~ 10 ~
* three days later, the afternoon of Christmas Eve *
On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, Colin and Penelope were curled up on the couch watching 'How the Grinch Stole Christmas' when a familiar voice drifted in from the entryway, sounding rather displeased. "Oh, for heaven's sake!"
"Mother?" Pen craned her neck, checking to see if she had heard right.
"You couldn't pick up your phone to guide me here, Penelope?" There in the hallway stood Portia Featherington, jerkily shrugging out of her faux fur coat and a silken shawl, scolding her daughter without even saying hello first. "I told you that I have no sense of direction." Turning to her greeting committee she hastily shoved her right hand into Violet's and rolled her eyes in Pen's direction. "Mrs. Bridgerton, can you believe it? My own daughter won't answer the phone for her mother anymore."
"Oh, call me Violet please. We're family after all. And I'm pretty sure-"
"Violet, all right," Portia cut in. "I was driving down all these little back roads, half of which I had to turn around and drive back down when they led nowhere! You should see the way my car looks now. I just had it detailed."
"Oh Portia, I'm so sorry! I should have given better directions. Next time we'll arrange for someone to pick you up, of course," Marcus said as he took her coat to hang it in the wardrobe. "It's good to see you."
"It's so nice of you to have me. I'm so sorry for my early arrival, but it just made sense to come here directly. Driving through London during this time of shopping madness would only bring out my passive aggressive side."
"And we can't have that, Portia," Violet told her in her sweetest voice, shooting Marcus a meaningful look.
In the other room, Penelope turned to Colin. "What is my mother doing here already? I thought she wasn't supposed to come until tomorrow. You think if we hide now she'll forget we're here?"
"Penelope?" Portia searched the room in her field of vision, rambling on furiously as Violet led her into the kitchen. "Who would have thought my older daughters could be so malicious? Going on a last-minute Christmas vacation to the Dominican Republic together without so much as inviting me to come when we'd all agreed we'd spend at least Christmas Eve together? All I wanted was to cuddle my granddaughters and shower them with gifts. And now here I am. With you."
Awestruck at her unwavering patience, Colin smiled as he listened to his mother try to calm Mrs. Featherington down. She couldn't stop whining about having ruined her beautiful white Rolls Royce because of all the back-road mud. Colin pulled Penelope to her feet, but before they could make it into the kitchen, Portia burst into the living room and bombarded them with hugs and handshakes.
The room was soon buzzing with activity as both sets of parents tried to move luggage and bags filled with presents around, and it took Colin a moment to realize that Penelope was no longer standing beside him. He looked across the room to find her standing in the doorway between the living room and the hall. She was leaning against the door frame, quietly observing the scene before her. Portia talking, Violet and Marcus listening and nodding at every other comment in feigned sympathy.
Colin quickly made his way over to her, and seeing that their mothers and Marcus were now sitting down to have tea together, he grabbed her hand and silently led her upstairs. "I think," he said as he walked into his old bedroom, "that it's time we finish that talk."
Penelope sat down on the bed and pulled him down with her. "I think you're right."
"As promised, I've given your proposition some thought," Colin began carefully. "And I think that… for now at least… I don't want us moving here. But please, hear me out. We've only been married for a year and a half. We've made a home for ourselves in London, a beautiful home that is just… us… which to me has been a perfect place of bliss in these past months, years even. And I want to raise our children in that home." Seeing Penelope's vague smile, he continued, "Yes, I had a really great childhood… both here and in London, do not forget, but that had a lot more to do with my parents than it did with this place."
She nodded understandingly, looking down at her hands in her lap.
"Our kids are going to have a really great childhood no matter where we live. But for the time being, I want that place to be London. Most of my siblings live there, and our kids can have playdates with their cousins," he said, lifting her chin up so that her eyes met his. "Besides, I want to be one of those super cool baby-wearing dads that walk around town sipping one of those fancy green drinks that taste like grass. What are they called?"
"Matcha."
"Yes, those!"
Penelope smiled again, then leaned over and kissed him. "You were right. I think I just needed to hear that. To know that you thought we could do as good of a job as parents there as we could here."
"I'm one hundred percent positive," he beamed at her. "And if chickens mean that much to you, heck, I'll build you a coop in our own backyard," he offered. "I'll vlog the whole construction process or I'll live-tweet or whatever the hip kids do these days.
"They do yap sessions on YouTube," Penelope cut in. "Or complicated dance routines on TikTok."
"I see. Does that count as arts and crafts? I need a new project to brag about to Hyacinth."
"Only if you're doing the dance holding a hammer or a chainsaw," she mocked him.
"Knowing Hy, she'd be right there on our doorstep, begging me to let her film that."
"And you'd be too scared to say no because that girl knows her way around a chainsaw," Penelope mused, shuddering as she remembered a certain Halloween party two years ago.
Colin started laughing and pulled her into his embrace. "Are you ready to face the downstairs crowd again?"
"Not yet," she answered, pulling his arms tighter around her. "Let's stay up here just a few more minutes."
He kissed the top of her forehead, then leaned back against the bed's headboard with her in his arms. "Whatever you want, Mrs. Bridgerton… future mother of my child."
~ 11 ~
* Christmas Eve, almost midnight *
The house lay quiet after everyone had turned in, exhausted both physically and mentally from a very tumultuous game of Pictionary, in which Eloise had been forced to team up with Mrs. Featherington.
In her despair about how Portia kept drawing exceedingly slowly and with too much detail every time it was her turn, Eloise had drunk copious amounts of wine, which in turn had led to her drawings being too scrawly and too vaguefor anyone to guess right. Their team had ended up with zero scores, losing to Penelope and Marcus, who kicked ass in that game, benefitting highly from Marcus' drawing skills as a draftsman and Penelope's ability to think outside the box. Colin and Hyacinth had ended up in second place, followed by Violet and Gregory's team.
Hyacinth had constantly bickered with Gregory about his – admittedly infantile – drawings and that she was feeling sorry for Violet. In return, Gregory had kept sticking his tongue out at her – which then upset Portia, who ended up giving a wordy monologue about this lost generation of teenagers and their lack of decorum.
All that while, Penelope sat in the Bridgerton living room, taking in the family dynamics in awe. She knewfor certain that as soon as the new day began, everybody would be on good terms again, no matter how much they had nagged each other the night before. It was always just for the fun of it. Remembering game nights in her own childhood home – which was almost never – she groaned at the fact that she and her sisters had always parted annoyed with each other, resentful and unforgiving for days after whenever Penelope had ended up winning – which was almost at all times.
In their room on the second floor, Colin and Penelope were still lying in bed awake, each with their laptops placed before them and a shared plate of half-eaten cookies between them.
Penelope was typing away at rapid speed, answering emails from her editor and writing up new book proposals for her publisher. She had her lips pursed as usual when she was working at maximum concentration, unaware of the fact that Colin hadn't pressed any keys in a while.
He was watching her intently as her hands flew across the keyboard, partly as the proud husband of a published writer, but for the most part he was feeling envious today.
"Pen?"
"Hm?" she answered distractedly, her eyes still focused on the screen.
"I'm stuck."
"With what?" Pressing the enter key with an exaggerated gesture, she finally looked up. "With your shopping list for our New Year's Eve party next week? Yes, don't look caught in the act, I saw that. And you can scratch pickles and cream straight off your list. It's no longer…ugh," she finished, groaning with distaste.
"No, that's not it. I'm stuck with an idea that keeps coming back to me lately." Colin set his laptop aside and adjusted his pillows before leaning back against the headboard. "Do you remember when I told you that my co-worker Dougie jokingly suggested I should start writing a book because I had a 'way with words'?" he asked, using his fingers to suggest quotation marks before he grabbed the remaining half of his cookie and shoved it into his mouth.
"Yeah, and I've told you exactly the same a thousand times before Dougie did, but you never believe me."
"Well, this time," he mumbled while he finished chewing, "I actually plan on doing something about it." He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose to massage away some of the pressure from a light headache after an hour of screen time.
Penelope moved the laptop to her end of the bed and turned to face him, her curiosity piqued. "What did you decide to write about? Your experiences during your gap year in Australia before journalism school or your year in Southeast Asia after journalism school? I've seen you flip through some of your old photo albums from time to time lately." She snatched the last piece of her own cookie off the plate and ate it, leaving one final chocolate chip cookie.
"Another travel journal? Nah, I don't think so. I feel like that's been overdone lately," he said, crossing his arms and pondering other options. "I was thinking more along the lines of… mystery novels?" Holding his breath, he looked at her expectantly.
"Oooh, inspired by the 'Bridgerton Boo'? That's an awesome idea!" Penelope scooted over to his side of the bed and nestled into the crook of his arm. "Everybody in your family loves your little mystery stories, even Eloise. If you're able to get her to listen to you for more than five minutes at a time, they must be good!"
Colin pulled her face closer and brushed a tender kiss against her lips. "Thank you. You having my back means the world to me."
"Of course!"
They smiled at each other before allowing their lips to meet again, more exploringly now. Colin took his time as he softly sucked on Penelope's lower lip while his hand came up to remove the scrunchie that was holding her hair up in a bun. As their kiss deepened, he let his hands rake through her messy curls, giving her a light scalp massage, and Penelope moaned in pleasure.
Their tongues entwined, starting a familiar, greedy dance ritual, sweeping across teeth and darting out into any crevice within reach. "Hhhmm…" Colin hummed into her mouth, and they parted, eager to catch a breath. He cracked a smile at her. "You taste like chocolate and caramel."
"And you…have cookie crumbles… in your chest hair," Penelope murmured as her mouth latched on to his collarbone, sucking lightly, while her hands roamed across his stomach and further upwards. Her mouth traveled downward to where her hands had just been, picking up the tiny crumbs of dough mixed with chocolate with her lips as she went, savoring their sweet taste as she swallowed.
Colin crossed his arms behind his head and lay back to enjoy the view, glad his usual choice of nightwear meant going shirtless. He closed his eyes, relishing in the feeling of her plush lips touching against his skin while she, too, made lewd noises of enjoyment.
When the last crumb had been lapped up, Penelope uttered a disappointed growl.
"Are you okay down there?" came his shaky voice, turned on by how her hands had found their way past the waistband of his awfully tight boxer briefs.
"It's nothing… just… still hungry," she mumbled against his abdomen.
He fumbled for the remaining cookie and offered it to her. "Here you go!"
"Oh, no. I've had mine. It's yours," she declined, gently pushing his outstretched arm back toward him.
"It's all right, you're eating for two now. You can have it," Colin prompted.
At that, she pulled back, and without another word, shuffled to reach for her nightstand.
"Hey, what are you doing?" He frowned at her.
"I'm getting out my calendar to mark the date of Colin Bridgerton taking a pass on the last cookie."
A chuckle escaped his lips. "Well, it's past midnight now, which makes it Christmas Day," he jokingly helped her out. "Consider this your first Christmas present."
Penelope resumed her position of hovering over his chest, and he smirked contentedly.
"Alright, then… Merry Christmas to me, I guess," she said after a beat, smiling back at him as she tried to get a hold of the cookie. But the precious prize disappeared from her view when Colin suddenly withdrew his hand.
Before she could protest, he broke the cookie in half and put one piece back on the plate.
Sliding down to a lying position, he took the other half and opened his mouth to speak. "Well, actually…it's a merry Christmas to me." Then he stuck it between his teeth, motioning for her to come closer.
She didn't need to be told twice.
~ 12 ~
* the morning of Christmas Day *
Colin stretched lazily as he lay in bed, his eyes still closed as he hovered between sleep and wakefulness. For a moment, he puzzled over the different feel of the sheets and the smell of the room, but as his memories of the previous night surfaced, he released a contented sigh. He knew this place well — he was at Aubrey Hall, with his beloved wife… and it was Christmas morning.
Next to him, stretched out and lying on her tummy, Penelope was still fast asleep, her long red hair spread wildly around her face and partly covering it. He didn't have the heart to wake her; she'd had trouble falling asleep the night before. She'd been tense all evening over the presence of her mother in the house, whose unsolicited advice about anything and everything tried the patience of even the most generous soul. Lastly, Eloise knocking at their bedroom door at 1AM, tipsy and over-talkative, hadn't helped with finding sleep either – especially after their unbidden guest had found a half-eaten cookie on the floor, had eaten it and ended up vomiting into the toilet bowl of their en suite bathroom. The smell had haunted Penelope for a long time, and after Eloise had conveniently passed out in their bed, they eventually decided to sleep in her room across the hallway.
Colin got out of bed and, tiptoeing quietly across the shaggy carpet, went to use the bathroom.
The noise of the toilet flushing woke Penelope, and she smiled at him as he returned to the bed. "Good morning, you naughty, naughty boy! Merry Christmas!"
He laughed at her words as he slipped back under the covers. "If I was being naughty, then please enlighten me with your astonishing vocabulary for what it was that you were being last night."
"I'd told you I was still hungry," she returned with a sultry voice, finding her favorite spot in his arms, her right leg resting comfortably on his.
"And feast she did," he said with a smile, remembering the hot sensation of Penelope lapping cookie crumbs from his chest. His hand traveled over her backside to possessively cover the round, soft shape of her buttcheek, sliding her leg even higher so that their bodies fit together snugly.
"Hhmm," she moaned, relishing their intimate embrace, her hands idly playing with his hair at the nape of his neck.
"So," Colin started. "Do you want to tell me about what you've been working on lately? Last night we only talked about my plans. What about you? You were typing so swiftly, I was afraid your laptop was going to smolder any moment."
"Oh, it's nothing really. Just a silly thought." She shrugged it off.
"Your highly focused face when you were typing looked anything but silly," Colin challenged. "Come on, I'm the perfect person to bounce silly ideas off. Spill it!"
"All right, if you really wish to know…" she hesitated, adjusting in his arms to be able to look at him better. His eyes shone with curiosity and warmth. He truly was her number one supporter. Last spring, he had even managed to sneak a tiny ad for her newly published novel into his newspaper's weekend edition by smooth-talking Dougie, their art director, into holding a vacant ad space for him over a pint of Guinness after hours.
"Tell me or I'll never share my last cookie with you again," he insisted when she kept staring at him skeptically.
"I'm thinking about dipping my toe into new waters," she finally said.
He stayed silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
"Okay, so you know how I've only written contemporary novels, right?"
"Yes…?"
"I'm toying with the idea of writing for a different genre for a change."
"What other genre?"
"What would you say if I started to write Regency romance novels?"
"I would say that I didn't know this sort of thing even existed."
"Oh, there's a potentially large target audience among women. 'Pride & Prejudice' is a classic, which still generates movie remakes or TV miniseries every now and then."
"Hm," he said pensively, "Was that the one you made me watch with you and Eloise when you had Covid this summer? That had a girl in it with some sort of poodle curls in her hair?"
"That was 'Sense & Sensibility', which is also a classic Regency romance adaptation," Penelope corrected him.
"I liked that one," he remembered. "And that girl was hot."
Penelope ignored his comment, getting more and more zealous about her plans. "See, even you liked it. I could try and create an entire universe of characters. It's not like I'm lacking any original ideas. Heck, your family is like… an inspiration of sorts. There are so many interesting love stories between your parents or your siblings that are worth telling. They'd give enough material for an entire series of books. My publisher sounded interested and asked me to submit a book proposal. That's what I was working on last night."
"Well, if you think it has any value, then I'm here to support you one hundred percent," Colin purred, nuzzling his nose to her cheek. "But tell me, is your female protagonist going to be as hot as the one with the poodle curls?" His mouth hovered over her temple, never closing the distance, leaving it up to her to decide when their conversation would be over.
"Her looks aren't important," she mused. "I envision her as a woman with shrewdness and wit, a female heroine who's ahead of the curve. She should be wooing her love interest with other charms, I think."
"You mean like…" he whispered, letting his hand draw lazy patterns on the soft stretch of skin from her collarbone to her left nipple, giving her goosebumps.
Penelope gently nudged his hand away, but said nothing, the sensation too overwhelming for the moment when she was still very much lost in her thoughts about new and exhilarating work prospects. She loved writing and she loved Colin just as much – but writing had been her first love, and sometimes she enjoyed the short battle that Colin was fighting to draw her attention away from it, righteously so. But for now, he would need to fight a little harder.
"And is she going to wrap the male hero around her little finger?" Colin's voice was soft and alluring.
"Oh, I think she won't have to," Penelope said, averting her gaze as she continued outlining the story, speaking out loud what only she could see in her mind. "Because he's already fallen hard for her. He just doesn't know it yet."
"Sounds familiar." He had his eyes closed, trying to imagine it with her, unlocking a memory of themselves from years before in the process.
She leaned into his soft ministrations as his nose kept ghosting over her skin, his breath leaving a hot trail all along. It was the kind of gentle movement that made her weak in the knees. Like a slow, promising breeze creeping up her body when she knew a storm was already brewing. She felt her restraint melt away. "And of course, there's going to be sex. Lots of it."
At that, his eyes snapped open. "Okay, I am sold." With those words, his mouth closed over hers, pulling her into his lap so that she ended up straddling his thighs without ever breaking their kiss.
Penelope moaned into the kiss, her tongue sweeping through his mouth. Hearing him groan with arousal, she felt herself smile against his mouth. "Mmm… This feels so…" she murmured, gathering air in before their lips met again.
"So right," Colin huffed back at her, his breath quickening. "I love you."
"I love you, too."
As their mouths sought out each other again, they both felt the tension building inside them, the need to join more completely taking over.
She leaned back as he moved his legs to make room for her, and she came to lie before him, anxiously waiting for him to have his way with her.
Colin immediately caught on. "Best we get started doing a little research for your next book…" He croaked, bending to bring his head down to her breasts.
The second his lips made contact with her nipple, Penelope's body was set afire.
"Penellllopeeeee? Are you in there?" came the shrill singsong of Portia Featherington's voice through the closed door. "I made pancakes and poured you a nice glass of milk, per Marcus' advice. Are you coming?"
Colin's hard-on was at half-mast before she even finished speaking.
"Not anymore," Penelope said to him, and they both burst into fits of laughter.