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Chapter Text

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It would seem that the most surprising engagement of the season is also likely to be the shortest. This author has it on good authority that the puzzling pairing of Mr. Colin Bridgerton and Miss Penelope Featherington has come decidedly unmatched. With no trace of a scandal to be found, one can only imagine that Mr. Bridgerton has overcome whatever madness led him to believe Miss Featherington was his equal. The season's most eligible suitor is free once more and the whole ton, no doubt especially the Bridgertons, must be delirious with relief. As for the lady herself, she has done what all wallflowers do best and simply disappeared. To where? Unknown.

This mystery begs the question, dear reader: can you miss someone who was never truly there?

Dear Lady Bridgerton,

I do not know if you are reading this before or after you have spoken to Colin and Eloise and if it is after, I apologize for sending you in blind. Please know my devotion to and affection for you and your entire family has never wavered. I have loved you all since I was a child and being a Bridgerton has been my dream for as long as I have known what dreams are. I imagine you are hurt by my choice to leave but I have written this letter to confess something that should salve that wound, though not without creating another: I am Lady Whistledown.

Eloise discovered my secret last year and has been gracious enough to protect it. As an astute woman I am sure you realize now that this was the cause of our rift and last evening, in fear for my safety, Colin followed me to the printer I used to denounce Miss Cowper. The pain and betrayal I saw on his face was too much for me to bear, especially knowing I have earned every bit of his ire. I cannot ask you to keep my secret any more than I can ask Colin to live with it; to live with Lady Whistledown; to live with me. I love him too much for that. Whatever you choose to do regarding my identity, I will understand.

With gratitude for the care you have always shown me,

Miss Penelope Featherington

My dear Eloise,

He knows. Last night after we spoke, I left immediately for my printer's shop but I did not realize Colin was following me. The look on his face, El - it was like you finding out all over again. You were right that evening when you said I could not marry him. You were right when you said he could not love me. I am so sorry for all the pain I have caused you and your family in my misguided attempts to protect you. I should have told Colin about Marina myself. I should have gone to the Queen and confessed when she accused you. There are so many things I should have done but did not and so now there is only one option left before me. Please help Colin. He will not understand.

Your friend, always,

Penelope 

My dearest love, my heart, my Colin,

You were right about everything. I have lied. I have hurt people. I have done so much damage whilst telling myself the ends justified the means. I am at fault and it is I who is undeserving of your love. You deserve better than me, better than a woman whose dualities are disdained in the light and detested in the shadows. There is nothing in this world I would not do to protect you, even from myself. If I let you, you would marry me out of duty and obligation and I could not bear to spend a lifetime knowing I had stolen your chance of happiness for a second time. Be at ease knowing you have broken no promises as the person to whom you made them does not really exist. I have enclosed your betrothal ring. One day you will find a woman worthier of it than I.

Do not try to find me.

I will love you until my dying day,

Pen

Colin stared blankly at the letter he held as if he could will the words to make sense, or better yet - change - transform into something manageable, something that did not take the breath from his lungs and the blood from his head. Penelope's ring (as if it could ever belong to anyone else) had slipped from a crease in the letter when he had broken the seal. The site of it resting atop the half transcribed journal on his desk burned his heart.

Do not try to find me.

To hell with that. Leaping from his chair, Colin flung himself across the room and wrenched open the door only to come face to face with Eloise. She was pale and looked frightened, her eyes red and cheeks tearstained. In her shaking hand was a crumpled piece of parchment slanted with writing in a hand he knew better than his own. In a flash the quarrel between Penelope and his sister came into focus. They had fought, seeming no closer to a reconciliation until Miss Cowper flounced into the Mondrich ball with her fake Whistledown. Pen and Eloise had slipped away and Colin had followed at a distance, unwilling to eavesdrop on his future wife, foolishly hoping she would confide in him herself.

"You know who she is," he said flatly and Eloise nodded, her movements jerky and distressed. He noticed she was dressed for the outdoors, a light shawl and gloves. "Did you go and see her already?"

"I - I tried," Eloise began, "but she did not answer my knock." Her voice was thick with fresh, unshed tears as she continued. "Lady Featherington let me into her room and her things are gone. Her clothes, her books and papers. There were - " she looked away, ashamed, "there were floorboards pried up under a rug. It's where she kept her earnings from Whistledown. The money was gone as well."

Do not try to find me.

Colin shook his head in disbelief. This simply wasn't possible. Penelope had been a constant in his life since childhood. Even during his travels when she hadn't replied to his letters he'd gotten secondhand news of her in the brief replies from his mother. For her to simply vanish was incomprehensible. She was Pen. Before anything else, she was his friend.

"No," he uttered in disbelief, "no."

Eloise gave him a look of such profound sympathy that it would have floored him if he had the capacity to feel anything but overwhelming sorrow. "She is gone, Colin. She is gone."

Do not try to find me.

She was gone.

Chapter Text

"Penelope!" Genevieve cried, startled, hand to her breast. "Are you-?" She paused, head tilted to the side, clearly taking in Penelope's red-rimmed eyes and shaky breaths, her eyes eventually landing on the traveling bag in her hands and the small trunk at her feet. 

Penelope gave her a small smile, watery and apologetic. "I did not know where else to go," she whispered.

After writing her letters to Colin, Eloise and their mother she'd given them to Rae with instructions to deliver them to the Bridgerton footman at half ten. When the house was quiet she'd packed the essentials, her Whistledown earnings concealed in the folds of her day dresses at the bottom of her trunk, and carried them downstairs with only minor difficulty. Before dawn, a driver met her at the garden gate to load her possessions and drive her to the modiste. As he helped her out of the carriage she had pressed a several extra notes into his hands and wished him farewell with thanks for keeping her secret all these years. He had smiled at her sadly before driving away again.

Now, as Genevieve pulled her inside and into a comforting embrace, Penelope found herself thankful again that her ambition and duplicity had not cost her everyone she cared about.

After pouring her a glass of whiskey with instructions to sip carefully, Genevieve sat Penelope down and asked, "what happened?"

"Colin discovered my secret."

"Oh, dear."

"I will not stay long," Penelope rushed to say, "a day or two at most. I did not have time to make other arrangements and you are one of the only people I trust-"

"Penelope," the other woman interrupted gently, "you may stay as long as you need. Provided-" she paused, a frightened look in her eyes. "You are not also running from Her Majesty, are you? You are dear to me, my friend but-"

Penelope shook her head. "My identity is still safe from the queen," she assured the modiste, "I understand your worry but I would never put you in that kind of danger." Genevieve nodded in relief and Penelope began to recount the events of the previous evening: Cressida's appearance at the ball and the false Whistledown sheet, Eloise agreeing that she needed to publish to protect the Bridgertons, and... Colin.

Colin following her, finding her; the betrayal in his voice, the tears in his eyes, the pain she had caused etched into every feature of his beautiful face. His last words to her, whispered, definitive and completely justified. I will never forgive you. She spoke of the letters she had written and the finality of them. Confessing to Lady Bridgerton and her instruction that Colin not try to find her.

"He does not know you are involved, but Eloise does and I cannot be sure she will keep that secret now that Colin knows." Penelope paused, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. "It is... unlikely that the two of them will not share what they know with each other."

"Do you think they will look for you here?"

"I do not know," Penelope whispered. "I wounded him badly, his pride and - and his heart, but I do not think he ever wants to see me again." She closed her eyes briefly, fighting back a fresh wave of tears, before sipping at her drink, the burn in her throat unfamiliar but welcome. "In a way I am relieved. Keeping this secret from him has been painful. I wish he did not hate me for it, but I cannot blame him for that." Penelope took note of her friend's expression: sympathetic but unsurprised. She knew Genevieve did not always approve of her choices and at the moment, Penelope herself could not have regretted them more. And now here the result of those choices were, resting at the feet of the only friend she had left. Colin's voice intrusive in her mind. I will never forgive you. "If he comes here or if Eloise does... Genevieve, I hate to ask you to lie for me again but-"

Genevieve waved her away and slipped effortlessly into her faux French accent. "I lie to the ton every day, ma chère. One more will make no difference." 

"Thank you, Genevieve, truly." Rising, Penelope withdrew a piece of parchment from the bodice of her gown. "Can you have this delivered to the printer's today do you think? It should run this afternoon before the next ball. There is an issue coming out this morning but I must get ahead of this to avoid a scandal." She handed the paper to Genevieve, watching as her friend read Whistledown's account of her failed engagement.

Genevieve frowned, sighing. "I wish you would not write such harsh things about yourself."

"I have no choice," Penelope argued. "People will assume the worst when I am missed and I cannot bear for Colin's family to suffer any further embarrassment because of me. And besides," she scoffed lightly, "I have said nothing about myself that the ton does not already know."

Her friend shook her head but did not protest further. "Come," she said, taking Penelope's now empty glass and setting it aside. "I imagine you have not slept much recently and there's a bed upstairs you can use for as long as you need."

Penelope allowed Genevieve to lead her up to the loft above the shop and, in the absence of a lady's maid, assist her with her gown and corset. Once she was down to her chemise, Genevieve took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye.

"I know you think you are doing the right thing and as your friend I will do what I can to help you, but..." she sighed, "you have made some ill-considered choices, Penelope. Do not let this be one of them." And with that, she went back downstairs to prepare for the day.

Exhausted, Penelope dragged herself into bed, praying for the numb relief of sleep. She closed her eyes and Colin appeared. She saw him in the street, in her family's drawing room, under a willow tree, in a carriage, before a mirror, naked and inside her, lying sated in her arms. Her memories grew twisted and distorted, each iteration of Colin growing angrier and more tormented until she could no longer hold in her grief. Turning her face into her pillow she wept, silently, the way she had learned to do as a child when her sisters ridiculed her and her mama sneered her tears. In that silence, Colin's voice hissed low and insidious; again and again. I will never forgive you.

Sleep was a long time coming.

"She is gone, Colin. She is gone."

Colin, still standing half in his bedchamber and half in the hallway, stared blankly at his sister as they both tried to grasp the idea that Penelope had disappeared. Before he could think of a response his mother's voice called from the landing below.

"Colin! Eloise!"

"We are up here, mama," Eloise replied and a moment later Violet Bridgerton turned the corner from the stairway and ordered them both into the study.

"In here," she pointed, her tone warning against argument. "I do not want your younger sisters or brother to hear this yet."

Inside, Anthony was sitting at the desk perusing what appeared to be account books. He looked up in confusion at his family's obvious distress. "Mother, what on earth - has someone died?"

Violet and Eloise spoke simultaneously.

"Penelope has broken off the engagement to your brother," Violet replied.

"Pen is Lady Whistledown," Eloise said.

"Eloise!" Violet cried, "lower your voice!"

"We do not have time for this!" Colin protested, despite his mother's stern look. "Penelope is missing! She could be in danger, she could be hurt, she could be-" he broke off, willing the more hopeless possibilities to the back of his mind. "We should be out in the streets looking for her, asking questions, someone must know something!" He began to move toward the door again, determined to put an end to this insanity.

"Colin Bridgerton!" Violet shouted and suddenly he was a child again, silenced by maternal authority. He stepped back automatically and fell heavily into a chair at the card table. Eloise joined him, seating herself with a little more grace, equal measures of fear and sorrow bleeding from her stiff frame. Violet remained standing and shook the parchment in her hand. "Explain this. Now."

Violet read the letter aloud and Colin felt his heart squeeze painfully at Penelope's confessions, her declarations of love for him and his family. But when he reached the final line his blood ran cold. Whatever you choose to do regarding my identity, I will understand.

"Are you going to turn her in to the queen?" Colin blurted out, Penelope's safety the only thing spinning through his mind. Next to him, Eloise gasped quietly, the sound making it clear she had not considered the possibility herself. Anthony remained quiet but Colin could feel his eldest brother's calculating gaze.

For her part, Violet leveled him with a look so full of offense and incredulity that he had no choice but to lower his eyes. "Of course not," his mother bit out, "Penelope is like a daughter to me. Even before your engagement she has practically been part of the family." Violet sat down next to them.

"But she is not family," Anthony said quietly and three pairs of eyes turned on him in surprise. He held up his hands placatingly before any of them could refute him. "I am as fond of Miss Featherington as the rest of the family, but the fact remains that she is not a Bridgerton nor does it seem like she intends to be at this point."

Colin clenched his fists hard, fingernails digging into the sensitive flesh of his palms. "You are speaking of my future wife, Anthony," he said through gritted teeth.

Anthony looked at him sadly. "No, I am not." He sat forward and spoke his next words with more sympathy that Colin ever remembered hearing. "I am speaking of your former fianceé and apparently the most notorious scandal writer in Mayfair. Have you considered-" he hesitated a moment, contemplating his next words.

"Considered what, brother?" Colin said, unable to keep the venom from his tone. "That this is a fortunate escape? That I never knew her at all? That I could not possibly love her?" Beside him, Eloise whimpered and covered her face with her hands.

Never breaking eye contact, Anthony simply replied. "Yes."

Colin all but lunged out of his chair, prevented from advancing on his brother only by Eloise putting herself physically between them.

"Anthony!" Violet gasped. "It is Penelope!"

"I know," he said gently, "but it is also Lady Whistledown who, I might remind you, has a £5000 bounty on her head courtesy of our agitated and tenacious queen. If Penelope has chosen to distance herself from us... if she has decided that this is the way to protect us then perhaps we should let her."

Colin looked to his mother and sister but they had fallen silent, faces drawn and pale. "Has the whole world gone mad?" he cried. "She did this because of me. I was... cruel when I found her. I shouted at her, I believe I frightened her. I said I would never forgive her."

"You had every reason to be angry, Colin," Anthony whispered.

"I realize that," Colin snapped, "but 'never' was too final of a word, I know that now, but she does not and she left because she believes I do not love her and I do love her Anthony. Despite everything I love her."

The room went quiet for a moment until a small sniffle came from his sister. "This is my fault."

"What?" Colin asked in surprise. "How could this possibly be your fault? I saw you two together at the ball. I assumed it was you who encouraged her to publish against Miss Cowper."

Eloise shook her head. "No, I mean - yes, it was me who did that but I believe it is my fault she thought she had no option but to leave." She looked down at the letter she still held before pressing it into Colin's hand.

He took it warily and read: You were right that evening when you said I could not marry him. You were right when you said he could not love me...There are so many things I should have done but did not and so now there is only one option left before me. "You - you said these things to her? When?"

"The night of your engagement," Eloise said miserably. "I was still so angry with her and I was shocked that you suddenly believed yourself in love with her. I remembered how much it hurt when I discovered this damn secret."

"Language!" Violet exclaimed.

Eloise ignored her and continued, her voice thick with tears. "I felt as though everything I knew about her had been a lie and if that were true and the friend I loved never existed in the first place..." She trailed off, crying too hard to continue and turned into her mother's embrace.

Colin clutched his own letter from Pen tightly, thinking about a particular line she had written... Be at ease knowing you have broken no promises as the person to whom you made them does not really exist. He saw Anthony's eyes drop curiously to the missive and quickly tucked it into the pocket of his vest. The letter served as a fragile connection to the woman he loved. He did not want anyone else to see it, touch it, take it from him. Not when it was the only thing left from her apart from his memories.

"She is Whistledown. That - that is something we all have to come to terms with and it will not be an easy task." Colin straightened, throwing his shoulders back and drew himself to his full height. "But she is still Penelope and right now that is the only thing that matters. I love her. We were married in my heart the moment she accepted my proposal," and with that said, he strode purposefully toward the door, pausing only when his mother called his name.

"Where are you going?" she asked, still holding a shaking Eloise.

He looked at his family, resolute and unmoved.

"I am going to find my wife."

Chapter Text

Of course, the moment Colin stepped into the hall he realized that, bold though his declaration was, he had no earthly clue where to begin looking. Surely she would not return to the same printer and even if she did the chances of finding her there in the middle of the day were slim. It is also highly unlikely they knew her true name. What little of their conversation he had picked up before hearing the damning words, anything for Lady Whistledown, she'd been using a false accent. 

He had made it down two flights of stairs and was standing still in the foyer when Anthony found him. "Ah, good," his brother said, snapping Colin out of his jumble of thoughts. "I was afraid you had left without me."

Colin blinked at him. "Without you?"

"Certainly you do not believe I am going to let my own brother make a spectacle of himself all over town blindly and loudly searching for a woman to whom he is supposed to be engaged?"

Frowning, Colin replied, "you cannot stop me from looking, brother."

Anthony smiled ruefully. "No, I cannot and you cannot stop me from helping you."

Before either brother could say anything else, Mrs. Wilson appeared from below stairs, a cardstock paper in her hand. "Where is the Vicountess?" she asked without ceremony and then paused. "Lady Bridgerton I mean." She shook her head, flustered. "Your mother, where is your mother?"

"I believe she is upstairs," Anthony responded. "Whatever is the matter?"

Mrs. Wilson handed the paper to Anthony who skimmed it quickly. "I will take care of this. Thank you, Mrs. Wilson," he said in polite dismissal. The wise housekeeper humphed to herself and stalked off to deal with matters likely more important than Colin's disastrous romantic life.

Colin glanced at the paper in Anthony's hands, noting the printed cameo of Lady Whistledown at the top. "Let me see it," he said flatly.

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It would seem that the most surprising engagement of the season is also likely to be the shortest. This author has it on good authority that the puzzling pairing of Mr. Colin Bridgerton and Miss Penelope Featherington has come decidedly unmatched. With no trace of a scandal to be found, one can only imagine that Mr. Bridgerton has overcome whatever madness led him to believe Miss Featherington was his equal. The season's most eligible suitor is free once more and the whole ton, no doubt especially the Bridgertons, must be delirious with relief. As for the lady herself, she has done what all wallflowers do best and simply disappeared. To where? Unknown.

This mystery begs the question, dear reader: can you miss someone who was never truly there?

"It could be fake," Anthony reasoned, "an addendum to the sheet Cressida Cowper released this morning?"

Colin shook his head. "Even if she somehow knew Pen had run away, Cressida would have made up some sort of scandal to ruin both our families. This - this is Pen's writing, Pen's voice." There is nothing in this world I would not do to protect you, even from myself. "She wrote this to protect me, to protect us. She has made sure that when her absence is noticed people will vilify her and condole with me."

"Like she did with Lady Crane."

"I - what?" Colin had no idea what this had to do with Miss Thompson.

"The issue where she revealed Lady Crane's pregnancy, she was careful to include that the lady had been with child since the moment she got to Mayfair." Anthony reminded him. "Her column was the only reason the ton never considered you were the father."

"She should have told me that to my face instead of ruining a young woman."

"Yes, she should have, but would you have listened?" Anthony held up his hand to prevent Colin's response. "Daph told me what you said to Lady Crane that day, that had she told you the truth you would have married her without a second thought. You were young and eager to feel of use to someone. Were it not for Whistledown, for Penelope, you would have run off to Scotland, married and had a life as a joyful father but miserable husband. You are a romantic, brother. Lady Crane did what she felt she had to do to protect the life and future of her unborn child but she never loved you."

Colin, who had been silent and attentive during his brother's monologue took a breath and said, "Pen tried to warn me about that, that Marina's affection for me was not real. I told her she was wrong." He laughed sarcastically. "I told her I knew Marina's mind. Is this a pattern now, do you think? Finding myself engaged to a woman hiding a secret? Whose mind and heart I do not actually know at all?"

"It is not a pattern," Eloise said firmly, appearing behind them at the foot of the staircase, "because there is one rather large difference. Marina and Penelope both did what they thought was best in the moment but Penelope's love for you is genuine." Eloise held his gaze firmly, her affection for her old friend rekindled, blazing in her eyes. "You do know her heart, brother."

Colin stared at his sister for a moment before nodding, "I know," he said, voice rough with emotion.

Eloise took a few steps closer to them, wringing her hands with uncharacteristic uncertainty. "I - I believe that I may..." She trailed off and looked away, clearly considering something.

"You may... what, sister?" Anthony pressed.

She took a deep breath and met Colin's eyes. "I may know where she is."

When Penelope awoke, eyes fluttering open in the midafternoon light, it was to a familiar but unexpected voice.

"I appreciate your loyalty, Madame Delacroix, but I know she is here."

Penelope sat bolt upright in shock before scrambling out of bed and frantically pulling on a dressing gown. She would have to run again, there was no other choice. It had been less than a day and already she had been discovered. Her earnings from Whistledown would be enough to buy a modest home in London, Pimlico perhaps. She could hide in plain sight amongst the servants of the crown who lived in the neighborhood.

Being so far removed from society would mean writing her column would no longer be possible but she could use her printer's connections to publish short stories or maybe even a novel. She could write under a new pseudonym; pretend to be a man. If she was careful and hired discreet servants no one would find her. She could live comfortably for the rest of her life.

Head spinning with anxiety and the improbability of her plans she sat heavily on the bed and pondered her future. Before this season she had never truly expected to marry at all, let alone marry well and the idea of marrying the man she had loved her whole life seemed an extraordinary fantasy. Yet in the space of a few weeks she had achieved her greatest desire only to have it ripped away by her own wrongdoing. Yes, she could live a comfortable life, but she would be alone. A fitting punishment perhaps, for the people she had hurt, the lives she had ruined, the friendships she had forsaken.

Maybe she should turn herself in to the queen after all. One way or another it would certainly decrease the time she was forced to live without Colin; allow her to avoid the day she inevitably heard of his engagement to another woman.

The voices downstairs grew louder, pulling her from her deepening spiral of sorrow and she stood again, tiptoeing closer to the door at the top of the steps.

"My Lady," she heard Genevieve say placatingly, "I am certain I do now know what you mean. There is no one here-"

The distinctive crack of a cane stamping against hardwood interrupted the modiste and Penelope knew she could not leave her friend to suffer this alone. Whatever the repercussions of her actions might be, Penelope would bear them herself. Steeling herself, she descended the stairs into Genevieve's back room.

She cleared her throat and the other women in the room turned. "It is all right, Genevieve," she said, voice shaking. "I will speak with her."

Frightening and larger than life even in the light of day, the visitor arched her brow expectantly.

Penelope took a deep breath, "Good day, Lady Danbury."

"Good day," the formidable widow replied, "Lady Whistledown."

Chapter Text

After a small nod from Penelope, Genevieve took her leave to the front of the shop and left the two women alone to chat.

Penelope was frightened but held herself steady, drawing on every reserve of strength she had spent her life cultivating as she faced the calculating stare of Lady Danbury. She could not lie. Denial was impossible at this moment and despite her fear she realized that she did not want to pretend. The gossip column that had begun as a way for her to be heard without speaking, to attract notice without being seen, to be influential while powerless had become an albatross around her neck. She was so very tired of deception.

"How did you discover me?" she asked bluntly, thinking it was a miracle her voice did not shake.

"Intriguing question, my girl. Are you referring to your identity or your hiding place?" Lady Danbury responded, taking a seat and helping herself to a glass of Genevieve's whiskey.

"Both." Penelope crossed her arms protectively, wishing she was wearing more than just her chemise and a dressing gown. She felt small and underdressed in the face of Lady Danbury's daunting elegance. Her hard won confidence had deserted her. She knew the dowager was a great friend of the Bridgertons and of the Queen but surely she did not intend to reveal Penelope's identity to Her Majesty? She had neither the need to curry favor with the crown nor for the reward money.

Sensing her fear, Lady Danbury gestured to the chair opposite her own. "Sit down, child. I am not here to cause you harm."

"Forgive me, my Lady, but until I know how you have come to find me here I would prefer to remain standing," Penelope replied.

The widow sighed in resignation. "You have been adept at hiding yourself until now, but the Queen's bounty and that Cowper chit's lies put you in a difficult position, did they not?" She paused but when Penelope did not respond continued, "and so you published to silence her and refute her claims... and yet, something tells me you would not have done so without an even greater motivator, regardless of whether or not you can tolerate a lie."

"I was not going to let that - that bitch take credit for my work," Penelope argued, the vulgar word slipping from her lips with a venom she hadn't realized she possessed until that moment.

For her part, Lady Danbury was unfazed by her language. "I am sure that is part of the reason," she acquiesced, "but perhaps not enough of one to risk being discovered by your Mr. Bridgerton." Penelope could not keep herself from wincing at Colin's name and a flash of something that might almost have been sympathy passed through the older woman's eyes. "Miss Cowper threatened your new family, did she not?"

"The Bridgertons are not my family, my Lady," Penelope reminded her, "Colin - that is, Mr. Bridgerton and I are no longer betrothed."

"They are your family in all but name, are they not? Just as they are mine." Lady Danbury lowered her voice with uncharacteristic warmth. "There is only one person who loves the Bridgertons more than I," she said kindly. "You published this morning to protect them from Miss Cowper just as you cooked up this second issue to protect Mr. Bridgerton from the scandal of a broken engagement."

Penelope felt her mouth begin to tremble, the beginnings of tears stinging at her eyes. "I did not know what else to do," she whispered. "Cressida would have ruined them for the sheer vindictive pleasure of it and Colin-" she broke off, biting back a sob, "Colin followed me to the printer, found me there. He hates me now and I could not bear to bind him to me for the rest of our lives."

The dowager nodded knowingly, "and then you fled here to Madame Delacroix naturally." At Penelope's quizzical look, she continued. "Given your splendid new wardrobe this season, I imagine you and our intrepid modiste have spent an inordinate amount of time in each other's company. She is the only other independent business woman you know and of course, the whole of the ton knows that even though she 'may be old, at least she is capable'." Lady Danbury smiled at her. "Clever girl, creating allies in unexpected places."

"Not clever enough," Penelope said bitterly. "I have been discovered twice in less than a day."

"Fortunately for you, there are few people in London as perceptive as I. The ton at large is still as clueless as they have ever been." She regarded Penelope carefully, a shrewd look in her eye. "You surprised me, girl and that is not something that happens every day."

"I - thank you?" Penelope said, uncertain. " Though, now that we have established how, may I ask why you have sought me out?"

"Ah," Lady Danbury said, a hint of discomfort tingeing her demeanor for the first time. "As I said before, we both love the Bridgertons." She gestured once more to the seat facing her own. "Now, do sit down, Miss Featherington as I explain to you just how you have put the family we both love in very grave danger."

 Eloise took a deep breath and met Colin’s eyes. “I may know where she is.”

“How?” Anthony inquired, squinting at her suspiciously.

“Where - where is she?” Colin demanded simultaneously.

Before Eloise could answer, John, the Bridgerton footman came rushing into the foyer, his face white as a sheet. “Miss Eloise!” he whispered frantically, “you must hide somewhere!”

Anthony and Colin blinked between them, clearly confused. Eloise felt the foreboding chill of fear creep into her skin. The last time she had seen John so discomfited he had been reluctantly escorting her to see Theo. She closed her eyes briefly, trying to throw off the guilt she felt now at her blind recklessness.

“Lord Bridgerton,” a crisp, clear voice called out. They all turned to see Humboldt, closely followed by royal guards, approaching. His normally calm demeanor shaded with nerves. “Her Majesty Queen Charlotte!” he announced with practiced formality.

The Queen herself stepped into the foyer, her man Brimsely following several steps behind. She regarded the Bridgerton siblings with deceptive neutrality but there was ice in her gaze.

“Oh bloody hell, not again,” Eloise murmured, a cold sweat breaking across her bow. There was only one reason the Queen would visit them unannounced and unawares the day of a Whisltedown publication that once again favored their family.

Colin shot a glance at John. “Mother and Kate now . No one else. If Gregory and Hyacinth are in the drawing room, get rid of them,” he ordered sotte voce . John nodded and fled up the grand staircase. Eloise wanted very much to flee herself, but found her feet quite unable to move.

The Queen strode regally toward them, laser focused on the siblings, an almost devious expression on her face. Thorny vines were woven into the rose-red wig atop her head and Eloise had a semi-hysterical vision of the Queen’s ladies pricked and bleeding from handling golden thorns for their mistress.

“Your Majesty,” Anthony greeted formally after the siblings had bowed and curtsied in turn, “to what do we owe the honor of your visit this fine afternoon?” He spoke clearly, but deliberately slow and Eloise knew he was buying John time to gather her mother and sister-in-law.

Queen Charlotte leveled him with a look of amused condescension. “Save your empty platitudes for the Lords and Ladies of the ton, Viscount Bridgerton. I am not here to address you .” She turned and took a step toward Eloise. “Miss Bridgerton,” she said silkily, “escort your Queen to the drawing room. Now.”

Eloise, limbs still uncooperative, hesitated but then felt her brothers flank her protectively. She relaxed infinitesimally, blinking back the urge to cry at the sudden and overwhelming love she felt for them both. As often as they butted heads and teased one another, being a Bridgerton meant you were never, ever alone - for better or worse. 

“We, of course, will accompany our sister and Your Majesty,” Anthony stated unequivocally as Colin threaded Eloise’s arm through his own and turned her toward the stairs, waiting politely for the Queen to go first.

“I would expect nothing less. After all, protecting one another is a Bridgerton trait, is it not?” Rolling her eyes but declining to argue further, Queen Charlotte allowed Brimsely to lead her up to the drawing room while her guards posted up in the foyer, silent and imposing. Anthony shot his siblings a tense glance before following, Colin and Eloise bringing up the rear.

As they rounded the corner on the next floor Anthony quickened his pace and slipped gracefully in front of the Queen to formally welcome her to the drawing room and offer her a seat. Still gripping her brother’s arm, Eloise stepped in behind him, grateful but unsurprised to see her mother and Kate curtseying near a table piled high with refreshments she knew had been frantically procured and set out thanks to Colin’s warning.

“Your Majesty,” Kate said graciously, “welcome to our home. Can we offer you tea or some lovely lemon cake this afternoon?” Violet smiled nervously and echoed the offer, glancing at her eldest son, the confusion on her face barely hidden.

“Viscountess Bridgerton; Lady Bridgerton,” Queen Charlotte responded in cold greeting, ignoring their offer of food and drink. Sitting on the sofa opposite the door she looked expectantly at Eloise who scrambled to take a seat across from her as Violet and Kate took their seats near the refreshment table. 

Eloise shot a pleading look at her brothers who chose to remain standing, taking guardian-like spots just behind her, mirroring Brimsley’s watchful eye over his Queen.

“So,” the Queen began, her tone airy, “here we are again.”

“Your Majesty-” Eloise began.

“You are cleverer than I gave you credit for, Miss Bridgerton,” Queen Charlotte interrupted. “After Whistledown published your ill-advised exploits last season I was certain I had been mistaken in accusing you of being our insidious little scribbler and so I left you alone.” 

The Queen paused briefly, giving her a considering look and in that momentary silence, the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Eloise. Though she knew her anger about the lies was justified, she could no longer deny that Penelope’s issue against her had indeed saved her from the Queen's wrath. Her heart clenched with intense gratitude and she found herself wishing desperately for her friend. She felt Colin flinch behind her and knew he had just come to the same conclusion.

She blinked out of her reverie when the Queen continued. “But that was your plan all along, was it not?”

Eloise gasped quietly. However much she had been half anticipating this since the Queen walked into their house, hearing it from her lips was a thousand times more disconcerting. “Please,” she began once regaining her voice, “I swear to Your Majesty that I am not nearly so clever as to attempt to fool you in such an obvious way.”

“Do you remember what I told you about denials and punishment?”

“Your Majesty” Anthony spoke up, “I assure you if such a thing were happening in my home, I would know of it, and I would have put a stop to it a long time ago.”

The queen ignored him, continuing to address Eloise. “Whistledown has been quiet of late, no doubt your time was occupied helping plan for your brother’s wedding… but when that Cowper girl publishes lies about this family,” she hissed, gesturing widely to the room, “suddenly, Whistledown rushes to print.”

“Majesty,” Eloise tried again but was promptly silenced by the Queen reprimanding finger pointed at her.

“You were in attendance at the ball last night but my spies tell me you vanished shortly after Miss Cowper’s entrance. Clearly you suspected what she might publish.”

At this, Eloise froze. In this last accusation, the Queen was entirely correct. Eloise had left, she had suspected Miss Cowper’s malice and it was she who encouraged Penelope to rush a new issue. Last night Eloise had been Whistledown herself in all but name. Her mind raced for something, anything to say in her own defense but the only option was to name her friend and, finally put to the ultimate test, she realized she could not do it.

“I offered you a chance last year to be an ally to the crown, but you chose to be my rival instead and I would normally never make the same offer twice, however-” Queen Charlotte hesitated, almost seeming to soften. “I have come to know and respect your mother, and it is out of… affection for her that I am willing to give you a second chance.”

“Your Majesty is most gracious,” Violet said breathlessly.

In the margin of her vision, Eloise saw Anthony’s hand twitch toward a pocket and she realized with something like horror that he was likely in possession of Penelope’s letter of confession to their mother. She leapt to her feet, shuffling slightly to obscure the Queen view of her brother.

“Will Your Majesty allow me time to consult my family before we speak again?”

Queen Charlotte stood slowly. “Very well. Hold your tongue another night. But, do make the right choice this time girl, otherwise…" She raised a sculpted eyebrow.

“Yes, serpent, crush, pride, breath,” Eloise replied, summoning every ounce of courage to adopt her normally cavalier attitude.

“Indeed,” Queen Charlotte agreed before calling out, “Brimsely!” And then, without giving anyone the chance to see her out, the Queen swept from the room in a swish of lace and silk.

The instant her footsteps faded down the stairs every Bridgerton in the drawing room sagged like puppets with their strings cut.

“Would someone care to fill me in on what just happened?” asked Kate.

Violet turned to quietly bring Kate up to speed and Eloise rounded on Anthony, pointing an angry finger in his face. “You were going to turn Penelope in!” she shouted.

“What?!” Colin cried out.

“I was going to do no such thing,” Anthony protested.

“I saw you!” Eloise argued, “you were reaching in your pocket for Penelope’s letter! You were going to show it to the Queen!”

“Anthony!” Colin, Kate and Violet gasped at once.

“I do not have any of Miss Featherington’s letters,” Anthony said coolly. He reached into the pocket in question, withdrawing their father’s watch. “I had intended to feign tardiness to an engagement to see if Her Majesty would allow us time to speak alone. Once you secured that chance on your own, I had no reason to do so myself.”

“Oh,” Eloise responded, chastened.

“That being said,” Anthony carried on, “I have no intention of letting you or this family take the fall for Whistledown.”

“Pen is part of this family,” Colin said through gritted teeth, “she is my wife.”

“Again” Anthony said, impatient, “she is not your wife but Eloise is our sister and it is my duty to protect her and all of us from false accusations and scandal brought upon us by the actual villain.

Colin stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides. “Speak that way about Penelope again, brother and we will test Will’s boxing lessons until one of us has satisfaction.”

“That is enough!” Violet cried. “This is getting us nowhere.” She looked at her younger son and pointed to the chair next to her. “Sit down, Colin. Breathe. Eat a biscuit.”

Huffing, Colin sat and picked up a banana yellow macaron before putting it right back down again.

“So, what is the plan then?” Eloise asked. “If we are not going to expose Pen but we are also not letting me confess then what are we going to do?”

“We are going to find Miss Featherington and convince her to turn herself in,” Anthony said decisively.”

“Have you gone mad?” Colin exclaimed.

Anthony ignored him. “Sister, you said you know where she is?”

Sparing a glance at Colin who was staring blankly at nothing, Eloise replied, “I believe so, yes. Last year when I was trying to uncover Whistledown’s identity I located the print shop she used and-” she paused in discomfort at the memory, “a young apprentice said the issues arrived sewn into silks.”

“You spoke with this young man alone?” Violent asked in shock.

“Do we really need the answer to that question right now?” Colin interrupted.

Eloise gave him a grateful look. “As I was saying, Penelope had her issues delivered in dress boxes and that led me-”

“To the modiste,” Kate finished and Eloise nodded. “Did you speak to her about it?”

“I did and she denied it. Penelope did not confirm it either when I confronted her but it is the only conclusion I can come to and if she trusted Madame Delacroix to assist her with Whistledown-”

“Then it stands to reason Pen would go to her now as a safe haven!” Colin said excitedly. “We must go immediately!”

“It is as good a lead as any,” Anthony agreed. “If we can speak with Miss Featherington about the Queen accusations against Eloise-”

“We are not letting her give herself up,” Colin protested.

“Dearest,” Violet said gently, resting her hand on his arm, “Penelope deserves to make that decision for herself once she has been informed of the situation.”

Colin shook his head. “We will cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, let us go. Please. I - I need to see her.”

“I do as well,” Eloise whispered and her eyes met Colin's, the understanding of two people who dearly loved Penelope passing between them.

“You three go see Madame Delacroix,” Kate began, “I will write our regrets to Lady Kenworthy that we will be unable to attend her ball this evening. If they received Whistledown’s notice of Colin’s broken engagement they will not ask questions.” She gave Colin an apologetic look.

“Yes,” Violet concurred, “and I will go and visit Portia. She must be beside herself with her daughter missing. I will not tell her about Whistledown, merely that we have an idea where Penelope may be and we will bring her home if we can.” 

Anthony looked at them all, satisfied they were of one mind. “Very well, Bridgertons,” he said determinedly, “let us get to work!”

Penelope sat down heavily, blinking rapidly with a mix of confusion and fear. “What do you mean?” she asked in a hoarse whisper. “I published that issue to protect them, not put them in danger.”

“I know you did,” Lady Danbury said kindly, “but your swift defense of the Bridgerton family will rouse the suspicions of our Queen. I have no doubt she has already made the connection and unless I have severely underestimated my friend, an accusation against them will be made very soon.”

“But,” Penelope began, “the Queen has already accused Eloise. That is why I wrote that horrid article about her last year, to prove that it was not her.”

“And that is precisely why the Queen will now believe that it has always been her.” The widow gave her a pointed look. “After all, the real Lady Whistledown does not hesitate to speak harshly of herself when there is no other choice.”

Unable to find a flaw in the other woman’s logic, Penelope broke down, covering her face and crying openly into her hands. “I have made everything worse,” she sobbed.

“You did what you thought was right,” Lady Danbury countered, “but now we must deal with the consequences; and swiftly.”

Penelope took a fortifying breath and looked up. “I have to confess,” she whispered, her throat raw. 

“Yes,” the dowager agreed, “but we will need a plan. You cannot simply waltz into the palace and proclaim yourself as Whistledown. The Queen will require proof and we must be prepared to provide that to her.”

“I have my earnings,” Penelope said, “pages of notes from previous issues, I can tell her which print shops I have used. I will give her anything she wants so long as she leaves the Bridgertons in peace.” She would make this right again and then… then she would truly have no reason to remain in society. She could leave London in disgrace. With time and distance, Colin would move on, marry and have the life and family she knew he deserved. She would willingly break her own heart to save his.

Rising, Penelope turned toward the steps to dress, but moved too fast and stumbled, her head spinning with a wave of dizziness. Lady Danbury rose and moved to her side, helping to steady her. “Thank you, my Lady,” she said politely.

“Calm yourself, my dear. We will fix this.” She patted Penelope’s hand. “And please, if we are going to be co-conspirators, you must call me Agatha.”

Before Penelope could respond to that extraordinary request, Genevieve burst into the back room, a terrified look on her face.

“He is here!” she whispered frantically, “Your Mr. Bridgerton is here!”

Chapter Text

Penelope gaped at her friend. “Already?” she hissed. “This is ridiculous, it’s been less than a day!”

“It would seem you have underestimated your fiancé.” Lady Danbury gloated softly.

Penelope huffed, frustrated. “He is not my - oh for heaven’s sake. Can you make him go away?” She asked, pleading with Genevieve.

The modiste shook her head. “He is not alone,” she argued. “Lord Bridgerton and Miss Eloise are with him.”

And that brought Penelope up short. Colin, she could understand; he was stubborn and protective. Even as angry as he was, as much as he must despise her for what she had done, he still worried for her safety. But why would the Viscount care? She was not a Bridgerton. While she had always looked up to Anthony as she would a brother, she did not think he ever noticed her much. And as for Eloise… well. Perhaps she was only here to ensure Penelope was truly gone, and no longer able to cause problems in Colin’s life.

“Ow!” Penelope gasped as Lady Danbury’s cane tapped against her bare foot.

“Focus child,” the widow scolded. “Madame,” she turned to Genevieve, “you must make them leave and then the two of you will stay at my home, under my protection, until this mess is sorted out and everyone is safe from the ire of Her Majesty.”

“My Lady, this shop is my livelihood, I cannot simply-”

“A thousand pounds,” Penelope blurted out, causing both other women to stare at her. She lowered her voice to a whisper again. “I will pay you one thousand pounds for your time and trouble. That should allow you to close without financial hardship.”

“Miss Penelope,” Genevieve began, uncertainty in her tone and expression.

“I will not take no for an answer,” said Penelope, decisively. “This is entirely my fault. And you have long deserved a larger part of my enterprise as the risks have increased.”

Genevieve regarded her with something like respect before nodding shortly. “What should I tell them?” she asked. “They will not leave without somewhere else to look.”

“Give them the printer,” Penelope said, pacing the length of the back room as she evaluated the situation. “Tell them I was here and that I asked you to deliver this morning’s extra but you refused and sent me away. Tell them the Queen’s bounty frightened you and you can no longer work with me. But,” she warned, “make sure Colin knows you have no intention of turning me into the Queen.”

Lady Danbury nodded, tapping her cane gently against the floor to emphasize her agreement. “That boy will not leave if he thinks Madame Delacroix would put you in danger.” Penelope did not have the energy, or basis, to refute her.

“All right,” Genevieve granted. “I have told them a customer in a state of undress is back here but I do not know that will hold them long.”

“We will go upstairs so I can dress and pack,” Penelope decided, heading toward the steps. “And, Genevieve… thank you, truly.”

Her friend smiled and shooed her away. “Go now, go.”

Colin tapped his fingers impatiently against the counter. Madame Delacroix had been gone for several minutes to tend to a lady being fitted for a new gown and he was growing increasingly agitated. Ladies and dresses did not even enter the scope of his attention at the moment. His sole concern was Penelope: her whereabouts, and her safety. Every second she was missing only made him more frantic.

Anthony stood stock still by the door, watching the passersby and glowering at anyone who peeked curiously in the windows. Next to his brother, Eloise was pretending to inspect the spools of brightly colored ribbons near the door but Colin noticed her sneaking glances in his direction. He turned fully toward her and she looked away quickly before crossing the room to pluck at a bolt of silk that reminded Colin of the color of Penelope’s eyes.

Still staring at the blue fabric, Colin said suddenly, “I am going back there.”

Anthony’s hand was on his arm instantly. “You will do no such thing, Colin Bridgerton. The last thing this family needs is the scandal of you barging in on a poor Miss in a state of undress!”

Colin turned to Eloise, “Then you can go, can you not?” he asked desperately but his sister simply shook her head, her expression brimming with sympathy. “She has been back there for ages,” Colin protested, “and we have only her word that there is even anyone else here! For all we know she has slipped out the back door and made her escape!”

A soft click drew his attention and he turned to see Madame Delacroix stepping past the white bunting barely concealing the French doors behind her. “For what reason would I be making an escape, Mr. Bridgerton?” she asked in displeasure, one eyebrow arched.

Anthony stepped in front of him, using his body to separate Colin from the offended shopkeeper. “Please forgive my brother, Madame Delacroix. I am certain by now you know Miss Featherington has disappeared?” When the modiste remained silent, he pressed further. “We have reason to believe you may have seen her. Perhaps this morning?”

She did not respond, but Colin noticed the way she cut her eyes toward Eloise, confirming, to him at least, that his sister had been correct about her business connection to Pen.

Eloise spoke up herself. “If there is anything you can tell us,” she begged, “please, please help us. We know she is hurting and we know we bear the burden for much of her pain.” Her voice broke and Colin looked over to see her wiping away tears. “We miss her just want her to come home.”

“Miss Eloise,” she began, “you are very smart, as I have told you before, and yes, you were correct last year when you said I had been assisting Penelope with her… enterprise. In fact, I had been expecting your visit today.”

“Where is she?” Colin demanded, his already shallow reserve of forbearance now fully evaporated. “Tell us what you know at once! Or perhaps the Queen will find your partnership with Lady Whistledown of particular interest.”

“Colin!” Anthony and Eloise cried in unison.

Madame Delacroix looked at him with disdain. “You can hardly incriminate me without naming your Penelope,” she pointed out with infuriating logic.

Colin felt the wind go completely out of his sails.

“You are correct,” he conceded, “of course. I am sorry.” She looked at him silently and unimpressed, giving Colin no choice but to drop all pretense. “I want her back. I need her back. My world stopped spinning the moment she vanished and I will be suspended in this misery until I see her again, until I know she is safe and well, until I have the proof of that safety with her in my arms.” He did not bother to stop the tears gathering in his eyes from falling. He did not care if it made him look weak or desperate. He would weather anything to bring Penelope home. “I love her.”

“She was here.” Madame Delacroix finally admitted.

“Please,” he whispered, stepping forward and taking the modiste’s hands in his own. Anthony and Eloise both gasped quietly at the inappropriate contact but thankfully did not interrupt.

Her expression melted with clear pity. “She came this morning to ask for my help delivering the draft of the extra issue for this afternoon, but I told her I could not help her.”

“You turned her away?” Eloise cried indignantly.

Colin silenced her with a glance and turned back to the modiste, squeezing her hands and urging her to carry on with her story.

“The Queen’s bounty frightened me,” she said plainly, “and I cannot afford to lose my business or quite possibly my freedom by assisting someone wanted by the Crown. I promised I would continue to keep her identity a secret but that was the only help I could offer.” She looked at him sympathetically. “She said she understood and took her leave. There is nothing more I can say.”

“The issue still ran,” Eloise pointed out, “so she must have taken it to the printer herself.”

“I agree,” Anthony cut in, “and we have taken up enough of Madame Delacroix’s time, have we not, brother?” he queried pointedly, trying to pull Colin toward the door.

Colin ignored him. Instead he asked the modiste which printer she had been delivering to lately, confirming it was the same one where he had followed Penelope. Having a solid next step was comforting and he thanked the shopkeeper profusely before releasing her hands and stepping toward the door.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” she called out and he turned, curious. “Your Penelope is imperfect, like all of us, but she is also as kind as she is clever.” She pinned him with a surprisingly intimidating stare. “Every decision she makes, she makes out of love.”

Colin nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and with his siblings close behind, headed to the next stop in the search for his wife.

Penelope stared blankly into the hallway outside of Genevieve’s private rooms, gripping the sill of the door as Lady Danbury finished tying the laces of her day dress. The Bridgertons had left only seconds before but their voices seemed to echo in the ensuing silence. Colin and Eloise’s devotion to her was as stunning as it was confounding. She had not been raised to expect loyalty, yet found herself surrounded by it now and not just from her two oldest friends.

“My Lady - Agatha - may I ask why you are helping me?” Penelope asked. “You have long been a great friend of the Queen whereas I do not believe we have ever even spoken before today.”

Agatha regarded her for a long moment, expression unreadable, before replying. “I loved a man once, when I was a much younger woman. He was kind and thoughtful and held the deserving women in his life in high regard, much like your Mr. Bridgerton.” She paused, eyes distant with bittersweet memory. “And you are correct, I am a great friend of Her Majesty and I have watched her search for Whistledown go from harmless amusement to dangerous obsession… but perhaps more than anything else, Violet Bridgerton is my greatest friend. I know your disappearance will injure her not just because of the pain you are causing her son, but because she has long considered you a daughter.”

Blinking back years yet again, Penelope tried not to think about how she had always wanted to be Lady Bridgerton’s daughter and how that chance had slipped through her fingers.

“We must repair this and get you home to the people who love you,” the widow continued. “Really, Penelope, the more reasonable question would be: why on earth would I not help you?”

Penelope stared at her new friend, trying to wrap her mind around the idea that she could have so much influence on such extraordinary people. Over the Queen as Whistledown, perhaps, but to Lady Danbury, Lady Bridgerton and even, eventually, to Colin, surely she was just Penelope. A shy girl of little consequence, third-born daughter of a family no one held in any particular regard. She was an object of scorn and pity, nothing more. Certainly not worth the fuss being made.

Unless… unless she was wrong. She had assumed Colin would be relieved by the broken engagement. His pride was wounded certainly, but to be free of obligation would surely put his mind at ease, would it not? And as for Eloise, the relief at having Penelope separated from a beloved brother must have been a great weight off of her shoulders, mustn't it?

Yet, they came here to find her. She had heard the stress and pain in their voices. They missed her. They loved her. Colin especially had sounded… desperate.

She shook her head, pushing those thoughts aside. “I will accept your help, with deep gratitude, regarding how to proceed with the Queen, Agatha, but as for the rest,” she swallowed roughly, doing her best to harden her broken heart, “I have no intention of returning to Colin and forcing him into a transactional marriage.”

Agatha sighed deeply. “One thing at a time, I suppose,” she said with an incongruous mix of disappointment and optimism. “You might just be the most observant yet remarkably unselfaware person I have ever known.”

Before Penelope could even think of a reply to that strange statement, Genevieve reappeared, traveling bag in hand. “There is a note pinned to the door that the shop is closed until further notice,” she said breathlessly, “and my maid is in the front now to mind my wares and deliver finished gowns to anyone who comes by while I am away.”

“How much does she know?” Lady Danbury inquired.

The modiste shook her head. “Almost nothing. She has seen neither of you and believes I am tending to a deathly ill friend in Brighton.”

“All right then,” Agatha nodded decisively. “My carriage is waiting at the back entrance and my footman will collect Miss Featherington’s trunk. She shooed them forward, waving her cane impatiently. “Come ladies, let us away!”

Evening was fast approaching as their carriage arrived back at Bridgerton House, the occupants quiet and defeated. Colin closed his eyes against the orange-red flame of the setting Spring sun and rubbed his temples in an attempt to ease the ache in his head. In the distance a clock chimed seven times before falling silent.

Their trip to the printer had yielded nothing but frustration. Paying a bribe for the answer to every question they’d been able to extract from the man that ‘Whistledown’s girl’ rarely delivered new issues herself and that he had not seen her since the previous evening. Eventually emptying Colin’s entire coin purse into the printer’s waiting hand, they learned the afternoon’s extra had been dropped off early that morning by ‘the boy with the silks.’ He had also given them a note enclosed with the same delivery. It instructed the printer to keep the proceeds from the morning issue as payment and bonus for rushing the extra edition. The brief missive was unsigned, but Colin would know Penelope’s handwriting anywhere.

Realizing Madame Delacroix had lied to them was a blow, but Eloise’s logic softened it slightly when she pointed out that the modiste was protecting Penelope and Colin knew perfectly well that he would lie, and potentially do much worse than lie, to protect Pen himself. Of course, that did not change the fact that they were on the back foot once again; especially when they returned to the dressmaker's and found the shop closed and dark. This would not normally have been cause for concern given the time of day were it not for the note on the door confirming their worst fears: Madame Delacroix had also fled.

They had wasted hours running back and forth across town, questioning shopkeepers and tradespeople adjacent to both the printer and modiste only to arrive back home now empty-handed, with no further leads and tomorrow’s audience with the Queen hanging heavy over their heads.

“Brother?” Eloise’s voice came from farther away than it should and he blinked his eyes open to see her and Anthony already climbing the steps to the house. Slowly, feeling like his limbs were weighted, he half stumbled out of the carriage and followed them inside.

The foyer was full of people.

Kate and his mother were standing, heads together, engaged in what looked like a tense discussion. Near the staircase, Mrs. Wilson and Humboldt stood stoic, expressions worried. Benedict sat on a bench, passing a flask from hand to hand in contemplation. Most concerning though were three royal guards flanking a messenger who held an ornate silver platter that contained a single letter adorned with the Queen’s official seal.

“Lord Bridgerton,” the messenger called out, stepping forward and presenting the letter, “a message from Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte.”

Every eye in the room snapped to the newly arrived trio, Kate and Violet rushing over, clearly desperate to know what they had learned, but unable to ask in the presence of the Queen’s men. Anthony took the letter and thanked the messenger who did not move to depart.

“Was there anything else you needed?” Anthony asked.

“Her Majesty has commanded that I wait while you read the letter so that I may deliver your verbal acknowledgement immediately,” the messenger replied.

The siblings exchanged glances before squeezing together to read the note over Anthony’s shoulder.

Viscount Bridgerton,

You have been given a brief reprieve. Someone has miraculously confessed to being Lady Whistledown. This person has been given a fortnight to prove her identity to me and has promised to do so on two conditions: that I lift the bounty from her head and the weight of accusation from yours. Given my generous nature, I have agreed to these conditions.

You, your wife, eldest siblings and mother will present yourselves to me at Buckingham House in two weeks' time to witness my audience with the scribe herself. If I discover these claims are false, believe that your entire family will pay the price for your insults and your lies. My guards will remain at your home in the interim to monitor your post and ensure you are not conspiring with your savior.

Send your agreement with my messenger.

Your Queen,

Charlotte R

“Please tell her gracious Majesty that I understand and acknowledge her message. We will appear before her in two weeks’ time.” Anthony said formally. 

The Queen’s messenger inclined his head in silent thanks and turned to Footman John, who had appeared out of thin air, to call his carriage. After only a moment, the messenger and one of the guards were gone and the remaining two took up places by the front door, silent monoliths standing sentry.

“Shall we retire to the drawing room before dinner?” Violet asked with a smile but Colin could see the strain in her expression.

He knew his mother’s distress mirrored his own. With royal eyes on them at all times it would be impossible to continue his search for Penelope, even if he had an idea where to look next. He knew she must have been the one to confess to the Queen. Anyone else would have asked that the reward be paid in exchange for their identity, but their rescuer had demanded it be lifted. Only Penelope would put herself in harm’s way with the stipulation that his family be spared. Wherever she was, at least she was safe enough to contact the Queen, but the thought did little to comfort him. 

How safe would she be once she proved herself as Lady Whistledown? How safe would she be when the Queen finally had the cause of her embarrassment and frustration standing before her? How would Colin bear watching the Queen lay her judgment on the woman he loved?

And how in the world was he going to get through the next two weeks?

Chapter Text

My Pen,

Your absence has created a suffocating void into which I want to scream every moment of every day. I am vexed, though not for the reasons you may expect. Eloise and I have spoken at length about what you have written and while we cannot say we would have done the same in your place, we believe - no, we are certain that your only intention was to protect us… not only from those who would hurt us, but from ourselves. 

So, no, I no longer bear a grudge against Lady Whistledown. I am hurt because you left me. I am dismayed because I pushed you away. I am heartbroken because I miss you. I am adrift because I do not know where you are. I am frustrated because the only reason I know you are alive is that you are publishing. I am perplexed because you are protecting me from you when in truth you are my protection.

I think maybe you were there the day we questioned Madame Delacroix. (Were you frightened of me?) She said something very important to me that afternoon; that every decision you make, you make out of love. I did not see it at first; my anger and envy blinded me to the kindnesses you had done. 

Without you, Daphne would be married to Nigel Berbrooke. Eloise would have been truly ruined with accusations far more insidious than questionable political companions. And as for myself… you told me in your goodbye letter that you had stolen my chance of happiness with Lady Crane but Pen you must know this is untrue. Whatever childish infatuation I may have felt does not change the fact that the lady did not love me and the marriage would have been far from happy. It does not compare to what I feel for you .

My only chance of happiness, my dearest love, is with you and it has not been stolen; you are simply holding it for me; safeguarding it until we can be together again. Please tell me we will be together again.

As I write this letter, my hand chasing the words across the page as though it too is searching for you, I am reminded that it will remain unsent. For I cannot post a letter to a destination unknown. And so until you are in my arms again, I will hide it away; tucked in my journal and in my heart, safe with my memories of you.

My endless, unbroken and unconditional love,

Colin

—

Setting down his quill, Colin read and reread his latest letter while the ink dried on the parchment. When his eyes began to blur he shook the haze from his head, folded the letter and slipped it into his journal. There, it joined letters he had written on days he was able to drag himself out of his bedchamber and into his study.

Even the calendar had ceased to exist since Penelope’s disappearance. He had no idea if May had yet turned to June. There were no more days of the month, only two days since he had seen Penelope, three days, five, seven and now ten. He loathed the days he did not write to her, unable to even rise from his bed, much less do anything as coherent as hold a quill and form sentences. 

It was those days he knew that his family worried the most. More than when he refused meals; more than when he snapped at Hyacinth for asking him to play chess; more than when he sat alone in his study, writing for hours. On those days when he could not bring himself to leave his bed, anyone who attempted to enter his chamber was summarily ejected. He did not want to hear his brothers’ platitudes. He could not bear his mother’s sympathy. He could not stomach Eloise’s regret. Even Kate, whose gentle logic he normally found soothing, could not get through to him.

The only exception was Francesca. Dear Francesca who offered no words at all. Sweet, newly-engaged Francesca whose betrothal had somehow made her even more serene. Francesca merely sat by his bed, the very definition of peace and quiet, and in her presence the crushing weight of Penelope’s absence seemed infinitesimally lighter. He loved her for that. 

But today was a writing day. He had managed to pull himself out of bed and call for his valet to help him dress. He forced down a bit of toast and jam, drank the tea his mother poured and wrote Penelope her letter. Naturally, it would be on what passed for a ‘good’ day that their situation managed to get worse. 

After carefully locking his journal into his desk drawer, he headed back downstairs only to find, of all people, Cressida Cowper being led up the steps by Humboldt.

“What are you doing here?” He demanded, moving directly in front of her, forcing her to stop on the riser just below his place on the landing.

“Why Mr. Bridgerton, is that any way for a gentleman to address a lady?” she gasped with false indignation.

“You are not a lady,” he seethed in response, “you are a viper and you are not welcome in this house.”

Suspiciously, Cressida merely smiled, silky and smug. She stepped up next to him and placed a gloved hand on his arm. “Colin,” she whispered, her touch and informal address making his skin crawl as he jerked his arm back, “unless you plan to explain to the ton how you and your family aided Lady Whistledown, or should I say Penelope,” she taunted with a contrived giggle, “with her scandalous enterprise all along, I suggest you escort me to the drawing room for an audience with the Viscount.”

Colin did not move and for a frightening second the idea that it would be so easy to simply push her and watch her tumble down the stairs onto the hardwood below flashed through his mind. Blinking rapidly to clear the intrusive thought he took a giant step away from her.

Cressida took his silence as a denial and narrowed her eyes. “Or, I could walk back into your foyer and speak with one of those striking royal guards about your treasonous family. I do so wonder why they are here.”

“No,” Colin choked out. “No.” He turned to address Humboldt who was side-eying Cressida with barely disguised contempt. “Please have Lord Bridgerton and my mother join us in the drawing room.”

“The Dowager Viscountess is already there,” Humboldt replied, turning a much warmer look to Colin, “but I will find the Viscount once I have escorted you both to the drawing room.”

Colin had the distinct feeling their loyal butler was unwilling to leave him alone with Cressida, even for the length of the walk down the hall. He found himself immensely grateful for the man’s impeccable judgment.

The trio made their way to the drawing room where Colin’s mother looked up and blinked in clear surprise before schooling her features into cold indifference, barely standing to acknowledge their guest before returning to her embroidery. Violet glanced at Colin, seeming to sense his distress but he forced a small, comforting look before sitting across from her, leaving Cressida standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

After several moments of tense silence, Cressida sneered at them, “Is this what passes for courtesy in Bridgerton House? Did you not raise your son on how one treats a gently bred lady such as myself? I should be offered a seat and provided with refreshment, should I not?”

Violet cut her off with the most impatient tone Colin had ever heard her use on someone that was not one of her children. “The fewer words we exchange the better, Miss Cowper. When Lord Bridgerton arrives you will say your piece and you will leave.”

“A plan with which I wholeheartedly agree,” Anthony said, entering the room with Kate at his side, Newton trailing behind them both. The normally congenial corgi stopped short just inside the doorway, growling at Cressida and baring his tiny teeth.

“Newton, behave,” Kate scolded in a perfunctory tone before dropping gracefully on the sofa next to Violet and regarding their unwanted guest with a shrewd eye.

For his part, Anthony remained standing, arms crossed. No one offered Cressida a seat. “What do you want, Miss Cowper,” Anthony demanded.

Cressida’s eyes shifted around the room and Colin found himself bitterly pleased that his family’s icy greetings had left her unbalanced. He watched her steel herself and affect an air of confidence.

“I want my rightful place in society back,” Cressida said brusquely, “and I expect this family to restore my reputation. Invite me to events; show everyone how much you value my company. If you do not, I will be forced to share your secret with the entire ton.”

“And what secret might that be?” Anthony asked, impatient.

“Do not play coy with me, Lord Bridgerton,” Cressida replied, saccharine voice dripping with condescension. “The very same morning I publish about all of you, Lady Whistledown breaks her silence to rescue you.” When none of the Bridgertons reacted, she went on. “And then Penelope vanishes, not that anyone would have noticed had Whistledown not reported it,” she taunted with a cruel curl of her lip.

Colin bristled, halfway ready to have Humboldt throw this vile woman from their home. But his mother shook her head at him ever so slightly and he forced himself to uncoil a little.

“And last night while speaking to a printer about payment for my own issue, I learn Lady Whistledown is a redhead.” Cressida paused for a moment, smiling maliciously and clearly proud of herself. “Penelope is Lady Whistledown and you all know it. Can you imagine what the ton will say?” she asked in feigned shock. “How will they react when they discover that such a respectable family has been assisting that plump, pathetic little gossip monger?”

No amount of restraint could keep Colin in his seat at that. He leapt to his feet, hissing at Cressida, “You will not speak that way about my wife.”

Anthony was at his side in an instant, hand on his arm, but Cressida simply laughed, obviously pleased to have finally gotten a rise out of him. “Your wife, Mr. Bridgerton? I think not. After all, you broke your engagement to begin courting me, is that not correct?”

Several things happened at once. Violet and Kate gasped in shock, Colin shouted “absolutely not” in unison with Anthony, Newton began barking and Humboldt reappeared at the door with, of all people, Penelope’s mother on his heels.

“Lady Featherington to see you, Dowager Viscountess.” He bowed slightly and backed away, hovering in the hallway as though he sensed someone at least had overstayed their welcome.

Portia cut her eyes around the room, taking in everyone’s tense posture and for once chose to remain silent.

Colin could feel himself shaking with fury as he leaned toward Cressida. “No one will believe you,” he said snarled. “You said yourself that your reputation is in shambles.”

Cressida arched an eyebrow at him. “Let us test that theory, shall we?” And with a vicious gleam in her eye, she turned to address Portia Featherington.

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Miss Francesca Bridgerton is officially engaged! This author has it on good authority that only yesterday her intended, John Stirling, sought and was granted, the blessing of the Crown. My sincere congratulations to the Earl of Kilmartin and his future Countess. The Queen's chosen sparkler has certainly dazzled this season. Brava, Your Majesty. 

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It would seem the lovely and accomplished Miss Stowell has declined not one but two marriage proposals this week alone! After rejecting the suits of Lords Houghton and Stanton she was overheard proclaiming that she intends only to marry a worthy gentleman with the, and I quote, 'soul of a poet.' I certainly wish her luck in this endeavor as the gentlemen of the ton are not exactly known for their maturité émotionnelle.

Dearest Gentle Reader,

A most curious rumor has reached my ears! It would seem the recently exposed Cressida Cowper has been seen paying visits, albeit brief, to Bridgerton House. Perhaps she has rekindled her friendship with Miss Eloise Bridgerton… or perhaps not as just last night she joined the Dowager Viscountess and her newly-single third-born son in Lady Danbury's box at the opera. An act of forgiveness from a charitable family or the beginning of new romance? Only time, and of course this author, will tell.

—

Shaking a cramp out of her hand, Penelope slid the written draft of her newest issue to the side and gathered a fresh piece of parchment. She sighed deeply and picked her quill back up, dutifully making an identical copy of the column before signing it Penelope Featherington and sealing it in a letter addressed to Queen Charlotte.

It had been nearly two weeks since her deal with the Queen began. Using information from Lady Danbury and several of her most discreet and trustworthy servants, Penelope continued publishing as Lady Whistledown. Only now a hand-written copy, signed with her true name, was delivered to the Queen the evening before that same issue was distributed around Mayfair.

This latest column had been the most difficult for her to write in a very long time. While she was exceedingly grateful for Agatha’s protection and assistance, she wished desperately that the dowager’s coachman had not witnessed Cressida visiting Bridgerton House. Even more desperately she wished Cressida had not somehow weaseled her way into Agatha’s opera box with Colin and his mother. Agatha had excused herself to the Queen’s box to avoid being in Cressida’s presence. 

She did not want to believe for a moment that Colin was in any way romantically interested in that woman or that Eloise had warmed to her again. But the remaining options for her renewed interest in the Bridgertons were all equally distressing. Was she using the broken engagement to present herself as a truly viable prospect? Had she, like the Queen and Agatha, made the connection between the Bridgertons and the Whistledown column that exposed Cressida’s lie? Was she simply gloating and using their distress to make herself feel better as she had done to Penelope for years?

With the discomfiting uncertainty of Cressida’s intentions adding to the unease pressing on her heart, Pen tried to find solace in the fact that at least this should be the last such column she would have to write twice . Tomorrow would be the final day of the fortnight she’d requested to prove her identity to the Queen and she had been summoned to present herself at Buckingham House.

Of course, this led to an altogether different type of anxiety as she truly did not know what punishment Her Majesty may have in store for her. A small part of her would welcome banishment. If she were forced out of London she would at least not have to bear witness to the day Colin finally married someone else.

“Miss?” a voice called behind her and Penelope startled, whipping around to see Agatha’s favorite maid in the doorway. “My apologies, Miss. I did not mean to disturb you.”

“Not at all,” Penelope reassured her. “It is quite all right, Coral. I have the Queen’s letter if that’s why you’ve come?” she asked, handing the sealed letter over.

“Yes, Miss,” Coral confirmed, slipping the missive into the pocket of her dress, “but also to let you know that Lady Danbury would like you to join her for supper this evening. Lord Anderson is dining at Bridgerton House.”

Keeping Penelope’s presence at Danbury House a secret from the Lady’s brother had been a tricky task. She had spent most of her time here above stairs, taking meals in her room and being tended to only by those servants Agatha trusted implicitly. She found herself feeling quite lonely. Though it had barely been two weeks, and Penelope was hardly a stranger to relative isolation, she had been spoiled this season. The attentions of Lord Debling first, but then Colin and his family, had given her a level of comfort in society she had craved all her life. She found herself longing for the music of a ball, for the tap of slippers on the dance floor, even for the din created by dozens of voices overlapping at a soireé.

“Miss?” Coral asked again and Penelope looked up, realizing she had been staring at nothing for several minutes.

“Yes, forgive me, my mind is scattered this evening. Please let Lady Danbury know I would be happy to dine with her.”

“Good!” Coral exclaimed. “I know it is not my place, Miss, but you are far too pale. The company will do you good.”

Penelope smiled. Coral reminded her of a more outspoken version of her own lady’s maid, Rae. She missed Rae more than she had expected to, not only her kindness and companionship, but her sharp, knowing eyes and loyalty. “In that you are mistaken, Coral,” Penelope said, smiling, “it will always be your place to speak your mind to me.”

Grinning, Coral pulled out a dressing gown and shooed Penelope behind a screen to undress for a bath. A few moments later, when the copper tub in the corner of her room was filled with steaming, jasmine-scented water, Penelope slipped in and began scrubbing a sweet citrus soap across her skin. She breathed deeply, letting the aromatic mixture quell the rolling in her stomach she had been experiencing all day. Nerves over her audience with the Queen tomorrow, no doubt.

Behind her, Coral was laying out a simple, sage green evening gown to dress her for dinner and gathering various pins and jewels for Penelope’s hair. There was a calm, quiet domesticity in the moment that comforted her, easing the loneliness that had plagued her these past weeks. 

 “Are there any oranges, do you think? In the kitchen?” Penelope asked, rising from her bath and allowing Coral to help her dry off. Suddenly and quite out of nowhere, nothing in the world sounded so delicious as an orange.

“I believe so, Miss. Would you like some brought up?”

“No,” Penelope replied, taking a seat at her dressing table while Coral started to style her hair, “with supper please. I should like oranges with supper.”

Coral met her eyes in the mirror, brow raised. “Anything to put some color back in these cheeks!” she said, poking at the cheeks in question, a teasing but kindhearted smile on her pretty face.

And for the first time in weeks, Penelope laughed.

The morning of their audience with the Queen, Colin joined Anthony on horseback and rode ahead of the carriage carrying their mother, Kate, Eloise and a bleary-eyed Benedict, the latter having finally wandered home just as the sun was rising. As they traveled slowly through Mayfair, Colin’s mind drifted back to Lady Featherington’s visit from several days before.

Cressida had arrogantly pointed out Pen’s love of the written word, her ability to slip away unseen and the cutting way Lady Whistledown had published about anyone Penelope herself did not care for. Colin did not necessarily agree with that last point, but given how often the Featheringtons and Cressida were mentioned, he had to concede it was the right knife to twist.

Portia had been convinced almost instantly, leaving the Bridgertons no choice but to agree - temporarily at least - to Cressida’s demands. If she revealed their connection to Whistledown before their audience, Queen Charlotte would be furious and humiliated at having control of the Bridgertons’ fate taken from her hands. And so they had allowed Cressida to return for tea with the family the next day and join them at the opera two nights ago. Colin loathed being in her company but he would bear it for his family.

“Brother,” Anthony called out and Colin jerked his head around to see they had arrived at the courtyard of Buckingham house. He dismounted and made his way to the carriage to offer Eloise his arm while Anthony escorted Kate. Violet, ostensibly being guided by Benedict, seemed to be supporting him more than he was her. 

Royal guards met them immediately, leading them to the audience chamber where the Queen herself waited, perched on a raised dais and surrounded by an equally large number of white-wigged ladies in waiting and puffs of Pomeranians. Lady Danbury sat near her, signature cane gripped in her hand, an unreadable expression on her face. After greeting Her Majesty with deferential bows and curtseys, they waited while she looked them over.

“Do you know the history of this palace?” Queen Charlotte asked bewilderingly. She did not wait for them to respond. “It was originally a mulberry plantation. Rows and rows of trees grown just to feed the silkworms until the Duke of Buckingham purchased it for his ancestral home and gave it the name.” 

She scratched the closest pup behind the ears before continuing her baffling story. “It remained in the Duke’s family for nearly one hundred years until my husband bought it. And do you know why my husband, your King, bought this house?” She raised her eyebrows but Colin could tell, as could everyone else in the room judging by their silence, that the question was rhetorical.

“Because I wanted it,” the Queen stated simply. “And I tend to get what I want, one way or another.” She nodded pointedly at Brimsley who moved across the chamber and opened a semi-concealed door.

Through this entrance, looking small, scared and breathtakingly beautiful, stepped Penelope. Gasping her name in a choked exhale, Colin lurched toward her, making it all of three steps before being hauled back by the collar, Anthony looking at him as if he had grown a second head. Colin shrugged the hand away and turned again to his bride, trying desperately to catch her eye as she approached the Queen, but she avoided his gaze.

“Your Majesty,” Penelope said respectfully, dipping into a curtsey before folding her hands demurely.

“Bridgertons, I have done you a very great favor,” the Queen said triumphantly and picked up two sheets of parchment. Colin could see from his vantage point that one was handwritten, the other printed and bearing a familiar cameo. “I have unmasked the true Lady Whistledown. My only question now is this: did you know it was her?”

“They did not know,” Penelope answered before Colin or any of his family could say otherwise. “No one did. Even the printers who published my sheets believed me to be nothing more than a servant girl of the writer. The enterprise and its crimes are mine alone as-,” she hesitated, body now clearly trembling and Colin ached to take her in his arms, “-as are the repercussions.”

Next to Colin, Eloise let out a barely audible whimper and reached out blindly for his hand. He took it and they gripped each other tightly.

The Queen regarded Penelope silently for several tense moments before speaking again. “Why reveal yourself now? You could have let that Cowper girl take the blame and no one would ever have known the truth.”

Pen looked over, meeting his eyes for the first time and though she ostensibly addressed the next words to the Queen, he could tell by the softness in Penelope’s look that they were truly meant for him. “I could not let Miss Cowper’s lies hurt the people I love nor could I live with myself if Your Majesty placed the blame on an innocent family.” She shifted her gaze back to the Queen. “Your Majesty was exceedingly clever to make the connection between my column and the Bridgertons. You simply did not see me there, in between. But that is not your fault. No one ever has.”

Colin exchanged glances with Eloise and he could tell she shared his thoughts in the moment - they had not really seen Pen either. They had not appreciated her enough or loved her the way she deserved.

“Lord Bridgerton, your family has been absolved of blame.” Queen Charlotte declared. “You may go.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Anthony replied. “If I may enquire about Miss Featherington?”

The Queen raised her eyebrow at his apparent temerity. “Miss Featherington and I will discuss her punishment privately. It is no longer the concern of you or your family.”

Colin’s blood ran cold and he dropped his sister’s hand stepping forward again, too fast for Anthony, but not the royal guards who placed themselves between Colin and the Queen.

“Please, Your Majesty,” Colin begged, frantically leaning around the guards to plead with the Queen, “Miss Featherington has acknowledged her mistakes and accepted responsibility for them. Please do not harm her, I beg you.” Behind him he could hear both Eloise and his mother crying openly.

“My judgment of Miss Featherington does not concern you, Mr. Bridgerton. Why, she wrote herself that you are no longer betrothed. You have no obligation to the girl now.” The Queen gestured to her guards who walked toward the Bridgertons, literally herding them back through the hall toward the outer door.

Colin, who refused to comply, was taken by the arm and pulled physically away. “No!” he yelled, struggling against the guards. “Do not hurt her, Your Majesty, please! Penelope! Penelope!” 

Suddenly, Colin was outside and enveloped by his family, both of his brothers preventing him from racing back to the hall while simultaneously shielding him from the increasingly impatient royal guards. Distantly, he was aware Kate was begging him to be calm while Violet held a near hysterical Eloise.

The last thing he saw before the heavy doors slammed shut was Pen’s pale, frightened face and the tears in her eyes.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Agatha asked, looking at her with concern as their carriage pulled away from Buckingham House.

Penelope was not quite sure how to answer that question. She supposed she should feel grateful, the Queen having judged her more kindly than she expected. Though it would have been well within Her Majesty’s purview to have her thrown in the Tower, she had instead placed Penelope under the wardship of Lady Danbury. There she was to remain until the end of the season before being banished to the country for as long as it pleased the Queen. 

Penelope had thanked Queen Charlotte for her mercy before following Agatha out of the audience chamber, dizzy with relief. She had succeeded in placing the blame solely on her shoulders where it belonged. The Bridgertons were safe and Genevieve could reopen the modiste, letting everyone know her ‘friend in Brighton’ was now recovered.

As for herself, she would be able to leave town as she had originally intended, far away from the damage she had done to Colin and his family. And yet, now that the possibility of never seeing them again was a reality she found herself tormented by heartbreak and the stark picture of spending the rest of her life in solitude. 

Pain, abruptly more physical than the heartbreak that had been her constant companion since the night she fled to Genevieve’s, stabbed through her head and her body flashed hot with nausea. A moan escaped her lips and she doubled over in agony. Down her back an aching pressure spread low and deep. And in her core there was a strange sensation as though something inside of her shifted. She was most certainly not all right. 

Penelope looked up at her friend, the world swimming in her hazy vision. “Agatha,” she gasped, “I believe something is wrong,” and fainted clean away.

—

Later, a cloth-wrapped stone bottle filled with hot water pressed against her belly, Penelope listened quietly as Agatha’s trusted physician said improbable words like ‘child’ and ‘loss.’ As he prattled on about not exciting herself for several days and drinking cinnamon wine all Penelope could think was-

“Why?”

The doctor cut off mid-sentence and looked at her, head cocked to the side. “Why what, Miss?”

“Why-” Penelope gasped, throat choked with tears, “why did I lose…” She drifted off, unwilling to finish the question. A hand suddenly squeezed her own and she turned to see Agatha sitting on the bed next to her, the widow’s strong hands grasping her own. Penelope had not even realized she was there.

“Miss Featherington,” the doctor began, voice softening, “there is no ‘why’ in cases such as these. It is just something that happens, through no fault of anyone or anything.”

“Thank you, Dr. Ashmore,” Agatha dismissed. “We will follow your instructions for the young lady’s care and summon you again if you are needed.” The physician bowed and excused himself, leaving the women alone in the quiet room. 

Penelope longed for Colin. She wished to see Eloise. She wanted her mama to rock her in her arms as she had when Penelope was still a little girl with a promising future instead of a disappointing wallflower hiding in corners. For the first time since she had first picked up her quill she truly wished she could turn back the clock and never begin that infernal column. The name Lady Whistledown was suddenly hateful to her. She felt every bit of her hard-won confidence bleeding out of her as though it too had died along with the baby. 

She was spiraling, head spinning, ready to tear at her own hair just to relieve the anxious pressure in her mind when Agatha finally spoke, her voice unusually tender.

“You did not know you were with child, did you, my dear?” 

And Penelope felt herself simply crumble, all but falling sideways into her friend’s arms. The normally imposing widow held her like a mother, stroking her hair and whispering words of comfort until the worst of the sobs had passed.

“I know you do not want to see Mr. Bridgerton,” Agatha said gently, “but certainly this changes things."

“It makes them worse,” Penelope responded, “and I do not know if I can bear heaping any more disappointment onto him… but part of me does wish he would simply appear outside and rescue me,” Penelope mused tearfully, her words slightly muffled into Agatha’s shoulder, “fly to my window with plans to foil the Queen’s judgment like Princess Florine and her Blue Bird.” She sat back a little, gaze fixed on a loose thread in the quilt tucked around her.

“Life is not a fairy tale, my girl. We cannot wait for the knight in shining armor to slay a dragon or for the handsome prince to kiss away a curse.” Agatha stroked a gentle finger under Penelope’s chin, urging her to look up. “And I will remind you - it was Princess Florine who rescued herself and her prince.”

Penelope breathed in sharply, nodding slowly as she let those words sink in. “She did indeed,” she whispered, the tendrils of an idea weaving through her mind. “Agatha, could you ask Coral to bring me ink and paper? I believe I have something to write.”

Chapter Text

Princess Caroline of Everwood looked up at the Healer in horror, hands gripping the sheets of the bed in which lay her best friend, her beloved and her intended, Prince Gerald.

“What do you mean there is no cure?!” she cried, tears welling in her bloodshot hazel eyes. There must be a remedy for the mysterious illness that had befallen Gerald only days before. She looked down at him where he lay, pale and still, his normally vibrant blue eyes hidden away behind closed lids. His brow was damp with sweat no matter how often she sponged it away.

“I have tried everything I know,” the Healer replied. “‘Tis a fearful ailment that grows stronger with every attempt to heal it.”

In the shadows of the room lurked Princess Agnes, Caroline's cunning stepsister. With eyes as cold as winter frost, she coveted the crown that would pass to Caroline upon her marriage to Gerald. Frightened, desperate and oblivious to the seething jealousy that lay in her stepsister’s heart, Caroline turned to Agnes for advice. She did not know that it was Agnes’s own curse, bought from an evil sorcerer with the promise of power and riches that had laid Caroline’s beloved low.

With honeyed words and false promises, Agnes urged Caroline to embark on a perilous journey to a distant land rumored to hold a cure for the Prince's illness. Blinded by worry and love for Gerald, Caroline bid him a tearful farewell and set forth on her journey-

—

“Hmm,” Penelope murmured and dipped her quill back into the inkwell. Putting pen to paper once more, she scratched out the word ‘journey’ and replaced it with ‘quest.’ She nodded to herself, pleased with the small change. She shuffled the papers on her desk, leaving the most recent on top so the fresh ink would not smudge, and found the parchment with her story notes. After crossing out the bits she had written, she added a few details for upcoming scenes before finally putting her quill down and stretching her arms over her head to coax the stiffness out of her limbs. 

Glancing over at the stack of blank, fresh parchment on the corner of her desk, she debated with herself if she should try to write something for Whistledown. Penelope had published only once since her audience at Buckingham House and it had been a short piece, praising the Queen on finding a match for Lord Samadani who had recently become engaged to Her Majesty’s own grandniece, also named Charlotte. Between the virile bloodline of the Marquess and the resplendent lineage of our queen, I am certain this royal match will produce a bevy of beautiful babies, she had written superficially, before signing off with her usual ‘yours truly’ and sending the column off for publication.

Writing as Lady Whistledown no longer held the appeal it used to. Having gossip delivered to her second, and sometimes thirdhand, was hardly an accomplishment and failing to see or even hear of the events for herself had stripped her writing of its authenticity. Even learning that Cressida Cowper was gone, having been essentially dragged to Wales after being permanently banished from England for extortion and fraud, was not enough to tempt Penelope into starting another issue. She had since learned from Lady Danbury of Cressida’s plot to blackmail the Bridgertons into restoring her reputation and while Penelope was happy to see another threat to Colin’s family annulled, she could not help but add it to the list of hardships inflicted on them as a result of Whistledown.

She wondered if that was why her new work, a budding novella about a mysteriously ill prince and the princess searching for his cure, was so much more enjoyable for her to work on; the story was entirely hers. Or perhaps it was simply the fantasy of it all, curses and quests and true love being so far from her own current circumstances.

Sighing, she shook her head to stop her thoughts from darkening. A quick glance at the clock near her door informed her she had been seated and writing for nearly seven hours while a growl from her stomach reminded her she had not eaten since breakfast.

As if on cue, there was a quick knock at her door and Rae popped her head just inside. “Are you ready for me, Miss?” she asked with a soft smile.

“Yes,” Penelope responded with a smile of her own, “thank you.”

In the three weeks since the Queen’s judgment and the beginning of Penelope’s house arrest at Agatha’s, Lady Danbury had gone to great lengths to make Penelope feel as at home as possible. This included a quick and covert visit to Featherington House where Portia was informed that her daughter was safe but that the Queen expected silence in exchange for that safety. On her way out of the house, Agatha had absconded with Rae, loaning the maid a less garish cloak to secret her from the servants' entrance and return the sweet maid to Penelope’s service.

Free from the requirement of wearing Featherington colors, Rae had chosen her own wardrobe and was dressed in a sturdy, serviceable gown of deep blue linen. Rae seemed at ease in this house and her contentment was a great source of comfort for Penelope who had missed her maid’s company dearly.

Later, after Rae had dressed Penelope for dinner and shooed her away with the promise of having the room ready for when she retired, Penelope headed downstairs. The dining room was quiet with only Agatha seated at the table and a kitchen maid putting out various steaming dishes. Lord Anderson must have been with the Bridgertons again.

“Penelope,” Agatha said, noting her presence, “how are you feeling this evening?” She reached for the nearest dish and began unceremoniously scooping roasted potatoes onto both of their plates.

“I believe I am quite recovered, Agatha,” Penelope responded carefully, taking a seat to her friend’s right. “I am no longer in any pain at least.” This was a half-truth. Though her body had seemingly healed completely from its loss, her aching heart was a different matter. She could feel the dowager’s knowing gaze fixed on her and helped herself to a bit of venison from the platter nearest her in an attempt to avoid the scrutiny.

Agatha sighed. “Really, my dear,” she said with an air of affectionate reproach, “I had thought we were past the need for polite indifference.” She tapped the base of her wine glass against the table until Penelope met her eyes. “Tell me how you are feeling,” she commanded gently.

Penelope set down her utensils and clasped her hands in her lap, looking away briefly while she considered the request. “I am - I am better than I was,” she replied honestly, “but not as well as I could be. My body no longer aches, but my heart remains heavy.” She glanced over to see Agatha regarding her with an encouraging smile. “I believe that - that I must see Colin, to tell him what happened.”

Agatha nodded sagely. “The very advice I planned to give, in case you decided to ask.”

“Not to stay with him,” Penelope rushed to clarify. “I do not believe he would wish for my return regardless at this point, but especially not when he finds out about…” she trailed off, still not ready to voice the loss of the child, “about everything,” she finished lamely. “But I have kept enough secrets from him and for better or worse, I cannot keep another.”

Nodding, Agatha rose from the table. “I shall call for my carriage while you put some much needed food in your stomach. I cannot have you wasting away under my roof.” She pointed at Penelope’s plate. “Eat, child! Make haste!”

“I did not mean now!” Penelope protested. “I cannot simply appear at Bridgerton House at this hour!”

“Mr. Bridgerton is not at his family home,” Agatha responded after sending her footman to ready her carriage. “He has been living at his own house in Bloomsbury for the past week. Your visit will disturb no one, least of all Mr. Bridgerton,” she said knowingly. “I shall send you there now and should you fail to return home this evening, well, I promise to add that to the list of secrets I am so expert in keeping.”

“Agatha!” Penelope cried, scandalized despite herself, but her friend merely looked at her impassively. “Very well,” Penelope relented, spearing a potato and taking an exasperated bite.

She would go and see Colin to tell him of the child they had conceived; the child she had lost. Maybe sharing her grief with him would help knit back together a tiny piece of her broken heart. Even if it did not, she could at least find some semblance of solace in knowing she had been honest with him.

… and I do not know if you heard but Frannie is wed. She and Lord Kilmartin, though I suppose as his brother-in-law I should simply call him John now, were married at Bridgerton House several days ago. They plan to leave for the Highlands at the end of the month which is no surprise to me. Frannie did not enjoy the bustle of the social season. Mother is happy for her, but I can tell she is not ready to have another child fly the nest so quickly after my own departure.

For my part, I have been trying to continue editing my travel journals like you wanted me to but in truth, it has been difficult. There are so many moments that remind me of you. Did you know the ringing of the bells in the old abbey at Saint-Amand sounds just like your laugh? The structure itself is mostly gone now but the carillon in the tower remains. I listened to them every day I was there, imagining they were your sounds of joy.

I thought I could never miss you so much as I did last summer, Pen, but I was wrong. The emptiness of this house, of my heart, of my life without you is almost unbearable. I am trying… but it is not enough.

Please come back, Penelope. Come home to me.

—

“Sir?” a voice broke through his deepening melancholy. Colin looked up from his letter to see Dunwoody standing in the doorway of the private sitting room. “The Earl and Countess of Kilmartin are here to see you,” Dunwoody announced before bowing and moving onto his next task, likely gathering tea for their visitors. Colin kept a small household compared to Bridgerton House and Dunwoody wore many hats.

“Thank you,” Colin called after him. He left the unfinished letter on his desk and quickly made himself presentable enough for family before heading downstairs to the parlor where, sure enough, he found Dunwoody delivering a tea tray before disappearing again.

“Frannie,” Colin said fondly, wrapping his sister in a warm hug before turning to shake the hand of his new brother. “John. It is lovely to see you both. Please, sit,” he invited, pouring tea for himself and the newlyweds before taking a seat across from them.

“Forgive us for visiting so late in the evening,” John entreated but Colin waved his apology away. They knew family was always welcome.

Francesca took a polite sip of her tea before placing the cup gently on the table next to her. “How are you?” she asked softly, looking at him in that calm but piercing way that only she seemed to be able to manage. Next to her, John sat quietly, legs crossed and hands folded, gazing at Francesca with an impossibly tender expression on his face. Colin was happy for his sister, but could not entirely tamp down his envy at the ease of their affection.

Looking down at his own teacup he pondered the question. His first instinct was to say he was well, but knew that was not the truth. He was merely existing, going through the motions of life while in a state of limerence. He was better than he had been, no longer spending days abed in a despondent fog. He had found a minor distraction in managing his new household, but he still felt suspended - unable to go back in time and fix what went wrong; unable to imagine a future that did not include Pen at his side and as his wife.

“I do not know,” he answered honestly, setting his cup aside and wringing his hands in frustration. “I know I am better than I was, but most of the time I still feel as though I am simply waiting for something to happen?”

Francesca and John both nodded at him as though they understood, for which he was grateful as he was not certain he possessed the vocabulary to explain further. Colin watched as they looked at each other, having a silent conversation he could not fully decipher.

“We have come to say our goodbyes,” Francesca explained. “We are leaving for Scotland early tomorrow morning.” She glanced at her husband with a half amused smile. “ Very early,” she laughed lightly.

“Oh,” Colin gulped, trying desperately not to sound disappointed or panicked. He had not expected to lose Francesca to the Highlands so soon. Her presence was comforting and since he had moved out on his own, her visits had been something to look forward to.

“I know we had originally planned to wait out the season,” Francesca rushed to explain, “but London…” she trailed off and looked at her husband who simply smiled his reassurance.

Colin understood completely. ”I know London has never quite agreed with you, sister” he said sadly and Francesca nodded. As soon as she had been old enough to travel without their mother, Francesca had nearly fled town for the comparative calm of Aunt Winnie’s home. “You will be happy in Scotland,” he said with a more genuine smile, “and you will make an excellent Countess.”

“I could not agree more,” John replied in a low rumble, reaching for Francesca’s hand as the three of them stood and moved toward the foyer.

When they reached the front door, Colin drew his sister back into an embrace, holding her tightly and willing himself not to cry. “You must promise to write to me,” he said once he had released her and stepped back.

“I will,” she promised with a serene smile, patting his cheek in a motherly gesture before turning slightly to John as he helped her don her pelisse.

Colin walked the couple outside to their waiting carriage, making all the right comments about John taking care of his sister and Frannie enjoying her new position as mistress of the Kilmartin estate. He did his best to smile and wave cheerfully as they pulled away but Colin could not help but feel bereft as two more people he loved moved on with their lives.

Once the carriage was gone from sight, he made his way back inside, closed the door and leaned against it, sliding to the floor, head in his hands. A knock at the door against his back startled him and he pushed himself up to open it, already speaking in anticipation. 

“Frannie, did you forget someth-” he broke off, staring at the new visitor. He was dreaming, surely. He had been sitting in the foyer so long he drifted off to sleep. It was the only rational explanation for the mirage standing on his doorstep, a tentative smile on her beautiful face.

“Hello, Colin,” the illusion whispered and reached toward him. 

Dazed, Colin took the offered hand, the warmth of ungloved skin seeping into his own and quieting the persistent agitation that had become his constant companion. For the first time in nearly two months, Colin could breathe.

Exhaling sharply he pulled her into the house, into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “Penelope,” he whispered in disbelief, “Pen .”

Being back in Colin’s arms was a revelation, a relief. Penelope had not even realized the tension she had carried for so long until she felt it melt away in the warmth of his embrace. For several minutes, or perhaps hours, they simply clung to each other, Colin whispering her name over and over again as though he could not believe she was truly there. Perhaps he could not; she could hardly believe it herself.

At length, they released their hold on one another and Penelope stepped back far enough to look up at her former fiancé. He was more disheveled than she had ever seen him, curls astray, circles under his eyes, his deep blue dress shirt was buttoned but his braces, cravat and waistcoat were nowhere to be seen.

He was still the most beautiful thing she had ever laid eyes on.

“I must speak with you,” she began, voice faltering as she found herself momentarily disarmed by the blissful smile he was giving her.

“Yes,” he agreed immediately, taking her hand and leading her toward the staircase, “we have so much to discuss.” He looked back frequently as they climbed the steps. “I am - Penelope, I am so very happy to see you. Where have you been? I have been so worried for your safety.”

“I am safe,” she assured him, “I cannot say where, but I assure you I am safe.” He glanced back, questions in his gaze and she continued quickly before he could distract her from her task. “Colin, there is something I believe you should know. It - it will not change anything between us now but you deserve the truth from me,” she paused and nervously bit her lip. “Even if you hate me for it.” 

He shook his head, still smiling widely while pulling her further into the house. “There is nothing that could ever make me hate you, Pen.” 

That was a statement she would obsess over later.

“Colin, please,” she begged, nearly running to keep up as he led them through the now mostly-furnished rooms and toward the privacy of his bedchamber, away from the prying eyes of his staff. “I cannot stay. Allow me say what I must and then I will leave you in peace.”

As they passed through the sitting room, Penelope noticed a messy tangle of bedding heaped on the settee and wondered if Colin’s valet had taken to sleeping outside his room. Once inside the bedroom, Colin closed the door firmly behind him and turned, taking both of her hands in his. “I will only know peace when you are back in my arms, Penelope. I love you and I miss you so very much. Please do not leave me again.”

She looked up at Colin, into the warmth of his eyes, the sincerity of his gaze and felt her resolve waver. No , she reminded herself, she could not give in. Forcing herself to break eye contact, she stared at the swirls in the wood floor beneath her feet as her mind strayed to Eloise. Dear El who had loved her so easily for years... right up until she did not. Eloise who did not believe Colin could love her either.

"Colin," she began, raising her eyes to meet his once again and wishing she could trust the adoration she saw there, "this is for the best, you will see. I understand that you believe yourself in love with me-"

"Believe myself-" he interrupted, voice breathless with incredulity, tightening his grip on her hands.

"But," she continued as if he had not spoken, "there must be a part of you that thinks- that knows how sudden your proposal was and you must see how very..." she pushed herself back from him and looked away, willing her voice not to break, "how very unlikely it is that what you are feeling is actually love - or if it is some kind of love, how improbable it would be for you, the season’s most eligible bachelor, to truly be in love with someone like me."

"Someone like you?" he asked, and oh the genuine confusion in his voice made her desperate to throw herself back in his arms and never let him go.

"Colin, please.  Please do not make me list the ways in which the entire Ton agrees I am not worthy of you." She met his eyes again and knew from the tightness of his jaw that he was recalling every instance where Penelope had used her quill to disparage herself.

"Penelope," he said, his voice soft and intimate, "what the Ton does or does not think could not be less important. I have always loved you."

She gasped quietly, holding his gaze and feeling her eyes widen in astonishment but before she could even think of a response, he continued. 

"I have loved you as a childhood playmate, as my dearest friend and now as my future wife." He stepped close again, one hand cupping her cheek as the other encircled her wrist, thumb tracing tender patterns into her skin. "You were there for me during the turmoil with Lady Crane, protecting me in ways I did not even realize. You were there during my first tour, encouraging my travels, reading my letters - and actually replying to them.” At this he laughed softly, tucking a stray curl behind her ear before returning his caress to her blushing face. 

“Then last summer I was so lost without you, so… unanchored. And when I returned and you were so upset with me, I found myself still adrift. Even when you were just on the other side of a ballroom, I missed you. I feel incomplete without you by my side.” He leaned down, pressing his lips to her temple and breathing his next words into her skin. “I have always had feelings for you, Pen. It was not until the night we kissed that I realized you are my home, and you always have been, ever since the day we met."

"Always?" she whispered, blinking rapidly to clear the muted haze of longing his words were inflicting on her. 

Colin, oblivious, nodded his agreement. "Even when I did not know it, I loved you. And now that I do know all I want is to spend the rest of our lives making sure you know it too."

"Always," she said again, a thought far from the sentiment of his words taking shape in the back of her mind.

"Always, Pen, my dearest love." He brought the hand he was holding to his lips and dropped a soft kiss to her palm. "Always ."

A crystalline realization formed so swiftly in her mind that she nearly swayed on the spot. He did love her; genuinely, perhaps even eternally and that love, that devotion would bring him nothing but ignominy and ridicule. Reaching up, she brushed his hand away from where it had strayed into her hair and took several steps backward. The sharp bite of her fingernails into the soft flesh of her clenched fist gave her clarity.

If she had to break his heart to save it, then so be it.

“Always?” she asked, voice abruptly bitter and brittle. “If I recall last season correctly, Mr. Bridgerton, your idea of ‘always’ does not even endure the length of a ball.” 

Colin’s head jerked back as though she had slapped him.

“And of course,” she went on in a tone rife with derision, “there was your promise that you would ‘never’ forgive me. ‘Always’ and ‘never.’ Who do you think you are to throw around pledges of infinitude when your nature has proven to be as fickle as your patience for good society?”

He blinked, slack-mouthed and dumbfounded. After everything they had been through this year she could not possibly still think this of him. He knew how badly his immature comments and laughter at her expense had hurt her, but he was certain her forgiveness had been genuine. It made no sense for her to raise it again. Unless…

Narrowing his eyes, he looked closer at the woman standing in front of him. The tightness of her lips, the tick of tension in the line of her jaw. Underneath her defiant posture he saw bone-weary sadness and resignation. Her arms hung calmly at her sides; her hands did not tremble. 

No, Penelope was not angry, she was determined .

But so was he.

He closed the distance she had put between them. “That is not going to work, Pen,” he stated calmly and she blinked up at him, confused. “Stop trying to push me away,” he continued, once more cupping her face in his hands, running his thumbs along her brow to soothe the crinkles of tension she carried there. “You cannot make me hate you, not when my love for you is written into the pages of my existence.”

“I am doing this for you,” she whispered, eyes slipping shut while tears slid from between her lashes.

“Doing what?” He asked, genuinely perplexed, “denying me the chance to marry you? To have a family with you?” She flinched at his words, but he took her hands in his, kissing first one and then the other. “Do you remember what you said to me that day in the church? When I promised to spend a lifetime making up for not seeing you sooner?” She did not respond, eyes downcast and resolved, and so he answered for her. “You told me there was no need, that nothing in the world made you happier than being with me.” He looked at her pleadingly, but she still would not meet his gaze. “Tell me I am still your happiness. Tell me that is still true, Pen.”

“Yes, of course it is!” she shouted, the dam bursting at last, “but what of your happiness, Colin? What of your travels and your desire to see more of the world? What of the chance to build a home with a woman who deserves you, someone who will not heap shame and scandal on you and your family?” Penelope was nearly sobbing at this point, words coming out choked and gasping.

He drew her into his arms, shushing her softly, pressing gentle kisses to her hair as he ran his fingers through the silky strands. After several minutes she quietened a little and he felt her relax ever so slightly. Pulling back enough to look into her eyes he said, “I am going to say something to you now and I need you to truly hear me. Please?”

She nodded, wiping excess tears away before finally meeting his gaze.

Colin took a deep breath, lips trembling as he spoke. "What need do I have for travel, Pen, when everything that is beautiful in the world is right in front of me? The clear blue waters of Plazhi Pasqyr shimmering in your eyes, the pink-white roses of Guernsey blooming in the blush of your cheeks, the fiery sunset of Milan in the waves of your hair and skin that is silkier than the softest organza in Toulouse... but more than all this, Penelope, the only thing I long for now is home - in the warmth of your smile, the music of your laughter, the shelter of your embrace... in the assurance of your love." Her gaze was fixed on him, eyes wide with something akin to awe and he leaned in, nuzzling his cheek against hers before continuing. “You are my home, Pen. There is no chance of happiness for me without you.”

“Colin,” she said breathlessly.

“Stay,” he pleaded, pressing his lips against her eyelids, “stay,” her temples, “stay,” and finally her mouth.

Penelope surged up into the kiss, wrapping her arms around him just as tightly as he held her. “Colin, I love you!” she cried out between kisses, “I love you.”

She felt him maneuvering them as they kissed and glanced behind her to see what would have been (perhaps now would be ) their marital bed looming large. She stopped his progress, holding firm, unwilling to participate in an act of such intimacy with another secret still hanging between them.

“Colin,” she said, placing a firm hand on his chest, “wait.”

He stilled immediately, dropping his hands from where they’d been creeping under her dress. “Forgive me,” he said, relocating his touches to slightly more innocent places; the shells of her ears and the column of her throat. “I know it may be too soon and I understand if you do not wish for-”

“I do not wish for you to stop, Colin,” she interrupted, “but I came here to tell you something and it is possible that after you know this you may no longer wish for me to stay.” She held up a hand to stop him from refuting her and took a step back. “Allow me say this,” she bid him firmly, “and - and if you still want me to stay, I will.”

He nodded at her, grasping her hands and squeezing them in reassurance, “Pen, I will always wish for you to stay, but whatever you need to tell me, I will listen.”

“Thank you,” she breathed. “The day after our engagement, when we came here - we were… intimate,” she blushed.

“Several times,” Colin said cheekily, “if I recall correctly.” 

She sighed, feeling something between impatience and indulgence, and he simply shrugged at her with a twinkling grin. He was clearly happy to be in her company once again, and, oh, how she hated having to dampen his joy. “Yes,” she agreed, “and as a result, I…” she hesitated, looking into his eyes even as fear of his reaction crept back in and darkened her thoughts. “...and I swear to you that I did not know when I fled, Colin. If you believe nothing else, believe that I did not know.”

“Penelope,” Colin gasped, glancing down to her belly and back up again, shocked realization dawning in his eyes, “are you – are you with child?”

She watched his face brighten with delight for a heartbeat before it fell in confusion at the pain she knew he could see in her expression. “I was,” she whispered, eyes dropping to the floor. “I am not any longer. I - I lost the baby. I lost our baby.” She covered her face with her hands, not wanting to see the look of anger or betrayal or disgust he must surely be giving her. “I am sorry,” she wept, “Colin, I am so sorry. All I have tried to do is avoid causing you further pain, and yet, it is all I seem to do.” 

Still hiding behind her hands, she felt his arms immediately encircle her again. “You have nothing to be sorry for, my love,” he murmured into her messy curls, and god she did not know what she had done in her life to earn the devotion of this man. “You have done nothing wrong. If anyone should be asking forgiveness it is I for not being there for you.”

She leaned back, looking at him in shock. His anguish, however hard he was clearly trying to conceal it for her sake, was plain in his sorrowful expression. Learning of the loss of their child was painful enough; she would not allow him to deepen that wound with misplaced guilt.

”Colin, no-” her hands flew to his face, cradling his cheeks to halt the spiral she could see coming. She could not bear to hear him blame himself for something she was beginning to realize neither of them could have controlled. “You could not have known. I did not even know, not until…” she gasped out a fresh wave of despair. “I did not even know I had been with child until I was not.”

“Pen,” he breathed sadly, “please at least tell me you did not go through it alone,” he pleaded, leaning into her touch as tears of his own began to fall from eyes strained with grief.

Penelope shook her head, thumbing away the tears streaking his face. “Agatha - Lady Danbury was with me. She summoned a doctor and he… took care of everything.”

“Lady Danbury?” he asked curiously.

“Oh, yes, I-” she hesitated to say more before deciding there was no reason to hide from him any longer. “I have been under her protection and now her guardianship on Her Majesty’s orders.” She caressed his cheeks, trying to soothe the lines of worry tensing his features. “Agatha made certain I was well cared for, I promise.”

Her answer seemed to mollify him a little and he took one of the hands on his face, pressing a soft kiss onto her wrist. “You know you are not to blame for this, do you not? For the loss of our child - it happens frequently. I have overheard several married gentlemen deep in their cups at the club and they have all been told it is a common occurrence. Even our Queen has lost two children.” He squeezed her hand, “I do not say this to diminish your feelings, but you must know it was not your fault.” The warmth and honesty she saw in his gaze was equal parts relieving and overwhelming.

Penelope nodded, shoulders dropping in relief. “That is what the doctor said as well, but I confess that I am comforted more by your words than his.”

Colin brought both of her hands to his lips, kissing first one and then the other. “I will spend the rest of my life making sure you always feel at ease, if you will let me,” he whispered.

“Even though I have been banished to the country by the Queen?” she asked, testing him a bit with this new information.

“Yes,” he answered assuredly and without hesitation.

“Even though I am Lady Whistledown?” It was not an ultimatum, but she was not sure she could live the rest of her life with only half his acceptance.

“Yes,” he said again, clear and confident. There was no guile in his eyes, only love and acceptance. The relief was so acute that her knees weakened and Colin pulled her back into his arms, keeping her supported in his grasp.

For a long time, they held each other, luxuriating in the pleasure of being together again until a jaw-cracking yawn from Penelope ruined the silence. Unable to be embarrassed at the likely unattractiveness of the reflex, Penelope began to chuckle and Colin joined her, the pair of them giggling like children until Colin let out his own massive yawn, sending them both into spasms of laughter loud enough that she worried the staff may burst into the bedroom to see if the occupants had gone insane. Eventually, their laughter tapered off until they were leaning languidly against each other, wheezing with the occasional giggle.

“We should sleep,” Colin murmured after a few quiet moments had passed. “I will confess that I do not remember the last truly restful night I had.” He paused, contemplative. “Although, part of me wants to stay awake and hear every detail of every moment that has passed since we have been apart.”

Penelope smiled up at him. “We still have many things to talk about,” she agreed, “and we can discuss everything in the morning after I spend the night in your arms.”

“Give me a moment,” Colin said with a wide grin, popping quickly into the private sitting room outside their bedchamber and returning with the pillow and blankets she had seen earlier. “I have been sleeping on the sofa,” he explained, somewhat sheepishly, when he noticed her curious look. “I could not bear to sleep in our marital bed for the first time without you.”

“Colin,” she gasped, heart squeezing almost painfully with love, and threw herself against him, rising on her tiptoes to capture his lips in a deep kiss. He immediately let the bedding fall to the floor and wrapped her in his arms, holding her close.

When they broke apart, breathless and flushed, he began to undress her, slowly and reverently. He was clearly aroused but keept his touches utilitarian and respectful for which she was grateful. As much as she wanted to make love to him, they both needed time to truly trust each other again. Their openness had gone a long way to healing the trauma of their separation, but she knew that each of them waking up to see the other still there would strengthen the security they were so desperate to recover.

When she was down to her chemise, her hair unpinned and cascading wildly down her back, he reached up and tugged off his dress shirt. A glint of gold caught her eye and she looked closer to see a fine chain gleaming against the dark hair of his naked chest. Her gaze traveled the length of the chain, breath catching as she saw her betrothal ring nestled at the end, resting just above his heart. She stared at the familiar band of gold and pearls, mouth dropping open in surprise. 

“Oh,” he breathed, following her gaze and smiling bashfully. “I could not bear to put it away. It…it made me feel closer to you and leaving it in a drawer somewhere felt like giving up and I–”

“Colin,” she interrupted with a soft smile, “I understand, you need not explain.”

“Do you-” he paused and licked his lips with obvious nerves, “...do you want it back?”

Oh, this man , she thought to herself, unable to hold in a sharp bark of laughter. “Very much,” she said eagerly. “Returning that ring to you is one the most difficult things I have ever done.”

Without breaking eye contact, Colin unfastened the chain and slipped it into the pocket of his breeches before gently taking her left hand in his and dropping to one knee.

“I love you, Penelope,” he declared, eyes glittering with joyful tears as he held the ring just out of reach of her outstretched hand. “I love you with everything I am, everything I have been and everything I hope to be. Will you marry me?”

“Yes!” she cried, smiling through her own tears as he slid the delicate band back on her finger where it belonged. “Yes, yes yes!” She tugged at his hands, trying to pull him into an embrace.

Rising back up, Colin lifted her easily and carried her to the bed, pressing gentle kisses against her forehead and cheeks, the lids of her eyes and the curve of her jaw and finally to her lips. He tucked them both into the blankets and pulled her into his arms. Tonight they would sleep and tomorrow they would plan: for the country, for their marriage, for the Queen’s forgiveness - and they would do it together.

Colin and Pen against the world.

Chapter Text

Colin knew he was a lucky man, that he had led a relatively happy life. Certainly he had experienced heartbreak and hardship - as much as someone born into his privileged status could - but the vast majority of his twenty-two years have been happy. Shining brightly within that luminous sea of delight are some of the most joyful moments of his life.

He remembered the first time he made his father laugh. A small boy of six or seven, he had secreted a well-read copy of Joe Miller’s Jests from the library at Aubrey Hall and committed several to memory. He did not understand then, nor does he remember now, the joke he recited to Edmund over tea that afternoon, but his father’s startled and genuine laughter is something he will never forget.

He remembered coming home after the Summer Half his second year at Eton and showing Anthony the grey waistcoat with black and white stripes marking him out as the new Walpole House Captain. His eldest brother had dropped the accounts ledgers he was studying and rounded his desk to wrap Colin in a tight embrace. He can still picture the esteem in Anthony’s eyes.

He remembered Daphne, two years out from her debut, spinning through the halls of Bridgerton House in one of Violet’s gowns, play-pretending being at a ball. She had tripped over the too-long hem, drawing laughter from Gregory and Eloise. Only Colin sweeping his younger sister into his own arms to resume the dance had prevented Daphne’s tears. The softness in his mother’s expression has stayed with him even years later.

For all the affection, pride and tenderness those memories evoked, nothing compared to the unfettered bliss of awakening to the sight of Penelope Featherington asleep in his arms. Her wild curls spilling fire down her back, the warmth of her cheek pressed against his naked chest, the curve of her hip under his hand as he gently pulled her closer to breathe in her familiar orange blossom scent. 

For several long moments he just looked at her, drinking in the intimate sight of her, vulnerable and slumbering. It was almost unreal, having her back, hearing her say that she still loved him, that she would stay with him. It felt like a dream. Reaching down with his free hand, he gathered a bit of tender skin from the inside of his thigh and pinched hard. The relief he felt at the pain that proved he was, in fact, awake would have brought him to his knees if he was not already lying down.

This was real. Penelope was here. This brave, brilliant, beautiful woman who had thrown him off a cliff into a deep, desperate love was in his arms and his bed and she loved him in return. The knowledge made him giddy and he found himself suppressing a laugh.

Carefully, he shifted his body down until his face was more or less level with hers. He pushed her curls back, gently pressing kisses against the curve of her jaw and down the velvet soft skin of her throat until she stirred, eyes fluttering open, and smiled at him.

“Good morning,” he whispered, kissing the smile from her lips. “I did not mean to wake you.”

She peered at him through her lashes, one eyebrow quirked in lazy amusement. “Yes, you did,” she said with a throaty chuckle.

“Well,” he shrugged, stroking a hand up and down her back, “perhaps a little.” They grinned at each other, laughing softly in the hush of the morning before bringing their lips together again and again, soft and slow and sweet.

At the feeling of her exploring fingers traveling down his chest to his belly and below, Colin pulled back enough to look curiously at Penelope. She smiled, biting her lip with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and continued her journey. Her small hand slid across the front of his breeches, catching on buttons and dragging the fabric across his hard length, before gripping him through the material, fingertips dancing over the head.

“Pen,” he gasped, fighting to keep his eyes open and hold her salacious gaze. “Pen, are you certain?”

Rather than answering with words, she took his hand in hers, slipping his fingers along the inside of her thigh where her chemise had ridden up in the night. They both gasped when their joined hands reached her center. She was naked underneath, hot and dripping with desire.

Groaning, he turned, using the arm cradling her to pull their bodies flush against each other. She threw both arms around him, kissing him deeply while he slid two fingers into her slick-wet warmth. He pumped them gently, thumbing at her little bundle of nerves while she shivered in his arms, her hands wandering into his hair and tugging mindlessly.

After a few moments, he gently pried her hands away and slid down her body enough to pull at the top of her chemise until her glorious breasts spilled out. Above him, Penelope gasped and mewled as he took first one and then the other nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling at the tender, taught flesh. Her fingers threaded back into his curls and he looked up to see her eyes screwed shut, mouth slack with bliss.

“Pen,” he whispered, flicking his tongue against her breast, “look at me.”

Her eyes blinked open and locked with his. Slowly and deliberately, he lowered himself further, pushing the thin material around her hips up to her belly. She held his gaze as he dropped feather light kisses around her center, pausing to suck a dark, possessive mark into the silk of her thigh. He glanced down briefly, running a finger through the slickness between her legs before looking back up.

“May I?” he asked softly.

“Please,” she answered breathlessly, speaking for the first time since she had teased him upon waking.

Grinning, he leaned forward and inhaled the deep ocean scent of her before licking a long, slow line through her folds. He watched as she moaned and her head fell back against the pillows. Wrapping his arms around her legs he tapped her hip a few times until she brought her eyes back to his.

Watch me , he demanded with a look, and once she had nodded her agreement he went to work. He licked into her, up and around her tender flesh, swirling around her little bud and back into her tight heat. He lapped at her greedily, drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. She was the most luscious thing he had ever tasted and he knew, even if he did this every day for the rest of their lives, he would never be satiated. 

Above him, Penelope writhed on the bed, her hands clutching and pulling his hair. When he felt her legs start to shake, he redoubled his efforts, finally letting his eyes slip closed to get lost in her sweetness. He pulled her closer and buried his face in her heat, plunging his tongue inside her over and over again until she went still, gasped in a deep breath and screamed his name.

Colin licked her through it, slowing the passes of his tongue until he was pressing soft kisses against her while she struggled to breathe normally. When he felt her finally relax, he kissed his way back up her pliant body to her mouth, letting her taste her own pleasure on his lips.

Pulling back a little, he smiled at her and leaned down to nuzzle their faces together when she smiled back. He startled a bit when he felt her hands on his backside, shifting him closer so she could wrap her legs around him.

“We do not have to,” he reminded her quietly.

“I want to,” she assured him, rocking her hips up until he could feel her heat through the material of his breeches. He moaned, his own hips jerking involuntarily and felt her chuckle at his reaction. “Just, perhaps do not-” she paused and he gave her his full attention. “I am not ready to risk another child. Not yet at least,” she amended quickly. “I want children with you one day, Colin. Desperately, in fact, but-”

He kissed her quiet, propping himself up on one arm to stroke a comforting hand down her cheek. “You need not explain your wishes to me, Pen,” he smiled tenderly. “I will do, or not do, anything you ask.”

She gave him a beautiful smile and tightened her grip on him, pulling him impossibly closer to where she was wet and waiting. “Then put yourself inside me, Colin,” she said firmly, “and bring us both to the peak of pleasure.”

His mouth dropped open at those words, her seductive demand nearly finishing him on the spot. He shook his head in affectionate incredulity and followed her orders, quickly shoving his breeches down far enough to kick them off and away before gripping himself at the base and slipping into her with a single stroke.

She gasped deeply, throwing her head back and arching up into him with fervent need. Bracing himself on his forearms, he covered her whole body with his and began thrusting slowly. He licked a slow stripe up the exposed column of her throat, kissed along the curve of her jaw, bit gently at the lobe of her ear and sucked lazily at the tender skin above her pulse point, careful to not leave a mark she would be unable to hide.

Below him, Penelope squirmed and moaned, her breasts bouncing tantalizingly with each of his increasingly hard, fast thrusts. The tight, hot coil of an impending orgasm was building low in his belly but he needed to bring her off first. Shifting to hold his weight on one arm, he ran his thumb along her bottom lip until she grinned and sucked it into her mouth, wetting the digit with her clever tongue. After a moment, he pulled his thumb away and snaked it between their bodies to press against her. 

All it took was a single swipe against the tiny, pulsing bud for Penelope to shatter in his arms. She scraped her nails down his back, crying out nonsensically while her head whipped back and forth.

“Christ, Pen,” he bit out through gritted teeth, pulling out of her, wrapping his hand around himself and stroking hard and fast. He sat up on his knees, staring at her while he pleasured himself, feasting on his view of the fevered blush of her skin and heaving breasts. She was stunning, ethereal in the wake of her climax.

Abruptly she moved. Using his arms to pull herself up and over, she folded her legs beneath her, putting her in the perfect position to lean forward and lick the exposed head of his hardness into her mouth. He could not have stopped himself from cursing even if he had bothered to try.

“Oh my - fuck , Penelope!” he panted, tangling his free hand in her wild hair. “Pen, I am so close. Can I finish in your - Pen please-” he was not certain he was making any sense at all, but when he looked down and locked eyes with the vixen before him she nodded, deliberate and sure.

He stroked himself faster while she sucked the tip of him, tongue swirling wickedly around his hypersensitive flesh until he felt himself boil over and burst, pleasure sparking from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He spilled into her waiting mouth and moaned his way through the most intense climax he had ever experienced.

He felt her withdraw slowly and he looked down to see her swallow his spend, wiping a bit of excess from her lips, before he doubled over, collapsing onto the bed next to her. She maneuvered herself to snuggle up to him and he pulled her into a kiss; a primal, possessive part of him relished the way she tasted like him.

For a long while, they simply lay there, trading lingering kisses, until he felt coherent enough to say with a breathy laugh, “Well, that was certainly unexpected.”

Penelope giggled, the blush creeping across her cheeks completely at odds with her lascivious smile. “You know what I taste like,” she explained with a small shrug, “I thought it was my turn.” He choked out another laugh and she joined him until they were gasping and clutching each other in pure joy. 

This brilliant, beautiful woman was going to be his wife and he could not wait to spend the rest of his life ensuring she was always this happy.

Groaning happily at the way the heat melted the tension from her limbs, Penelope lowered herself into the copper bathtub and in between Colin’s spread knees. He pulled her against him, her back pressed against the bare skin of his chest, head lolling against his shoulder.

As she savored the feel of Colin completely surrounding her body with his own, she let her mind wander back to earlier that morning. Once they had managed to drag themselves out of bed, Colin had quickly thrown on breeches and a shirt so he could be presentable enough to ask the long-suffering Dunwoody to deliver a message to her mother at Featherington House, entreating her to pay a call on the Bridgertons at Noon. While looking for a piece of parchment to write a similar request to Agatha, along with a plea for her to send back fresh clothing, Penelope came across a letter written to her on Colin’s desk.

When she showed it to him and asked what it was, he smiled shyly and explained that he coped with her absence by writing to her as often as he could. He set her up at his desk with paper and ink, letting her scribble a quick missive to Agatha while he retrieved his journal and pulled out several more letters, all addressed to her.

With her note complete, he handed her the letters, kissed her forehead and left to set Dunwoody to task. By the time he returned moments later, she was already on the sofa in tears, the second letter in her shaking hands. He sat and held her while she read the rest, offering commentary on each letter, explaining his thoughts and feelings.

She was nearly breathless with relief to read that he had not only long forgiven her for Whistledown but seemed to have turned the corner into gratitude for the scandals she had created in her efforts to extricate them from worse fates. She lit up with happiness when she read of Francesca’s marriage and agreed with Colin that she was going to make the perfect Countess.

“Thank you, Colin,” she whispered once she was done reading. “These were beautiful. I want to read them all again!”

He laughed happily, pecking a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. “You can read them again then, my love,” he said, beaming, “and I will prepare a bath for us.”

And now, orange scented water steaming around them, she reclined in his arms, naked and unashamed. She felt loved, she felt desired and above all she felt safe . This man who held her so tenderly was going to be her husband and she found herself staggered with disbelief.

“What are you thinking about?” Colin murmured in her ear, his fingers stroking softly against the damp skin of her breasts.

“How much I love you,” she answered honestly and he stilled behind her before wrapping her in a tight embrace and burying his face in her hair.

“I love you, too,” he rasped, “I love you so very much, Penelope.” He lifted one hand to grip her chin, gently urging her to turn toward him for a soft kiss that quickly became heated. His other hand drifted lower to pluck at her sensitive nipples and he smiled against her lips when they hardened under his touch.

“Do you think you have another release in you, Pen?” he asked, kissing across her cheek to breathe the question into her ear. “May I try to give it to you?”

She nodded frantically, throwing one hand up to grip the nape of his neck while the other gripped the side of the tub. “Yes, Colin, please. ” She punctuated her consent with a passionate kiss.

Colin obeyed, sliding one hand from her breasts to the apex of her thighs, threading through the soft wisps of red hair and along the seam of her throbbing center. “Did you do this while we were apart?” he murmured, rubbing gentle circles against the sensitive peak between her legs. 

“Yes,” she breathed, turning her head to nip at the tender skin of his throat, “so many times.”

He tugged her hand away from the side of the tub and guided it into the water, down to where she was beginning to arch and rock. “Show me,” he tried to command, his voice betraying it as a plea.

Before she could even think of a response, she looked down and watched his fingers move against her again, stroking teasingly until two of them bent and entered her. She let out a guttural moan, dropping her head back against his chest. She threaded the hand at his neck up into his hair, tugging gently at the silky strands while rubbing herself under the water. His fingers thrust inside her faster and faster, pulling her to the precipice until she could almost see her release. It was so close, she was so very close.

“Colin,” she whimpered, not even certain what she was begging for, when his free hand cupped her right breast and his thumb flicked over her taut nipple. And that was all it took. She fell apart in his arms, her own hand cupping herself around his still pumping fingers, the steady pressure drawing out her climax while he whispered filthy words of praise against the hot skin of her cheek.

Eventually, she drifted down from her peak, forcing her fingers in his hair to unclench. He brought his arms around her, and she covered his hands with her own, lacing their fingers together.

Soon they would need to wash themselves, before the water cooled completely and forced them to face the day, but for now they held each other quietly, basking in the assurance of their love.

—

“How did you even learn to do this?” Penelope asked, obediently turning her head as Colin swept her hair into a simple, serviceable style, pinning her curls up on the right and leaving the unbound locks to spill over her left shoulder. 

Dunwoody had returned shortly after their bath with messages of acknowledgement from Ladies Featherington and Danbury (the former demanding and irritated, the second pleased and knowing) along with a bundle for Penelope containing her favorite seafoam green day dress, gloves, new underclothes and several jewels and pins for her hair. Penelope, hidden behind a dressing screen, had thanked him profusely for both his help and his discretion, while Colin had quietly slipped several bills into the loyal servant’s hand.

“Frannie,” he answered, giving her a nostalgic smile in the mirror above her dressing table. “When she was a young girl she was too shy even to speak to her lady’s maid so I used to fashion her hair however she liked.”

Her mind conjured an image of little Colin caring so sweetly for his sister and Penelope smiled back at him. He was going to make such a wonderful father one day. The thought of having another chance to carry his child filled her with a bittersweet longing but she pushed it aside, not willing to spoil the peace of the moment.

Once they were both dressed for the day, Colin led her into their private sitting room and they sat together on the sofa. “Now,” he said, taking her hands and squeezing them reassuringly, “tell me everything I do not already know.”

Penelope took a deep breath and started with the night he left her outside the printer’s shop. From there, she explained her decision to run, how she ended up at Genevieve’s and how the modiste graciously protected her, going so far as to lie to the Bridgertons.

“You must not be angry with her, Colin,” Penelope said gently, noting the tightness around his eyes and the way his hands twitched in hers. “She only did what I asked her to do and she is my friend.” He nodded and kissed her hands before encouraging her to continue.

As she went on, she could tell he was surprised to learn Agatha had been involved prior to the Queen’s ruling but he assured her that he felt nothing but gratitude for Lady Danbury’s protection of her, especially as it gave the Queen a natural place for Penelope to serve out her London house arrest.

“I noticed there have not been many Whistledown issues of late,” Colin said hesitantly once Penelope had finished recounting her part of their separation.

“Oh!” Penelope blushed, “yes, I - I am working on - that is to say Whistledown has not held the same appeal for me as she once did and…” she bit her lip nervously.

“And what?” Colin asked, head tilted to the side in judgment-free curiosity.

“I am writing a book,” she said quietly, looking down at their joined hands, nervous that he may find it a silly idea, “a novella.” Suddenly Colin pulled his hands away and she looked up in time for him to cup her face and press his lips to her.

“That sounds amazing, Pen!” He exclaimed brightly, dropping his hands to squeeze her shoulders. “Will you tell me what it is about?”

Penelope smiled happily. She should have known better than to worry about his reaction, not anymore. “How about I let you read it instead? In fact, let us make a bargain. I will edit your travel journals while you edit my novella.” She stood up and offered him her hand to shake. “Agreed?”

Colin hopped up and took her hand between both of his, shaking it enthusiastically before raising it to his lips for a quick, joyful kiss. “Agreed!” He pulled her into his arms, hugging her so tightly he lifted her off her feet.

Penelope held him just as tightly, feeling again how fortunate she was to love and be loved by this man: the only man she had ever loved; the only man she would ever love. But then, she caught a glance of the clock above the hearth behind him.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Colin, it is already half eleven! We must leave for your brother’s house.”

Colin put her down and glanced over his shoulder at the time, nodding. “Come,” he said, taking her hand with a loving smile, “we can discuss our wedding plans on the way.” 

And with a smile of her own, Penelope followed her fiancé to the next step in their journey together.

Their arrival at Bridgerton House was quiet and without ceremony, Colin leading a cloaked Penelope into the servants’ entrance, through the kitchens, up to the back hallway and into Anthony’s office without encountering any of his siblings at all. Upon entering the office they were greeted by Anthony, Kate, Violet and Lady Danbury mid-conversation.

“Dearest!” Violet was up and out of her seat, arms thrown around Penelope before Colin could even speak a word. He watched them embrace, the picture of his mother and the love of his life holding each other with such genuine affection filling him with warmth. “I am so happy to see you, Penelope,” Violet said after pulling back, she and Pen both wiping tears from their eyes.

“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,” Penelope whispered with a watery smile before turning and greeting the rest of the room. “Lord Bridgerton, Viscountess,” she curtsied politely, “Agatha,” she whispered before mouthing thank you to her guardian.

“Please sit,” Kate invited kindly, gesturing to the sofa near the office door and smiling warmly as Colin took a seat with Pen, immediately entwining their hands together. “I must agree with Violet that it is a great relief to see you.”

“Yes,” Anthony reiterated, “we are all relieved you are safe, Miss Featherington, and on behalf of my family I would like to express our gratitude to you for speaking to the Queen. I hope she did not punish you too harshly.”

“Her Majesty was stern but fair,” Penelope reassured them. “I am to leave London next Friday, at the end of the season, for the country. She has ordered me to remain there for as long as it pleases her.”

Colin, eyes on Penelope, saw her exchange a look with Lady Danbury. The dowager’s answering nod was subtle but clear; agreement, Colin knew, that Penelope should tell his family everything. Well, nearly everything. With Penelope’s assurance that Lady Danbury would never betray the secret, he and Pen had decided that the story of their lost child was just for them. They would carry that ache privately, but together.

“I would like to tell you the whole story,” Penelope began, “not only what has happened in the past several weeks, but of Lady Whistledown and how she came to be.”

“A story I should very much like to hear myself,” came a ringing voice from the office door, and the whole room turned to see Portia Featherington standing in front of an apologetic looking Humboldt.

“Lady Featherington to see you, My Lord,” Humboldt explained needlessly before Anthony dismissed him with a nod.

Without waiting for an invitation, Portia took a seat next to Violet, regarding Penelope with an unreadable expression. Colin was about to open his mouth and scold the woman for not showing her formerly missing daughter even a hint of tenderness when he felt Pen squeeze his hands. He turned to see her look down at the floor and shake her head minutely. No , she pleaded silently. And so he held his tongue, satisfying himself with a cold glare in Portia’s direction. 

Lady Danbury broke through the sudden discomfort in the room. “Go on, child,” she urged with an encouraging nod to Penelope.

Pen shot her a brief, grateful smile before beginning her story. She spoke, uninterrupted, for a long time. She told them of her lifelong feelings of loneliness; of how powerless she felt as a young girl with no say in her own life, no control over its inertia and direction. She explained how Lady Whistledown was born from a place of desperation and became her voice, her solace and her armor.

As she continued, expressing her sorrow for but the necessity of exposing Lady Crane and Eloise, Colin watched the occupants of the room closely. He cataloged Anthony's nods of acceptance, Kate’s genuine interest, his mother’s affection and Lady Danbury’s respect. Portia remained the only mystery as she sat statue-like, eyes fixed on the wall across from her.

It was not until Penelope began recounting the details of her disappearance that Colin saw a shift in Lady Featherington’s countenance. He noted a tremble in the set of her mouth and the way her hands twisted in her lap. Her eyes turned glassy when Pen spoke of her audience with the Queen and subsequent order of banishment from London.

“And then eventually, with Agatha’s encouragement, I went to see Colin,” Pen said in conclusion. “I knew I owed him the truth about everything, and as we spoke, he helped me realize I should never have left him at all.” She turned to him and looked directly into his eyes. “And I never will again,” she whispered. He was ready to lean down and kiss her right there, audience be damned, when Portia interrupted the moment.

“I see you are wearing his betrothal ring, Penelope,” she remarked, glancing at her daughter before quickly looking away again.

“That is because we are still to be married,” Colin stated in a tone that made it clear his declaration was not open for debate.

“Forgive me, dearest,” Violet interjected, voice deliberately calm, “but Penelope must leave London at the end of the season. There is not enough time to have the banns read again before then.”

“We could request a special license,” his brother suggested. “Forgive my indelicate question, Miss Featherington, but is there a chance you could be with child?”

“ No ,” Colin exclaimed, his voice nearly drowning out Violet’s scolding cry of ‘Anthony!’ He moved to stand, intent on making his brother apologize for insulting his fiancée, but Pen tightened her grip on his hands, forcing him to keep his seat and his temper. 

“Colin is correct,” Penelope said with feigned serenity, the unsteadiness of her voice betraying her distress, “yet even if it was possible, a special license is not. Her Majesty would not allow it.”

“What is your plan then?” Kate asked, her expression shrewd.

He looked at Penelope and she nodded, a small smile ticking up the corner of her lush mouth as the thought of their marriage calmed them both. “Scotland,” he said plainly. Only Kate and Lady Danbury did not react with surprise and Colin held up a hand to halt the arguments he saw brimming from his brother, his mother and Portia. “The Queen has banished Penelope to the country at the end of the season, but she did not stipulate where in the country she must go.”

“Her Majesty placed me under the guardianship of Agatha - Lady Danbury,” Penelope reminded them, “so if you, Lord Bridgerton, were to invite her to Aubrey Hall for the summer…”

“It would only be natural for Penelope to travel with her,” Colin finished with a smile. “We can establish her as our guest, and then quietly elope to Scotland without being detected.”

“You cannot possibly believe I will allow you to travel alone with my unchaperoned, unmarried daughter for days on end,” Portia spat, fixing Colin with an icy stare.

“Certainly not,” Agatha cut in before Colin or Penelope could respond. “Miss Featherington’s lady’s maid has been in my employ the past few weeks and has proved herself to be as reliable as she is loyal. Rae can travel with them and act as chaperone.” She turned her head a bit and gave Pen a tiny wink. For her part, Portia was silenced.

“Brother,” Anthony said gently, “you are aware that this plan means your family will be unable to see you wed. If you were to wait until next year, perhaps-”

“Absolutely not,” Colin interrupted. He looked down into Pen’s eyes, gazing at her with all the love in his heart, even as he continued to address his brother. “We have been separated long enough. There is no force on earth that will stop me from marrying her as soon as possible. As far as I am concerned she is already my wife; the wedding is merely a formality.” 

This time he did not stop himself from leaning down to press a soft, loving kiss to her brow. He ignored the scandalized gasps of their mothers, choosing instead to drop a second kiss to the tip of his fiancée’s nose and relish in the quiet giggle it awarded him.

He dragged his eyes away from his future bride and spoke again, giving each person in the room a brief, measured look. “This is what we have decided and while nothing would please us more than to have your blessings and support, we will do it alone if we must.”

Anthony rose and walked out from behind his desk, approaching the sofa where Colin sat, still holding Pen’s hands in his own. When Anthony stopped in front of them, they stood simultaneously, sensing the importance of the moment.

“You are a Bridgerton, Colin,” Anthony smiled, “you will never be alone.” He held out his hand for Colin to take. “You have my blessing and my support.”

Weak with relief, Colin grasped his brother’s hand, shaking it vigorously before wrapping him in a grateful embrace. “Thank you, Anthony,” he breathed once he had pulled back again. “ Thank you. ” Beside him, Penelope echoed the sentiment, looking slightly awed as Anthony dropped a brotherly kiss to her hand.

Kate, Violet and Lady Danbury rushed to pull Penelope into warm hugs of their own, expressing their delight at their impending marriage and, from his mother and Kate, their joy at Pen becoming, respectively, their daughter and sister.

Finally, Portia stood and commented flatly, “it seems as though there is a great deal of planning to do. Perhaps my daughter and Mr. Bridgerton would be so good as to see me out so the rest of you can get to work?”

Colin looked at Penelope to see what she thought of that and received a small shrug in response. “Of course,” Colin replied warily.

An uncomfortable silence hung between the three of them like a fog as they made their way down the hall to the foyer. While they waited for a maid to fetch Portia’s pelisse, the older woman finally turned to her daughter, giving Penelope her full attention. Reaching out, she took Penelope’s hands in her own and said the very last thing Colin expected to hear.

“Penelope, my darling girl… I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

“I - what?” Pen responded, clearly just as baffled as he was.

“I… regret the way I have treated you” Portia declared, her voice breaking. “You had no voice because I took yours away. You could not find solace because I did not give you any. You needed armor to protect yourself from me .”

“Mama,” Penelope breathed, stunned.

“It took time,” Portia explained, taking a deep, unsteady breath “and a rather surprising correspondent, but I realize now the pain you have fought through and how much of that pain was my fault.”

Penelope stared at her mother for a long moment, apparently speechless, before bursting into tears and beginning to weep openly. She turned toward Colin who wrapped her in his arms, holding her trembling body close and stroking her hair soothingly. He knew how much that admission had cost Portia but even more, he knew how the full impact of the words would hit his bride. The scars left by Penelope’s upbringing would not fade with a few apologetic words, however genuine they seemed to be.

“I believe Pen may need time of her own, Lady Featherington,” Colin murmured, and felt Penelope nod subtly against his chest. “She has been through so much, especially in these past weeks.” 

Portia nodded, eyes not leaving her daughter. “Of course, I understand.”

“May I ask who you have been corresponding with about Penelope?” Colin asked, truly curious as to who could have had enough influence to bring this woman around but concerned about who would be audacious enough to discuss Penelope with her own mother.

As if on cue, there was a new voice from beyond the foyer, coming down the staircase toward them. “Portia, is that you? Are you here to see me?”

Penelope went still in his arms before turning slowly toward the voice, a mixture of shock, fear and hope written plainly across her face.

There before them, her own mouth open in surprise, stood Eloise.

Chapter Text

“ Penelope…”

Penelope saw, rather than heard her best friend whisper her name and had the fleeting thought that she did not believe Eloise had ever spoken so softly.

Eyes still wide with shock, Eloise took one step forward and then another. Penelope matched her slow progress forward until both women broke and rushed across the foyer, meeting halfway in a tangle of grasping arms and tears. The girls clutched each other, gasping apologies; half-asked questions about the other’s well-being spilling from trembling lips.

Finally pulling away enough to hold Eloise’s hands in her own, Penelope glanced behind her to see her mother standing where she had left her, uncomfortable but silent. Colin had moved closer, a warm smile brightening his eyes, ready to offer any support she may need.

“I am so happy to see you, Pen,” Eloise breathed through tear-filled laughter.

“And I you,” Penelope replied, releasing one of her friend’s hands to wipe her own tears away.

Eloise glanced between her and Colin, then over to Portia before landing back on Penelope. “Where have you been all this time?” she asked urgently. “We have all been worried sick since we were forced to leave you with the Queen.”

“That is a long story.” Penelope chuckled. “One which I’m happy to share with you soon, El, but first-” she paused and glanced over at her mother who was now standing beside them, wringing her hands nervously. “Am I to understand you and my mother have been writing to each other? About me?”

“We have,” Portia answered, giving Eloise a smile more genuine than Penelope had ever seen her give any Bridgerton, let alone the one she had once referred to as a ‘ruffian and malcontent.’

“After Cressida,” Eloise spat the name like a curse, “revealed your identity to your mother I sent her a note trying to explain your motives and motivations.” She looked over at Portia and shrugged almost bashfully. “One note led to two notes and eventually we were exchanging letters nearly every day.”

Beside Penelope, Colin made a frustrated sound. “Why did you not share these letters with me, Eloise?” he asked in a hurt tone. “Do you not trust me?”

Eloise sighed, obviously doing her best not to roll her eyes. “I do not share the names of all my correspondents with you, brother.” At his crestfallen expression she softened a bit. “It is not a matter of trust. It was all I could do to get you to discuss Whistledown with me ,” she explained. “I did not think you were ready to discuss it with anyone else.”

Colin frowned but did not argue further. Instead he stepped closer and took Penelope’s hand in his as though he found comfort in her touch. She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him before turning to her mother.

“I am not sorry for Whistledown,” Penelope said carefully, “she was a great comfort to me for a very long time… but I am sorry for the hurt I caused people I love,” she paused. “Including you, mama.”

Portia nodded, eyes misty. “I know you are, my girl.” She took a tentative step forward, reaching for the hand that was not clutched in Colin’s and said, “Can we start afresh as mother and daughter, do you think?”

Penelope was silent for a long moment, the warm, steady presence of Colin and Eloise soothing her beyond measure. “Yes,” she answered eventually, “but we must build that relationship slowly and carefully. I will not learn to trust you overnight, nor would I expect that of you.”

Portia nodded and stepped back, releasing Penelope’s hand to dab at her eyes with a handkerchief retrieved from the pocket of her gown. “I understand. May I come to Lady Danbury’s and have tea with you tomorrow?”

“Lady Danbury’s?” Colin exclaimed, tugging her hand to bring her attention to him. “Why can you not stay here?” He gestured around the foyer to indicate Bridgerton House. “We are your family now. We will prepare you a room and I will move back into my old chamber-”

“Colin Bridgerton! You will do no such thing!” Violet cried, stepping out from the office with Anthony, Kate and Lady Danbury just behind her. Penelope noted that the Viscount looked impatient, Kate unsurprised and Lady Danbury amused. 

“Penelope is in my guardianship on the orders of the Queen,” Lady Danbury reminded the group and Eloise let out a quiet ‘oh!’ of surprise. “She must remain in my home until we depart for Aubrey Hall next week.” Agatha glanced at the clock mounted on the other side of the foyer. “In fact, we should return there now as you have been away too long already,” she advised, fixing Penelope with a knowing look.

“Pen,” Colin whined next to her, “I do not want you to leave me.”

Turning to him fully, Penelope raised a comforting hand to Colin’s cheek. “I am not leaving you,” she reassured in a quiet voice, just for him. “I will never leave you. But Agatha is right. I cannot risk angering Her Majesty any more than I already have.” Colin covered her hand on his face with his own and closed his eyes briefly before nodding at her.

“All right,” he whispered. “I do not like it, but I understand.”

“Agatha?” Penelope called, her eyes never leaving her financé’s. “Might we invite the Bridgertons for dinner tomorrow evening?” Colin finally smiled.

“I think that would be a wonderful idea,” Agatha agreed with a mischievous grin in her voice. “Perhaps Mr. Bridgerton would like to arrive early to help us prepare for our guests?”

Laughing softly, Penelope turned to her friend and nodded. “I believe he would be of great assistance.” She sobered a bit then and looked at her mother. “I will see you for tea tomorrow then?” she asked carefully.

Portia nodded before glancing around, pausing and drawing Penelope into her arms for a brief hug. “I will see you then,” she said quickly. Then, turning toward the door, she took her pelisse from a waiting servant and swept out the door.

There was a weighted pause in Portia’s absence before Anthony spoke up.

“Well, we have worked out several details. The family will leave for Aubrey Hall the day before the season ends,” he stated, “and Miss Featherington will follow with Lady Danbury on Friday. This will ensure there are no whispers of Colin being alone with any unmarried woman, save for one of his sisters,” he shot his brother a pointed look.

Colin threw up his hands in frustration. “I am a grown man, brother,” he frowned. “I am quite capable of controlling myself in the company of my fiancée.”

To their credit, no one quite laughed, although Eloise covered a scoff by clearing her throat and Kate’s face twitched suspiciously.

“Yes, well,” Violet interjected diplomatically, “be that as it may, it would be better for everyone that no one knows Penelope is with us until we are safe in the country.”

“From there we will plot your route to Scotland,” Anthony agreed. “I will write the necessary letters to secure separate rooms for you at reputable inns along the way.”

“Scotland?” Eloise asked.

“They should change horses here in Mayfair,” Agatha piped up. “I would be happy to offer a spare carriage to take you as far as Bletchley.”

“Why are you going to Scotland?” Eloise asked a little louder.

“Thank you, Lady Danbury,” Colin said gratefully. “We can engage a hired coach from there and hopefully be in Gretna Green in less than a week.”

“Are we openly planning an elopement in the foyer?” Eloise blurted out, arms flailing slightly.

“Very well, then,” Agatha nodded and held a hand out in Colin’s direction. “Come, Mr. Bridgerton. Escort your bride and me to our carriage.”

Grinning happily, Colin bounded forward and offered one arm to Agatha and one arm to Penelope before leading them toward the door.

“Will someone please tell me what the bloody hell is going on!?” Eloise shouted from behind her to Violet’s cry of ‘ language !’

Laughing, Penelope tightened her grip on Colin’s arm. It was so good to be home.

Colin was beginning to loathe Rae. 

Penelope’s lady’s maid was still kind and attentive to his fiancée and Penelope obviously cared for her a great deal, but gone was the biddable, bribable young woman from earlier in the season. In her place was a gatekeeping guardian seemingly dedicated to ensuring he and Penelope were never alone together.

At Danbury House she chaperoned him with Pen during tea, joined them in the library while they passed pages of their writing back and forth and even followed behind them as they took a turn in the gardens on a particularly lovely afternoon. Every time Colin leaned down to whisper something in Penelope’s ear or even try to press an innocent kiss to her brow, Rae would loudly clear her throat or appear at Penelope’s side with an excuse to separate them. In desperation, he took to leaving flirtatious notes in the margins of his paper just to see Pen flush when she read them.

He had hoped for a reprieve once they reached Aubrey Hall, but from the moment Lady Danbury’s carriage arrived (Penelope flying out of the door and into Colin’s waiting arms as though they had been apart for a year rather than a day), Rae had been practically stitched to her lady’s side. 

Even the one night he managed to sneak unnoticed into Penelope’s bedchamber, he discovered with horror that either Anthony or his mother had actually installed a second bed for the meddling maid. He pressed a soft kiss to Pen’s cheek before slipping away as the women slept. (When he told Penelope about the misadventure the next morning she laughed so prettily that he was almost glad he had failed. Almost.)

The only time Rae was absent from the room was during family time, and even then, Eloise was there in her place: pulling Pen away to speak in quiet corners, read books together or take seemingly endless walks around the grounds. Jealous as he was at the attention his wife-to-be paid to his sister, he knew how desperately they had missed each other during their estrangement. He could not bring himself to resent Eloise when he saw the constant smile Penelope wore in her company. 

After their quiet departure from Aubrey Hall, Rae had joined them as promised and planned. Sitting resolutely next to Penelope as they trundled back to London, as Lady Danbury’s carriage rumbled toward Bletchley, as they moved to a hired hack. He had briefly wondered if he could find a reason to ‘forget’ Rae when they changed horses, but even in his frustrated state, Colin would never leave a young lady alone and unprotected, even one so determined to keep him away from his bride.

The entirety of their journey to Scotland had followed the same pattern. They would travel for hours, passing the time by reading or Colin telling stories from his travels that Pen had heard many times before but never tired of hearing, until they reached their inn for the evening. After a chaperoned dinner, they would retreat to their separate rooms: Colin alone and Penelope with Rae. In the morning they would break their fast together, again, chaperoned, before starting all over again.

They reached their final stop, a beautiful manor house-turned-hotel called Gretna Hall, a full six days after leaving the Aubrey Hall and Colin was going out of his mind with the need to really touch Penelope. He wanted to hold her, kiss her. He wanted to strip her bare, sink inside of her and never let her go.

And so now, in the quiet of his room a few doors down from the one Penelope shared with Rae (and a floor below the private suite he and his new wife would share tomorrow night) Colin scribbled a quick note on the corner of a piece of parchment, tore it off and slipped the tiny missive into his pocket. When Rae falls asleep, step out of your room. I will be waiting.

Smiling at his ingenuity, Colin shrugged on his waistcoat, deciding to forgo the cravat this evening, and headed into the hall where he walked the short distance away and knocked on the door to Penelope’s room. This evening they would share their final, chaperoned meal as a betrothed couple. First thing in the morning, the blacksmith that Gretna Green affectionately called “Bishop” David Lang, would marry them with a swing of his hammer. Colin was nearly vibrating with anticipation.

The door in front of him swung open, startling him out of his thoughts of the next day.

“Sir,” Rae greeted with a small nod.

“Good evening,” Colin replied politely. “I am here to escort you and Miss Featherington downstairs for dinner,” he explained, as though they had not done this exact dance five evenings in a row. 

“Yes,” Rae agreed in a tone that made it clear she was having the same thought. “Miss?” she called over her shoulder, “Mr. Bridgerton is here.”

“Thank you, Rae,” Penelope called, stepping into Colin’s line of sight at last. She looked achingly beautiful in her lilac evening gown, hair swept into a loose braid and tumbling over her shoulder, pretty tendrils framing her sweet face. “Good evening, Colin,” she said with a bright smile.

“Pen,” Colin smiled back as he extended both arms, one for each young lady, led them downstairs.

Dinner turned out to be lamb-filled Scotch pies, dish after dish of steaming carrots, onions and potatoes and thick oatcakes topped with soft, fresh crowdie. The dining area was full but not crowded, vibrant but not loud and comfortable without being overwarm. Colin tucked happily into his meal after making sure the women under his protection were seated and served.

Thrice during dinner, Colin surreptitiously emptied half his own mug of ale into Rae’s emptying cup before gesturing for a refill. Though her lady’s maid was seemingly oblivious, the twinkle in Penelope’s eye when she caught his gaze made it clear his scheme had not gone entirely unnoticed. 

Once the dinner dishes had been cleared away by the kitchen staff, plates piled with tiny squares of shortbread topped with caramel and chocolate were brought to the tables along with more ale as well as snifters of brandy for those willing to lay out a bit more coin. Colin ate several of the sweet treats and sipped slowly at his own brandy while Penelope nursed the same ale she had been served with dinner. At her side, Rae sat drowsily nibbling a piece of shortbread, the telltale flush of intoxication high on her cheeks.

Colin was about to suggest they retire for the night when a single, clear baritone voice rose from a corner of the room.

Of all the money that e'er I had I spent it in good company

Colin blinked in recognition and smiled in the voice’s direction just as a second singer joined in from the table next to them.

And all the harm that e'er I did alas, it was to none but me

From across the room, a third man joined in to create a trio of warm, welcoming voices.

And all I've done for want of wit to memory now I can't recall

So fill to me the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all

Colin glanced over just in time to see sheer delight blossom on Penelope’s face as the entire dining room started to sing.

If I had money enough to spend and leisure time to sit awhile

There is a fair maid in this town who sorely has my heart beguiled

Reaching out, Colin caught Penelope’s hand in his, grinned and began to sing along with the merry group with whom they had shared their meal. He looked into her beautiful, coastal blue eyes and sang the next lines directly to her.

Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips, I own she has my heart in thrall

So fill to me the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all

Penelope’s jaw dropped in surprise before she blushed and bit her lip bashfully. Colin squeezed her hand and continued the song with the men and women slowly preparing to head home for the night.

Of all the comrades that e'er I've had they're sorry for my going away

And all the sweethearts that e'er I had they'd wish me one more day to stay

But since it fell into my lot that I should rise and you should not

I'll gently rise and I'll softly call goodnight and joy be with you all

By the time they reached the final lines of the chorus, Penelope had figured out enough of the cadence to sing along and with a warm, happy smile, added her lovely voice to the choir and finished the song with him.

Come fill to me the parting glass, goodnight and joy be with you all

Goodnight and joy be with you all

“Where did you learn that?” Penelope asked breathlessly, her face still bright with awe as people around them began to slowly depart. She had moved closer to him as they sang and her leg was brushing temptingly against his under the table.

“Galway,” Colin explained, smiling fondly at his memories of the rolling hills in the beautiful riverside town. “It is an old Scottish folk song but the Irish sing it as well.”

Penelope’s eyes widened, “I did not realize you had been to Ireland this summer,” she smiled wistfully. “I have cousins there, but mama has not taken us to visit in many years.”

“I would be honored to take you to Ireland when we are married, my love,” he promised. “With your fiery hair and those crystal eyes, you will become the most beautiful English-Irish lass on the Emerald Isle.”

“Colin,” she giggled shyly.

“I actually bought you a gift there,” he hinted, thinking of the ring hidden safely in his trunk upstairs, the ring he now intended to slip on her finger at their wedding in the morning, “but you cannot have it just now,” he teased.

A feigned pout scrunched her adorable features and she opened her mouth to protest just as a raucous laugh from one of the remaining patrons echoed through the room. The abruptly loud noise startled Rae out of her slumping doze and she jolted upright, nearly spilling the dregs of her remaining ale onto the table.

“Miss!” she cried blearily, “I believe it is time to retire for the evening.” She stood and gave Colin as pointed of a look as she was able, given her clear exhaustion.

“Certainly,” Colin replied and with a thank you to the kitchen staff, led the ladies back upstairs to the rooms. At Penelope’s door, he made a show of searching the pockets of his trousers for her key before ‘remembering’ it was in his waistcoat. After opening the door, he reached for Penelope’s hand and kissed it gently, smiling at the way her eyes widened when she felt the scrap of paper he secreted into her palm.

With a satisfied smile, Colin crept down the hall to a cushioned bench tucked into a small recess, sat down and waited for his bride to emerge.

Penelope was not usually a swift riser. She preferred to wake slowly, luxuriating in soft bedding while mentally preparing herself for the day - especially when her days had so often been filled with the vapid cruelty of her sisters or the malicious neglect of her mother.

But today was different. She awoke to the early-morning sun streaming through the curtains no one had closed the evening before and sat bolt upright.

“It is my wedding day,” she whispered to herself, feeling a huge grin stretch across her face. She looked over to see Rae rubbing her eyes, still prone on the servant’s bed in the corner and said a bit louder, “it is my wedding day!”

“Yes, Miss,” Rae yawned, dragging herself out of bed. She grimaced and touched a hand to her brow. “I believe I may have overindulged at dinner last night, Miss,” she warbled and sat back down.

Knowing precisely what Colin had done last night to incapacitate her maid, Pen bit back a guilty frown and stepped out of bed to fetch Rae a glass of water. “Drink this,” she ordered gently, handing the glass off, “I will ready myself as much as I can while you rest.”

“Thank you, Miss,” Rae smiled gratefully. “I know I have said this before, but I am happy that Lady Danbury returned me to your service and I hope it is not too bold to say that I would wish to remain with you even after you are married.”

“It is not too bold, Rae. I will remind you that you should always be free to speak your mind with me,” Penelope replied warmly, “and I would be honored to have you in my household when we return to England.”

Rae smiled again, turning her head to hide her blush, and began sipping at her water while Penelope sat at her dressing table to comb out her hair. As she brushed through her wild curls, her mind drifted to the evening before.

When soft snores began to drift from the direction of Rae’s bed, Penelope slipped silently out of her own bed, donned a dressing gown over her nightdress and tiptoed toward the door which she opened as carefully as possible. She closed it quietly and turned to find Colin already directly behind her. She only just managed not to cry out in surprise.

Before she could even speak, he swept her into his arms and kissed her so passionately she was lifted clean off of her feet. She threw her arms around his neck and held on as he walked the several steps to his own room and let them in, firmly closing the door behind them and setting her on the edge of his bed.

“My god, Pen,” he murmured, trailing desperate kisses across her cheeks, against her lips and down her throat. “I have missed you so much.”

“Colin,” she laughed breathlessly, pushing her fingers into his curls as he dropped to his knees and pulled open her dressing gown so he could move his mouth to the tops of her breasts, running his tongue along the tender skin at the neckline of her nightdress. “We have been together constantly for weeks!”

“We have not been alone ,” he grumbled, rising up to capture her lips again, plundering her mouth with his tongue while his hands wandered down to pluck at her hardened nipples.

“Colin, wait, please,” Penelope requested gently, pulling his hands away from her breasts and kissing them gently to soothe the sting of concern on his face. “I do not wish to disappoint you, but-” She broke off, eyes sliding down and away. Her mama had been very clear about a wife’s duty toward her husband and though she and Colin were not yet wed, she knew that formality meant little to either of them. 

A tender hand against her cheek brought her gaze back up and she found Colin giving her a soft, encouraging smile. “I cannot imagine anything you could say or do in this moment that would disappoint me, Pen.”

“If it is all right with you, that is to say, with your permission, I-” she paused again, remembering that this was Colin kneeling patiently in front of her. He saw her as an equal, not someone who required her permission to make decisions regarding her own body. She squared her shoulders and said calmly, “I would like to wait until tomorrow night before we are… together again, if you understand my meaning.”

“Of course,” Colin replied with an easy smile. “If that is what you wish then that is what we will do.” He rose from his place on the floor and sat next to her, still holding her hands, thumbs brushing gentle circles onto her wrists.

“You are not disappointed?” she asked, still concerned.

Colin shook his head. “Disappointed is the incorrect word,” he replied carefully. “Of course I would love nothing more than to be with you tonight, but Penelope,” he squeezed her hands and looked intently into eyes, “nothing intimate will ever happen between us unless it is what we both want. You will be my wife, not my property.”

The relief that flooded through her was astounding and she could not help but to throw her arms around him and hold him tightly as they whispered ‘I love you’ to each other in the candlelit room.

After a while, they stood and Colin adjusted her dressing gown to cover her more fully. Quickly checking that the hallway was still deserted, he walked her back to her door.

“May I kiss you?” he asked after they had said goodnight again and at her smiling nod kissed her gently once, twice and a third time.

Penelope raised up on her tiptoes and whispered to him, “the next time I fall asleep in your arms, it will be as your lawful wife.” And with a smile at the heated, anticipatory desperation in his eyes, slipped back into her room and closed the door.

“Miss?” Rae’s questioning voice startled Penelope from her memories and she blinked at her reflection in the mirror, finally noticing her maid’s raised eyebrows. Rae wiggled the decorative silver comb she was holding in one hand and waved the brush she must have taken from Penelope’s own hand in the other. “Are you ready?”

“Oh!” Penelope startled, clearing her throat. “Yes, Rae. Thank you.”

As Rae worked to sweep Pen’s curls up on one side, secured with the silver comb, she caught Penelope’s eyes in the mirror and failed to fully suppress her smile. “I will not pretend to be ignorant as to the content of your daydreams, Miss,” she said knowingly, “but I also would not speak them aloud. I will simply say that if you continue those musings you will put the rouge makers out of business.”

Flushing even deeper to know how obvious her thoughts were, Penelope laughed in surprise and patted Rae’s hand that had come to rest on her shoulder. 

After her hair was done, her eyes shaded with pale peach and her lips brightened to a pretty pink, Rae helped her into her stockings, chemise and corset before retrieving the dress box where Penelope’s wedding gown, currently draped across the frame of her dressing screen, had been stored since they had retrieved it from Danbury House.

“I found this when I laid out your gown last night,” Rae explained, handing Penelope a note wrapped in silk ribbons in a familiar shade of blue. 

Pulling the ribbons away, Penelope opened the note.

Penelope,

Lady Danbury sent me word of your Scottish plans so I have taken it upon myself to finish your wedding gown. The garter ribbons I have used to bind this letter are my gift to you. I am certain your Mr. Bridgerton will find them almost as lovely as the woman who wears them. Enjoy your wedding night, ma chère amie.

Yours,

Genevieve 

Blushing yet again, Penelope held the note out to Rae who read it quickly before barking out a delighted laugh. “I believe your modiste friend is correct, Miss,” she grinned, taking the ribbons and tying them securely around Penelope’s stockinged thighs.

“It was already so kind of her to finish my dress,” Penelope murmured, standing to run her hands along the soft satin of her wedding gown, “I certainly was not expecting a gift on top of it.”

“You are surrounded by people who care for you,” Rae began, helping Penelope step into her dress and working her way through the tiny buttons on the back of the bodice. “I know you are not accustomed to feeling loved,” she continued, clearly having taken Penelope’s advice to speak her mind to heart, “but I have no doubt you will learn quickly once you are a Bridgerton.”

“So, in roughly an hour?” Penelope joked and at Rae’s nod, they both dissolved into giggles.

After they recovered, Penelope removed her betrothal ring and tucked it carefully into the small box of jewels on her dressing table. Once it was secure, Rae turned Penelope gently toward the full-length mirror near the dressing screen and fiddled with the skirts of the gown, puffing them out to give Penelope the full effect of the beautiful dress Genevieve had made for her.

The floor-length satin gown was visibly ivory but in the right light, the shimmering material shifted to reveal the barest ice blue undertones. The fitted French cut accentuated her hourglass figure while the neckline dipped into a deep vee, just this side of scandalous. At her throat glittered the diamond necklace Colin had given her as an engagement gift. Her shoulders were bare but for the sheer lace that gathered there and cascaded like mist down her arms to meet the ivory silk gloves at her wrists. Dotted up one side of the skirt, like a small spring trail, were tiny yellow and blue flowers fashioned from the most delicate chiffon Penelope had ever seen. 

“I feel like a princess,” Penelope whispered just as there was a knock at the door.

“And there is your prince,” Rae replied before crossing the room to open it.

Turning, Penelope stepped away from the mirror and toward the now open door. Colin’s entire face went slack when he saw her, his breathing visibly quickening. Looking at the man who would soon be her husband, Penelope felt in much the same state. 

His soft, fitted breeches perfectly matched the color of his deep blue, long-tailed coat. Pinned to the lapel, cheerful sprigs of blue and yellow flowers peeked from a silver boutonniere holder. The silvery sheen of his vest complimented the pure white of his dress shirt and drew Penelope’s eye to the royal blue cravat tied at his throat. He was so beautiful it was almost unreal.

After they had each looked their fill, Colin leaned down to whisper quietly in her ear, “I will admit, a not insignificant part of me wants to carry you to my room and rid you of that gown this very moment,” he paused and pressed a covert kiss to her temple, “but that would defeat the object of you having put it on in the first place.”

She could not help but blush yet again, especially as Colin stepped back, took her left hand in his and reverently kissed her silk-covered palm.

“Rae,” Colin began, his eyes never leaving Penelope, “I know you have been reluctant to take my coin as of late, but I hope you will allow me to pay you a generous bonus for your services these past several days as well as a little more so you may explore the town while my wife and I are… occupied after our wedding?”

“Colin!” Penelope gasped on a gasp but he merely shrugged at her.

“Certainly, sir,” Rae answered with a bit of cheek to her tone. “I must reacquaint myself with your coin as I am to join your wife’s household.”

“Lovely!” Colin cried happily and glanced over to press several bills into Rae’s hand. As she slipped the money into the pocket of her dress, Colin gave her a serious look. “Do not carry that all at once,” he advised, “just to be safe.”

“I understand,” Rae nodded and then began shooing the couple away. “Now go! The smith will be open for business any moment!”

With a bow from Colin and a wave from Penelope, the pair made their way downstairs where Colin had engaged a curricle so he could drive them across the village to the anvil priest who would marry them. It was a short drive, so short in fact that Penelope wondered why they had not simply walked, but looking at the pride on Colin’s face as they passed in the open air, she realized he had done this so people would see her, would see them.  

She felt an intense wave of love for this man who was so delighted to be with her that he had arranged transport simply to show her off. When Colin rolled the curricle to a stop, handing off the reins to a waiting servant, Penelope leaned over and kissed his cheek quickly, relishing his surprised but appreciative smile.

“I love you too,” he whispered knowingly before hopping to the ground and circling to her side. He lifted her easily from her seat and set her gently down next to him. Hands linked, they walked inside where a tall man was pulling a horseshoe from the shop’s forge, his leather gloves and apron incongruous with the black cleric’s hat and robe he wore as well.

“Mr. Lang?” Colin called out and then corrected himself, “Bishop Lang?”

The smith turned, eyeing them shrewdly before putting his tongs down on the hearth and removing his gloves. “Come to be married, have you?” he asked and the couple nodded. “Very well. £2 then, before the hammer swings.”

Colin passed Lang the coin which he quickly pocketed before turning his attention to Penelope. “How old are you?”

“Oh! I am twenty,” she answered, glancing at Colin who smiled, reassuring her with a look that this was normal.

“Are you married or betrothed to another?”

Penelope blinked in surprise before answering quickly, “No, sir, absolutely not.”

He nodded absently and turned to Colin. “And you?”

“Two and twenty,” Colin replied and then smiled down at her. “I am not married nor am I betrothed to anyone but the lovely woman standing here with me.”

“Witnesses?” Lang asked, ignoring their affectionate display. “I can call some in from the street if you need.”

“Yes, please,” Colin said politely. “We have no one with us.”

“No one?” A familiar voice rang out from behind them and both Colin and Penelope turned to see, of all people, Francesca and her husband, John walking through the blacksmith’s door. “Is that any way to refer to your favorite sister?”

“Frannie!” Colin cried, pulling his sister into a tight hug as John smiled and greeted Penelope with a gentlemanly bow and a serene smile.

“Lord Kilmartin, Francesca,” Penelope curtsied equal parts shocked and pleased to see Colin’s sister and her husband, “what are you - how did you know we were here?”

“Eloise.” Francesa explained once Colin had finally released her and moved on to embrace John. “When we reached the inn at Glasgow there was an express from her waiting for us. She told us of your plans and asked if we could forgo the Highlands long enough to ensure you had family at your wedding.” She reached out and took Penelope’s hand. “You and Colin, sister.”

Penelope felt her eyes fill with tears but before she could even respond, Francesca had wrapped her in a warm hug. “You have always been part of our family, Penelope,” she whispered, “marrying my brother simply ensures that you remain so.” 

Squeezing Francesca tightly one last time, Penelope let go and stepped back, only to be gathered into Colin’s arms as he gently kissed away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks.

“Excuse me,” Lang interjected from behind the group, “but are we having a wedding here or not? I’ve got work to do.”

“Of course,” Colin placated, steering Pen back toward the anvil, “my apologies, Bishop Lang.” 

The man seemed pleased by the use of his honorary title and nodded with a slight smile.

“All right then, say your words.”

Turning to each other, hands held between them, Penelope and Colin recited in unison:

“I promise to love thee wholly and completely, 

Without restraint, 

In sickness and in health, 

In plenty and in poverty, 

In life and beyond, 

Where we shall meet, remember, and love again."

Lang raised his hammer but Colin pulled one of his hands free with a quick, “wait,” and, reaching into his pocket, withdrew a ring. Taking her left hand in his, he pulled her white glove off and held the ring just beyond the tip of her fourth finger. It was a bright, gleaming silver in the shape of two hands tenderly holding a jewel-crowned heart. It was beautiful. Penelope looked up at Colin to see him holding back his own tears even as hers spilled over once more.

Taking a deep breath, Colin slid the ring on her finger, heart facing inward, and softly vowed: “I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people and your ways as I respect myself.”

Completely overcome with love for him, Penelope threw her arms around Colin and was about to meet his lips for a kiss when the blacksmith once again interrupted them.

“Och!” Lang cried, exasperated, “we’re not there yet, lass!” He raised his hammer yet again but before he could swing it, John stepped forward.

“If I could have a moment?” he asked in his calm, quiet voice and Lang lowered the hammer again, sighing and waving at John impatiently. “Thank you,” John nodded at the blacksmith before turning to face Colin and Penelope. With one hand on each of their arms and a warm smile dancing in his eyes, the Earl of Kilmartin blessed their marriage. 

“May you both be blessed with the fortitude of heaven, the brightness of the sun and the brilliance of the moon. May you have the magnificence of fire, speed of lightning, quickness of wind, depth of the sea, stability of earth, and the sturdiness of rock. May your joys be as sweet as the flowers that blossom in spring and as radiant as the summer sun. May the shower of autumn leaves bring to you faith and fortune, and may your love be resilient amidst the long winter nights. Beannachd Dia dhuit.”

“Meal do naidheachd!” Lang shouted before anyone else could speak, and finally brought his hammer down on the anvil. The singing of steel against iron that legalized their marriage was sweeter than any church bells. “Now get out of my shop.”

With a cheer from Fran and John, Colin swept Penelope off her feet and into a deep, tear-filled kiss. And as he swung her in a happy circle, Penelope wondered if she and her Blue Bird might simply fly away with joy.

Back at the hotel, late morning stretched into the afternoon as Colin and Penelope celebrated with John, Francesca and any other patron who happened upon them. Colin made sure the long dining table in the public drawing room was well stocked with hearty breads and soft cheeses, a thick haddock soup and plates of potatoes, black pudding and wild berries served with honey and of course, plenty of Scotch whisky.

The merry party laughed and sang, telling stories of their childhoods and of Colin and John’s various travels. Before evening fell, Colin asked Francesca to play the hotel’s piano and begged a waltz from Penelope with the request that he would like to dance with his wife in the light of day.

Finally, with full bellies and aching feet, Colin and Penelope bid their family goodnight. John and Francesca would be resuming their journey to the Highlands in the morning and no one was even going to pretend the newlyweds would be ready to leave their room by then.

After one last round of hugs and wishes for safe travel, Colin lifted Penelope into his arms, bridal style and carried her up three full flights of stairs despite her laughing and half-hearted protests. The hotel’s staff had prepared the suite earlier that day and the banked fire combined with the candles lit by the grand four-poster bed bathed the room in warm, flickering amber.

After closing the door behind him with his foot, Colin set Penelope down on the bed, leaned down to kiss her and stepped away. He undressed himself quickly, eyes never leaving hers, removing layer after infuriating layer until there was a pile of clothes on the floor next to him and he stood before his wife (his wife! ) completely naked.

Moving back into her space, he pulled her to her feet, into his arms and kissed her again, parting her lips with his tongue, licking into her slow and thorough. As her hands explored his body, flicking over his nipples and mapping the contours of his back, his own hands wandered into her hair, removing the jewels and pins, which he dropped blindly onto the table next to the bed.

After a long moment, Colin turned Penelope around and began working the buttons on the back of her gown, fingers teasing her soft skin as more and more of it was revealed. When the dress was fully open, he helped her pull it down and step out of it before draping it carefully across the back of a nearby chair. Turning back, he unlaced her corset, pulled it away and watched as she lifted her chemise over her head.

Finally, she stood before him naked, except for her necklace and wedding ring and - oh… His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her lush, shapely legs encased in sheer cream silk secured by Bridgerton blue ribbons.

Colin dropped to his knees, Penelope’s gasp barely audible over the rapid heartbeat of his own arousal. He kissed at her thighs reverently, running his tongue along the bare skin at the edge of her stockings and pausing to suck a dark, possessive mark into the tender flesh near her center. He could feel the heat radiating from her, the heady scent of her filling his senses.

Gently pressing her forward, he encouraged her to sit on the edge of the bed. The new angle allowed him to reach out for her breasts. As her fingers pushed into his curls, he brushed his thumbs over her tight nipples, relishing in the way her breath hitched, her gasps and moans filling the otherwise quiet room. When he closed his mouth around one of the sensitive peaks she cried out and gripped his hair, holding him to her as he sucked and licked at her.

Looking up he caught her gaze before quickly glancing down and back up, asking permission with his eyes. She nodded vigorously and he smiled before kissing his way down her soft curves until he reached her center once more. He felt the fingers still buried in his hair tighten in anticipation as he spread her open with his thumbs before flicking his tongue out to taste her.

“Colin,” Penelope moaned, the first coherent word either of them had spoken, “please.”

At the sound of her begging for him, any thought of teasing her was obliterated. Lurching forward he plunged his tongue inside of her, licking through her folds to delve in deeply again and again. He held one thigh up, keeping her open for him while the other rubbed relentlessly at the bundle of nerves above where she was dripping into his mouth. As her legs began to shake around him he moved his thumb away and concentrated on her little nub, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue around it in tiny circles.

Just as he thought she was about to release for him, the hands in his hair were gone and she was shimmying back and away, pulling frantically at his hands.

“Pen, are you all right?” he asked, concerned.

“Yes,” she gasped immediately, “but I need you up here, please.” She maneuvered herself backward to the top of the bed and laid back, the winter fire of her hair spilling onto the pillows beneath her. Colin crawled obediently on top of her, surrounding her small body with his and pressing his hard length into the silk of her thigh.

“Penelope,” he murmured, kissing up the exposed column of her throat and over the curve of her jaw, “you are the single most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life.”

She gripped his shoulders and pulled him closer, wrapping her arms and legs around him until he had her fully pressed into the bed. “Colin,” she whispered, her voice edged with desperation, “do not pull away this time. When you - stay inside me, please.”

He pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “Are you certain, Pen? Do you understand what may happen?”

She nodded, running her fingers through his hair. “It would be a gift,” she whispered with a smile. “Creating a life with you would be a gift .”

Completely overwhelmed, Colin pressed their foreheads together and for a moment, they simply breathed, hearts racing even in their stillness. Then he blinked in surprise as her small hand slipped between them, seized his length and guided him to her slick-wet heat. Oh, yes, the seductive goddess he had married would be the death of him one day.

He snapped his hips forward and sheathed himself in a single, long stroke. Steadying himself on his forearms, he began a slow, steady rhythm, rocking into her again and again while she tugged at his hair with one hand, the other still between them, now teasing at herself to increase her own pleasure.

Within minutes she was riding the edge of release again as her back arched and her thighs trembled, the flush of arousal and exertion spreading prettily from her cheeks to her breasts. She rolled her hips with him, meeting him thrust for thrust in their inexorable climb to ecstasy. With a deep gasp and a sharp tug of his hair she tightened around him, the hand between her legs flying up to grip his shoulder, scratching trails off fire down the sweat-damp skin his back.

Between the erotic sight of his wife climaxing in his arms and the intense pleasure of her inner walls squeezing and stroking him, he had no choice but to fly over the edge with her, hips stuttering as he cried out her name on a broken moan. Both of them rode wave after wave of pleasure, eyes locked, unable and unwilling to look away.

Finally collapsing on the bed next to her, he immediately dragged her lax body half onto his, stroking his hands down her sides as she trembled in his arms. After a moment he realized she was whispering something over and over and he smiled, pulling her impossibly closer.

“I love you too,” he breathed into the wild tangle of her hair. 

—

Much later, as they lay on their sides, her naked back pressed against his chest, he ran his left hand down the length of her arm and toyed gently with her wedding ring. The jeweled silver was breathtaking against the cream of her skin.

“Was this the gift you found for me in Galway?” she asked, voice soft in the peace of the moment and he nodded into her hair. “What does it mean?”

He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the ring gently before moving it back into her eye line. “Love,” he said, tapping the heart with his thumb, “loyalty,” the crown, “and friendship,” the hands.

“Love, loyalty and friendship,” she repeated, a hint of amusement in her voice. “And you say you bought this before you realized you loved me?”

Chuckling, he pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Yes, well,” he reasoned, “my heart knew you were my wife a long time ago. I am sorry it took so long for my mind to catch up.”

“Do not apologize,” she scolded gently. “One of the great joys of my life is that our love is built on a foundation of friendship.”

“And loyalty,” he reminded her, stroking his thumb over her ring again.

Suddenly, she was turning in his arms, grasping his face in her hands and kissing him briefly but fiercely. “Love, loyalty and friendship!” she cried with excitement. “Colin, you are a genius!”

Rolling away, she leapt out of bed, pausing to pull off the stockings that had slipped down her legs as they made love, and dashed across the room to the writing desk in the corner. He sat up, confused, as she rifled through the drawers until finally crying out in victory. Quill in hand, she turned toward him, gorgeous and unashamed in all her naked glory. 

“Colin!” she exclaimed, “I know what to do about the Queen!”

Chapter Text

In the faraway (distant?) Heartwood Forest, where the trees whispered ancient secrets and the air danced with the scent of wildflowers, Princess Caroline of Everwood slowed her trusty steed, Peppercorn Bailey to a stop and slid from his back to the lush, green forest floor. This was the place then, the sacred wood rumored to guard a cure for any illness, even one that had grown stronger with every attempt to heal it.

As she knelt to inspect the foliage, her innate talent with plant life cataloging and dismissing each blossom, a venomous snake slithered silently through the underbrush. This was no ordinary serpent, but a creature secretly conjured by her stepsister Agnes's dark magic. With a swift strike, the snake sank its fangs into Caroline's vulnerable ankle, leaving her to collapse amidst the tangled roots of an ancient oak.

As the venom coursed through her veins, Caroline's vision blurred, and she drifted into a world between dreams and reality. It was then that Amelia, a kind benevolent Forest Guardian Spirit with eyes like starlit pools, emerged from the shadows. With gentle hands, she tended to Caroline, using her ethereal magic to draw out the poison.

"Fear not, sweet princess," Amelia soothed, her voice a melody of the forest itself. "For I hold the key to heal both you and your beloved Prince Gerald."

Amelia revealed that Prince Gerald had been cursed by Agnes with a magical illness, binding his fate to Caroline's own. The cure lay within a rare flower, the Heartwood Blossom, which bloomed only under the light of the moon deep within the forest's heart.

Healed Revitalized by Amelia's magic, Caroline rose to her feet, determined to save her love. Guided by the Forest Spirit, they embarked on a perilous journey through the forest's enchanted depths. Sensing the purity of her intentions, the inhabitants of the forest, from mischievous sprites to the ancient trees that stood swaying sentry, allowed her to pass unharmed.

As the silver moon ascended the night sky, casting its otherworldly glow upon the forest, Caroline and Amelia reached a hidden glade where the Heartwood Blossom bloomed, its sapphire blue petals shimmering with a luminescent glow. With great care, Caroline plucked the blossom flower, feeling its magic pulse through her. She was rejuvenated and from deep within rushed the strength to journey home, to the Kingdom of Everwood and rescue her beloved. She would break the curse. She would expose Agnes. She would marry her dearest friend. Together, they would rule.

Mounting her loyal steed once more, Princess Caroline shouted in triumphant joy and swiftly galloped toward home.

—

“Why did you change the name of the horse?” Colin asked from below her, handing her back the novella pages she had just finished. He was lying lengthwise across the bed of their hotel suite, head pillowed on Penelope’s thigh. They were both completely naked, as they had been the vast majority of the past three days. Since their wedding night they had left the room only to visit the bathing chamber or so Colin could put in their meal requests for the following day.

Penelope hummed questioningly, licking a dangling dollop of blackcurrant jam from the drop scone she was eating as she put the pages safely on the bedside table. “Did you not know?” 

Colin rolled over, eyebrows raised with curiosity while he propped himself on an elbow and folded jam into several of the spongy scones from the plate balanced on the thigh he was not currently occupying. He was ravenous for the little round cakes, devouring them with a ferocity she had previously only seen him show to chocolate biscuits. Penelope was already making a mental note to ask the hotel for the recipe so she could have them prepared when they returned to England.

“Lord Basillio’s horse that passed away this season, her name was Peppercorn,” Penelope explained, rolling her eyes while Colin stuffed no fewer than three of the pancake-like treats into his mouth. “I was using it temporarily until I thought of a name that was less-”

“Comical?” Colin interrupted in a muffled voice, his mouth full of pastry.

“Disrespectful,” Penelope finished, reaching down to wipe away a streak of jam that had inexplicably made its way onto Colin’s cheek. She licked the sticky finger into her own mouth, smirking a bit as Colin’s eyes darkened and tracked the movement of her tongue.

“So,” Colin murmured, reaching out to set aside their plate of food, pressing a kiss to Penelope’s bare thigh in the process, “how does your book end?” He gripped her hips, tugging a bit until she slid further down on the bed, giving him room to crawl over her. “Does Caroline make it back to her prince?” He leaned down and drew a nipple into his mouth, sucking gently while she wove her fingers into his hair.

“I suppose you-” she broke off, moaning and arching up into him as he brought his hand up to her other breast, rolling the tight peak of it between his clever fingers.

Colin grinned up at her, kissing a path up toward her lips before veering away and breathing hot in her ear, “You suppose what?”

Before she could respond, he latched onto a tender patch of skin at her throat and braced himself on one arm to slide his free hand down and between her legs. She felt more wet heat pooling in her center as he slipped two fingers inside her, curling them and stroking gently while she clutched him to her and spread her legs wider.

She rolled her hips up into his hand, matching his languid rhythm and running her hands up and down his back. She scratched gently at his arms and finally pushed her fingers back into his hair to drag him into a slow, deep kiss. He pulled back after a moment, nuzzled his nose against hers and caught her eyes, smiling softly. 

Penelope smiled back at him, caressing his cheek with one hand while the other covered his between her legs. She did not try to rush him though, enjoying her unhurried climb, arousal simmering through her body.

“Pen,” he whispered, breath ghosting across her lips, “touch yourself with me,” he pleaded, withdrawing his fingers long enough to guide her hand to her sensitive bundle of nerves before sliding them back inside her.

They pleasured her together: long, measured strokes of his fingers while she swirled and pressed against the tight bud. Through it all, his eyes never left hers. She watched them widen when their hands brushed together and darken with heat when she began to tighten around him. She could feel the hard length of him against her, the weeping head smearing the slick-wet evidence of his own arousal onto her thigh.

Unlike the times before, her climax did not burst through her like fireworks but built slowly; molten bliss diffusing through her until she was gasping and trembling, pulling her hand away from herself to grip the sweat-damp flesh of Colin’s back.

Just as it seemed the ecstasy might peak and overwhelm her, Colin shifted, pulling his fingers out and sliding himself into her in a single stroke.

“Colin!” she gasped sharply, back arching involuntarily as he thrust in deep, every slide of his hardness pressing a delicious friction against the spot between her legs. She held his gaze, hands tight on his shoulders, hanging on as he moved faster and faster, the sounds of his grunts and moans joining hers to create a sensual melody she hoped to hear in her dreams.

This time she did burst. The galvanizing tide that had never truly receded spiraled up, higher and higher until it overflowed and she heard herself scream seconds before Colin moaned her name, long and loud, filling her core with the wet heat of his own release.

He leaned down, kissing her almost desperately as they both gasped and shook through it, the erratic jerking of his hips sparking aftershocks she felt from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. He brought their lips together again and again, whispering her name between kisses until finally, finally the waves crashing over them both softened, Colin collapsing onto his side and immediately pulling her against his chest.

She could feel him panting into her hair as his heart raced under her hands. His arms wrapped around her, soothing the tremors still rolling through her.

“Jesus Christ,” Colin cursed breathily. “Penelope, that was-” he broke off and she could feel him shaking his head above her. “I do not even… I cannot…” He gave up entirely and just embraced her tighter, chuckling in what sounded like disbelief.

“Have I rendered the great travel writer speechless?” Penelope asked, feeling smug.

“You have rendered him useless,” Colin rasped, stroking his hands through the tangle of her hair. “I do not even know what day it is.”

“It is Tuesday,” Penelope laughed, reaching up to stroke a fallen curl out of his eyes, and then paused, considering. “At least, I think it is.”

There was a beat of silence before they both dissolved into laughter, clutching each other and sharing quick kisses between giggles.

“I love you,” he breathed, dropping a teasing kiss to the tip of her nose.

“And I love you,” Penelope replied with a satisfied smile. “Now,” she said, peeking around his larger frame to see the table behind him, “are there any of those little pancakes left?”

The journey back from Gretna Green to Aubrey Hall was certainly more tolerable than the journey there had been. They spent their days side by side in a comfortable carriage, passing pages of each other’s work back and forth (Penelope blushing prettily at some of the more intimate passages of his journal) while Rae sat across from them, reading borrowed books or simply looking serenely at the passing landscape.

Their evenings were filled with good food and laughter courtesy of the patrons at the lodgings for the night. Inevitably someone would play a piano, giving Colin an excuse to twirl his wife in circles until she was breathless and pink with joy.

Their nights were spent tangled together in the quiet privacy of their room, tangled together and discovering all the ways they could give each other pleasure. Colin had always considered himself somewhat of an expert on his dearest friend: knowing how to make her laugh and blush, remembering her favorite treats and books, saving a reel for her at every ball. 

During their brief engagement, he began to learn her physically: how a kiss behind her ear made her shiver, the sound of her breath hitching when he ran his hand along her throat, the way her arousal shone against the silk of her thighs when he parted her legs.

But now, but now, barely a week into their marriage, Colin realized how much more there was to learn. He discovered how she would throw her head back and arch into him if he thrust his fingers inside her. How those same fingers could make her tremble and clutch at his arms if he stroked them slowly through her folds. He learned that cupping her breasts while sucking hard on the sensitive nub between her legs would make her scream. Once, he had the privilege of watching her moan through a soft release with nothing but his fingers rolling and plucking at her nipples.

By the time they arrived in London to change back to Lady Danbury's borrowed carriage, Colin was in a constant state of euphoria, intensely happy but prone to hardening rapidly if Penelope so much as touched his bare skin. Even the innocent brush of her ungloved hand against his as he helped her down from their hired coach had him flushed and straining in his breeches.

So, when Penelope asked if he would take her completed manuscript to the printer while she and Rae packed up the remainder of Pen’s belongings from Danbury House, Colin had instantly loathed the prospect of leaving her, even for a twenty-minute round trip. However, after a whispered reminder that once he returned they would set out for Aubrey Hall (where they would be truly alone in the wing Violet had promised them would be unoccupied until October’s masquerade ball), Colin all but flew across town and back on his borrowed horse.

“That was quick,” Penelope laughed as Colin bounded up the back steps of Danbury House, winded but smiling brightly.

“I missed my wife,” Colin replied, kissing her tenderly in the darkened servant’s hall. “Are you nearly ready to go?” He looked around, seeing only one small trunk still left to be secured on the carriage.

Penelope nodded her confirmation. “Did Mr. Harris tell you how soon we might expect the printed manuscript to be delivered?”

“It is a far more substantial work than he usually prints,” Colin began, lowering his voice as a footman appeared to carry out the last trunk, “but I paid him extra to send it by express to Aubrey Hall. He said a week, ten days at most.”

Penelope smiled. “That is sooner than I anticipated.” Her eyes unfocused slightly as she stared over Colin’s shoulder, apparently calculating something before continuing. “It will take several days alone just to set the type, to say nothing of cleaning and redistribution. Once we receive it we must send back another bonus for his apprentice.”

Colin blinked at her and shook his head, bemused. “I sometimes forget what a marvel you are,” he murmured appreciatively and kissed her again.

Penelope blushed and then reached out for his hands, her expression turning concerned. “Do you think I am doing the right thing,” she asked, “with the Queen, that is?”

Colin lifted her hands to his lips, gently kissing the back of each one before answering. “I trust your judgment, Pen. I will support whatever choice you think best.”

The heat that sparked in her eyes at his declaration almost knocked him off his feet and when she raised up on her toes he met her kisses eagerly, wrapping his arms around her and pushing his fingers into her hair.

Abruptly, she pulled away, tugging him toward the back door. “Come, husband,” she called over her shoulder, “the sooner we get to the country, the sooner I can properly thank you for your support!”

Amused and very aroused, Colin laughed breathlessly and followed his wife to the carriage.

Several weeks later, Queen Charlotte was playing chess - or rather, being allowed to win at chess by a sycophant courtier whose name she could not be bothered to recall - when Brimsley appeared in the drawing room with a silver platter.

“A letter and a parcel for you, Your Majesty,” he announced, holding the platter out to her.

Charlotte took the letter first, breaking the wax seal and releasing a cardstock invitation. “Hmm,” she mused aloud. “The Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton has invited me to a masquerade ball at their country estate in a fortnight.”

“She has not hosted a masquerade in several seasons,” Brimsley noted. “That will be a most coveted invitation.”

“Yes,” Charlotte said absently, eyeing the parcel still sitting on the platter in Brimsley’s hand. “What is that?”

“I do not know, Your Majesty, but it was delivered with Lady Bridgerton’s letter,” he replied, passing her the parcel.

Taking the package, Charlotte pulled the string around the paper wrapping and withdrew what seemed to be a manuscript. On top was a note written in a hand she recognized instantly. She looked over at the chessboard and eyed her opponent’s pieces quickly.

“Queen to E-7,” she waved to a lady-in-waiting who immediately moved the piece. “Checkmate.”

“Excellent game, Your Majesty!” The nameless courtier simpered.

“Yes, it was,” Charlotte agreed, “now leave.” The courtier blinked in surprise until Charlotte raised her eyebrows impatiently. The Queen watched as the courtier stood, curtsied and practically scampered away. 

Once she was alone with just her ladies and Brimsely, Charlotte put the manuscript on the sofa next to her and turned her attention back to the note.

Your Gracious Majesty,

I would like to begin this letter by expressing my gratitude for your mercy earlier this year. By allowing me to finish the season in London with Lady Danbury, you unknowingly facilitated a reconciliation between Mr. Colin Bridgerton and myself. My gratitude, along with my regard and respect for Your Majesty, compels me to share with you another truth: Mr. Bridgerton and I were married in Scotland this August. I want to assure you that we meant no offense to you by doing this. There was simply no way for us to be married in town without causing scandal to his family and neither of us could abide the wait for or uncertainty of my restoration to your favor.

I know well the great love you share with your husband, our King. The story of your romance, but even moreso, your friendship, has been a lifelong inspiration to me as it was always my dream, one now fulfilled, to marry my own best friend. It is this knowledge that emboldens me to beg your pardon as I believe you, more than anyone else, truly understand how powerful love can be, even (or perhaps especially) in the face of misfortune and hardship.

Whether or not you choose to bestow your forgiveness, the enclosed is my gift to you.

Yours Truly, 

Penelope Bridgerton

Putting the note aside, Charlotte sat a moment contemplating the swirling emotions of frustration, wistfulness and nostalgia Miss Featherington, or rather, Mrs. Bridgerton’s letter evoked. The young woman was bold, to be sure, and shrewd. Yet, Charlotte was also certain her plea was sincere.

She picked the manuscript back up and removed the blank cover sheet. Raising her eyebrows at the title and dedication, she scratched behind the ears of the closest Pomeranian, settled in and began to read.

The Crowned Hearts of Everwood

By Penelope Bridgerton

“For our compassionate Queen Charlotte, who taught us all of the peril and joy of love, loyalty and friendship.”

—

Much later, after reading the manuscript a second time, Charlotte discreetly wiped away a bittersweet tear and smiled to herself, small and private. She had been given on paper the happy ending she still wished for in life and she felt some of the long-carried weight in her heart lift and vanish.

“Brimsley!” she summoned and her man stepped forward instantly. “Send a reply to Violet Bridgerton. We would be delighted to attend her masquerade ball.”

“Kate!” Penelope cried, lifting the skirts of her dress enough to scamper across the room, “what on earth are you doing?!”

The Viscountess, resplendent in her gold and blue gown adorned with little celestial bodies marking her as the literal center of the universe, was standing on a chair in the middle of the currently empty ballroom apparently trying to reach a piece of glittering silver garland that was dangling from the chandelier. At Penelope’s cry, she swiftly dropped to her knees and stepped, thankfully safely, to the floor.

“Penelope,” Kate greeted with affected calm, “I was simply trying to retrieve a fallen decoration.” She glanced around furtively, “Please do not tell Anthony.”

Penelope sighed, glancing down at Kate’s perfect, protruding belly, and shook her head. “I will say nothing to the Viscount, of course,” she assured her sister-in-law, “but for goodness‘ sakes, Kate, let people help you!”

Kate nodded, stroking her hands lovingly over the roundness that cradled her and Anthony’s first child. “It is just that this is such an important event to Violet and with everything that has happened in the past several months, I wanted to take as much off her shoulders as possible.”

Penelope looked down and away at that, feeling the familiar guilt of having caused the Bridgertons so much pain and strife churning in her stomach. “I am sorry-” she began, eyes focused resolutely on the floor.

“Do not apologize,” Kate interrupted, tipping Penelope’s chin up with one elegant finger and forcing her to meet the Viscountess’ insistent gaze. “There is nothing we would not do for you, sister. We are family, after all.” She smiled, brushing a wayward curl out of Penelope’s eyes. “Besides, I meant it in a joyful way! Four of her children gave her two weddings and two impending grandchildren in the span of a single season!” 

Penelope laughed, affection and appreciation for Kate warming her from the inside out. “I suppose you make an excellent point,” she said, throwing off the shame she was still working to overcome, “with Daphne in confinement at Clyvedon and Francesca now in the Highlands, we should do our part to help Violet.” She linked arms with Kate, leading her away from the chair to prevent her climbing it again. “But,” she added, “not at the risk of the next Bridgerton heir.”

Laughing, Kate leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Penelope’s head. “Well understood, sister,” she smiled. “Well understood.”

“You look lovely, by the way,” Penelope praised once they had reached the foyer. “Balls are not usually held while the sun is out,” she teased, referring to Kate’s masquerade costume.

“Oh, just wait until you see Anthony,” Kate stage whispered, “the tailors have spent weeks embroidering little stars all over his new suit.” She shook her head in bemusement. “He was very insistent about their size and placement as well. I do believe he is hoping to quite literally outshine his brothers,” she laughed.

Penelope smiled to herself, knowing how much effort Colin had put into his own ensemble once she had told him of her idea for their matching costumes. “I believe that is my cue to get ready, then!” With a quick squeeze to Kate’s arm, Penelope headed toward the stairs leading toward the suite she shared with Colin.

“Oh, Penelope, wait!” Kate called, and Penelope turned. “You did not tell me, what is your costume?”

“Someone who also got her happily-ever-after,” Penelope replied, and with a secret smile, raced upstairs to dress.

—

“You look magnificent, ma’am,” Rae said with a smile, stepping away after securing the tie on the golden mask that hid the top half of Penelope’s face.

“Thank you,” Penelope whispered in response. Standing in front of the full length mirror, Penelope exhaled sharply in near disbelief at what was reflected back at her.

Her hair was swept partially away from her face and secured with pins shaped like golden leaves. The rest of her curls tumbled down her back while wispy ringlets brushed her brow and temples. Barely visible beneath the mask, her eyes were shaded a soft, shimmery blue with tiny gold jewels dotted at the corners. Her lips were stained a glossy coral and if one were to remove her mask, her cheeks would glow with a warm, peach blush.

As if Rae’s careful work with her hair and makeup was not enough, there was her gown. Oh , her gown. How Genevieve had managed to complete and send the dress in only a fortnight was still a mystery to Penelope, but she knew she would never be able to truly repay her friend for the masterful job she had done. 

The gown was a stunning Aegean blue with a neckline that dipped low and bared her shoulders. The sleeves fell just past her wrists, ruched lace woven with opalescent thread. Nestled beneath her breasts, just below the smooth, silk bodice, a maple brown broach carved to look like small, intertwined branches was secured to the top of the feathered, split outer skirt. And peeking out of the narrow cut, snow white satin glimmered in brilliant contrast.

“Penelope,” breathed a deep voice to her left. With a blushing smile, Penelope turned toward her husband and promptly felt her jaw drop.

Colin was dressed in matching vibrant blue with a similar golden mask. His curls were loose and wild, artfully tousled as though he had flown, rather than walked, from his dressing room to hers. His trousers were perhaps a touch too snug for polite company, though she could not bring herself to care too much. What seemed at a first passing glance to be the long tails of his coat were actually wings, the crushed velvet and silk fashioned into hundreds of intricate feathers. His chestnut-hued dress shirt ruffled along his bare throat and disappeared into a bright white vest, giving him the illusion of being exactly what he was: a charming brown-breasted bluebird.

Before she could even open her mouth to tell him how astoundingly beautiful he was, he crossed the room, swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly. Distantly, Penelope heard a door click as Rae quickly made herself scarce, doubtless a learned response from Colin and Penelope’s frequent amourous interludes.

“My god, Penelope,” Colin whispered again, pulling back and holding out her arms so he could look her up and down, “I cannot decide if I want to show you off to the entire Ton or whisk you to bed so no one but me ever has the honor of seeing you like this.” He pulled her close again, nearly bending himself in half to press small biting kisses into the exposed tops of her breasts.

“Colin!” Penelope scolded half-heartedly, “You will leave marks and then what will people say?” She wiggled free of his embrace, rising to her tiptoes to kiss the pout from his lips.

“They will say,” he murmured, running his thumb over a faint love bite below her collarbone, “There is a woman whose husband is completely,” he dropped a light kiss to the mark, “utterly,” another to the column of her throat, “blissfully,” the curve of her jaw, “and irrevocably in love with her.”

Smiling happily, Penelope stepped back and with a teasing eyebrow raised, offered her arm to Colin. “Then come, husband,” she said with feigned ceremony, “let us rejoin the Ton.”

The ballroom of Aubrey Hall was filled nearly to capacity with chattering guests. Some were in formal suits and evening gowns, wearing the masks Violet had laid out with the dance cards in the foyer. Others wore outlandish costumes in every color of the rainbow. Colin watched with a smile as his friend Lord Charles Cho spun his wife, previously Miss Kenworthy, around the dance floor, the young woman dressed as an actual rainbow.

Near the center of the dancers, Colin caught a glimpse of Benedict, with a lovely, dark-haired lady in silver tucked into his arms. His brother nearly dwarfed her tiny frame, but what truly caught Colin’s attention was the expression on Benedict's face. Even behind a black velvet mask, the love-struck look was clear. He would need to find out more about that interesting development later.

Meanwhile, despite their own splendid attire, Colin and Penelope did not attract much attention, the Ton’s eyes drawn instead to Kate and Anthony, waltzing circles around everyone as the sun and stars. After taking to the floor for the next dance, a reel of course, they stepped back off the floor to refresh themselves at the lemonade table.

The distinctive crack of a cane against hardwood drew their attention away from the plentiful cups of his wife’s favorite drink and they both turned with a shared smile. There stood Lady Danbury, dressed in head to toe scarlet silk, a hand-held mask dangling from a gold ribbon around her wrist.

“Agatha!” Penelope cried happily, setting her glass down and quickly embracing her friend.

“Princess Florine,” Agatha greeted with a mock curtsey, “and her Blue Bird,” she inclined her head at Colin who bowed respectfully.

“We have not seen you since we returned from Scotland,” Penelope mused. “I must thank you again for everything you have done for me, for both of us,” she added, looking up at him with adoration in her eyes.

“It was my absolute pleasure, clever girl, but I must tell you, Her Majesty’s carriage was only moments behind mine,” Agatha warned, voice low, “and this afternoon at tea she confided that she had a surprise planned for this evening. I am afraid that is all I know.”

Penelope met Colin’s eyes, reaching blindly for his hand as he gave her an affectionate, comforting smile.

“Thank you, Lady Danbury,” Colin said quietly, gaze never wavering from his wife. “Whatever happens, my wife and I-”

He was cut off suddenly by a loud fanfare of trumpets and from the landing of the staircase a royal guard announced, “Her Majesty, Queen Charlotte!” The musicians ceased playing, dancers stopped in their tracks and the entire ballroom turned to greet their Queen.

Colin blinked at the Queen in shock, taking in her ocean blue gown, its full skirts layered and swishing like waves and, most astoundingly, the wig atop her head: bright blonde locks sculpted into a three-masted ship at full sail. He glanced next to him to see Penelope staring in equal amazement.

Queen Charlotte surveyed the room a moment before making a parting motion with her hands, silently ordering the dancers to clear the floor.

“Here we go,” Colin muttered quietly, gently tugging her hand to pull her flush against his side.

“There is someone here I should like to unmask,” the Queen declared without preamble. “Colin Bridgerton, step forward,” she ordered, and then to the astonishment of the crowd added: “and your wife as well.”

Colin stepped forward, keeping a tight grip on her hand, and led her to the center of the dance floor. Around them the whispers began.

I thought Mr. Bridgerton was on his travels again?

Did Her Majesty say “wife”?

Has he brought some woman home from the continent?

That cannot possibly be Penelope Featherington!

Is she wearing a wedding ring?!

Did she not disappear months ago?

At the Queen’s nod, two royal guards seemed to materialize behind them. Penelope did her best not to flinch when the guards removed their masks, finally revealing them (finally revealing her ) fully to the shocked guests gathered around the edges of the ballroom. The whispers turned to gasps before falling silent as the Queen held up her hands. 

Just when Penelope thought her nerves may overwhelm her, Colin squeezed her hand three times. I love you. And with that simple gesture she was instantly calmed. No matter what was about to happen, Colin loved her and that was all she truly needed.

“I received your gift, Mrs. Bridgerton,” Queen Charlotte announced, addressing Penelope directly. “I understand that you fled London earlier this year out of concern that your betrothed would face scorn for marrying a woman who was also an aspiring… author,” she said, the glint in her eye obvious even at a distance. “Your manuscript is wonderful and such talent should be praised, not ridiculed. This of course is why I gave you and Mr. Bridgerton my blessing to marry quietly in Scotland rather than England.”

The crowd gasped yet again but Penelope barely registered the sound over the blood rushing through her ears. Unless she was very much mistaken, the Queen had, in an instant, silenced any possible scandal that could have arisen once the Ton discovered their marriage. And in the same breath, she gave royal approval to the novella Penelope so desperately hoped to publish in her own name.

She chanced a glance around the room and amid the stunned faces locked eyes with her mother. Portia Featherington, dressed in emerald green with peacock feathers in her hair, was looking back at her in wonderment, pride beaming in her eyes as she smiled at her youngest daughter.

“I am sure our esteemed Ton will enjoy your book as much as I did,” Queen Charlotte continued. “And in fact, I should like to speak with you about your next work. Now.” She stepped down from the landing and toward the hall that led to the drawing room before turning to look over her shoulder and waving at the musicians. “Resume playing,” she commanded and swept away.

Colin and Penelope blinked at each other and quickly followed.

In the hall, they rushed toward the guard-flanked door to find the Queen and Lady Danbury waiting for them. They stood in awkward silence until a moment later, when Penelope’s mother appeared with Brimsley. The Queen’s man closed the door from the outside, leaving the five of them in private.

“Well, child,” the Queen began, “I must say I am impressed. When I banished you to the country, I fully expected to never hear from you again and yet here you stand, restored to my favor.” She stepped forward, her eyes unusually soft. “Only someone who has experienced great friendship and great love could have written the tale that you did, Mrs. Bridgerton. I wish you and your husband a lifetime of joy.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Penelope replied, voice thick with unshed tears. Beside her Colin echoed her gratitude, tracing his thumb along hers as they interlaced their fingers.

“Oh, and one more thing,” Queen Charlotte continued, “I understand your mother’s estate is in a bit of potential trouble. I think if you speak to the crown’s solicitor again, you will find the matter resolved.”

“Your Majesty?” Portia questioned, blinking at the Queen in surprise.

Queen Charlotte turned to her, one eyebrow raised. “In my estimation, Lady Featherington, if your daughter can run an enterprise and I can run a palace then certainly you should have no trouble running a Barony… with or without a male heir.”

“Your Majesty, I cannot thank you enough for your generosity,” Portia breathed, dipping into a curtsey so deep she nearly ended up kneeling on the floor. The Queen merely nodded. Next to her, Penelope pretended not to notice Agatha rolling her eyes at her mother’s dramatics.

Suddenly, a thought that had been swirling through her mind for months jumped into focus. 

“Your Majesty,” Penelope began, pausing for a moment to consider what she was about to say. “With your permission, now that I have your blessing to publish my book, I would like to retire Lady Whistledown.” 

When the Queen merely looked at her, quiet but curious, Penelope continued. “My book has provided me with a new voice. I have found solace in the love of my husband and family. I no longer require armor to protect me from the world. In short, Your Majesty, I have outgrown Whistledown. I do not need her.”

For a long moment, the room was silent and then the Queen nodded. “You have my permission, Mrs. Bridgerton. Though, I confess that I hope someone new picks up the quill you have chosen to put down. What is life without a little gossip?” With a smirk, she glided away, Brimsley and her guards following in her wake. 

Agatha winked and left as well. Portia pressed a quick kiss to the top of Penelope’s head and left to tell her sisters their estate was safe and suddenly, she and Colin found themselves alone.

The moment the door of the drawing room clicked shut, Colin pushed Penelope against the nearest wall, kissing her deeply, his hands roving across her body, caressing her breasts through the fabric of her gown.

“Colin, what are you doing?” she managed to ask as he trailed his lips across her cheek to flick his tongue against the side of her neck.

“That was bloody brilliant,” he breathed, nibbling at her earlobe, “you are a genius, you are magnificent and I love you so very much.”

Before she could even think of a coherent reply, Colin dropped to his knees, shoved her skirts up around her waist, threw one of her legs over his shoulder and plunged his tongue directly into her weeping center. 

“Colin!” she gasped, reaching down around the tangle of her gown to thread her fingers into his hair. Her hips rocked into his face of their own accord and her body flushed with heat as she heard and felt the way he hummed into her delicate flesh.

He was relentless, his hands gripping her thighs hard enough, she hoped, to leave marks. His tongue thrust in and out of her only to withdraw, swirl up to curl around the sensitive bud between her legs and then push back inside of her. Audible even over her gasping breaths were Colin’s own sounds of pleasure: his grunts as he clutched at her legs, the way he moaned as the evidence of her arousal dripped into his mouth and the slick-wet sound of his tongue lapping at her, every ounce of his focus clearly intent on bringing her to her peak as swiftly as possible.

Only a few moments of delicious torture later, and with a well-timed nibble to her bud, Penelope broke, one hand clasped across her own mouth to muffle her screams, the other still buried in her husband’s curls. She shook her way through a blinding climax with only the wall behind her and Colin’s hands on her thighs keeping her from melting to the floor.

Before she had even recovered from her release, Colin slid back up her body and pressed their lips together, teasing her tongue with his and encouraging her to lick the taste of her own pleasure from his mouth. It was not until she slipped her own hand down to grip him where he was hard and straining that he broke away, resting his forehead against hers while they breathed together.

“Pen,” he whispered as she stroked him tenderly, “you do not have to. This was for you , for your pleasure. I could not help myself after the way you spoke so beautifully.“

She looked up into his eyes and squeezed him, gentle but deliberate and watched his lashes flutter as he struggled to hold her gaze. “Colin,” she murmured, “you cannot return to the ball like that,” she admonished and they both glanced down to where the evidence of his arousal pushed against the front of his tight blue trousers. The tented fabric was simply obscene.

“I - I suppose it would be irresponsible of me to scandalize the young ladies like this,” Colin reasoned, mirth dancing in his eyes. 

“It would indeed,” Penelope agreed and gracefully dropped to her knees.

—

Later, sated, happy and as put back together as they could manage, Colin and Penelope stepped from the drawing room back into the hallway only to come face to face with a frantic Benedict.

“Brother!” the second Bridgerton shouted, grabbing Colin’s shoulders with desperation in his eyes. “Have you seen her?”

“Seen who?” Colin asked, confused.

“My lady, or rather, the lady,” Benedict clarified. “The one I was dancing with earlier this evening, the Lady in Silver. Have you seen her?”

“No, I-” but before Colin could complete his sentence, Benedict raced away, turned a corner and vanished.

“Well, what on earth was that all about,” Penelope asked, still looking down the hall to where Benedict had disappeared.

“I have not the faintest idea,” Colin replied, shaking his head, “but I am sure we will find out before long. Benedict is not nearly the secret-keeper he believes himself to be.”

She looked back, amused and took the arm he held out to her, letting herself be led back to the ballroom only to find it empty. Glancing outside, they saw the guests gathered on the back lawn and she realized it was time for the fireworks Violet and Kate had arranged.

They made their way to the terrace and tucked themselves into a secluded corner where they could watch the display in relative privacy. In the peace of the moment, Penlope considered Colin’s comment about secrets and made a decision. It was time to share with him her only remaining secret, one that she had been nervously keeping for the past several days.

“Colin, I have something to tell you.”

The seriousness of her tone pulled his focus to her immediately and he turned to face her, concern etched into his beautiful face. Taking his hands in hers, she took a deep breath, smiled shakily and said:

“I am with child again.”

The grin that broke across his face was immediate, dazzling and perfectly in time with the first burst of light in the sky. The guests near them let out a collective sound of awe, but Colin and Penelope paid them no mind. He swept her into his arms and swung her around before setting her back on her feet and kissing her softly in their little shadowed corner.

“Are you happy?” Penelope asked, knowing the answer but needing to hear it all the same.

“My beautiful wife, I am overjoyed,” Colin laughed, kissing her again before stroking the back of his hand across her cheek. “I hope it is a little girl who looks just like you,” he whispered.

“If it is a girl, I know what we should name her,” Penelope smiled and looked across the terrace to where her confidant and guardian stood with her dear friend, watching the fireworks pop and glitter, looks of wonderment on both of their faces. “Agatha,” she decided. “Agatha Eloise.”

“Agatha Eloise,” Colin repeated, following her eyes with a nod before gently turning her back to face him. “It is perfect,” he nodded and reached out to lay his hands over her belly. “I cannot wait to meet her.”

“I love you. You will make a wonderful father, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“I love you, Mrs. Bridgerton. In more ways than I could ever express.”

As they kissed in the light of the October moon, crackles of color burst and shimmered above them, painting the blissful couple in prismatic, shifting shades.

Gold, blue, in the skies.

Dearest Gentle Reader,

However long the road or improbable the destination, Miss Penelope Featherington is now and forever more Mrs. Penelope Bridgerton, as well as mother to the newest, tiniest member of Mayfair’s most prolific family... and when I say that her joy is my own, or should we say our own , do not make the mistake of taking it as mere metaphor. It is springtime in England once again. Flowers are blooming, butterflies emerging from their chrysalides and a formerly companionless author, long since in the shadows, chooses to step into the light. 

You may wish to know why I began this endeavor. I wrote because I was captivated by you, living your lives so out in the open. My words gave me a life; intoxicating power. I was careless with that power, casting aspersions from behind my mask. But I see now how much courage it takes to live a life out in the open as you have all done; as my husband-turned-partner has done. As I will now do. To all those who feel they have been wronged by this humble writer, my sincere apologies. I wish you only the best and it is for you that I now lay down my pen.

And yet, we know notre bon ton will always be ravenous for news, so it is time we allowed another voice to be heard. Thus with the commencement of our new titles: husband, wife, traveler, novelist, editor, parent; and with the beginning of the next chapter in the book of our lives, we happily pass the gossip quill to whomever has the fortitude to raise it next. Farewell and good luck, dear writer, wherever you may be.

Yours Truly,

Lord & Lady Whistledown

—

—

Sometime later, with Penelope’s final edition clutched in her hand, a vibrant girl a few weeks from her own debut sat in uncharacteristic quiet contemplation. On the writing desk before her was a blank sheet of parchment, its smooth sepia surface looking anticipatory. As one hand twirled her chestnut curls, a good-natured yet mischievous smile spread across her pretty face. 

The sun was rising.

And in the fiery light of dawn, Hyacinth Bridgerton picked up her quill.