'd burn them all. So please, don't waste ink or paper. We shall need them; the Queen will still be expecting your latest articles, and I intend to edit and publish my journals. If your offer to assist with the editing still stands, I should be very glad to accept it," he added, somewhat bashfully.

Penelope remained silent, allowing him the space to speak.

"And I think it only fair to admit... that I envied you," he confessed after another thoughtful kiss to her hand, biting his lip as if unsure of himself.

"Envied me?" Penelope echoed, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," he replied awkwardly. "Do you remember our conversation by the pond, during Anthony's first wedding? About purpose in life and such? I was drifting, dedicating myself to travel, trying to fill my life with something—anything—to drown out the thoughts of my own uselessness, but none of it was right. I felt alive when I travelled, when I discovered new and unknown parts of the world. And I longed to share that with someone. You were the only one truly interested in my explorations. Your letters... they kept me from feeling utterly alone," he smiled, pulling from his breast pocket the last letter she had sent. "Well, perhaps this one broke my heart and left me feeling a loneliness I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy, but all your other letters... they were with me throughout my second journey—and they're now at home with us. On Francesca's wedding day, and every day since, I have reread them over and over... and you were always yourself in them. The Penelope I have known and loved for many years. It is clear to me now that I am the most blind of all the Bridgertons—please forgive me for not seeing you sooner. Perhaps it was because we grew up side by side, and I... I always thought of you as a constant. Someone unchanging, ever faithful, so much a part of my life that I didn't even realise how much I had come to rely on your presence—in my life, in my surroundings, simply being near."

He fell silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, as Penelope quietly sniffed, biting her lip to keep from interrupting him. He looked vulnerable, achingly so.

"And when you were nearly engaged... I imagined my life without you—that the bond between us, which made me feel truly significant, would vanish—and I was in despair. I know it was selfish of me to make that choice for us both, but didn't we both long for love?" His hand reached cautiously towards her belly, and she covered his fingers with her own. "And I was certain I could give you what your heart desired—not what your mother or society expected, but what youwanted. Given the speed with which our relationship progressed, I was not entirely sure of your feelings, but I knew that my love would be enough for the both of us. And there was no one happier than I when I learned of your love for me. And..."—he took a deep breath, as though bracing himself for what he was about to say—"I can only imagine what you must have felt during my previous... entanglement."

He looked into her tear-filled eyes, dreading to see pain and disappointment, but found neither. There was only understanding and endless attentiveness. She was truly listening to him—and hearing him. He felt her fingers tighten slightly around his, and with a nod, she signaled her desire to hear him continue.

"I can only partly imagine the pain you must have felt—and I know I can never erase that from your memory. I am sorry for having caused you further hurt afterwards. But when the truth about Lady Whistledown came to light, I felt utterly worthless again. Unworthy of trust. Secrets were kept from me once more—by the very person from whom I least expected it. I won't deny that it pained me deeply that you did not confide in me—but what cut me even more was that you had been the most celebrated writer in all of high society for years, and I believed you found my own meager attempts at writing laughable."

"You speak nonsense, Colin. I would never belittle or mock anyone who sought to be heard—not when I've endured so much myself to have my own voice recognized. And I would gladly edit your work," she said gently. "My offer to help and my praise of your writing were entirely genuine."

"I understand that now," he admitted. "But back then... I was envious, and my pride was wounded. Every day after our wedding, I couldn't think of anything else. I am the third son, I have neither title nor talents. I shall never be a lord like Anthony. I cannot paint like Benedict—all my art tutors agreed I was hopeless. And what could I offer you, the most extraordinary woman in all of Mayfair? "Lady Whistledown herself? Money, protection? Not that you need the former, and as for the latter, you reject it," he smirked. "Nothing but myself. And when you said that all you wanted from me was myself… I could scarcely believe it. Even now, I find it hard to accept, Pen."

He licked his dry lips and looked at her. She held his gaze, her palm resting against his cheek. He took in her face—so beautiful, so full of compassion. Her eyes, the color of the clear blue ocean waters; her lips, whose taste he had come to know one night and could never forget. Her auburn curls, flowing like fiery waves upon the pillow. He could not imagine anyone more beautiful.

During his travels in Spain, he had visited many places, and he recalled the guide's tale of the Holy Inquisition and the burning of witches, particularly beautiful red-haired maidens. Even then, just as now, the image of Penelope's fiery locks had come to his mind—and when the guide had asked what troubled him, he had confessed, with all sincerity, how relieved he was that they no longer lived in such barbarous times, for they would surely have burned his dear friend. The very thought filled him with an unshakable chill and horror.

"I cannot be without you," he breathed, gazing into her eyes, and she caught her breath. "When I realized the danger you had placed yourself in, how close you came to punishment at the hands of the Queen—God bless her kind heart—whenever I thought of harm befalling you, the urge to lock you away somewhere safe and throw away the key overwhelmed me. The thought of losing you, Pen, is unbearable."

He felt the tears streaming down his cheeks, but he did not hide them. Pen would understand, he knew that; it was Pen, after all. She would never condemn him.

"I cannot lose you," he said, his hand still resting upon her stomach. "I know the beginning of our marriage was less than ideal, but I would so dearly love a chance to make things right. I am no lord, but—"

"Colin, I have never cared for titles," Penelope interrupted impatiently, sitting up in the bed. "Whatever gave you such an idea? Have I ever once mentioned the need for a titled husband?"

"No, but—"

"No 'buts,' Colin," she pressed her finger to his lips, silencing him. "Since we are being frank with one another, I must say something, and I ask that you listen carefully. Your engagement to Marina truly broke my heart, and your words—your cruel words—shattered it further. But I have healed. I've left that pain behind. And if we are to build a family, I do not wish for the ghosts of the past to haunt us. It is time we stop letting them torment us."

She paused, taking a breath, and tenderly stroked his cheek with her thumb.

"And I never want to hear you say again that you thought I mocked your talent. That is not true. You are talented, Colin. Perhaps it sounds immodest, but I speak from my own experience, and our paths are not so different—you and I—we both seek to share our thoughts with others. And there is nothing shameful, laughable, or reproachable in that."

Colin kissed her wrist.

"I am weary of fighting—with you, with Eloise, with everyone who only ever saw me as a wallflower, a mere decoration for the ballroom. I wish to live peacefully now and raise our children," she said, feeling another kiss on her wrist. "You are the only one I have ever wanted for myself. You—and no one else. To hell with titles, to hell with fame, to hell with it all—I need you," she smiled, cradling his face in her hands, gently wiping away his tears. "All of you."

"And I need you," he whispered, his lips finding hers. She responded to his kiss, threading her fingers through his unruly hair. He pulled her close, still unable to believe that this wasn't one of his dreams. Pen was with him: kissing him, stroking his hair and face, her lips as sweet as he remembered. Her small body was warm and yielding—heaven help him, he had kept his composure when her insistent hands pulled him onto the bed with her. He never once let go of her: caressing, holding, lifting her onto his lap without breaking their embrace. At last, he felt as though he were home.

Pen had always given him that feeling. Her letters made him feel needed, her gaze, every word she spoke at social events, was a sanctuary in the madness of the marriage season. Her lips were the starting point of his madness. She was everything he had ever wanted. He knew he had squandered an unforgivably large amount of time, and now, when they were married, he wasn't about to lose a single moment more. From this night on, he would never let her out of his sight for longer than a minute.

He drank her in. The sweet fragrance of her hair, the feel of her soft warm skin beneath his fingers, her gentle hands, whose touch sent every nerve in his body alight with tension, and he truly feared he might burst into flames from every subsequent touch.

But he did not.

He had never told anyone, but the happiest moments of his life were those he would often record. He would search for the most fitting words to capture what he felt in those moments, so that in times of despair, he could return to those memories and remember how beautiful life could be.

It had been a long time since he had added to his collection of memories, though he could swear Penelope's fiery red head had always flickered in his mind. She had been a constant in his childhood adventures, his partner in crime for pilfering pastries from the kitchen, and the most perfect listener in the world. As they grew older, he had distanced himself from her, becoming more involved in the amusements of Anthony and Benedict, but the invisible presence of Penelope, whether on a grassy patch at Aubrey Hall where she and Eloise loved to read or in the house across the street, always gave him a sense of safety and fulfillment.

And now, lying in bed and gently stroking Penelope's bare back as she slept peacefully beside him, he could practically feel the itch in his fingers, the burning need to record this moment in his collection. But the desire to remain with her was far stronger, and he resolved to leave it for the morning, confident that not a single detail would slip from his memory before he committed this night to paper.

For now, everything else could wait—everything except the warmth of her breath against his skin, and he softly kissed the top of her head.

At last, he felt truly at home.

Chapter 9: Chapter 9

Notes:

I return with another chapter and I shall give you all a hint - the story comes to the end. Rather swiftly:)

Please, enjoy - I'm waiting eagerly for your reaction:)

Chapter Text

From the very first day of her employment in the Featherington household, Rae had been acutely aware of the affections of the young lady to whom she had been assigned. The ginger-haired girl, whose lingering glances at the boy next door were ill-concealed, was so hopelessly in love with him that Rae often marveled at how blind the young man remained to those very looks. As time passed and the children grew, Penelope's longing gazes persisted. However, they were now tinged with bitterness, for there was little in the endless confrontations with her mother and sisters—many of which Rae had witnessed—that could have stirred confidence within the girl. Penelope's timid attempts to defy her mother's will were met with waves of misunderstanding and sharp remarks about her appearance, her lack of interest in attracting suitors, and her constant devotion to reading. Oh, how many times Rae had wished to stand up for the girl, who was woefully unprepared to navigate the treacherous sea of passions in high society!

And so, when, at the start of the third season, Mr. Bridgerton approached with a clear intent to speak privately with Penelope—bypassing all norms and decorum—Rae allowed it. Penelope had been downcast and forlorn since the close of her second season, and after learning what her future held—aging beneath the same roof as her mother, with only visits from her married sisters—Rae could have sworn she had heard muffled curses from the girl's room.

Rae saw perfectly well how the newly-returned Mr. Colin Bridgerton regarded Penelope—and she could have sworn it was far from the friendly gaze he tried to convince himself, and others, it was.

God knows, Rae truly wished the best for Penelope, who had always been kind and courteous, often seeking Rae's counsel when in doubt. But who could have warned Rae that her well-intentioned leniency would lead to Penelope being disgraced in the next *Whistledown* column? The road to hell, indeed, is paved with good intentions. It was one thing to permit Penelope a conversation under Rae's watchful eye—Penelope being, after all, a young lady—but quite another to allow him to assist her in finding a husband. Especially when he looked at her in *that* way—his eyes wandering below her neck!

Rae had observed how Penelope fretted, burdened by her mother's pressure regarding the expected engagement to Lord Debling. On the one hand, it offered Penelope the long-awaited freedom she craved, but Rae knew full well that all her time spent in the company of Lady Bridgerton and her many children—two of whom had married for love—could inspire nothing less than such desires. Even though Penelope's visits to Bridgerton House had ceased, surely thoughts of love had begun to visit her more frequently than before.

She could wear a mask of happiness—oh, years spent with her family had indeed taught her to conceal her true emotions—but Rae had spent enough time with her to understand the deep doubts Penelope harbored, both about her feelings and the potential engagement. It was not the question of whether the engagement would come to pass—the gentleman was most determined and had even sought Lady Featherington's consent to the match—but whether the girl herself would find happiness. This, Rae did not dare predict, though the answer hovered on her lips, ready to be spoken.

And then, quite suddenly, everything changed.

After the ball, from which Penelope was expected to return as the future Lady Debling, Rae saw something rather curious from the garden where she stood. The carriage halted not before the Featherington residence, but before Bridgerton House—and from it first emerged Mr. Bridgerton, followed shortly thereafter by Miss Featherington?! Rae could hardly trust her own eyes, but the next edition of *Lady Whistledown* confirmed what her vision had suggested: Penelope Featherington was indeed engaged, but not to Alfred Debling—no, she was to marry Colin Bridgerton! Truly, it was a most astonishing turn of events. The servants of Featherington House were in an uproar, for at long last, the darling girl—so beloved by all the staff—was to be wed! And not merely wed, but wed for love, as evidenced by the somewhat unbecoming scene that had unfolded in the drawing room. There had been a hurried escape by Penelope with Mr. Bridgerton, after which Rae could hardly recall seeing her without a blush upon her cheeks.

Though Penelope had said nothing to confirm Rae's suspicions, her dreamy gaze, her bitten lip whenever her betrothed was mentioned, and her absence of *regulos* (which the staff discreetly noted), all testified that the couple's affections were far deeper than mere propriety would suggest. Indeed, their tender interactions seemed to restore Lady Featherington's belief in love. With incredulity and a glimmer of hope, she observed the couple as they laughed together, or when Mr. Bridgerton gently took Penelope's hand or brushed her hair from her face with such care. The mutual understanding and adoration upon their faces made it difficult to imagine that this pair could ever fall into discord.

But it did not last.

Rae found Penelope in a state of quiet hysteria, weeping in her chamber after returning from the Mondriches' ball. Her fragmented words betrayed her secret: "Colin," "followed to the printer," "I was careless," and the fatal confession, "He will never forgive me for Lady Whistledown." Rae's heart broke for the girl, but she knew not how to help. She sat with her for hours, holding her close as Penelope poured out her sorrows upon the floor, and Rae herself struggled to hold back tears. The pity she felt for this young woman was overwhelming, and Rae could scarcely imagine what might ease her pain, however slightly. Yet all efforts seemed in vain. In the days leading up to the wedding, Penelope resembled nothing more than a ghost. She moved through the house, appearing here and there, but her eyes were devoid of life.

After the wedding, matters only worsened.

Penelope took Rae with her to the Bridgerton household, and Rae was glad of it—for being near her in the Featherington home had been a comfort, but to serve as Mrs. Bridgerton's personal maid was a privilege beyond measure. Yet, with this change came a doubling of Rae's concern.

She had not expected to see blood on the morning after the wedding, but neither had she expected to find a pillow and blanket tucked on the sofa when she entered to inform Penelope of Miss Cowper's impending visit. Whatever Miss Cowper's business was in Mr. and Mrs. Bridgerton's home, Rae was unsure. Yet when Lady Featherington arrived not long after, Rae could not help but overhear their conversation. And when she heard Lady Featherington suggest the possibility of divorce, Rae's blood ran cold. She had never wished for things to end in such a way. It heartened her, however, to hear Penelope's firm resolve to be honest with her husband.

She assisted the young lady in preparing herself, and Penelope set off to Bridgerton House with her mother. What transpired during the conversation there remained unknown, but Penelope returned looking troubled and frowning. Blackmail—it was a vile business, and the strain of enduring such a burden could break even the strongest of spirits. In Penelope's delicate condition, Rae's heart ached deeply. And that concern only deepened when she realized that Penelope had no inkling about the child she was carrying.

When Rae timidly broached the subject—merely mentioning, in passing, that it had been two months since she last had her courses—Penelope's face drained of all color. Rae had already been halfway to the door, ready to summon assistance, when she heard a soft sob. Penelope, her face wet with tears, was smiling through them, gently stroking her belly. She was so overjoyed at the news of her child, and this brought Rae immense relief. She had been so concerned, both for the future mother and for the little one growing inside her. From that moment on, Penelope became more cautious than ever. She took care to eat at proper times, walked more frequently, and was diligent about her health to ensure nothing would threaten her baby. Rae supported her in every way she could, sharing the secret under the strictest confidence only with Mr. Dunwoody, who expressed his disapproval at Mr. Bridgerton being unaware of his wife's condition. But Rae suggested they let the couple handle it themselves, without third-party interference. Still, it became their joint task to discreetly watch over the young mistress.

Rae herself often urged Penelope to confide in her husband, but Penelope remained silent, insisting that it was not the right time. And after the ball held by the Bridgerton sisters, Rae found herself in a carriage with her young mistress, heading far from their former life.

She quickly adjusted to this new reality. The people around her were kind and respectful, allowing her the freedom to focus on what she cared about most—Penelope's well-being. Rae was glad to see that despite everything, the spark that had endeared Penelope to the inhabitants of both Bridgerton and Featherington houses still glowed within her. Penelope seemed to come alive again, away from society and in the company of servants and her beloved books.

Mr. St. Clair, a charming and polite young man, was always kind enough to greet Rae with a respectful nod, and she could tell he was genuinely interested in the company of her young mistress. However, with Mr. Bridgerton's arrival, those quiet conversations in the library ceased. If there was one thing Mr. Bridgerton did not lack, it was jealousy. Given the looks he shot in Mr. Gareth's direction, Rae admired Mr. Gareth's courage in continuing to speak with Penelope, albeit not in private as he once had, but in company.

Rae heard from Mr. Bran that he had escorted Miss Bridgerton to Penelope's room so that the married couple might speak. Rae's heart clenched with anxiety, knowing all too well how their last serious conversation had ended. She had personally comforted a weeping Penelope afterward, ensuring no one learned her secret and shattered her further with a cruel remark. When Penelope emerged from her room this time, Rae was ready to rush to her side, prepared to console her again, but to her surprise, Penelope appeared calm. Serene, even. Rae thought she might have caught a glimpse of a faint smile on her face. As she hurried downstairs, she nearly collided with Mr. Bridgerton, who smiled and wished her a good night, lamenting how empty and lonely their London house had become without her and Penelope. Rae exhaled, smiling at his words. She, too, missed the warmth of their small London home.

Penelope's pregnancy progressed well, though there were occasional concerns, such as morning sickness and a pallor that sometimes troubled Rae. More than once, Rae suggested that Penelope stay in her room so she might care for her there, but Penelope insisted on going outside. She continued to do so until one day she fainted. Rae chastised herself fiercely for not being more insistent in her attempts to keep Penelope resting in her chambers, though that did not absolve her from the responsibility she felt.

She sat by the door when Lady Danbury caught sight of her.

"Your name is Rae, if I recall correctly?" Lady Danbury asked with a smile, having just seen the doctor out and now turning her attention to Rae. "I can see you're blaming yourself for what happened to Penelope. But please, do not—she knows well enough that it wasn't your fault."

"I should have insisted that she stay in her room today," Rae lamented, her fingers nervously twisting together. But Lady Danbury merely raised an eyebrow and gently placed her hand over Rae's trembling ones.

"I know, I see how deeply you care for that girl, Rae. And she cares for you too. But if anyone knows, it should be you—that Penelope is more than capable of looking after herself. The body of a pregnant woman is full of mysteries, and I suspect it will continue to surprise her. If you wish to be truly helpful, let her live as she pleases. A sudden fainting spell is the least of what may come her way. She's already had a fall, you know," Lady Danbury said, her tone matter-of-fact. Rae's eyes widened in surprise.

"Yes, on her betrothal day. At the time, we all assumed it was nerves, especially after Miss Cowper's rather dramatic outburst. But you know what's amusing? It was these two who brought her around then as well," she said, nodding towards Eloise and Colin, who were now bent over Penelope. Though Penelope herself was barely visible beneath them, Rae's trained eyes glimpsed the familiar tuft of red hair.

"So, you see, she's in very good hands. She will need your help again, undoubtedly, but for now, you've earned yourself a glass of brandy and a bit of rest," Lady Danbury smiled warmly.

In that moment, Rae understood why Penelope had placed her trust in Lady Danbury.

For the entire week following the doctor's visit, Rae truly felt as though she had a holiday of sorts. She wandered through the house and gardens, attending to the small, light tasks Mr. Bran gave her—nothing too demanding or time-consuming. All the while, she kept an eye on the relationship between the young couple. And there was certainly much to observe: Colin hardly let his young wife out of his sight. Penelope was always within his line of vision, and if she disappeared for more than a minute, his face would betray a panic so intense that Rae half-expected him to request Lady Danbury for a set of chains—not too heavy, of course, so Penelope could live comfortably, but also not so light that she might escape—that he could willingly bind himself to her. Such devotion warmed Rae's heart. It was far more pleasant to witness Colin's steady, determined path back into Penelope's affections than she could have imagined. The only question that remained was how long it would take for Penelope to finally surrender.

It turned out Rae didn't have to wonder for long. Each morning, she would arrive to help Penelope prepare for the day, and every morning, Mr. Bridgerton would be found in the armchair beside the bed. His long legs stretched out before him, his head either tilted back at a precarious angle (how his neck could bear it, Rae had no idea) or slumped forward with his chin resting on his chest (a posture that caused Rae no small amount of concern for his wellbeing). A drowsy Penelope would usually scold him, urging him to leave before he ruined his neck permanently. Colin would tease that he had no intention of making her a widow so soon, and they'd meet again at breakfast.

But this morning, the chair was empty. Instead, beside the cascade of red curls sprawled across the pillow, Rae noticed a tangle of dark chestnut hair. She froze in the doorway, one foot raised just above the threshold. Her first impulse was to march in and shoo him out, perhaps giving him a good smack for good measure. But the rational part of her mind quickly reminded her that they were married, after all, and it wasn't exactly a crime to miss breakfast. Perhaps they might even enjoy it in the privacy of their room—it wasn't such a scandal, after all.

Rae could already think of a perfectly acceptable explanation for the couple's mysterious absence at the morning meal—if anyone even cared enough to inquire.

Eloise found it both pleasant and quite amusing that her dear friend had, for once, decided to give Colin his comeuppance. Now, do not misunderstand—he was her brother, and she loved him dearly, but a small, mischievous part of her had always harboured some resentment towards the way he managed to escape punishment so easily. While Eloise had often been disciplined for her behavior—being denied dessert, for instance—Colin was a master at avoiding any consequence. Whether it was their mother or Anthony attempting to mete out punishment, Colin wielded his arsenal of charming smiles, sweet words, mournful silences, or well-timed jokes with such finesse that he seemed to always get away scot-free. Eloise had long marveled at just how effortlessly he achieved this.

To his credit, he was always the first to try to prevent quarrels from escalating, and when that failed, he would sneak dessert into the room of whichever sibling had been punished, doing his utmost to ease their burden. Eloise had been on the receiving end of such kindness more than once, and it only made her love him all the more. Yet she still found herself frustrated when he avoided consequences, perhaps because she wished she could be even half as good a sister as he was a brother. Now, thanks to Penelope, it seemed she might finally have her chance.

Penelope was truly heartbroken and drained. Eloise had done everything in her power to guide Colin toward happiness: she had opened his eyes to Penelope's feelings and shared some insights that might help him better understand how she was feeling. Eloise cared deeply for her friend, who appeared utterly downcast yet strangely calm, and Eloise began to suspect that her words had helped Colin refrain from behaving foolishly—and that he had actually listened. She had heard from the servants that he spent his nights beside Penelope, seated in a chair, of course, but still. It was odd for Eloise to accept that there was no need to chase him away anymore, for technically, Penelope was his wife—and carrying his child.

"Have your brother and sister not come down yet?" asked Lady Danbury, pulling Eloise out of her reverie.

"I suppose not," Eloise smiled. "After that incident the other morning, Pen has been more attentive to her own health, which is a relief."

"Indeed," said Lady Danbury. "Rae told me your brother hasn't let Mrs. Bridgerton out of his sight since that very moment. He even spends his nights beside her—though he takes a chair. And while the furniture in my house is certainly comfortable, I doubt any chair could be a true substitute for a bed," she remarked with a barely contained laugh, and Eloise couldn't help but chuckle in response.

"If he is heeding my advice—and he is, considering Penelope hasn't fled yet from his constant hovering—he is trying not to overwhelm her," Eloise replied. "Of course, his constant presence might seem a bit overzealous, but he's only trying to help. He's always been like that."

"Do you know what my favorite pastime is, Miss Bridgerton?" Lady Danbury asked as they strolled down the garden path, wordlessly beginning their morning promenade. "It is watching the Bridgertons in love. It is a genuine delight. You grew up in a family where the very idea of marriage for love was held above all else. I've watched your brothers deny their feelings, refute the very notion that they were in love—and then I've watched them become utterly mad once they realized the truth. They become... uncontrollable. It's as if their feelings glue them to their beloved wives, and they cannot bear to part from them, even for a moment. It's quite entertaining."

"And infuriating, if you ask me," Eloise wrinkled her nose. "I'm thrilled for them, don't get me wrong, Lady Danbury, but they become so attached to their wives that it's hard to imagine ever prying them apart. Pen was my best friend, and now I have to share her with Colin," she grumbled, and Lady Danbury laughed heartily.

"My dear girl, I don't think you need to worry about that," she said, gently patting Eloise's arm. Eloise glanced up at her. "While your brothers may lose their heads over their wives, those same wives do not lose theirs. They live with these men, who are entirely wrapped around their elegant little fingers, guiding them as they see fit. That is the strength we women possess: while men may succumb to their emotions, they do not know how to live with them as we do. They love your brothers, of that I have no doubt. Anyone can see it—but men simply do not handle it as well as we can. We are accustomed to navigating emotional complexities, whereas some men have a range of emotions no broader than that of a fork."

Eloise snorted, fully agreeing with Lady Danbury. She knew well enough what Anthony had been like before—and during—Kate, and she wholeheartedly believed that Lady Danbury's description was spot on. Wrapped around her elegant fingers, indeed. If such a transformation had already begun in Colin—and for heaven's sake, he had actually taken her advice!—then Eloise ought to be the first to welcome this marriage. But losing her friend after they had only just repaired their relationship was painful.

"Penelope was, and still is, your friend. She will do everything in her power to ensure you remain a part of her life. You will, no doubt, have to compete with your brother for her attention," Eloise gave a small laugh at this remark, "but your friend will not abandon you. Especially now, when you are the one aiding them in mending their relationship. You are the one who has been by her side in her darkest hours."

"We've hurt each other," Eloise admitted softly.

"I know," the older woman replied with a slight shrug. "There is no friendship, no love, without pain—your mother knows that better than anyone. Yet, it is merely a trial. If my eyes do not deceive me, your relationship with Penelope has only grown stronger, has it not?"

Eloise paused to reflect. Had their friendship reached a new level? Undoubtedly, yes. They now discussed things that had previously gone unspoken, entrusted each other with secrets once withheld, and shared thoughts they had never before dared to reveal. She nodded in acknowledgment.

"I understand your fears and anxieties," Lady Danbury smiled warmly. "You were the best of friends, and that will not change. Your friendship will simply become stronger, and that is a most fortunate outcome, in my opinion. You can always share your feelings with her—and I am quite certain she will affirm what I've said."

Eloise gently squeezed Lady Danbury's hand in gratitude. She now truly understood why her mother—and now Penelope—held such deep affection for this remarkable woman.

"Shall we go to breakfast, Miss Bridgerton?" Lady Danbury suggested.

"Please, call me Eloise."

When Penelope and Colin appeared at breakfast, hand in hand, Eloise and Lady Danbury exchanged glances, unable to suppress their smiles. Colin's countenance shone with such radiance, and his smile was so broad that Eloise thought it might well split his face. Penelope wore a similarly bright smile. She glowed as well, and Eloise could not help but acknowledge that she relished the remarkable atmosphere of love and warmth radiating from them both.

"Pen!" she exclaimed, springing from her chair. "You are feeling better?"

"Much improved," she replied warmly, approaching to embrace her. Eloise's heart leapt nervously. "Thank you," whispered Penelope.

"For what?"

"For being here with me. Though I love your brother, he can be rather reckless at times. I am glad he has you—someone who can temper him."

"I believe such laurels are not solely mine to claim," Eloise noted. "You are quite adept at managing him as well," she conceded.

"Trust me, he understands well how much you assist him. Perhaps he may not fully realize it, but you are our guardian angel," Penelope said, gazing into her friend's eyes. "You always desire the best for your siblings, and I am overjoyed that at last, in the eyes of both society and God, you are my sister. That is all I have ever wished for us—to be sisters," she declared, and Eloise felt tears welling in her eyes. She took a deep breath.

"The way Colin glows is quite blinding," she muttered. "I hope I can grow accustomed to it, but you must promise that he will remain so henceforth. Though he can vex me at times, I prefer to see him joyous rather than sulky and morose. It is now your charge," she said.

"I know," Penelope replied, her smile warm as she turned to gaze at her husband, who was engaged in conversation with Lady Danbury, grinning as widely as his cheeks would allow. "But you do know that despite all, you are my dearest friend? I would never wish to lose you. I could not have endured all we have experienced without you. I love you, El. Even before you became my sister, and even more so now that you have forgiven me for all my missteps."

"Oh, Pen," Eloise exclaimed, embracing her tightly and burying her face in her shoulder. The escaped tears found refuge on Penelope's gown, and the two young women remained frozen in their intimate embrace.

"Eloise, Penelope still requires air," Colin smiled at his sister. She rolled her eyes but slightly loosened her grip.

"It is quite all right, Colin," Penelope assured him with a smile. "It is simply..."

"Oh, do not feel the need to explain to us all how you adore your family, Penelope," Lady Danbury interjected with alacrity. "Now, I suggest we proceed to breakfast."

"Are we not to await Mr. St. Clair?" Eloise inquired.

"Oh, my grandson has chosen to visit one of his friends residing nearby, thus we shall certainly not see him for the time being," Lady Danbury replied. "He sends his deep regard and respect to you all and hopes to see you during the season. I plan to assist him in navigating the madness of the matrimonial season."

"He shall be fortunate," Colin responded with a smile. "We would be most delighted should you and he visit us in London, would we not, my love?"

Eloise barely managed to maintain her composure, stifling a laugh. She turned to Penelope, who had taken her place beside her husband, and mouthed, "Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?!" Penelope smiled and replied silently, "I do not understand what you mean."

"I believe he will be pleased. He holds your family in high esteem, Mr. Bridgerton," Lady Danbury beamed. "I gladly accept your invitation."

"We shall be most grateful," Colin replied, extending his hand to his wife. She promptly offered him her palm. Lady Danbury's smile broadened even further, though something else glimmered in her eyes—concern, perhaps. Penelope was not entirely certain.

"And what shall you do now?" Lady Danbury inquired once they had completed their breakfast and were now enjoying tea amid the pleasant chirping of birds.

"We were contemplating a return to London," Penelope shared, squeezing Eloise's hand. "Eloise is set to journey to Scotland with Francesca and her husband, and if they have not yet departed, we must hurry—she should not miss her travels."

"Oh, I am sure they have yet to leave. I received a letter from my brother yesterday—he and his family hope to see you in Mayfair posthaste. I have yet to write a response, so if you are indeed returning to London, I would be most grateful if you could deliver my reply."

"It is the least we can do for you," the young woman smiled warmly, rising from her chair to approach Lady Danbury and embrace her tightly. The older woman returned the gesture. "Forgive my emotional display."

"Oh, do not even think to apologize for that, Penelope. I have enjoyed your company immensely, and I shall always be delighted to host you. Are you certain you wish to depart for London so soon?"

"Yes," Penelope answered without delay, stroking Lady Danbury's hand. "I shall never forget what you have done for me. And for all of us," she added, glancing at Colin and Eloise, seated at the table, before resting her hand on her abdomen.

"Oh, dear child, do not mention it. I am glad I could assist you. By the way, my brother has not only sent his letter but something for you," Lady Danbury remarked, producing a small envelope and handing it to the young lady. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she nervously licked her lips. "Do you recall what I mentioned about the number of people on your side? Here is the confirmation."

"Your assistance is invaluable, Lady Danbury," Penelope replied, returning to her seat. She tucked the letter into the folds of her dress and resumed her place at the table.

Later that evening, as they settled the time for their departure back to London, gave instructions to prepare for the journey, and briefed Ray about their return, Penelope opened the letter. Colin lay beside her—his hand resting on her abdomen—and she could not fathom the level of happiness she felt in that moment. Her relationship with Eloise had mended, her relationship with Colin had flourished—what more could she desire?

"My Dearest Girl,

Thank you for the letter you left behind. Not all my children take the care to inform me of such significant changes, and I am both grateful and appreciative that you chose to forewarn me before embarking upon such a momentous step. A desperate, risky, yet courageous step.

You must know that even if not all have responded to your revelation with warmth, you shall always have my unwavering support and affection. Wisdom comes with the passage of years, yet you possess it already, and I cannot envision anyone more suitable to join our family than yourself. I have always regarded you as my fifth daughter, and the day you wed Colin remains one of my happiest. You do know that I have always loved you and shall continue to do so, do you not? If you are uncertain, I shall strive to demonstrate it more clearly.

Thank you. For loving our family always and for your tireless efforts to protect it. Perhaps not all actions were agreeable, yet I shall be the first to admit that on the path to true love, my children have a penchant for creating scandals. And how fortunate it is that you have consistently been there to temper those very scandals or redirect their attention as needed. You are wise beyond your years, my dear girl. And I am proud to call you my daughter. All the Bridgertons are fortunate to have Lady Whistledown as an ally.

I am exceedingly eager for your return to the fold of our shared family, yet Agatha has explained to me what compelled you to depart. I cannot say that I blame you for such an act—you require time to acclimate to all that is occurring and to comprehend how deeply we love you. Colin and Eloise, in particular. I have shared with them certain insights that may assist your discussions when you are prepared for them, though I believe it would also benefit them to hear it from you. My children were raised in a family abundant in love; I was not. And I wish to believe I have done all within my power to provide them with what I so desperately needed in my own family. And I trust that you can do the same. The night before the ball at Aubrey Hall, Daphne and I spoke of how each of us Bridgertons seeks a partner who will constantly challenge us, for otherwise we find ourselves unable to thrive—and this is yet another reason I feel you are perfectly suited to both this family and my son. You have endured our chaos for years, and I hope you feel yourself one of us, as you have always been.

I am well aware of how difficult the beginning of married life can be. There are no perfect unions; family life is invariably accompanied by quarrels, misunderstandings, and disputes. Yet the good moments always outweigh the challenges, I assure you. I have eight compelling arguments to support this claim!

Colin is the most sensitive of my children, and I take great pride in that. However, I acknowledge that in his sensitivity, he may wound deeper than others might. Yet I also know how profoundly he loves you. I see it, and I am not alone in this perception. We have all witnessed the growth and strengthening of your love for him. None of us are without fault, and I wish to believe that one day you will find the strength to forgive my son and to be happy by his side. I have no doubt he shall dedicate his life to ensuring your happiness. And so shall we.

Come home, my girl. We all await your return with eager hearts.

Your Mother"

Penelope smiled through the tears that streamed down her cheeks. She sniffed and wiped her damp face. Colin, disturbed by the sound, quickly sat up and peered into the beloved features before him.

"What has transpired?"

"Nothing. I merely read your mother's letter, and… did I mention how dearly I love her?"

"Several times," Colin replied with a smile, his hands gently brushing away her tears. "Did her message upset you?"

"Rather, it moved me," Penelope smiled, tenderly caressing her husband's face. He leaned into her hand and pressed a kiss to her wrist.

"I have never understood how she finds the words, yet she always does. Perhaps it comes with the passage of time?"

"Perhaps."

"Then, are you ready to return to the embrace of our family?" Colin inquired, affectionately stroking her cheek with the back of his hand.

"Were the preparations for our departure tomorrow not sufficient proof of that?" she jested. Colin smiled in response.

"I would gladly have whisked you away the moment I arrived, but this decision rests with you. I do not wish for you to ever again feel voiceless. Our family may indeed be loud, but I promise you, you shall never feel without a voice again. I will always hear you, Pen. I vow it."

Penelope kissed him, unable to find the words, feeling that the kiss was the most eloquent response to all he had said. She had thought it impossible to love him more fiercely, yet it seemed she was mistaken. What had the dowager Lady Bridgerton said about the constant challenges presented by the Bridgertons?

As they bid farewell to Lady Danbury and the others that morning, she took her place beside Colin, facing Eloise in the carriage, her heart was light.

She was returning home.

Chapter 10: Chapter 10

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Eloise Bridgerton had spent the better part of her life fleeing from the notion of marriage and children, as one might flee from a raging fire. The idea of surrendering herself to a husband's authority and entombing her great ambitions forever was nothing short of dreadful. Yet, of late, she found her stance on the matter had softened somewhat.

It all began with Penelope. Upon observing the harmonious way Penelope and Colin seemed to complete one another—as though they could divine each other's thoughts with not even a glance, but a mere half-glance—Eloise found herself musing that perhaps her mother did possess a rare gift for predicting felicitous unions. And maybe, just maybe, if she were to meet a man who did not gaze upon her way of thinking with too much conservatism or condescension, a man who could appreciate the world as seen through her own eyes… Well, perhaps then she might consider matrimony.

Her second cause for reflection came in the form of a tiny, squalling creature—Elliot Bridgerton, the newly born Lord Featherington.

The sound of Penelope's cries as that small, loud monster entered the world had shaken Eloise to her very core. These cries had obliterated any fleeting thoughts of ever finding the strength to marry, let alone bear children. They had even made her feel a touch more tender toward her mother. If their mother had endured such agony for the arrival of each of her eight children, well then, their father might have considered stopping at one. Eloise herself distinctly recalled the night Hyacinth was born, and the memory filled her with sacred dread. Was this to be the fate of all women—to endure such pain?

Penelope's cries subsided, and Eloise found herself sitting on the floor, her face buried in her hands. No, this simply would not do.

Rising to her feet, she hurried in the direction of the bedchamber from whence those terrifying sounds had emanated. There were only two reasons such cries would cease: either the child had been born, or… Fortunately, Eloise did not have time to finish that thought before a maid carrying bloodstained sheets collided with her. Feeling faint, Eloise stepped aside, offering a swift nod of apology to the maid.

She burst into the room, her mind racing with dreadful conjectures. But what met her eyes was not calamity but the flushed, sweat-dampened face of Penelope, lit with an expression of pure joy. It was only then that she noticed her mother standing nearby, and on the other side, Colin, pressing gentle kisses to Penelope's brow and murmuring words in her ear that made her cheeks flush all the redder. Lady Featherington stood beaming at her daughter.

As the physician busied himself with the linens, one of the midwives approached, bearing in her arms a tiny, wailing bundle. Penelope reached for the child, while Colin placed his hand tenderly over the bundle, and for a fleeting moment, Eloise thought the baby might disappear into the sleeve of Colin's shirt, as if by some magician's trick. But the bundle remained.

"Eloise!" Penelope's voice, ragged from her earlier exertions, was barely a whisper. "You're here..."

Eloise quickly stepped closer to the bed, her mother taking her hand in a comforting grasp.

"Greet your nephew, dearest sister," Colin said softly. His eyes, fixed upon his wife and child, glistened with unshed tears. As Penelope shifted slightly to make room for her husband, protests came from all sides, but she silenced them with a firm nod, inviting Colin to sit beside her. The same invitation extended, in that moment, to the other Bridgertons present. Eloise, not wishing to add to Penelope's exhaustion, hurried to sit, noting the weary but radiant smile upon her friend's face.

It was curious to Eloise, how despite Penelope's obvious fatigue, she seemed to glow with happiness—a brightness Eloise had never seen before. Her friend was truly, unmistakably happy.

"How are you feeling?" Eloise asked in a low voice, glancing at her mother, whose smile was warm and full.

"I am overjoyed," Penelope sniffled. "Eloise, Lady Bridgerton, Mama, allow me to introduce you formally—Elliot Bridgerton," she whispered, after exchanging a brief but significant glance with Colin.

"The new Lord Featherington," Lady Portia Featherington added, her gaze soft as she looked upon her crying grandchild.

"If you like, you may hold him," Penelope offered, her smile tender, as the baby quieted somewhat.

Now, Eloise had never been one to dote on infants. Whenever Daphne's children were thrust into her arms, despite her deep love for her sister, Eloise felt nothing but discomfort—relief only came when someone, usually Colin, would relieve her of the little bundle. She had always marveled at the fondness others seemed to have for these tiny creatures, who expressed their thoughts solely through wails or the absence thereof. The expectation, the pressure from every watching eye whenever she was handed a baby, made her want to flee.

Yet, today was different.

There was no tension, no sense that anyone was demanding she interact with this wailing bundle of blankets. All she saw in Penelope's eyes was the silent assurance that, should she decline, there would be no judgment. They were simply offering her the chance to meet someone named in her honor.

Her first instinct was to refuse and inch closer to Penelope, to offer a friendly shoulder to cry upon, relieved that her dearest friend was safe and well. Her second thought was curiosity—it wasn't every day she witnessed her closest friend bringing new life into the world, a life whose name bore such a striking resemblance to her own. And before a third thought could even form, she found her hands—clad in sleeves so much like her own—reaching out for the bundle. Colin, gently cradling the blankets, carefully placed the small figure in his sister's arms, pulling back the top layer to reveal a tiny, red, scrunched-up face. The child was silent now, but when his eyes opened, Eloise knew. There it was.

She did not fear this small human. His eyes, a stunning blend of his mother's sky-blue and his father's deep sapphire, gazed up at her as she swayed gently, her heart strangely light.

"Hello, Elliot," she whispered, her voice catching slightly. "Hello."

When she glanced up, she found the new parents wrapped in each other's embrace, exchanging silent, knowing looks. Her mother discreetly wiped a tear from her eye, and Lady Featherington lovingly patted Penelope's hand. Eloise looked back down at the baby, her thoughts interrupted by her mother's voice.

"Shall I take him?" her mother asked.

"No, it's all right," Eloise replied, offering her finger to the little creature, who clung to it with his tiny, doll-like hands. "We're still getting acquainted."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Colin and Penelope exchange a glance, and though Eloise felt the urge to roll her eyes, she focused once more on the child in her arms, who she already adored.

They stared at each other for several minutes before the baby began to squirm restlessly, wrinkling his little button nose. Eloise, in sudden alarm, looked to her mother, who shared a knowing look with Penelope before Penelope extended her arms for her son.

"What is wrong with him?" Eloise asked, her panic evident.

"He's hungry," Lady Bridgerton explained.

"And what is he to eat?" Eloise inquired.

"Well... he'll be fed milk," her mother clarified.

"Given that he's Colin's son, you'll need an abundance of it," Eloise quipped as she handed the now-crying baby back to his mother.

"And he'll grow strong and handsome," Lady Bridgerton smiled.

"Like his father," Penelope added with a sly grin, and Eloise could have sworn she saw Colin blush.

"A wet nurse must be summoned at once," declared Lady Featherington, moving toward the door, only to be stopped by Penelope's voice.

"No, Mama, there is no need. I shall feed my own child," Penelope said, clutching the now-squalling bundle to her chest.

"But you are a lady, Penelope Feather—"

"Bridgerton," the new mother interrupted with quiet authority. "And we have decided there will be no wet nurse." She exchanged another glance with Colin, who watched his little family with reverence.

"Nonsense," Lady Featherington muttered but said no more as she left the room. To Eloise's surprise, her own mother rose from her seat.

"Come, dearest," Violet extended a hand to her daughter. "They must feed the child now."

"And how are they to feed him if there is no milk?" Eloise asked, her eyes widening in astonishment as she caught sight of Penelope's gesture. She was pointing toward her breast.

Eloise hastily followed her mother from the room, but not before casting a glance over her shoulder to see Penelope nursing her son. She quickly closed the door behind her.

Some curiosities were better left unindulged.

When the winter arrived, and Christmas approached, Elliott Bridgerton, for the first time, was left entirely in the care of the nursemaids. His parents made use of this arrangement but seldom, only during brief visits to attend business matters, where the young Lord Featherington had no purpose but to stare about and demand food. But this evening was different; his parents intended to be away for the whole night, and the thought greatly troubled his mother, who paced the drawing room restlessly, while his father softly hummed a lullaby.

"He is so small," whispered Penelope as she approached her son and husband. "Must we truly go? I dread leaving him for the night."

"My love, Mother would be most displeased if we were to miss the occasion. We must attend these events from time to time. Besides, it has been too long since you last saw her."

Penelope raised an eyebrow.

"I visited Lady Bridgerton with Elliott this very morning."

"It has been quite some time since she hosted a ball. You know how she frets."

"We attended the masquerade just two months ago."

"And we left within mere hours, for Elliott was but an infant."

"As though he has grown so significantly since!" Penelope frowned.

"He's nearly a full-grown man!" Colin protested, his expression mock-serious. "Clearly, he takes after me in height." He flashed a charming smile, and little Elliott, witnessing his father's mirth, smiled in turn. Penelope's resolve melted. If she had no defense against Colin's smiles, how could she resist the enchanting grin of their tiny replica?

"Well, that is fortunate indeed," she smiled back, "for he has also inherited your features, your smile, and, without question, your appetite."

"I understand why he's so fond of your bosom," Colin added with an innocent shrug. "I must confess, I am similarly enraptured."

"Do behave, Mr. Bridgerton!" Penelope scolded playfully. "If you are very well-behaved, you may earn the privilege of merely looking."

"Merely looking?" Colin feigned a pout, his lips pushed out dramatically. "You wound me, Mrs. Bridgerton. I had hoped for a reward far more substantial." He deployed his most pitiful, puppy-eyed expression, one Penelope found impossible to resist.

"Oh, if you are so intent on something more substantial, we might have to forego the ball altogether," she teased with a sly smile. "But that, my dear, would break your mother's heart—and I should hate to break her heart."

At times, Colin despised being such a dutiful son.

"But surely, we can find a compromise," his wife suggested, her tone suggestive enough to command Colin's full attention. "If we return home not too weary, perhaps we might..." She let the words hang in the air, though her hand drifted softly down his chest, and the alluring smile that followed was more than enough to stir his imagination.

"You are the finest woman in all the world," he declared, rising carefully to his feet to place a kiss upon her lips, then made his way to the nursery, where Rae, the nursemaid, was waiting with Elliott, who cooed and gurgled, reluctant to part with his mother. Colin hurried to escort Penelope from the room before she could change her mind and insist upon staying with their son.

He had invested far too much effort in persuading her to attend this evening to let her back out now. The evening had been arranged with meticulous care.

"Say such things more often, and I might soon start to believe them," Penelope smiled, her cheeks flushing as Colin's hand roguishly brushed against her bosom. She squinted at him, gently removing his hand. "You do realize that I am still quite sensitive there, do you not?"

"You are simply too tempting to resist!" he replied, pulling a playful face. But Penelope maintained her composure.

"So, you would prefer to retreat to the bedchamber rather than attend the ball for which you spent a full week persuading me?" She arched an eyebrow, already knowing her victory was assured.

Had Colin mentioned before how much he sometimes loathed being a good son?

"I suppose I should be grateful that the ball is just across the street," he grumbled with a resigned sigh. "Though, it is rather odd, is it not, how thrilled I am that every time we visit my mother for tea, we only have to cross the road to be home again?"

"I was quite fond of the house in which my innocence remained," Penelope mused, her words drawing a grin from Colin as they shared a conspiratorial smile. His hand found hers, and he brought her fingers to his lips. "But I do know this house well, including all the secret ways to slip away unnoticed."

"And where, pray tell, would you escape to without me?" Colin furrowed his brow.

"Not from you, dearest, but with you. To gaze upon the stars, to lie upon the grass… perhaps to indulge in other pleasures." She bit her lip and cast him a sidelong glance. Oh, she knew well what she was doing. Once she realized the power she held over him, she used it carefully, always in ways that would bring them both delight.

"You are the death of me, woman," he growled lowly.

"No more than you are mine," she responded with a fairness that could not be denied.

Colin sighed deeply. His body reacted most enthusiastically to that voice of hers—the one she used to speak of slipping away for a repose upon the grass. It was much the same voice with which she had bid him stay in bed when, in the fifth month of her pregnancy, she approached him, radiant with beauty, clothed in nothing but the sheerest of nightgowns, which drifted to the floor like a whisper…

"Colin, we are late," Penelope whispered, her eyes darkening with desire. Her lips, made for kissing—his kisses, Colin corrected himself—beckoned him. He stepped closer, brushing her auburn curls aside, and gently pulled her into an embrace, pressing a tender kiss to her lips. After all, no one had ever perished from arriving late to a ball, had they?

When at last they appeared at the grand entrance to Bridgerton House, it was clear they were among the very last to arrive. Their outer garments were quickly whisked away, and Penelope bit her lip, privately acknowledging that, perhaps, tardiness was not such a terrible sin. A small one, at worst, and certainly one for which she would promptly apologize to Lady Bridgerton.

Colin offered his arm, and they proceeded into the grand hall. Penelope had always known that Lady Bridgerton's balls were lavish affairs, but tonight she had outdone herself. The festive ambiance was enriched by an abundance of candles and ornaments. Christmas was imminent, and the air was filled with the warm fragrance of cinnamon, baked apples, and biscuits (Penelope had managed to convince Lady Bridgerton to share the recipe—both of them pleading with the cook, who finally relented after Penelope mentioned that it was for the future little Bridgerton. The cook, unable to resist the sight of Penelope's beseeching eyes and her eight-month-pregnant belly, had softened instantly). Despite the towering fir tree in the corner of the room, which Violet had strictly forbidden anyone to approach, there was something else in the air.

Had Penelope been more attentive to how the room reacted to their arrival, she might have noticed the many approving, admiring, and occasionally puzzled glances cast their way. But her attention was on the decorations.

"Penelope!" Eloise swept upon her like a whirlwind, embracing her tightly. "I feared I should have to endure this evening alone."

"Eloise, our entire family is here," Colin pointed out, pulling a face as she rolled her eyes in response.

"And yet, I have only one Penelope," Eloise clasped her friend's wrist and smiled warmly. Penelope returned the greeting with equal affection.

"Penelope!" came the cry again, and it seemed as though the very walls trembled—or was it simply the impression of the third Bridgerton brother? The female members of the family had, it seemed, conspired to smother her with affection—this time it was Daphne and Hyacinth. Colin merely rolled his eyes at his overzealous sisters.

"Again?" he roared, attempting to make himself heard over the din of their excited voices. "Penelope does need to breathe if you wish to see her again!"

"Let them enjoy the reunion, Colin," observed Kate, stepping toward him, awaiting her own turn to greet his wife. She embraced him warmly, and he felt a slight easing of tension. His wife was so tiny compared to all the Bridgertons—whether men or women—that he feared if he were to slacken his vigilance for even a moment, some overenthusiastic family member might accidentally suffocate her. "It has been so long since they last saw one another."

"Since this afternoon's tea, I believe?" Colin replied with mock innocence, and they both laughed.

When Eloise finally succeeded in pulling Penelope away from her sisters and spiriting her off to her room, the remaining family members approached. Colin glanced around, surveying them all. Everyone was in high spirits, exchanging quips and jests, waiting only for the guest of honor to make her entrance.

"Darling, where is Penelope?" his mother asked as soon as she spotted him.

"Abducted by Eloise," Colin confessed.

"Well, I do hope your sister shan't monopolize her company for the entire evening," remarked the dowager Viscountess with mild concern, though her words were met with shared smiles among those present. The smiles, however, were not intended to slight Lady Violet, but rather to convey silent, knowing glances amongst themselves.

"Considering how much time she spends with Pen, I am rather surprised she hasn't requested to move in with us," Colin jested, a mischievous grin lighting his face. Daphne, unable to contain herself, let out a soft snort of laughter into her husband's shoulder, while Kate averted her gaze, smiling. "What?" Colin inquired, looking slightly bewildered.

"Penelope was not entirely opposed to the notion, but she did caution that Elliott remains somewhat restless at night. Eloise may have no qualms about Elliott's cries, but I daresay her delicate ears would falter at the sound of your cries," Benedict added slyly, nimbly dodging the swat from Anthony, though Lady Violet's sharp exclamation, "Benedict Bridgerton!" was far harder to evade.

"Why ever would Colin and Penelope be crying?" asked Hyacinth with all the innocence of her youth, exchanging a puzzled glance with Gregory. He, too, looked at their elder siblings and mother in utter bewilderment.

"If you are arguing, we shall live with Penelope," Hyacinth declared swiftly, earning a scandalized glare from Colin. "What?!" she asked, unabashed.

"I shall not surrender my wife to you!" Colin declared stoutly. "Merely… Elliott's lullabies can become… rather loud, at times," he stammered, casting a pointed look at Benedict, who mimed exaggerated disbelief, mouthing "lullabies? truly?" in mock dismay, for which he earned a sharp flick from their mother's fan and an equally stern look.

"Am I to be kidnapped?" Penelope asked, appearing suddenly within Colin's view, Eloise, of course, trailing closely behind. The pair had arrived unexpectedly, as was their wont, and Colin decided that Eloise's time was now up. Gallantly offering his arm to his wife, he winked at his sister with his other arm extended. Both Penelope and Eloise took their places, exchanging glances that only they could understand.

The Bridgerton siblings, now with their spouses, entered the ballroom in full company, drawing the attention of all who gathered. Penelope felt her knees tremble slightly, her stomach twisting itself into a tight knot, but when her gaze met Colin's, his eyes full of warmth and reassurance, her nerves steadied. She had once told Francesca at the start of her season that the Bridgertons were born to draw attention—and now, she herself was a Bridgerton. She had best grow accustomed to the stares. If only they were not so relentless… She sighed and squared her shoulders. After all, she was Lady Whistledown. If she could manage that, she could manage this.

As the gathering dispersed to greet guests, Penelope, ever observant, could not help but notice that the Bridgertons, the Bassets, and the Kilmartins had formed a protective little circle about her, Colin, and Eloise. Finding this immensely touching, she turned to share her thoughts with Eloise, but before she could speak, fanfare resounded through the hall. Penelope's heart sank to her very toes.

Queen Charlotte.

As one, the room sank into a curtsy, Penelope following suit as the Queen made her regal way across the floor, parting the crowd like a ship through water. She nodded gracefully to the hosts of the evening before her gaze turned directly toward Penelope, who stood between her husband and her sister. Eloise, uncharacteristically positioned to her opposite side, gave Penelope's hand a firm, comforting squeeze, while Colin gently stroked her fingers in a silent gesture of reassurance.

"Lady Whistledown," Queen Charlotte smiled, a warmth in her eyes that Penelope could hardly believe was real. "Mr. Bridgerton," she added with a twinkle of mischief in her gaze. "Miss Bridgerton."

With that, the Queen continued to her seat, signaling with a gesture that the evening's festivities might continue. Penelope swallowed hard, turning her eyes toward her husband, who was doing his utmost to contain a smile. She glanced at Eloise, who, similarly unnerved, had swallowed as well. The rest of the Bridgertons were too far to gauge their expressions, but the ever-present Lady Whistledown within her stirred, sensing a hidden plot. She could not decide which unsettled her more: the possibility that her loved ones were scheming or the fact that she was very much the center of attention.

"What is happening?" she whispered to her husband, who smiled at her with all the comfort he could muster and—much to Penelope's horror—rapped his glass with a spoon, commanding the room's attention. All conversation ceased at once.

"I thank you all for joining us this evening," he began. "Your Majesty, I am well aware that the preparations for Christmas and the myriad engagements that follow must take up a great deal of your time, and as such, your presence here is all the more deeply appreciated," he added, raising his glass in salute, to which the Queen responded in kind. "However, this evening is not merely a celebration because it falls a week before Christmas—though I do hope you have all secured gifts for your loved ones," Colin winked, humorously hinting at his own well-planned offerings. His own gift, currently lying hidden at home, had cost him countless hours of sleep, but he deemed it well worth the trouble.

"I must confess," he continued, "that keeping this evening a secret was an impossible task, but concealing its theme was something we managed, to my great satisfaction. I shan't reveal how many biscuits were employed to bribe those most eager to spoil the surprise, but I believe it was worth it," he added with a pointed glance toward Hyacinth, who beamed with glee at having been allowed to witness the ball's beginning.

"This ball is in honor of one who has helped many of us recognize our flaws, and—dare I say it—become better for it. One who has opened our eyes to things we could not—or would not—acknowledge. As you all know, I am among those she saved." Laughter erupted from the crowd, and Colin raised his glass in the direction of the merriment, smiling warmly. "I'm sure that will be held against me, so let me get ahead of it and remind myself first. But we all remember our mistakes. Mine was saved, and I shall forever be grateful for it, Pen. My love."

He turned towards Penelope, who now realized the direction of his speech and stood utterly speechless. Thoughts eluded her entirely. She took his hand reflexively as he reached for hers, stepping forward at his gentle pull.

"I thank the heavens every day that you are by my side. Not every man is fortunate enough to find the love of his life, and even fewer are lucky enough to spend their life with them. But some of us," he added, his voice growing softer, "were fortunate enough to have the help of that extraordinary woman who agreed to share her life with me and gifted me a wonderful son. I still pinch myself some mornings to be sure it's not all a dream," he admitted in a near-whisper, drawing more laughter from the audience. Penelope arched a brow, finally understanding the source of the odd bruises she had recently noticed on his arms.

"You brought light not only to my life, Pen. And I suspect there are others here who would like to thank you for the role you've played in theirs. If anyone in this room would care to thank my wife for her part in shaping their lives, I ask that you raise your glass."

And with that, he raised his first.

He stood with his hand raised, gazing directly upon her, while she watched as the guests of the ball lifted their glasses, one after another. In her honour. Eloise raised her glass in concert with Colin, while Kate and Anthony exchanged gleaming glances and similarly raised their hands. The dowager viscountess sent her a warm smile and also lifted her glass, exchanging a fleeting glance with Lady Danbury, who held her hand aloft with an air of pride. Pregnant Daphne leaned upon Simon, who tenderly supported his wife at the elbow. Benedict, with a proud grin, surveyed his large family. Francesca and John. Mrs. Davidson—absent her cruel husband. The Marquis of Darrington and his lady. Lord and Lady Logan. Others quickly joined in, and Penelope watched with mounting astonishment and tension as the candle flames danced, reflected in the gleaming glasses. All the glasses that were raised aloft. She felt a sudden constriction in her chest, and turned once more to her husband, who gestured towards the throne upon which the queen resided. All the courtiers surrounding her, herself included, raised their glasses high.

"I must confess," the Queen remarked softly, though all could hear her, "it is rather difficult to deliver a speech as heartfelt as your husband's, Lady Whistledown. Yet, since this evening is in your honour, I shall admit that I do miss my worthy rival."

At this moment, Penelope's consciousness decided to abandon her, overwhelmed as it was with emotion.

She awoke upon a settee, surrounded by all the Bridgertons, Lady Danbury with her brother, and the Queen. They all appeared alarmed, and Colin, kneeling beside the settee, looked considerably paler than usual.

"It seems the surprise has succeeded," the Queen observed quietly. "Mrs. Bridgerton, how do you fare?"

"I... I am well, Your Majesty. I simply… did not anticipate such an evening," she replied, exhaling as she endeavoured to sit up, seeking a more dignified posture, but found herself met with Colin's anxious gaze, which implored her not to move. Eloise, her eyes brimming with tears, held her hand, and the expression in her eyes mirrored that sentiment.

"Perhaps next time Mr. Bridgerton might be more mindful of the scale of surprises he intends to orchestrate. Though I must admit, it is rather delightful to partake in such an event."

The Queen drew closer. The Bridgertons parted to allow her proximity, and she took a seat beside the young lady. Colin shifted slightly, yet not so much that a few inches did not separate him from his wife. The Queen smiled, but spoke not a word.

"Mrs. Bridgerton," she ventured, "I think it prudent that we allow your family to enjoy the evening somewhat, do you not think?" A murmur of dissent arose, quelled by the Queen's uplifted hand. "I certainly do not intend to consume her; the air is rather limited for a young mother amidst the vast assemblage of guests wishing to express their support for Lady Whistledown. While it is indeed very touching, I believe we may grant her a moment to breathe."

Though no expression of discontent was displayed upon their faces—after all, the members of the upper echelons are taught to maintain composure—there glimmered concern in the eyes of nearly every departing guest. She smiled at them all, attempting to convey that she was well. Eloise feigned the role of an extension of the settee upon which Penelope rested, whilst Colin regarded Benedict, who sought to usher him away, with such a look that Benedict chose to fold his hands behind his back and retreat prudently.

"Your Majesty, truly, it is not worth—"

"Know you," the Queen interjected, "that following the birth of my first child, I too found large gatherings most unbearable. But you possess a large family, and they are not easily cast aside. Learn to breathe in those moments afforded to you. In time, one becomes accustomed to it—by the sixth child I had mastered the art of enduring grand assemblies. After the eighth child, the deliveries became notably simpler; by the time the tenth arrived, I was recovering within two days, and after the fifteenth, I attended a ball the very next day."

Penelope remained silent. She exchanged a look of astonishment with Colin, who held her hand firmly. She turned to Eloise. Her countenance appeared pale.

"Lady Danbury informed me of the events that transpired post your revelation. She did not delve into particulars, alas, yet I do hope to hear the tale one day. Nonetheless, this is not the reason we have all gathered here. Mr. Bridgerton," she nodded towards Colin, who stood still before her, "personally sought permission for this event. He was quite eloquent in persuading me that it was worthy of such an occasion. Initially, I was somewhat reluctant to grant permission, I must admit, but your husband can be as persuasive as yourself. He revealed but a glimpse into your hasty departure, yet—once again!—no details!" The Queen feigned indignation with a playful grin. "I expect to hear the full account from you. Certainly, not to the extent I have received it, for as experience has shown, you have a remarkable talent for depicting particulars, Mrs. Bridgerton," her gaze fell upon the smiling Penelope. She gently caressed Colin's cheek and turned once more to the Queen.

"Indeed, I owe you a story, Your Majesty," she replied. The Queen smiled.

"Then I shall send for a carriage, and we shall certainly partake of tea together, I suppose, with these two young people who refuse to leave your side even at the Queen's behest," she narrowed her eyes at Colin and Eloise. If Eloise possessed the audacity to blush and at least avert her gaze, Colin held his gaze unwavering, merely tightening his grip on his wife's hand. "You may breathe again, Miss Bridgerton. I am not vexed. I find it most intriguing to engage further with those who surround my royal Emerald," she gazed directly into Penelope's eyes, and she felt the grip of both Eloise and Colin tighten around her palms.

"Your Majesty..." Colin began, but the Queen raised her hand.

"Thank me later, Mr. Bridgerton. At present, I think your attention is required by your wife. Lady Danbury mentioned you have previously found her fainting at your betrothal most remarkable. A rather delicate arrangement for such a steel-willed lady," the Queen smirked as she rose. She strode directly to her throne.

Eloise, who had nearly adhered to the settee, clumsily leaned over the back, yet lost her balance and fell beside Penelope.

"Am I deceived by mine own ears? Did they truly name you the royal Emerald?!" she inquired, glancing between her friend and brother.

"I am as astounded as you, El," Penelope replied with a sigh.

"Did you know that the emerald is the Queen's favourite stone?" Eloise continued, as Colin rolled his eyes. He examined his pensive wife closely before his gaze fell upon her abdomen. The Queen's words flitted through his mind, and he smiled. There were certainly many sleepless nights ahead if the Queen's insinuation were true.

"How did you contrive this? How did you manage it?" Penelope asked, watching as a broad, joyful smile spread across her husband's face.

"I thought that if I wholly dispelled the fear within your mind that you would be pursued by the vengeance of the discontented upon witnessing the support for Lady Whistledown, you would finally rid yourself of the thoughts of fleeing from me," he jested, and Penelope tenderly brushed his face. She then leaned in to press her lips to his. She need not utter a word—he understood that it was a silent "thank you." As if she might concoct a plan of escape from the man who had orchestrated this celebration in her honour, and had even secured the Queen's approval!

"She has borne you a child," Eloise scoffed. "Should we decide to flee, you will locate us by the wail of my dear nephew. He is as loud as you."

"You scream louder than my son," Colin retorted.

As Colin and Eloise sparred, Penelope observed this pair and could not contain the happy tears streaming down her cheeks. At this juncture, fanfares sounded, and she shifted her gaze to the throne upon which the Queen sat. Behind her, the large emblem of Lady Whistledown's column was displayed.

As Penelope surveyed the commencement of her social life, the entirety of the Bridgerton family gradually gathered near the settee. Eloise, having threatened Colin with her fist, rose from her seat, which was promptly occupied by Violet, who clasped Penelope's hand within her own.

"Penelope, are you well? You frighted us dreadfully."

"Yes, all is well. The surprise truly succeeded," she offered a sheepish smile and could not restrain her grin as the entire female contingent of the Bridgertons rushed to embrace her.

When the exclamations of delight had subsided and all commenced an animated discussion regarding the news Eloise had shared, Colin absconded with his wife. They found a secluded nook from whence they could observe the dancers whilst embracing one another. He bestowed gentle kisses upon the crown of her head, and she giggled, stroking his arm.

"Thank you," she said softly, lifting her head to behold his visage.

"For what?"

"For what you have done for me," she smiled and caressed his hair. "For protecting me from my own fears. You are an exceedingly good man, Mr. Bridgerton."

"I must ensure that my wife no longer fears attending balls and other events, that I may dance with her until exhaustion overtakes us," he grinned, and Penelope thought her heart—nay, her entire being—might simply burst with love for him.

"I did not think it possible to love you more, yet you demonstrate otherwise day by day."

"I deem it only fair, Mrs. Bridgerton. You do precisely the same with me. You and Elliott."

"Speaking of our splendid son," Penelope smiled, squeezing his hand. "Is it not time we return to him?"

"Only after a dance with my astonishing wife. Do you not know that I love you more than life itself, Penelope Bridgerton?"

"Just as I love you, Colin Bridgerton," her smile shone brighter than any diamond. And though to the Queen, Pen might be the emerald, Colin knew that for him, she would forever be the diamond.

They would have time to speak of this. But a bit later.

After he danced with her once more