Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The candlelight bathed the bedroom in a golden blanket, making the scene even more fairylike. Penelope had asked for the copper tub, where the children usually bathed, to be brought to their master bedroom, something she had always done ever since they were born. Not in the nursery, but in their parents' bedroom, spacious, warm, a place where they could always feel protected and safe.

Penelope knelt beside the basin, her sleeves rolled up and a loose braid, some unruly curls unravelling. She gently stroked her baby's back with one hand and lazily traced lines on the surface of the water with the other, a veil made milky by the soap, releasing lavender and chamomile vapours, creating little clouds that dispersed across the room. Every time she bathed him, she found herself completely soaked, despite her best intentions, but even that didn't matter to her. It was a moment they shared, one she treasured and which made her smile broadly, until her face hurt.

She watched carefully as George, three years old, soft and mysterious, sat, quite regally, in the middle of the water, his cheeks flushed with warmth and laughter, his skin smooth and soft, and his blond hair plastered to his forehead. George hadn't started speaking yet, or rather, he was trying. It had started casually, at first with his attempts at syllables and then with his own ways of naming things, always accompanied by his little finger pointing at everything in an almost domineering manner.

He was curious, her little boy, and wanted to discover the world in his own way. Then Mama and Papa had appeared, not regularly, and this meant that every time he called them it was a surprise. Colin and Penelope had cried, sure, starting to breathe again, somehow, but they hadn't rushed him. He called and spoke when he wanted to and he was getting there in his own way, the words appearing little by little, and that was the important thing. Every day was different and his parents had learned to take things one day at a time.

“Here you are,” Penelope murmured, brushing his blond locks away from his forehead, “a kiss for my captain,” she said, placing her lips on his round cheek, sinking into that scent of talcum powder and biscuits that is typical of children, which she knew she would one day miss once he had grown.

George closed his eyes, drops of water falling like tears from his long lashes, and he smiled broadly, revealing his uneven, white teeth. When his mother pulled away, he said nothing, but his eyes snapped open, the emerald green he'd inherited from his father, which seemed to gaze into the soul. He simply turned his face, offering her the other cheek, and clung to her wrist with his chubby little hands, as if to hold her there with him, for that moment.

"Again?" Penelope asked, smiling, in the sweet voice that motherhood had given her. George whispered a "yes" so small it made her heart explode, and then, obediently, she began again, placing one, two, ten kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his perfectly round nose, his shoulders. George let out a hearty laugh, so much like Colin's, splashing the water, rippling its surface like sea waves.

Penelope instinctively pulled back slightly, just enough to avoid being drenched, and whispered, "You are very much your father’s son," reflecting on the fact that the resemblance wasn't limited to the colour of their eyes, the sound of their laughter, or the dimples that appeared when they both smiled after thinking of some mischief, but also to their way of asking for love with touch and gaze, before words. "You are never to be satisfied."

George seemed to ponder her words, then smiled with satisfaction, as if the comparison filled him with pride and he wanted to imprint those words on his memory. He then reached out to the wooden boat that was floating lost in the tub and picked it up.
The little boat had been patiently carved by Colin, who had softened the edges with sandpaper and dipped it in beeswax to protect it from the water. It was George's most precious treasure, which he never abandoned, not during meals nor to sleep.

He placed it, meticulously, on a mound of foam, watching it sink in and roll, tilting and submerging, before finding its balance.
Penelope found herself holding her breath, almost cheering for the little boat to continue its journey, undisturbed, through the water, as if it actually contained a crew traveling on a stormy sea, while George, with his tongue sticking out, was focused on his work, like a small divine being who held their destiny in his gentle little hands.

“Look, George, it’s a little wobbly, but it’s back on its feet… kind of like when you’re walking and you stumble… and Mama and Papa help you up and…off you go again.” A bit like with words, my love, she thought, without voicing her worries.

“Go again,” he said in his still uncertain little voice, trembling slightly.

“Yes, my love, it always goes on,” Penelope smiled at him. She got up to retrieve a jug that had been left warming, covered with a cloth to prevent the heat from escaping, and topped up the water in the tub, warming it again, causing the child to utter a little hum of satisfaction. “See? Even water speaks. Cold water wakes you up… hot water embraces you. Like Mama and Papa, or your siblings. But you need a bit of both.”

Penelope took a handful of foam and let it fall like snow, letting it settle on the boy's blond locks. "Look, Captain George. Here's a sugar island, where mermaids live and fish laugh all day because they steal all the cinnamon cookies. And there", she let George's hand, which was steering the boat, lead her through the story, "there's a forest made entirely of bubbles, a fog of trees that can capture you. Their leaves burst as soon as you touch them," she said, as he approached the edge of the basin, where the foam had thinned and given way to a few strenuous bubbles.

“Pum, pum, pum,” he yelled, as he popped them with his index finger.

“Ah, well done Captain, you have saved your ship. And if you follow the song of the naughty mermaids… be careful.”, she lowered her voice.

George became very serious, mirroring the expression that had appeared on his mother's face, unsure whether to be worried or scared. "Back there," Penelope said, lowering again her voice mysteriously, "there's a sleeping giant who lives in a mountain of sugar. If he wakes up, he'll make a wave so big it'll overflow the river of sweet milk," she spread her arms, "and fill the whole room." George's eyes widened in disbelief, laughing heartily, clapping his hands on the water to imitate the giant.

“Ah, but then you are the mischievous giant,” said his mother, tickling his belly, “the whole island is yours, the sea, the caves, the beaches and the castles are yours and…”

It was then that the door, left ajar, opened, and his presence was announced by the flame of a candle that flickered for a moment. Colin always had the habit of entering rooms as if marching into battle, impetuous and loud, yet, over the years, he had learned to be silent and enter on tiptoe, weighing his steps, when moments like this presented themselves before him and he was afraid to shatter them, as if they were sacred.

Penelope turned and smiled at him, giving him silent permission to approach them, and Colin joined them with quick, soft steps, barefoot, as he used to walk around the house.

“Captain George,” he said, giving him a salute, to which the little boy responded in kind, a little clumsily. “The others are asleep,” he added, speaking to Penelope, not leaving George’s gaze. “Agatha fell asleep with her book of tales in front of her. Poor Jane will never know how that story ends. Thomas is surrounded by toy soldiers. I have no idea what war he wants to fight in, but he’ll tell us all about it at breakfast. And Jane…she kept her eyes open until the very end because she didn’t trust my word and honour.”

Penelope looked at him doubtfully and curiously. "She wanted me to close the curtains... otherwise the witches might see her. She listens to too many folk tales from Cook Merritt... and alas, she has too much imagination," he said, smiling and shaking his head.

Penelope smiled gratefully at the thought of all three beds in the nursery, their light breathing, and their adventurous dreams. It was the only moment of the day when the house was completely silent, but she wouldn't have changed a thing about her life. "Thanks, you've worked wonders, I daresay. They tend to negotiate more minutes of wakefulness with me."

"The trip to Hyde Park really exhausted them... and thank goodness for that. I love them, but... I'm starting to get old." But every now and then, a little silence is nice, right? she thought.

He knelt by the tub, next to his wife. He placed his calloused hands in the water to caress George. They were hands that had lived, the hands of a man who had written, travelled, and even worked. They were enormous, yet they could be so light and delicate. "So, what's our route today?"

“We were wandering toward the sugar cave, the giant’s,” Penelope said solemnly, earning an equally solemn nod from Georgie.

"Captain, you're entering shallow water... what Mother calls the sugar cave, I'd call the cliffs. Be careful, if the ship runs ashore, you can say goodbye to your conquered treasures."

“Oh no…mine,” said George, all serious and worried, his frowning brows forming a crease between his eyes, much like Penelope’s when something unsettled her. His parents looked at each other and tried to hold back a laugh.

“Of course they're yours. You won them, young pirate. In regard to…what kind of treasures have we found today?”

“Cimmie bikkits”, said George proudly.

“Ah, cinnamon biscuits. My favourite. You have rendered service to the Crown and to your father, young man”, Colin added with gravity, placing a hand over his heart.

Penelope giggled at that. “But look, up ahead is the honey rock,” she said, pointing to a mound of foam, illuminated by the candlelight, near the edge of the tub. “There’s your lair… your home. You just have to get past the marzipan shells,” she said, pointing to some slivers of soap floating in the water, “and only the bravest sailors know how to get through there unnoticed.”

“Oh Penelope, this way it isn’t a pirate story anymore,” Colin scoffed softly.

“Never has been, my dear,” she said, her nose in the air. “Do you presume to find fault with my methods? Ever the man of superior knowledge, are you not?” she said, smirking.

Before Colin could respond with his usual humour, they heard a rather directive “No” coming from the tub, causing them to abandon their skirmish and turn to look at him. “To…together,” George added, smiling.

“Always, darling. Always together. See? He likes us both”, he said, turning towards his wife”. He cleared his throat. “So, where were we…courage…to be sure…” he chuckled, and with a practised hand placed upon George’s, he started guiding the little vessel forward just enough, “Courage, yes…but we seasoned captains would say with the wind at our back, the helm steady, and the course true. What says the compass, Captain?”

George blinked at him. Then he grinned, looked at the palm of his hand as if it held a compass, and pointed with his index finger to the spot where the mound was.

Both parents smiled, hoping that his wild imagination would never leave him. "Perfect, Captain, excellent seamanship. See that white foam over there?" his father said, lowering his voice. "Better steer clear or the keel will break... or the sharks will…"

“No. No sharks. The hard-toothed, sugared almond fish,” Penelope scolded him.

“Oh, of course, the sugared almond hard-toothed fish might find us,” said Colin, a little disappointed at having to alter his pirate story, “…but see over there?” he added, pointing to the candle burning steadily on the chest of drawers next to the tub.

“The tower of light shows you the right way home,” Penelope added satisfied.

“The ship has passed…what has it passed, my dearest one?”

“The forest of bubbles and the sugar cave of the sleeping giant,” said Penelope with the same amiable pedantry that Agatha had also inherited.

“Of course, of course…we have to get to the tower of light, the lighthouse. See? It speaks with the light, not with its voice…it doesn't make any sound.” He stood up to walk toward the candle, wiping his hands as best he could on his breeches, and covered the candlelight, darkening the room, then took his hands off and put them back on, an alternation that amused the little boy so much. “They turn it on…and off…and the ship understands, it always understands everything.”

George's eyes shone, passing from one parent to the other, as if he were truly trying to learn both their languages, grateful for the magical world they had created for him. And his parents, over the years, had learned his. He was a child who felt, everything and too much, who understood even what couldn't be seen, because he had had to learn to communicate differently. George knew how to give meaning to silences, distant noises, glances and expressions. George spoke with his body and had led his parents to have to stay still, act, observe every action, because even they sometimes told a story.

“And that’s where we need to point to…get home,” Colin said, moving back to the edge of the tub, still beside his wife.

George stood up, hesitating, and walked toward his parents, placing a small hand on both of them. “Home,” he said, satisfied.

"Home," they both repeated in unison, their eyes shining. "Time to go out, my little pirate," his father said, gathering him into his arms, while Penelope retrieved a warm cloth from the stove.
Penelope dried him and dressed him again, in a routine all their own, which smelled of love and protection and then Colin, holding him tightly in his arms, carried him to the nursery, to join his siblings.

The room smelled of fresh cotton, and the silence was broken only by their breathing and the occasional words from Thomas, who apparently was truly fighting a war. Penelope looked around: Agatha, with her scruffy braid, Thomas with his blankets in disarray and one foot dangling, and Jane, wrapped in blankets like a mummy.

She instinctively looked at Colin, as if asking for an explanation, and received a whispered, "Witches can't take her like that," as he laid George in his crib, making sure to tuck him in carefully as well. Penelope placed a kiss on his eyes, "This one is for seeing beautiful things," one on the palm of his hand, "This is one is for giving love even without words," and one on his nose, "This one is because…you're adorable," making him chuckle. They wished him goodnight, leaving him with a mother-of-pearl shell as big as his head, a memento of one of Colin's journeys, pressed close to his ear, hoping the sound of the water would lull him into deep, peaceful dreams. She heard a "Mama... Papa", as he was drifting into sleep, and closed her eyes, knowing that even for this day they had given him sweet memories.

She took Colin's hand and he led her out of the room, closing the door gently. They remained like that in silence, embracing, outside the door, for a moment, while he kissed her forehead softly. Penelope thought that life often resembled the games they had played with George, learning to be warm and cold, to stay in light and dark, between words and in silence, and that often, they found themselves acting as a lighthouse not speaking, yielding to his current, but with a light that continues to shine and point the way.

Chapter Text

Penelope entered the house in a burst of frustration, ungracefully casting her bonnet and gloves onto the side table by the entrance with little regard for propriety. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tea with her mother had left her in a foul temper, as always, though she was grateful that, at least, such dreadful audience now occurred once a week, on Fridays (not counting family meeting on Tuesdays) and not anymore, every day of her life.

Portia Featherington had a lot of good reasons to comment on her sisters' husbands. Nigel Berbrooke, for one, possessed neither polish nor worldly sense and Robert Huxley was boorish and excessively loud, with that remarkable ability to always be inappropriate, while Geoffrey Albansdale, the smartest of them all, had somehow succeeded in alienating Felicity and reduce contacts with Portia almost to nothing, but no, her mother always loved to talk about Colin Bridgerton.

Every Friday there was a fresh complaint and a new way to insult him. Once it had been, "He always looks at you like you're a tart fresh from the oven, ready to devour you. It is indecent. He resembles a green boy the first time he sees a woman." And if Penelope had to be honest, she was perfectly aware that, by society’s standard, she and Colin were far too…unrestrained in the public exhibition of their love and that…he did love devouring her, but Good God, as though finding a true love and a husband who praises you and listens to you, who desires you and makes sure you lack for nothing, was a misfortune and a sin.

Another time it had been "He means to make a living by writing? And you alongside him? Like the middling sort… and do not think I have forgotten about your little stunt with that wretched column." And yet, her mother had accepted all her money, though, without batting an eyelid, even when she'd discovered Penelope had been depositing it into the family account for years, not even thanking her. But today, today her mother had particularly infuriated her.

“He's always playing with those kids… he gets down on the floor, soiling his hands and clothes. Penelope, men don't play with their children. It's completely inappropriate, he doesn't know how to manage them… and it shows, because they're loud and insufferable.”
Their children were outspoken, it was true, but sincere, accustomed to parents who sat with them to play and listen to them. This didn't make them too permissive. Colin was a present father, who would make them understand their value and that they were loved, so that they would seek this, one day, in their lives. She knew Colin's smile, the one he reserved for them and for her, and his laugh, and she wouldn't have changed her life because it didn't suit her mother.

She was angry, disappointed, hurt. Not that she'd expected much from her mother, but perhaps it hurt so much precisely because it came from her, and that was a familiar and ancient wound, now rooted in her heart. She had vowed that her children would have something completely different, and so far she was succeeding, but it hurt her that her parent couldn't see how happy Penelope was...and loved, and couldn’t rejoice for her.

A suspicious silence hung in the house. The boys, Thomas and George, were at Number Five with Violet, having some kind of adventures with their cousins, and that would have alone already drowned out most of the noise, but Colin remained home with their little ones, Agatha and Jane, and this complete lack of sound worried her.
She tiptoed up the last flight of stairs, her heart still racing from the conversation she had just finished and from having, for the first time, stood up to her mother.
The air was filled with the unmistakable scent of lavender and peonies mingled with the comforting scent of treacle tart that Cook Merritt had put in the oven for dinner because it was now clear to her that no dinner at Mr. Colin Bridgerton 's house could conclude without a dessert.

Penelope moved down the corridor, thinking about Colin, how he always knew the right thing to say…and the wrong thing to make her laugh, how he chased the children around, making them laugh out loud, how he wrapped her up like a blanket, reassuring, warm. She opened the nursery door slightly and watched the scene, placing a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh, hoping she would remain unnoticed just a moment longer.

Three mustard-yellow cushions had been arranged like thrones, in the middle of the room, around the girls' small tea table. At the head sat Agatha, their eldest, perfectly straight, the very image of a lady. She had a closed book resting in her lap and wore three pearl necklaces, a gift from Violet, twisted around her neck and a small felt crown on her head. Opposite her sat Jane, wearing her crown, into which it had been tucked the feather from Penelope's debut headband, atop her messy auburn curls and a dress stained with something resembling jam...or at least Penelope hoped it was jam. She was clutching her stuffed rabbit under her arm, as she poured tea with a trembling hand.

And between them, upon the floor, with his legs folded, sat Colin, with a scrap of blue muslin draped around his shoulders fastened at the throat with a pink ribbon, the kind Jane used to play bride, a wooden crown artistically painted by Agatha, a tiny porcelain cup in one hand and a fan in the other, which he fluttered before himself with regal dignity. His face was extremely serious, as if he were actually partaking of a royal tea amongst noble women, awaiting the Queen’s entrance. And Heavens, she had loved him before, with all herself, but she had never loved him more than in that precise moment.

Colin had arranged a proper afternoon tea, with butter biscuits, scones with jam and cucumber sandwiches, and just for his little girls, to let them experience those events, so repetitive and sometimes boring for adults, but which for them still had that magical gleam.

Agatha suddenly rose to her feet and, balancing on tiptoe, one stocking up and one stocking down, curtsied, wobbling, trying not to burst out laughing, as her crown rolled at her father's feet.

“I thank you, Viscountess of Lemon Curd,” she declared with dignity as her father gave her crown back, and Penelope had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing aloud. Not the Viscountess of Lemon Curd, Heaven help her. It was astonishing. Then, her eldest daughter pointed to her sister, “Countess of Wildberries, you have jam all over your face…you look like the scone you devoured in two bites.”

“It’s the raspberry jam…from my county” Jane replied, trying to reach the red streak on her cheek with the tip her tongue, looking like a funny exotic animal.

“The Countess wears her pride upon her face, quite rightly,” said Colin, nodding solemnly as he wiped the little girl’s cheek with a napkin, “it is truly a legendary jam, Your Grace.”

Agatha raised an eyebrow. "And then you should teach your rabbit to sit properly...we're ladies after all”, she said, peering her father from the corner of her eye.

Jane, with her crooked felt tiara caught in her curls and her red-stained cheeks, did not move an inch. She clutched Lord Hoppity tightly in her arms, one paw dangling limp and his ears flopping over his face.

“My dear Countess, the Duchess is quite right, that rabbit…he is dishevelled. And with all due respect, if I may inquire” he added, lowering his voice, “why does a gentleman of his station attend our tea?”

Jane hugged the rabbit proudly to her chest, squeezing its face into what Penelope could only describe as a look of exhaustion. “He’s no ordinary rabbit, Viscountess. He is my husband.”

Penelope let out a small, restrained laugh. “Oh, merciful Heavens,” Colin gasped, clutching his chest, “and when did this occur, Countess? I do not believe he asked your Papa’s permission,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“No need,” Jane replied, raising her chin in defiance. “I decided it, I chose it, I married him. And he said yes, with his left ear, like this,” and she tilted his ear up and down, as a proof of her sincerity.

“You’re all your mother, my dear Countess, through and through,” said Colin, gulping down another butter biscuit after dunking it into the precious porcelain cup.

At that, Penelope could hold back no longer. She burst into laughter, revealing her presence. All three of them looked up quickly, smiling at her, finding her by the door, with her hands clasped in her lap and the bright eyes of someone holding back laughter and being moved.

“Ah! The Marchioness of Cuddles!! Good afternoon. You are just in time for tea and to discuss about the infamous Lady Danbury ball of 1824, the one attended by the Queen of Blossoms,” Colin said, winking at her.

“Marchioness of Cuddles?” all three of his women asked simultaneously, in surprised and delight.

“Whose embraces are legendary, whose kisses make all pains go away,” Colin said, looking straight into her eyes, with a softened gaze.

“Yes, that fits perfectly”, Agatha declared. “Please, Marchioness, there is room between me and the Countess.”

Penelope curtsied in a quite dramatic way and sat among her daughters. "It's a great honour to be invited to your tea, Duchess. But I do fear I'm not dressed appropriately for the occasion," she said, looking down at her dress.

“It doesn’t matter, as long as you bring love, you can stay,” Jane told her, her eyes sweet.

“I thank you…and so…Viscountess of Lemon Curd, is it?” she said, taking a biscuit and trying to conceal a giggle, as she helped Jane, who with a trembling hand, served her tea.

“Of course, it’s my very favourite thing. Yellow and sweet…and just the right amount of tangy, just like my favourite person in all the world.” He answered, with shiny eyes.

“Oh Papa, you must stay in character! You can't be so in love with Mama right now,” Agatha scoffed, placing her hands on her hips, with a frown worthy of Eloise.

“Of course, of course, my apologies, Your Grace. Now then…the Lady Danbury’s ball of 1824, the one with the Queen of Blossoms…where…and what precisely happened at the ball of 1824?” asked Colin, a little bewildered, looking at Penelope as if begging her to help him there.

“Do you really not recall, Viscountess of Lemon Curd?” said Penelope, sipping her tea. “Unbelievable. The Queen’s gown was scattering petals all over the ballroom, and the Duke of Gingerbread slipped, quite ungracefully, and fell directly into the chocolate fountain, drenching all the ladies in the room.”

“Noooo,” the girls cried in unison. Agatha was giggling and Jane was covering her mouth, in shock.

“It was quite the scandal…luckily we like chocolate…and…” Penelope said seriously, leaning slightly towards Agatha, as if she wanted to whisper it in her ear “the Viscountess even dipped her biscuits in it.”

“Oh dear, Viscountess, you can think of food under any circumstances,” said Agatha, bursting into laughter, dragging the others with her, while Colin grabbed the last biscuit and Jane whispered under her breath that she knew she had to ask the cook for more.

Later, once the girls were sent off to have a bath and the rabbit was rescued from a disastrous bubble incident, Colin closed the nursery door and turned to Penelope. She was still sitting upon the rug, her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes lost somewhere in the room. Colin pushed the tea table aside and lay down on the rug, next to his wife, propping himself upon one elbow.

“Will you tell me about what happened today?” he asked softly, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“What do you mean?” she asked, truly puzzled, blinking rapidly.

“You wore a strange expression when you arrived. I saw you spying on us, Marchioness of the Cuddles”, he said with a half-smile, “You seemed…troubled…or angry. And since you’ve been at Portia Featherington’s presence, well…I am not surprised.”

Penelope reached out to caress her husband's hand, gratefully, because he truly knew how to see and hear her. She didn't respond immediately, but took the time to breathe and rest her back against the edge of their children's wooden trunk.

“She told me that the children are unruly and too outspoken…that we obviously raise them with little discipline. And that…you're no better. You're not a true father, that…” she said, her voice breaking, “That you do not behave as a father ought.”

She could feel Colin's breathing quicken, the way it was when he got nervous, but before he could speak, she lift a hand, asking him to wait. "And I'm not angry because I believed it, I never believed it in the slightest. But because, as always, she can't see things and criticizes everything that's different from her way to see life. And I’m angry…because she hurt you, and you are the most precious thing in my life.” She paused, breathing faster. “I grew up with a father who could barely tell me apart from my sisters...who I begged to play with me and never even deigned to look at me, let alone answer...with a mother who pretended I wasn't in the room..."

Colin approached her, sitting down so he could hold her in his arms. “And I was so furious…but then I came home and saw you there, on the floor, playing with them, pretending to be a lady with ribbons and crowns… I wouldn't have wanted any other man to be the father of my children. You're not ashamed to play with them, whatever they ask you to be. And you make them feel loved and appreciated… even Thomas and George…and they will remember it. And she doesn't know how much richness there is in that, how much richness there’s in you… how much I wanted their lives to be different from mine…”

Colin held her tighter. “And we are doing just that, Penelope. We're raising them our own way. Just because I don't raise my voice or punish them physically doesn't mean I don't set rules and limits. I just explain those to them, I talk to them...and if they ask me to be a unicorn, I'll do it as long as my knees will allow me to. And your mother is simply..."

“Colin,” Penelope warned him, raising her voice to a high-pitched shriek, anticipating the insult.

“Your mother is simply the Baroness of Unsolicited Opinions,” he said, smiling mischievously.

“Oh Colin,” Penelope replied, with a watery laugh, “cold, stern, and judgmental.”

"Precisely, my Marchioness, and such baronesses like her, are banished from the realm. Just as long as you never forget who you are and what you are worth," he added more seriously, "and... never change your mind about me."

“Never,” Penelope said hastily, almost as if to reassure him, as if she couldn’t bear for him to think otherwise. “Never in my life.”

“And that’s enough for me.” He whispered. “I understand why you keep going to tea with her… no, I don’t, to be honest, but she’s your mother and I can’t stop you from loving her, but always remember who you are. And don’t let her voice guide you, even if it’s hard. But you’re doing a great job,” he said, gesturing with his hands at the mess of crumbs, teacups, and fluttering feathers. “And if you really want to banish her from our house… well, I won’t shed a single tear, my love,” he added, his eyes filled with hope.

They laughed together, curled upon the nursery rug, surrounded by crowns, chipped cups, and childhood dreams. And in that moment, as the sun filtered through the curtains, illuminating the room, and she let herself be enveloped in Colin's embrace, Penelope knew with certainty that, even if her mother would never understand their love, it didn't matter, because she had Colin and the children, and that made her feel very, immensely rich.

Chapter Text

Their study had been a place of order and quiet since the day of their marriage. It was the room where they spent most of the day, sitting opposite one another, each at their own desk, exchanging written pages in search of counsel or filling sheet upon sheet, between a kiss, a smile, and a biscuit.

After making sure that Agatha and Jane were ready to be dressed, Penelope came downstairs to that room to fetch their sons, who certainly needed a bath and some tidying before going to have supper with Grandmama Portia.

Thomas and George had taken refuge with their father in the study in the early afternoon, and had not stirred from it. She had heard them laughing and shouting, lost in some unknown adventure, and so she had decided not to disturb them, but now she couldn't delay it any longer. She slowly went towards the door, smiling to herself as she wondered how she would find them, whether embarked on some maritime adventure as fearsome pirates or stained with paint and charcoal. She opened the door softly, her words frozen in her mouth at the chaos that had become the room of her thoughts, and she instinctively put a hand to her mouth to stifle the cry of terror and frustration that was on the point of escaping.

The books, no longer disposed neatly on the bookshelf, were stacked in leaning piles held upright by some law of physics, all around Colin, sitting on the sofa with a wooden sword in his hand, and around the desk he usually used, like the towers of a castle. Her desk had been carefully moved under the window, so as not to be drawn into the game or ruin anything she had meticulously arranged upon its surface. Cushions were scattered all over the floor, some of which had shed feathers here and there, as though a flock of angry geese had made an incursion into the house.

The chairs had been used as precarious bridges, covered with Penelope's blanket, the same one she had used for years to lull her children to sleep, and the dark blue rug, which Colin had wanted to conceal the ink-spots, lay half-rolled in one corner, stained with something she couldn't quite identify from where she stood.

Two cushions had been tied fast about George’s waist, held in place by the curtain cord, to soften any fall. The boy wore a bowl upon his head like a helmet, while a brigand's scowl appeared on his face. Thomas, on the other hand, with his cheeks red and his curls dishevelled and sweaty from laughing too much and from the mercurial energy he carried, gripped a wooden sword and shouted orders to seize the butter biscuits on the tray in the centre of the desk, the same ones Penelope had had prepared to take to her mother, with the raspberry jam glinting in the candlelight, making them look like so many tiny rubies.

Penelope focused on the scene, on everything that was happening and being left unsaid, which gradually filled her heart, driving away the horror. George's round, rosy cheeks, grinning with mischievous glee, Colin winking at his sons, Thomas's serious, intent gaze, as grave as if he were truly on some mission in his Sovereign’s name.

“En garde, Sir Thomas,” cried Colin, raising his sword toward the ceiling, his shirt rumpled and his wild hair falling over his brow, making him look so much like Thomas. “To win the Queen's biscuits, you must traverse the path of soft cushions and, at last, defy the fearsome guardian of the tray,” he murmured, nodding toward George's stuffed bear, which was wearing an eye patch, making it look like a very cute pirate. “And the keeper of the jam,” he said, pointing proudly at himself.

Thomas raised his sword and proclaimed proudly, "I fear no guardian!", with such heroism that made his mother smile. He turned to his little brother, who was trying to reach him, stumbling over the cushions. "Courage, Sir George! Follow me!"

George, for his part, responded with a loud "ARRRRGH," taking a little run to catch his brother, but stumbled again, falling flat on his face. He remained still for a few seconds, and Penelope, Colin, and Thomas all waited for the loud inevitable cry, but he surprised them by letting out a bright, belly-deep laugh, so similar to Colin's, laughing at his own clumsiness.

Thomas offered a hand and set him upon his feet again, adjusting his helmet and making sure the little knight was whole, but Colin was swifter, catching the child up with one hand, as if he were light as a feather, and tucking him under one arm, and chasing after Thomas, while George shrieked with joy.

“Be careful, Sir George. Do not trust him, he's a cunning creature!” said the older brother, brandishing his sword against Colin, who was chasing him around the desk, with George firmly in his arms. The little one kept laughing all the while, making the walls tremble with that crystalline sound.

At the third charge, Colin allowed himself to drop on the floor, with his back against the sofa, sitting with his long legs outspread, and setting George gently upon the cushions. The little boy, tongue hanging out, as busy as ever, began trying to climb his father's legs, intent on fiddling with the buttons on his waistcoat.

“Wait a minute, little bunny,” he said affectionately, but this seemed to have the contrary effect, because George put a little foot on his belt, helping himself to leverage, and grabbed onto his father’s shoulders, ready to conquer him.

“Oh? Is that our game? Then…captured,” Colin rumbled, tickling him suddenly, causing the boy to lose his grip, and capturing him in his arms. Colin put his nose close to the boy's face, inhaling deeply. “Ah, but that's the scent of victory! I smell lavender soap, talcum powder…and are those butter cookies?” he said, continuing to tickle him and nibble on his cheek. George writhed in his arms, making high-pitched noises of happiness and with one little hand caressing his father’s cheek, as if asking him never to stop, looking straight into his father's eyes, green eyes into green eyes.

“Release my brother at once, you horrid beast!” Thomas shouted, planting himself in front of them, breathless from the chase.

Colin looked up, blinking slowly, almost offended. “What…horrid beast? Were we not the knights of King Arthur?” Ah, mystery solved, thought Penelope at the door.

Thomas shook his head seriously. “We were indeed. But you carried off Sir George, and thus you have become a dreadful dragon. It is perfectly obvious, Papa,” he replied, with a little shrug.

Colin considered his son's logic for a moment, then Penelope saw that glint in his eyes that always appeared when he was thinking of some mischief, and he lowered his voice, making it as hoarse and cavernous as possible. "A dragon, then," he hissed. "Then know, fearless knight, that this is my whelp, aye, the dragon's cub, and you can never, I repeat, never, take him from me."

Thomas shivered, almost of indignation. “He is no dragon’s cub,” he growled, rocking upon his heels as his father always did. “That…is…my…brother!” he said, enunciating each word.

George, who had remained silent until then, looked first at Colin, then Thomas, then back to his father, and a mischievous smile appeared. He swelled his chest, opened his mouth, and let out a roar, loud, full, and long, surprisingly, the longest sound Penelope had ever heard from him.

Thomas, at first surprised, began to laugh, clutching his belly, and fell backward onto the cushions. Colin burst out laughing too, until, wiping away a tear, he said, “You see? This is the power of my heir. Sir Thomas, yield…I always protect what I love.”

Penelope folded her arms, thinking about how much truth there was in Colin's words, as she watched Thomas ponder, his gaze darting from his father and brother to the biscuits abandoned on the desk. Then the boy lowered his sword and sat down on the floor. Thomas wet his lips, as he always did when he had to say something difficult or important.

“Papa, do you ever think that George is sad because he cannot speak?”

It was as if time had paused. A flash of worry and agitation appeared in Penelope's eyes. It was difficult for Thomas to understand why the brother he had so longed for as a playmate, a companion for adventures and confidences, could not talk yet. His parents didn't know if he ever would and struggled to answer his questions. Colin always told everyone, Penelope included, that they should live day by day, almost as if to reassure himself, and although Thomas was a caring and patient brother, sometimes a kind of anger, frustration, and perhaps sadness for George's condition settled in him, a feeling his parents understood, even though the child himself was ashamed of it.

Colin motioned for him to join them, holding out one hand so Thomas could also find shelter in his embrace, while with the other he drew soft circles on George's back, something that always soothed him. "I think..." he began, seeking the words, "I think that sometimes George gets frustrated...just as we are when we want to say something and can't find the words, when they hide in our mind, or when thoughts get tangled in our heads. At times he may be angry, sometimes he's sad, like we all are...and not for him. But I think sometimes he wants to say so much and doesn't know how, and that would make you angry too, Tom."

Penelope gripped the doorframe tightly so as not to break the spell. Colin paused, swallowing, well aware of both his sons' eyes on him. "Yet... I also think George is very happy, most of the time. And I see it when he laughs, when he's busy with something and focused, showing us the results, when he looks at us, when he caresses us and kisses us... and when he roars." He felt George's little hand move on his cheek, and that gave him courage, knowing that perhaps he was on the right path.

“I see it when he runs into my arms, or when he’s not satisfied until your mother gathers him to hug him…or when he seeks you out to smile and play with you. When he gives us flowers or drawings…I think he's very sensitive…and artistic, you know? But…” he stopped and made a small grimace, which Penelope recognized as pain. “Sometimes I think about it too…sometimes it worries me, I won't deceive you…but I try to understand who George is now, not who he might become one day, maybe yes, maybe not. And I try to tell him that every day, with what we do together.” He looked at the little blond man in his arms, “And who George is now, well I really like him.” The child smiled up at him with all his teeth.

Thomas looked down, letting his brown hair fall over his eyes, the way it always did when he tears were near, Penelope knew it all too well. Then he looked intently at George and squeezed his hand. “Well, I like him very much, too. And he has an excellent dragon roar...and an inimitable pirate laugh.”

Colin ran a hand through Thomas's hair, further ruffling it. "I confirm. A pirate laugh I've never heard before," he nodded seriously.
George tried to contribute in his own way, so he swelled his chest again and let out an “ARRRaaah!”, hugging Thomas so hard that Penelope couldn’t help but laugh, bringing the light back into the room.

All three turned together towards the door and smiled heartily at her, as her men always did when they saw her. With her lips she shaped a silent “thank you” to Colin, that silent exchange known to them alone.

Colin returned the smile, certain of her support. “The Queen of Biscuits!!” he shouted, scooping George up in his arms and offering him to her whilst the child stretched his hands towards her.

Penelope entered the room, took up the tray from the desk, and walked toward them, carefully trying not to step on any cushions, both to avoid tripping and to avoid breaking the enchantment of the game. "The Queen of Biscuits thinks that if there are knights brave enough to defend the little ones with courage...then they deserve their biscuits, Sir Thomas," she said, holding out the tray to the boy and placing a kiss on his forehead. "Only one, Thomas, don't spoil your appetite," she added, with a feigned scolding, also giving one to the youngest and their father.

She kissed George on the cheek, crumpling it with her affection, and then let him run back to his brother. She sat down beside Colin and leaned in just enough to give him a kiss, light but enough to feel his smile against her mouth.

“You have kissed the dragon, Mama!” Thomas squealed, delighted to be back within the game.

“Ah, you made a novice’s error, my Queen,” he said in his best dragon voice, holding her close. “A dragon doesn’t let go of what he loves easily,” he added, looking into her eyes.

Thomas had a sparkle of jealousy, the brief, uncontrolled kind that all children have. “The dragon must release my mama at once!”
George also turned to them and seemed to mirror Thomas's energy, so much so that he retraced his steps, and stretched out both arms to Penelope, claiming her attention.

Colin pretended to resist, holding his wife even tighter, so much so that she was entirely enveloped in his scent of paper, musk, and leather, the same intoxicating scent that had been giving her butterflies in her stomach for years.

The two children charged their father with their wooden swords, and after a long, melodramatic moment, he pretended to have fallen under the knights' weapons, announcing his defeat. "Alas, the horrid creature was vanquished," he said, collapsing into the cushions.

The two children laughed, dragging their mother with them. George dove back into Penelope's arms, resting his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her scent, that had soothed him since infancy, while his mother stroked his hair. Thomas also ran into his mother's arms, and after a few moments, after regaining his breath and colour, he asked, "But what of the biscuits?"

Penelope pretended to think, rolling her eyes to the ceiling. Of all four children, every one seemed to have inherited their father's proverbial appetite and to only think about food. "The biscuits...let me see...they need to be taken safely to Grandmama Portia. In fact," she said, looking at the mantel clock, "it's time for these two valiant gentlemen to wash and get dressed, for we must be off.”

For an instant everything was still. Colin had forgotten, undoubtedly unintentionally, about that evening's engagement. Thomas and Colin looked at each other for a long time, panic silently flowing between their eyes, then they smiled and, still with a melodramatic tone, chorused, "Oh no! Grandmama Portia, noooo!", pretending to faint on the cushions, hand resting on their foreheads.

George also seemed to catch the spirit and was infected by it, so much so that he also let out a “Noooo” and flung himself upon the cushions on his stomach, occasionally peeping at Penelope to see if she was looking at him, snapping his eyes shut the instant she looked, making both his parents laugh.

Penelope pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. "This behaviour of yours…it’s not nice," but as she looked around, at a fainting dragon, a knight upright on the ground beside him, and a dragon’s cub sprawled on a pillow with its little feet in the air, she couldn't help but laugh. "Come now, Grandmama Portia awaits us. And you know what that implies..."

“That she will lament the whole evening about being left alone, abandoned by her wicked daughters, who married equally wicked husbands” Colin said with a profound sigh.

“That she will eat all the biscuits and then lament about putting on weight,” Thomas said seriously, crossing his arms and huffing.

“Thomas!” Penelope scolded him, elbowing Colin, who was laughing.

“What? It is true. But we'll give her a nice surprise. George is very good at making the dragon roar and protecting the biscuits,” he said satisfied, anticipating the feasting he would have after dinner.

“No dragons, no roaring. And please, no remarks about Grandmama. For this night only. Please, do it for me.”

Colin looked at her steadily, then nodded, as if to give himself courage. He stood up, using the sofa as a support, and tucked his shirt back and ran a hand through his hair. He was a mess, Penelope thought, but he was perfectly hers. She smiled, biting her lip.

“Come on dragons, it’s time to go.” He sent the children to the nursery maid, despite their complaints, to be made presentable and offered Penelope his hand to help her rise, holding her tightly in his arms.

“Thank you,” she said, “for the father you are,” she added, anticipating his question.

He smiled. "It's the finest job I could have ever asked for, and..." he gave her a kiss that lasted longer than was necessary, "with you by my side, it's very easy," he added, his eyes full of sweetness and respect.

They were silent a moment, and in that silence lay all the anxieties, the words they did not always dare to utter when at night they held their hands together in the dark, their fears. But Penelope knew there were also the laughter, the caresses, and the roars. She would not exchange one single thing about her life, though it was not always easy.

“It applies to you as well, you know,” Penelope said then.

“And what, pray, is that?” he asked, all innocence.

“No roars, no remarks upon Grandmama Portia.”

“That, my dear Penelope, always depends on what the she-dragon has to say,” he winked at her, stole a biscuit and left the study to get himself ready, not before reassuring Mrs. Bellamy that he would sort everything out in the study in the morning and then went upstairs humming.

Penelope lingered in the room for a moment longer, gazing at the remains of the fortress illuminated by the setting sun. She thought that this was truly their kingdom. Sometimes it was filled with silences, stolen kisses and words written on paper, and sometimes, more often, was made of laughter, roars, and embraces that, in turn, became a language of their own. A kingdom where, every evening, she could say thank you to the man she loved, to their children, and to this life, imperfect as it was, for she liked the sound it made.

Chapter Text

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, illuminating it with its timid rays. It had been a stormy night, but the sun seemed to be trying to peek through the clouds and illuminate everything. Penelope glanced briefly toward the window, left open to let in the sweet morning air, and drew a long breath. The weather outside, she thought, seemed to echo what she felt inside.

It had been a difficult birth, long and painful. Amidst the cries of her labour, she had sworn it would be her last, and she had made Colin promise it too, amongst curses. She recalled very little of it, save for the damp sensation of blood between her thighs and the feeling of not having the strength to endure it. It had felt endless, yet, naively, she had believed that after three births, this one would have proceeded with ease. She remembered the chill, despite the fire burning in the hearth, she remembered the pains that broke her, and the terror that she might had to leave Colin and their children behind. And then something had ignited inside her, a strength she didn't know she possessed. That child seemed to be fighting to enter the world, and she, gathering all her courage left, had answered his call.

She rested her gaze on the little bundle in her arms, who was finally quiet. George was the largest babe she had ever given birth to, all chubby cheeks and arms, yet as quiet as a field hare. She studied his ruddy cheeks, his little golden tufts, his little hands clenched in sleep, and his dewy eyelids, shut tight, while his mouth seemed to be seeking her or in a hurry to say something.

She looked at him and her eyes filled with tears. She had risked so much this time, she knew it, yet, looking at the child in her arms, she thought it had been worth it. It always had been. Her mother had told her once that the birthing bed was like a battlefield for a woman, and it was true, but she would march again into it. Instinctively, she looked up at Colin, who was sitting in an armchair facing the bed, looking at her, his hands clasped on his knees and his eyes wide, from terror and sleeplessness, but still filled with love.

She smiled at him because she was well aware to be a mess. They had washed and changed her, but her curls were still loose and messy, soaked in sweat, now tied in a soft, tangled braid. Yet he looked at her as if she were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and his finest treasure. She felt exhaustion creeping over her, in her tired eyes that struggled to stay open and in her arms that trembled, concentrating on holding the baby. But she didn’t want to put him down, as if the thought to have him breathing and warm in her arms, was a reminder that she was still there too.

She knew Colin had been afraid, though perhaps he wouldn't have told her so as not to distress her, but throughout the torment, she had seen terror in his eyes, in his tears, and in the words he whispered to her. She closed her eyes, trying to banish the memory, swallowing the knot in her throat, and tried to focus on what they had now. The storm had passed, and now they could enjoy the sun.

“He's finally sleeping,” Penelope whispered, breaking the curtain of silence that had descended upon the room. “And you should be sleeping too, Colin. You haven't slept all night.” She whispered to him lovingly.

“You, should rest. You just…you just performed a miracle,” he said with a trembling voice, as he rose and came to her, placing a kiss on her forehead. “Again.”

“It was different from the others…longer, more tiring”, she said grimacing, “Perhaps I’m no longer young”, she added, smiling at him, trying to break the heaviness of the moment, but Colin gave her a reproachful look.

He remained silent for a moment that seemed excessively long. He climbed into the bed, lying down beside her, and wrapped his arms around her, looking at George and kissing every part of her face. She was warm, real, and most of all, alive.

“I was afraid,” he admitted in a whisper, “when…when I heard you cry out in such a manner…” he paused to breathe, “you’d never done that before. And when you said you could not go on…I could not breathe. I…” his eyes filled with tears again, “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Penelope. And the children…I would cease to live.”

Penelope said nothing for a moment, feeling that if she spoke, she would burst into tears. She made a slight effort to settle back into the pillows, then she caressed his face, with the hand she had on George's tiny feet, and pulled him toward her to kiss him long and deep. "I know... I was frightened too... but it's over, it's all over now, Colin."

The moment was interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of small voices clamouring in the corridor outside their door. They had been kept at bay for hours, but both knew they couldn't put it off any longer. The three siblings were eager to see the new arrival and, above all, to hug their mother again.

They were still young and needed her, even though Penelope was well aware that perhaps they would need her for the rest of their lives. She sighed and smiled, knowing that she was for them what she wanted to be, what Violet was for her children, a far cry from what Portia had been.

Colin smiled at her. “Shall I let them in just for a moment? If you’re not too tired.”

Penelope nodded. “I wish to see them too, I want to greet them, and maybe I need to reassure them …and I need them. Only, please, don't let them jump on the bed, and tell Jane that George isn't a doll.” She smiled at him, as he was already heading for the door, knowing he had to catch them before they barrelled into the room.

As he opened it, a whirlwind of energy washed over him. He placed a firm arm across the doorway, blocking them. Thomas, at five years old, was, as always, the most agitated of all. He clutched furiously at his shirt sleeve, searching for a way out so he could run to his mother, to find out if the brother he'd dreamed of had finally been born. Jane, her stuffed rabbit clutched in her hands, watched silently, her eyes wide. Colin knew he shouldn't underestimate the three-year-old's stillness, because she was quite convinced the newly born was one of her toys and could potentially be more dangerous than her older brother’s antics.

Agatha stood behind them, upright and composed, her eyes glassy. At six, she seemed far older than her age. The nursery maid had told Colin she had heard Penelope’s cries and had been terribly upset. She was the eldest and had witnessed the births of all her siblings, but perhaps for the first time she understood the risks, as well as the joyful moments.
She was clutching in her arms a yellow stuffed duckling she had picked up with him in a toy shop, the companion she hoped the new sibling would love as much as she had when she saw it on the shelves.

“Papa! Was he born? Can we come in, can we?” Thomas shouted.

“I want to see my doll, Papa. Can I see my doll? I brought one of Dorothea's prettiest frocks.” Colin laughed as he looked at the pink ruffled dress of his daughter's rag doll.

“You may come in, but,” he said, blocking them with his hand again, “first of all, we mustn't scream or move like a hurricane. Your mama is tired, and the baby is sleeping too. And he's very delicate, Jane, it's not a toy. Touch him gently and don't wake him.” He let go just in time to see them slip under his arm and run inside. “And no jumping on the bed!” he added firmly.
Agatha lingered on the threshold, swallowing as if trying to gulp several difficult questions. Colin held out his hand to her, and the little girl trusted her father's firm grip and let herself be led into the room, although hesitantly.

Jane and Thomas ran to the bed, halting before Penelope, who smiled, weary but radiant, her newly arrival nestled in her arms. Their mother held out an arm, as if to signal them to come closer, and Jane was the first to kick off her slippers and join her on the sheets.

“Oooh, Mama,” she whispered excitedly, “this baby is so small and…wrinkled…are you sure the baby was just born?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side and raising an eyebrow.

Penelope laughed, immediately regretting it, gasping at the pain. Colin was at her side at once, leaving Agatha's hand, sitting beside Penelope and gently rubbing her back.

“Yes, darling, he was just born. He had a hard time being born, it was difficult for him.”

“May I dress him? I brought the prettiest little pink gown with ruffles. Can I take him to tea with Dorothea and Lord Hoppity, Mama? Can I?” she asked her breathless, her eyes wide.

“When he is older, sweetheart,” Penelope answered gently. “He is very delicate, like Rebecca was, remember? When she fell on the floor and broke, you were so sad. Your brother is just as delicate now.” Penelope replied, thinking back to the tragedy that had followed the breaking of her porcelain doll.

“Very well. I shall wait,” Jane said solemnly, with a tiny curtsy. “May I?” she asked, lifting a hand and holding it out to George.

“Yes, slowly,” her mother replied, taking her little hand in hers and guiding it to the baby’s cheek. “There, well done,” she reassured her, letting her do it by herself.

“Is he truly…a boy?” Thomas asked excitedly, on the brink of tears. “Truly? Not like last time?” he added, glancing at Jane and wrinkling his nose. “Do I truly have a brother?”

“Yes, indeed. You have a brother, and his name is George,” Colin replied, laughing softly, trying to lower his voice so as not to disturb the sleep of the child who had just stirred in his mama’s arms.

“George,” he repeated softly, tasting the name as though it were something sweet. “I have a brother,” he said, ruffling his curls, almost incredulous, a huge smile on his face. “May I hold him? Can I teach him to run? Can I teach him to toss stones in the pond? Can I let him play with my swords and soldiers? Can I?”

“One thing at a time, lad…breathe” Colin chuckled, pressing his lips to Penelope’s hair.

“As for Jane, when he grows up, but you can look at him and you can caress him. You may get closer, you know?” his mother smiled at him.

Thomas shook his head as if to break the spell and curled up on the bed next to his mother and younger sister. "He’s quite splendid, you know. I don't know how you made him, but you did exceedingly well."

“Ungrateful” his huffed. “I assisted”. Penelope laughed again, and Colin with her.

Then she lifted her gaze. “Aggie, come here, love.” The girl stood apart, watching her mother intently.

Thomas and Jane watched her from their nest, while Colin made room for her beside him, so that everyone could surround Penelope and George.
Agatha hated crying, yet Penelope felt the tears coming. She held the toy tightly, then laid it beside the infant and stepped back, moving away from the bed.

“Mama…” she finally began, “I heard you cry. I…” Agatha stopped, feeling the tears running down her cheeks.

Penelope became serious for a moment, as the thought of what Agatha had been through broke her heart. “Come here, darling.”

Agatha approached cautiously and took her mother's outstretched hand. Colin lifted her into his arms, as she curled into his chest. "It frightened me... I thought... that..." The little girl hid against Colin's chest.

“It's all over, darling,” he murmured in a low voice. “Mama is here, and she's fine. Your mama is strong. And so is George. We all waited for him together, and now we're all here.” Penelope leaned against his chest.

“I was frightened too, Aggie” she said, stroking her curls, while the children looked at her puzzled. “I was scared of losing you, but my love for all of you gave me strength. Sometimes, when you love someone very much, it makes you afraid. But it also makes you brave.”

Agatha nodded slowly, weighing her words, and Colin held her close, thinking he would do anything to protect them, all of them, from any pain.
It was at that moment that George stirred, letting out a little whimper, and stretched out his little hands, grasping the air. Penelope took George's hand and guided it out toward Agatha, until the baby, feeling her, clung to her finger.

Agatha beamed. “He caught me” she whispered, surprised. “Did he know it was me?” she asked curiously.

“Maybe so,” her mother smiled at her, “he knows your voice well, with all the books you’ve read to him.”

“He knows mine too,” Jane snorted, “I’ve sung him so many songs,” she added annoyed, prompting Colin to sigh, recalling those moments, and to think that Jane had many qualities, but singing in tune would never be one of them.

Thomas peered over again, stepping over his little sister. “I spoke to him too… I told him he had to be a boy, and he listened,” he added smugly.

“No doubt that was decisive,” Colin nodded with mock seriousness, earning a jab from Penelope, who yawned.

“I’m taking them out, my love. They can come back later,” Colin whispered in her ear.

She nodded. “Hopefully they will bring me some cake and a full night’s sleep.”

Colin laughed and leaned down to kiss her softly. “One will definitely happen, but the other…” he said, gesturing with one hand to the crowd of children huddled around them, “I fear that’s possible anymore. I haven’t believed that for years.”

He gathered the children, who reluctantly moved away from their mother, to bring them back to their nursery maid. Penelope smiled as she watched them. Colin held Agatha by the hand, Thomas slung over his back, his hands firmly tied around his father's neck, and Jane had climbed onto his feet, forcing her father to move like a penguin, even if an extremely cute penguin, Penelope thought.

When Colin returned to the room, Penelope was nursing George, who had latched on passionately. He sat beside her, where Jane and Thomas had been sitting, and watched the scene in reverent adoration, daring to speak only when the baby pulled away, full and sleepy, but still alert. George looked at Colin gravely, his eyes already seeming to hint at the green of his own.

“Four children…who would have thought it,” he said in awe, “certainly not me seven years ago. Four children, and each time I love you more.” He said, kissing her on the head and gently stroking the child's head.

Penelope saw that in his hands he was clutching the now worn book of fairy tales that Colin had written on the occasion of the birth of their first child.

“Ah, The tales of the willow tree?” asked Penelope excitedly, misty-eyed.

Colin nodded, equally excited, like a child. “It's tradition. I read it to each of them on their first day.”

“And which one shall we choose for Georgie?” asked Penelope curiously.

He smiled. “Let me think…he looks just like The Little Duckling who waited for the Sun.” Colin leaned over to smell that enchanting scent that only newborns have. “Born on a stormy day, but he brought the sun, and was born in a room full of hearts.”

Penelope snuggled against him, closing her eyes. “Is it new?”

“I wrote it last night, before things became difficult,” he said solemnly.

“Did you write that his Mama was so very tired, but had never been so happy? And that his Papa looked at her like she was his whole world?”

“I did. Because she is” he whispered, his eyes shining.

Penelope smiled and closed her eyes, letting Colin's voice lull her. “Once upon a time, there was a duckling who did not wished to hatch. Not because he was afraid of the world – well, perhaps he was a little – but because the sky was grey, and the rain drummed incessantly on the barn roof, and the sky coughed angrily, making him think that perhaps it might be better to remain, still, inside the egg his mother had been hatching with so much love and care…”

Penelope giggled here and there as her husband changed his voice depending on the character and thought that truly that room was full of love, sometimes just between them, sometimes shared, but so broad that it overflowed.

She thought back to that willow tree, to Aubrey Hall, under which Colin had carried her countless times. Where they had shared hidden moments of love, where she told him she was expecting their first one, where they picnicked with their children or laughed and played with the extended family. That room, which mere hours earlier had felt like a battlefield, had now become that very garden full of hearts. And Penelope wouldn't have wished to be anywhere else.

Chapter Text

It had gradually become a family tradition, one Jane especially seemed to long for. Every May, Hyde Park was overflowing with flowers, filled with stalls and people mingling over the array of crunchy sticky sweets, feathered hats fluttering in the wind, fabrics of disparate textures, books and quills. There were acrobats and puppet shows, string quartets, and even last-minute improvised Shakespearean plays, yet Jane, with all the resolution and bright-eyed wonder of her six years, was convinced that this spring fair was a land of marvels, where she could sparkle in her prettiest gown and ribbons set in her curls.

She was a cheerful child, a touch vain, but with a smile so radiant that it brightened anyone's day, so everything was forgiven. Jane, however, was shy, as her mother had been, and often hid behind her skirt or her father’s long legs, letting them or her elder siblings speak on her behalf, rather than let her voice be heard.

That morning the Bridgerton family paraded through the crowd in almost neat procession. Penelope held George in her arms and walked beside Colin, his hand brushing hers, both knowing they had to restrain their intimacy in public. Agatha moved with narrowed eyes amongst the stalls, ready to note every detail mentally, making her mother smile because it used to be her habit to do so, while Thomas ran between the wooden toys and the puppies, pleading with his parents for a dog, with little success. Jane trotted along in her white muslin dress, with the ruffles bouncing with her coppery curls held in place by two green ribbons. She squealed every time something new caught her eye, and George, his head resting on his mother's shoulder, pointed to the sweets with awe, clutching tightly a small wooden horse.

They were allowed to roam freely, never losing sight of them, even though their parents were engaged in naming everything George pointed to. He didn't speak, but he was curious and insisted on knowing the name of every object that crossed his view. He used his gaze, his facial expressions, and even his grunts had meaning, alongside his laughter. It was a language all their own, one they had learned to understand. He'll speak when the time is right, Colin always reassured her, and that had given her hope to cling to.

“Mrs. Bridgerton, Mr. Bridgerton.” A voice, high-pitched, annoying, so syrupy it spilled bile, wiped the smile from her face, making her stiffen. Colin instinctively approached Penelope with a stealthy step, holding out a hand in front of her, as if to shield her.

“Cressida,” Penelope said with feigned courtesy. Of all the people she might have met, this was one she most dreaded. Cressida had remained in the shadows since the Lady Whistledown affair, but enough time had passed for her to reappear in full public ostentation. Penelope observed her. Her honey-blonde hair, shiny as ever, was wrapped in two braids pinned to her head, surrounded by feathers and gems. Her flamingo-pink dress, which matched the details of her hairstyle, was topped with two wide puffed sleeves, covered in flowers, undoubtedly an attempt to start a new fashion. There was no one like her, and she was keen to remind everyone of it. And no matter how ridiculous and faded she might be, she was still Cressida, Lady Twombley.
The blonde turned to Colin, flashing her most dazzling smile, her green eyes blazing with malice and...desire? Penelope snorted with disgust. She recalled when, as girls, she'd been convinced Colin would marry her for "their green eyes were meant to be together" and the fact that Penelope had managed to get married to him was still a great riddle never to be solved to her rival.

Penelope kept shifting her gaze from Colin, his face dark with wrath, to Cressida. She began stroking Colin's arm with a thumb, with small, almost imperceptible movements, as if to calm him, because she could feel the fury build in him, from the tense muscles beneath the fabric. Yet Cressida seemed to revel in it, maintaining her feline grin, almost already pleased with the cruel words she was about to utter. Time had not been kind to her. She was still a pleasant woman, tall, slender, elegant, yet several lines had nestled on her face around her eyes and mouth, and on her forehead were wrinkles due not so much to time as to spite. She was the same age as Penelope, yet she seemed much older, as if the malice that had corroded her heart had finally shown itself externally, carving its scars even on her face.

“What a delightful surprise, to find you here!” she trilled, attracting a crowd of curious onlookers. She leaned slightly toward George, who appeared nervous of her overly made-up face and venomous grin, so much so that he muttered “no no no” and, shaking his head, hid himself again between his mother’s soft curves. “And who is this handsome child? The first?”

“The fourth,” Colin replied curtly, “And now if you’ll excuse us, we must be on our way.”

He reached for Penelope's elbow, trying to drag her away, but Cressida had other plans. She reached out with her slender fingers, too bony for the ostentatious rings she wore, and poked George's belly. "And what's your name?"

George glanced at her briefly, then lowered his gaze to the horse he was clutching in his little hands, then turned to his parents, as if to cry for help. No sound escaped his lips, just a small snort, which Colin interpreted as a wish for the hag to cease touching him.

Penelope cleared her throat and smoothed the boy's blond hair. "His name is George."

“And why does he not answer for himself? He is surely old enough to do so,” she replied, still in that shrill voice.

“He…,” Penelope closed her eyes and took a deep breath, “he does not speak yet.”

Cressida seemed to brighten at that statement, and Penelope realized she wouldn't be ready for whatever words came out of her mouth. She was proud of George, as she was of any other child of hers, and she would never hide him, but she had to admit that the remarks of others wounded her more than she cared to confess. She felt Colin's gaze on her, surprised that he was still talking to her. Her husband didn't let go of her arm, but he looked around, fully aware that the number of people around them had grown and he was determined not to create a scene in public.

“How very shocking”, she raised her voice, enough for some of the ladies nearby to hear. “Poor thing. So large and yet…he is…touched, perhaps?”, she added, pointing to her head.
The word struck like a poisoned blade. She felt tears welling up in her eyes and whatever confidence she had built up over the years faltered. Then, another, crueller blow. “Besides, dear Penelope, with your sensitivity and ineptitude…what else might one expect? It must have been… disappointing. Though, of course, you knew whom you were marrying.” The last words were addressed to Colin.

Colin felt his blood turn into ice. He stiffened, his jaw clenched, his eyes shot daggers. Instinctively, he brought his entire body in front of his wife and son, whom Penelope was holding tightly, shielding them with every inch of himself. He tried to breathe deeply because he knew that another wrong word would make him lose his restraint, onlookers or not. George, for his part, was peering over his father's shoulder, scowling at the woman and making irritated grunts. Penelope felt the ground slip away from her. She didn't want to look around, but the murmurs of the people were enough.

"Mama, who is this lady?" The three adults turned and saw the three children approaching them, with curiosity. It was Agatha who spoke first, her voice firm and clear, her expression feigning innocence. "I do not think I know her." She looked from her mother to Cressida, with a polite smile.

Penelope hesitated for a moment. “An…old family acquaintance, darling.”

“Yes,” Cressida confirmed too quickly, “a very dear friend of long standing.”

“Oh!” Thomas exclaimed with his father’s notorious mischievous smile. “Then perhaps you were a friend of Grandmama Violet.”

Cressida's smile faded, her face cracking further, like a porcelain doll shattering into a thousand pieces. Colin masked the amused growl he'd made with a cough, while Penelope let out a shocked sigh, holding her breath, near to choking.

“How impertinent this darling is”, Cressida ground out through her teeth. “I am the same age as your dear mama.”
Thomas looked at her seriously, as if pondering and inspecting her. “Are you? I do not think so.” He raised an eyebrow. “My mama’s skin is smooth and soft, but yours…” He waved a hand as if to imply that she was the complete opposite.

Agatha turned to shake Thomas's hand, as if to congratulate him on their success. They were partners in mischiefs, and remained so at every moment of their lives.

Cressida snorted inelegantly, like a bull. "What…these children..." She was interrupted by Jane, who had furtively joined her brothers and was smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirt with great care. "And what did you wear? You look like you smeared yourself in paste and rolled around in a garden where some hens have been running around." She said, with a small curtsy.

Cressida flushed scarlet as she noticed how the people around her began to chuckle, pointing at her and humiliating her. The whole family turned to look at Jane, astonished. She looked so much like Daphne, a little lady already, and they would never have expected a word out of place from her.

“Well done, Jane”, Thomas said, then leaned over to whisper in his older sister’s ear, “We can admit her into our club.”

Colin coughed to stifle a laugh, unsuccessfully. Penelope shot him a look, as if to tell him it wasn't the right time, but seeing her children united to defend her and their younger brother filled her with pride.

“How insolent!” Cressida raised her chin, but her voice trembled. “Your children know nothing of respect. It’s not my fault you’re burdened with that.” She said, pointing at George.

“No, on the contrary. We know it very well, but it's something one must earn,” Agatha replied politely, though coldly.

"I'd recommend a stricter governess; they're little animals”, Cressida sneered. “But perhaps the fault lies in your parenting...these children are speaking as though they were adults."

“No, we’re very well-mannered”, Jane added, “And honest, and we observe very carefully”.

“And George does not speak, but he observes everything. If he gave you no answer, perhaps he already knew none was required.” He approached his mother and looked his brother straight in the eye. “Is it not so, Georgie? That snort said it all,” Thomas said, nodding with satisfaction. George responded with a half-smile, almost invisible, but well-known to those who knew him well.

Jane laughed. “Indeed! George knows perfectly well when it’s not worth answering!”

“I'm afraid there's nothing more to say,” Colin concluded with a crooked smile, then became serious again. “In my house, we listen and speak freely, and we do not mistake cruelty for candour. And above all, Lady Twombley, no child is ever called a burden. Not mine.”

Penelope was once again grateful some magnanimous God had granted her to have him as a husband and father to her children. Where she faltered, he steadied her, and vice versa. She felt the humiliation fade, giving way to the warmth that only love can give. The world could whisper what it wanted, but she and Colin would continue to walk with their children, protecting them and teaching them how to defend themselves...and they would learn from them, too.

Cressida opened her mouth, closed it again, then turned abruptly, her face crimson. She left without muttering another word, with a stiffed curtsey. Her skirts fluttered on the ground, while she disappeared swiftly into the crowd, which was laughing and now dispersing.

Jane was still giggling, Thomas was wearing a smug half-smile, and Agatha was maintaining an unconvincing air of innocence.

Penelope took a deep breath. “Children…” she began, reproachfully.

“Yes, Mama,” they answered in chorus, without the slightest regret.

Penelope searched for the right tone. “One must not prick too sharply, even when one seeks to defend.”

“But we did it softly,” Jane protested, smiling.

“And we spoke the truth, Mama,” Thomas added, blinking.

“We just need to refine the method,” Agatha concluded, taking Jane by the hand.

Penelope turned to George, who was staring at the baker’s stall with an intensity worthy of his father. “Come along,” she said. “We are in need of sugar. Biscuits and cakes.”

Penelope let go of George, who ran with his siblings to the baker’s, pointing to the cinnamon biscuits and the almond cakes, raising four fingers. One for each. Penelope sank into Colin’s embrace.

“You know,” she whispered, “I did not wish once, today, he could speak. Only that he could be heard.”
“And he did it, in his own way. As always…you just have to know how to understand him. He has a voice, and he knows how to use it. He does it his way. I…have to confess, I almost lost my patience, but they saved me.”

Penelope widened her eyes. “They are dangerous.”

“They are extraordinary,” Colin replied, raking a hand through his hair. “Forgive me if I set no proper example. I laughed when I should not have. But I could not restrain myself…I have never seen Cressida so undone in all my life, and I know not if ever I shall again.”

Penelope laughed. She'd feared Cressida's words would leave scars, but instead it was their children who had helped her, with their ability to laugh together, to not let meanness take root and scar them. "We're both terrible examples, sometimes."

“Yes…but…how did she phrase it? Respect is something you must earn…Agatha is such a wonder. And those who rolls amongst hens, well…deserve little of it.” Colin laughed heartily, dragging Penelope along with him.

“I can’t believe Jane spoke so. Janie.”

“I've learned to expect surprises from those who are always so timid and quiet. I learned it years ago.” He gave her a gentle kiss and took her hand, leading her to the stall.

They sat for a long time beneath a willow tree, hand in hand, while their children played chasing George and gathering him into their arms, filling the air with laughter, which echoed on the wind.

Penelope watched them run through the grass, the children's voices chasing each other among the bent branches of the willow. She'd feared she'd crumble when Cressida had used that word like a blade, but instead it was her children who answered her with the purity that only they possessed, turning malice into jest.

Colin took her hand, intertwining his fingers with hers. “Do not fret”. He kissed her hand. “You see?” he murmured. “They know how to do it. They always do.”

Penelope smiled. She understood that this was their triumph, not convincing the world, but continuing to understand each other. Nothing could truly wound them as long as truth and love held them together.

Chapter Text

The morning had begun like any other. Thomas was busy playing toast-and-biscuit war, creating orange and red stains of jam on the white tablecloth and throwing the fallen ones into the cup of chocolate in front of him, while Agatha and Jane argued, squealing over a ribbon. Agatha, who prided herself upon a precocious sense of maturity, often showed annoyance at her younger sister's demands and had little tolerance.

"Enough, Aggie, you are not even using that ribbon. You never liked it," Penelope sighed, trying to part them.

"It matters not! It is my ribbon! Aunt Philippa gave it to me!" the little girl cried, trying to assert her logic, even though she was well aware it was weak.

Jane had found it at the bottom of a trunk, abandoned, dusty and long forgotten, and yet Agatha, seeing it in her hands, had started to throw a most obstinate tantrum.

“You may take one of hers, dearest,” Penelope attempted to mediate.

"You shall not," Jane declared. "I need all of them, I am a princess."

"You are no such thing. You are merely an empty head with an abundance of curls," retorted Agatha, who was immediately attacked by a furious six-year-old who grabbed her hair, making her scream, while Penelope tried to separate them.

"Mama, my battle proceeds in far better order" Thomas smiled, his tongue hanging out in concentration. "My soldiers are more disciplined," he added, his toast hanging in mid-air, like a banner, causing his sisters to yelp in annoyance, while another drop of jam fell over the tablecloth.

Penelope, exasperated, cast him a glance, as though to say his commentary was the very last thing she required. Lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she witnessed the chaos of crumbs and jam that coloured the cloth and his face, and drew a long breath, refraining from shouting Colin’s name, longing for reinforcement.

They were in the midst of preparing a ball in the countryside, which Colin's entire family would attend. They had moved after George's birth, to have more space and give the children a chance to have a quiet and bucolic childhood, like Colin's, but it was rare indeed that all his family would gather beneath the same roof. This, of course, filled him with joy and also caused him anxiety, and a modicum of fear of judgment, and Penelope understood this. She knew him better than she knew herself.

She knew he was in his study, busy discussing details with the butler and couldn't be disturbed. He certainly would not have complained. In fact, he would have scolded her for not asking for help, but Penelope was determined to resolve this dispute alone.

She took another deep breath and tried to separate the girls, holding Jane still with both hands as Agatha was led away by the nursemaid. Penelope had always been convinced to resolve everything with kind words, without yelling or punishment, unlike her mother did. But the more the girls shouted, the more her resolve wavered. She found herself reflecting on how strong and stubborn they could be, deciding they surely took after Colin, when she felt someone tugging at her gown.

She turned to find George, with wide eyes and a radiant smile, clutching a little illustrated book that Uncle Benedict had painted expressly for his second birthday. It was a book with illustrations of animals, funny puppies and cubs, families, or portraits in natural settings, accompanied by their names. George couldn't read yet, but he spent whole days looking at it, giggling, tracing the letters with his finger as if he were memorizing those unfamiliar words, or resting his cheek upon the most beloved pages as if he could convey the joy he felt in those drawings.

Penelope instinctively looked at the little book and saw that it was open to the ducklings’ page. She didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't the right time, because George was always so smiling, so sweet, and such a good boy, who rarely cried, despite his many frustrations. She met his gaze and saw he was smiling at her, as he dragged his little index finger over the drawing of a yellow duck. Tap tap. He pointed out the drawing to his mother, who looked at it in astonishment for a moment.

"Yes, George, the little ducks are very pretty indeed, you are right," she acknowledged to the boy, who nodded in satisfaction. Penelope smiled at him once more, but didn't really look at him, intent as she was on separating the sisters who looked so much like Napoleon and Nelson. The boy observed her for a moment, as if waiting for something that never came, then he lost his smile and lowered his gaze, but he did not surrender.

With a resolute look, he clasped the book and walked slowly and silently toward his father's study. The door was ajar, and George slipped in without difficulty. The study smelled of paper, wax, and lavender, a scent that always reassured him, because he associated it with his parents. He clutched his gift to his chest and walked slowly toward the desk, where his father sat surrounded by papers, boxes of candles, and bottles of ink.

"As for the wine, sir, we're expecting two cases from London. Claret, Chablis, and Champagne. They'll be here by Thursday," Dunwoody said precise as ever.

George let out a little chuckle when he saw his father raking a hand through his curls, making him resemble a scarecrow, revealing his presence.

“Ah! Here is my little explorer! Come here," he said with a smile that temporarily banished all signs of weariness from his face. Colin lifted him quickly and effortlessly, placing him on his lap. George laughed softly, then opened the book and showed it to his father, placing his little finger insistently on the duck page. Tap tap.

Colin embraced him and ruffled his hair. "Oh, yes, ducks are delightful. You really like them, do you not?" George nodded happily, insisting with his little finger. " Quack, quack, quack” Colin said to him, kissing him on the cheeks, making him laugh and even making Dunwoody smile.

Yet George remained serious, repeating the gesture. Tap tap.

"Indeed, Georgie," he replied, patting him on the nose. "The ducks, sure, but Papa has some urgent business to attend. We shall play afterward, I promise."

He kissed him quickly on the cheek, but George wriggled out of his embrace and swiftly leapt from his father's lap, his eyes hurt, clenching the booklet and marching to the door, leaving the two adults in silence.

George lingered in the corridor. He wasn't angry, but sometimes the fact that his little world wasn't understood and went unheard made him sad. He wasn't capable of making himself known, sometimes, and it was starting to hurt him. He paused as if to think, and then found a solution.

He clutched his treasure to his chest and nodded as if to give himself courage. Then, unnoticed, he slipped out of the living room, passing by his brother, still intent on carrying on his war, and his sisters, finally separated, each sitting in a different corner of the room, seeking support from their mother, who was trying to divide her time between the two. He saw a door left ajar, the one leading to the garden. His nanny was not home, having been urgently called home to look after her sick father. No one was keeping an eye on him, no one could care for him, no one saw him cross the threshold.

Jane was the first to notice. She was sitting in a chair in the corner of the breakfast room, sobbing, when suddenly, sniffling, she realized something wasn't right. "Mama, where's George?"

Penelope, who was sitting next to her in the middle of a lecture about her behaviour, looked up and watched the room. Her heart skipped a beat.

She rose from her chair, commanding the children to remain still and silent and headed towards the corridor. "George?" she asked tentatively, in that firm, serious tone she rarely used. "Georgie?" she asked again in a louder voice, catching Colin's attention, who emerged from the study.

“What happened?” he asked her seriously, realizing that something was wrong.

“George…I can’t find him,” Penelope said, her voice shaking and hollow with dread.

Colin looked at her with terrified eyes and headed up the stairs, climbing them two at a time, searching for him in every room, from the nursery to their bedroom to the bathroom. Within minutes, the entire house was in turmoil.

"George!" the whole household cried. They were calmly at first, then the name was spoken with increasing agitation. Jane burst into tears, Thomas tried to look brave despite his watery eyes, and Agatha bit her cheek to hold back tears.

"Search the stables, the storehouses, the greenhouse! Look behind every hedge, along the drive! And look at the old mill…I sometimes take him there to play when we desire a bit of silence," Colin commanded, trying to remain calm, though inside he was gripped by anguish.

When it was confirmed that they hadn't found him, he felt his throat tighten, loosening the buttons of his shirt to breathe better.

Penelope ran into the garden, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would leap from her chest. "George!" she cried, her voice cracking. Tears began to flow without her realizing it. Colin joined her, trying to keep calm for her and the others, but his face betrayed the same fear.

"What if he fell and hurt himself? What if someone caught him?" she asked, terrified. "Colin," she whispered softly, as if the words she'd spoken started to make sense in her head.

“No, we will find him, Penelope,” he said firmly, but Penelope saw that his hands were shaking.

Penelope turned towards him, breathless. “Colin…he wanted to tell me something. With the book, with his little finger…and I did not understand.”

Colin’s expression darkened, his closed his eyes for an instant. “I know…he tried to tell me something too…and now he is outside alone, because I failed to understand.”

“If any harm – ” she whispered, her voice breaking.

He seized her trembling hand. “We shall find him, dearest.”

Penelope nodded to her husband and kept walking. She stumbled through the tall grass, somehow feeling she was headed in the right direction, still calling his name, while Colin ran after her, holding Thomas's hand, but the silence that answered her was becoming increasingly deafening. Agatha and Jane followed, holding hands. They had tried to leave the children at home, but they knew it would be impossible for them to remain behind.

Suddenly she stopped and turned to look at Colin, surrounded by the children, her eyes filled with terror. "Colin," his wife whispered, pointing to a space a little further away, where the lake was. "What if…my God, Colin, what if…he can't swim…he can't…"

"No," he replied sharply, his eyes vacant, squeezing Thomas's hand. "No. We'll find him, I promise."

Meanwhile, George was resting in the tall grass near the lake. He had been walking slowly through the fields long ago, in the sunshine, the grass brushing his legs. He knew where the place was as he had walked that road a thousand times. His nanny took him for walks there every afternoon, and they would sit and watch the ducks, which were prettier and funnier than the ones his uncle had drawn. But his nanny wasn't there that day, and no one had listened to him, but he hadn't been afraid to undertake the journey alone.

Everything was familiar to him: the rustling of the wheat ears in the wind, the scent of hay and lavender, the birds singing, and yet the road seemed too long for his little feet, so he sat down near a rock in the meadow, still pressing the book to his breast, to rest. When he opened his eyes, the sun seemed lower, and the tall grass all looked the same, making him fear he had lost the path. Every sound no longer seemed so familiar, and he finally realized he was alone, far from everything he knew, far from his mother.

He heard her in the distance. At first, distant and he thought he'd dreamed her, then closer and closer, more and more desperate. George understood. His mother was afraid, too.

"Georgie, please answer me." Penelope was crying real tears by now, but she didn't give up, even when her voice began to tremble, becoming hoarse.

Then suddenly it happened. A small but clear sound, like a cat's meow, broke the fearful silence.

"Mama"

A shaky, uncertain voice rose from the grass. A small, unfamiliar voice. Penelope froze. It wasn't in her head; she was sure she'd heard it. He seemed to gather courage, as he repeated, more firmly, "Mama" again. Penelope turned toward the sound, her eyes wide, and began running barefoot across the grass.

"George?" she called out uncertainly. And the rest of the family followed.

And there, among the bushes, they saw him, his face reddened by the sun and his eyes wide, grasping tightly his little book. Penelope grabbed him, lifted him in her arms, squeezed him with desperate strength, perhaps knowing she had to loosen her grip, but needing to feel him breathing, warm and pulsing.

"My love! Oh, my love!" Tears streamed down her cheeks, her face pressed against the boy's hair. "I found you, I found you!"

George looked at her, and for the first time, in her presence, his mouth formed the word again, that sweet word. "Mama."

Penelope cried even harder, kissing his face, his hands, his forehead. "Yes, love, yes. Mama is here, you called me and I found you." Colin reached them and hugged them both, tears streaming down his cheeks too, but he didn't care.

"Well done, little explorer," he whispered to George, "well done… you showed us the way."

Penelope clasped him to her bosom, not able to release him. After a while, she lifted his face with trembling fingers. “Georgie, my darling…you must never wander so again. You frightened us.”

Colin bent close, his voice gentle yet grave. “When you would show us something, you must remain near, until we understand. Promise it, my boy.”

George regarded them with solemn eyes, then bowed his head in a small nod. The book was still pressed to his breast, as though he perceived that his travel had carried a cost. He, too, was terrified and it was written in his gaze.

Agatha, Thomas, and Jane arrived shortly after, running, and threw themselves on their parents and little brother, forming a tangle of arms and sobs. "Don't ever do that again!" Agatha cried, her voice cracking, while Jane repeated his name and Thomas caressed him, silent for the first time, taking refuge in his father's arms.

Penelope looked at Colin through her tears. He cupped her face and kissed her forehead. "He's safe," he said, his voice cracking but firm. "And he called you."

She nodded, unable to speak, and held George even tighter. The scolding would come later, now she just wanted to think of him still with her, unable to let him go.

"George…why did you run away?" his father asked him softly.

The boy, in response, opened his book again, pointing to the drawing and then to the water. He took his father's hand and tugged, telling him to move forward. Colin looked at Penelope and shrugged, as if telling her to follow him. They let the boy lead them to the lake and watched him sit on the bank, intent on observing the surface of the water. A family of ducks swam on the surface, two adults and four yellow ducklings following in an orderly line.

They watched him silently, his eyes wide open and his hands resting on his face, observing the animals. Then he turned to his parents and siblings, with a smile so big it erased all fear. He pointed, tapping his finger in the air. One, two, three, four little ones, and then the two big ones. Then he pointed to himself and his family.

Colin understood instantly. He leaned down beside him, feeling the tears come back to his eyes, but this time from tenderness. "Like us," he whispered, and George nodded with joy.

Every now and then one of the ducklings, the smallest, would fall behind, waddling awkwardly in the water, as if still learning to swim. George would hold his breath, his hands clasped on his knees, until, flapping its webbed feet harder, it returned to the mother duck, taking refuge under her wing.

George let out a long, happy sigh, a silent laugh, and clapped his hands in joy. Everyone looked at him at that moment, recognizing his sensitive soul, the soul of someone who could grasp the hidden meaning of things.

Penelope sat down next to him, "There, everything is well again, you see," she told him, to reassure herself more.

"Yes," George said, his voice more like a hiss. It was strange to hear the sound of his voice, but it was the most delightful sound in the world.

Penelope kissed him softly on the cheek. "You teach us to see, my love," she murmured, while Colin was staring at his son, who was still eagerly pointing out the ducks, also embracing the other three, who had joined them on the shore, abandoning the tree under which they had taken refuge. He stared at George in awe and thought that thanks to him, they could see the world through his eyes.

Chapter Text

They had always had the habit of sitting on the sofa reading in front of the fire after dinner. It had begun when it was just the two of them, newly married, when it was hard to separate even for a moment, incredulous that they had finally found each other, and they had continued after they became parents.

The only difference lay in the number of people present in the room. Colin lifted up his eyes momentarily from his book and surveyed the room. Jane was at the pianoforte, pressing the keys without method, sometimes tripping over them, but guided by instinct, the melody she was creating was becoming increasingly tuneful. Thomas and George were upon the carpet, busy playing with wooden blocks, planning battles or building fortresses.

Agatha sat in an armchair near the fireplace, the glow of the flame illuminating her face as she read. She looked like him, a true Bridgerton through and through, yet when she was so focused, with a frown forming between her eyes and her lips slightly parted, holding her breath for some unexpected twist in the tale, she was just like Penelope, and that sight made his eyes brighten.

He turned slightly toward his wife, seated beside him, her book in one hand and one in his. They always sat thus, in silence, side by side, their fingers entwined, making the turning of pages an awkward business, but determined never to leave each other. From time to time, Colin would lean close to whisper something in her ear, making her smile or blush, which he answered with a satisfied smirk because after eleven years of marriage, he hadn't lost the power to discompose her. And the evenings continued like that, peaceful.

But that evening, something was different, and he could feel it in the air. Agatha, every now and then, would raise her eyes and stare intently at her parents, without saying a word, but he was sure she was plotting something. She would look at them, open her mouth, ready to say something, but then she would return to her book with studied gravity, and the moment would pass.

Agatha looked up again, staring at her parents, then at her siblings. She noted the covert glances Jane cast, intent on checking if someone was actually listening to her play. She observed Thomas's attempts to build the world's tallest tower, rolling her eyes at his thunderous laughter every time George accidentally knocked it over. He apologised stammering slightly, while his older brother, never losing his patience and his smile, reassured him that just as it had fallen, it could be rebuilt.

Her eyes returned to her parents. They were close, as they always were, because they had never concealed the depth of their love for each other, and this way of showing love for each other and for their children had always filled Agatha's heart. And yet, they seemed closer than usual. The brief laughs, the words whispered in her mother’s ear, the words her mother reserved for her father with her face half hidden by the book, the way her mother blushed, the delicate caresses on her knuckles. She sighed deeply, as if she had reached an epiphany.

Whenever Mama and Papa were this close, soon after, Mama's belly would begin to grow, and after many months, which always seemed like an eternity, another infant would appear. She had already observed that sequence three times, though she couldn't recall Thomas’ arrival, being so young. But Jane and George...well, yes, she remembered it clearly. Papa's hand perpetually resting on Mama's belly, as if stroking it could share his love and hasten the arrival or the way Mama was radiant, her smile painted with a special light, as if having another child gave her life or the excitement in the whole household as everything was prepared to welcome a new Bridgerton. And she narrowed her eyes.

Colin felt his daughter’s gaze upon him again, and this time Penelope too raised her head. A silence fell, filled with glances and unspoken questions. Husband and wife exchanged a look, each hoping the other held the answer, but neither did.

Agatha noisily slammed the book she was holding shut and placed it on her lap. For an instant she remained silent. Then, with all the calm bluntness of her aunt Eloise, she asked the question neither of them had expected. "How are babies made?"

Jane stilled, with her fingers still on the keys, her eyes wide open, while Thomas, with a block frozen mid-air, didn't even notice that George had kicked the tower again, as he turned towards their older sister.

Colin cleared his throat, blushed, and began to stammer, while Penelope, to his horror, only laughed softly at his discomfort.

"Wh…wh…what did you say?" he finally managed to ask, loosening his cravat to help himself breathe.

"How are babies made?", Agatha repeated once again, slowly but steadily, enunciating each syllable as if she were speaking to a little child. "You're stroking Mama’s hand far too much. And when you do, usually her belly grows," Agatha gestured to indicate a swollen belly, "Shall we expect another sibling?"

Colin reddened further, puzzled, and Penelope’s lips curved, a hint of amusement in her eyes. "She has asked a very simple question. No, darling, another sibling will not arrive merely because of kisses and caresses. They’re not enough and not even smiles are."

"Simple?" Colin asked awkwardly, frozen by Agatha's comment. "Too much caressing." He repeated her words, pondering on them, feeling slightly judged by his daughter.

"A little, but I've never complained." Penelope kissed his cheek and then nodded serenely. "She's ten years old, so curiosity is only natural."

His wife's simple logic left him speechless. Eloise had asked the same question, interrupting a family dinner when she was eleven, and in an attempt to be humorous, he had asked her if she had ever visited a farm and seen the animals, earning a cuff from Anthony and then one from her mother, who clearly didn't understand his sense of humour. Yet that same question, from his own daughter, struck him differently. She was growing up, and he would not have it. It was shocking, it was intolerable.

"There…there are some matters which…which by both law and decorum…" he stood up and paced the room, waving his hands as if swatting flies, "cannot be revealed ahead of time. The answer will come in its proper form on the day before your wedding."

Agatha raised an eyebrow, not at all satisfied with his answer. "The day before my wedding?"

"Most assuredly," Colin replied, regaining his composure, but only creating a very theatrical scene. "And since your wedding will not occur until you are… well, let me see…yes, eight-and-forty years of age, you will have ample time to speculate and deduce, and ultimately to understand."

“Eight-and-forty?” Jane cried in a strangled voice. “But Papa, at eight-and-forty one is already an old lady,” she said, sinking back onto the stool, in despair.

"No, one is exceedingly wise at that age. And wisdom, my dear Janie, is the highest of virtues."

Penelope brought a hand to her mouth to cover the laughter that was escaping her at her husband's absurdity.

"But she will be so old," Thomas said with a grin, laughing heartily, imagining her with grey hair and wrinkles. "Like a witch."

"Oh no, Papa," said George anxiously, pressing against Colin's legs. "I d-d-do not wish for Agatha to be old. Or a w-witch either."

"Thank you, Georgie," Agatha said with a sweet smile. "But I do not think it goes that way. You are not eight-and-forty yet, and you already have four children, Papa. And besides," she added with a sly grin, "I did not ask when, I asked how."

Colin ran a hand through his hair, utterly defeated by his own daughter's logic. Honestly, he had no idea what to do next. None at all. So he did the only thing left to do. "Penelope..." he whispered, casting a desperate glance at his wife, as if asking for help, for mercy.

Penelope carefully placed the bookmark between the pages and closed the book gently, placing it beside her. She smoothed her gown and folded her hands. "Few words are needed, I think, but perhaps…if they be the right ones."

The children gathered around her. Jane and Agatha sat on either side of her, while Thomas sat on the floor, knelt at her feet. Colin, half-curious, half-terrified, took Agatha's place in the armchair by the fireplace, and George decided to climb onto his lap and nestle into his father's arms, lulled by the steady beat of his heart.

"Well…children are born when a mama and a papa... no, that is not quite right, they are not yet a mama and a papa." Penelope stopped and took a few seconds to choose her words, frowning, making Colin think she was truly adorable. "I shall speak only of us," Penelope beamed. "Children are born when a wife and a husband love each other dearly and in that love they unite and choose to welcome a child. It is a grave decision, one not to be taken lightly. Kisses and caresses alone will not suffice.”

"Then how?" asked Agatha, resting her chin on her mother's lap.

"Let's see...the husband gives a special seed to the mother, who is like a good soil that welcomes it. And she protects that seed, so that with time and care, it grows, as a seed requires rain, sun, and the shelter and warmth of the soil before it may become a plant."

“Like Uncle Phillip’s greenhouse?” Thomas asked, intrigued.

"Something of that kind. In time, that little seed becomes a child. A new life. It grows within the mother. And after your mother has cared for you for many months, when you are ready to see the light, you come into the world. Until then, the baby is protected in her womb and moves, feeds...sometimes kicks," she said, smiling, caressing her girls' cheeks.

The fire popped like it wanted to interrupt them. Agatha and Jane seemed to ponder Penelope's words, while Thomas frowned. “But how does Papa put the seed in the soil?”, he scratched his head thoughtfully.

"Thomas, I beg you," Colin blurted out in exasperation, running a hand in his hair.

“What is it? It is not clear to me. I have only asked” Thomas replied, as if it were the most logical thing in the world.

“Papa, Papa, you’re not listening, Mama”, blurted Jane, annoyed by the interruption.

"With love” Penelope answered gently. “When you love each other deeply, you give yourself entirely to each other. That is why I say that a kiss or a caress is not enough. It's an important decision, one you make together.”. She smiled again at her children. “And when there is true love. And the rest, Thomas, you will understand when the time comes."

Before Thomas could press further, George, who laid a hand upon his own small belly, interrupted him. "Was I in there too, Mama?", he asked curious.

Penelope gestured for him to join her. Colin led him to his mother and sat next to Thomas, holding him tightly in his arms, while George climbed into his mother's lap. "Yes, my darling. Each of you began so. Each of you had your own music within me. Agatha was quiet and listened, moving only when your Papa and I spoke to her."

Agatha giggled. Colin’s features softened at the memory of those nights spent speaking to her womb came back to his mind. He recalled the marvel of having created a life, the fear of always having Penelope under his control, scared that something might happen to her, and the desire to have to protect not one, but two lives at once. It had faded with the other pregnancies, but it had always been there. But the marvel, no, the marvel, never dimmed, it was strong and powerful every time. A joy he couldn't quantify or describe with words.

"Thomas, on the other hand, could never be still, as restless as he is now," she said, ruffling his curly hair. "Jane danced like a ballerina, gracefully," she said, smiling, earning a pleased smile from the little girl, "while you, my Georgie, kicked like a young colt"

Her lips curved in amusement, while George he turned crimson. "Did I h-hurt you, Mama?" He rested his cheek against his mother's shoulder. "No, love, it was only your way of saying you were there. You've always made yourself heard, in your own way, and I've always loved the sound of you, even in the silence," she said, pinching his nose.

"So love has many musics, and the belly hears them all. How beautiful love must be," Jane said curiously, arousing Agatha's admiration for that almost poetic metaphor.

“Something like that, darling,” Penelope said sweetly, smiling at Colin, who inclined his head in approval.

Agatha sat in silence for a moment. "Now it makes sense," she declared with triumph, and then, turning to her father, a glint in her eye, added, "And, as you see, Papa, I did not have to wait until I was eight-and-forty."

Colin groaned. "It remains understood, however, that on the threshold of this house, Agatha's suitors, who will arrive with flowers and unspeakable intentions, will find me, no matter how old I will be, and I will be forced to challenge them to a duel."

"I shall help you, Papa”, Thomas said, mimicking a pistol. “Wait…what are unspeakable intentions?" Thomas asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You are not a good ally today, Tom, let me tell you that," he said, smiling at him. "They are unspeakable, for a reason, my son."

“You are no help at all, Papa,” Agatha pronounced, still tersely.

“Perhaps I shall give her away with joy,” Colin muttered to Penelope. "Both of them, to be honest."

“Colin Bridgerton,” she chided, half-laughing.

“Name and surname. You are in trouble, Papa” Thomas informed him gravely.

“I daresay I am,” Colin admitted, winking at Penelope.

“I shall never leave you,” George said solemnly. “I shall marry my Mama.”

His siblings burst out laughing, touched by George's honesty. Penelope chuckled, kissing his cheek, and Colin pretended to be offended. "You raise them, you cherish them, and they steal your wife from under your nose."

“You’re losing your touch, Mr. Bridgerton,” Penelope whispered to him in that voice, with a hint of defiance, that had made him fall in love with her, making her the centre of all his thoughts and dreams.

Colin rose to his knees and leaned over Penelope, brushing her lips with his. "You think so, Pen?". He then moved closer for those words were only for her. "I can always prove otherwise."

Penelope blushed and whispered his name in mock reproof, but her hand caressed his cheek. They looked around and saw four pairs of eyes fixed upon them. There was Jane, dreamy and a romantic to the core, sighing; Thomas, too outspoken and sometimes disgusted by his parents' affection; George, the most sensitive of them all, smiling radiantly, and Agatha, an inflexible and implacable judge, satisfied with the success of her scheme.

"Every time I saw your belly grow," he said, "I thought the world had suddenly become bigger than me. That I couldn't hold it all in my hands, no matter how much I stretched them. And that I didn't deserve it." He paused, looking down at his fingers intertwined with hers, and caressed her cheek. "Then you smiled and told me not to fret, you placed your hand on mine, and ours together on your womb, and the world let itself be held because we were both holding it."

Penelope looked at him with teary eyes, as did their children. "I've travelled so much, but there's never been another journey like this. And I'd do it again every day, because I've done it...I'm doing it, with you. You know, you've always feared that not travelling meant I was losing something, but I've always gained. First a hope, then a certainty when I had you, and then," he paused to look at the children, "then a voice, a laugh, a name."

Penelope wiped away a tear. "And I remember when Agatha decided to be born in the middle of the night and you lit all the candles so she wouldn't be born in the dark and be scared, when Thomas could never sleep and you stayed up for hours telling him stories until he collapsed on your shoulder so I could rest."

She paused for a moment, looking at the children, who were watching them raptly. Then she smiled again. "Or when you used to make Jane dance, leaning against your chest, even before she could walk…and," she stopped to look at George, "all the times you stayed with George, in silence, learning with him, without rushing him, only with love."

Agatha took a deep breath. "When I grow up, I want someone who is like you in this way. Clasped hands, whispered words, laughing, stolen kisses, and books always open. Thank you." Colin and Penelope looked at her, smiling, thinking that they were doing a good job.

“Yes, just like that.” Jane whispered, sighing.

“Maybe…with fewer kisses,” Thomas added, ruining the moment.

“We will see when you find your Penelope,” Jane said pleased.

"You see, your sister is very wise. And…even before turning eight-and-forty," Colin added, his laughter ringing through the room.

“So…wait. No new sibling? Not even a little one?” He frowned, twisting a block in his hand.

"Obviously not, Thomas. You never listen. You're always so silly". Agatha rolled her eyes at her brother’s antics.

“But wouldn’t it be lovely? Another tiny one….I would help mama” Jane clasped her hands as in prayer, her eyes shining.

“I–I w-would share my toys…I am gr-grown now,” he whispered, cheeks pink as he nestled closer to his Mama.

Penelope gave a soft laugh and shook her head. For a fleeting instant, it seemed as though the thought had taken root in her heart, as if she had indeed considered it, yet she put it aside at once. Agatha seemed somehow disappointed but did not reply. She slipped from the sofa to return to her book. Her siblings followed her, while Thomas tugged at her braid.

Colin remained kneeling before Penelope, his hands clasped around her hips. "You did well. You're very good at telling the truth." He turned to look at Agatha. "She's got me cornered."

"I saw it, love." Penelope laughed heartily. "She’s tough. But there's a time for everything. They will find out...better the truth, even if lightly told," she said, running a hand through his curls, which were starting to grey around his temples. "Besides, they see it every day... this house overflows with love."

“Still…it doesn’t seem like an unwise thought,” Colin whispered to her. She stared at him and he was looking as if he were about to commit a little mischief.

"And what, pray tell?" his wife asked him, slightly worried.

“A new sibling,” Colin’s eyes sparkled, his lips curling in the hint of a beguiling smile.

“Colin Bridgerton, don’t you dare look at me in that manner. I know all too well where that look leads,” Penelope said, smiling.

“Is that a no?” he said, joining her on the couch next to her and kissing her.

"It is a no," she replied firmly, though smiling, pulling away from his kisses. "But…that doesn't mean we cannot…enjoy ourselves." He rested his forehead against hers, smiling.

Agatha watched them from across the room, as they whispered and laughed together, while she helped her siblings collect their toys. She smiled, touched by the same joy that filled her parents, as she helped Thomas gathering their toys. She bent down to pick up George, who was yawning, resting among the blocks.

She had gotten her answer. She had dared, and her parents, always with their ways, had not disappointed her, had not told her she was too young, and had opened their hearts with tender attention. Love, when it speaks of itself, never raises its voice. It is found in smiles, in whispered words, and in the brush of hands. Love lives in little things and in something special, still mysterious, which she didn't yet know, but of which her parents she was sure held the key.

Chapter Text

That morning, he had decided to take matters into his own hands, allowing Penelope some respite. With four small children and work commitments, as she was trying to complete her second novel and he was engaged in the writing of another travel journal, they rarely found time for themselves.

Penelope rarely complained, yet Colin had decided she should enjoy a day entirely devoted to herself. He beamed as he passed by the drawing room, where his wife was currently closeted with his mother and his sisters, Daphne and Eloise, taking tea, as she had done in her youth, gossiping over salmon tarts and butter biscuits.

He had cheated, he had to admit to himself. He confined George and Jane, the youngest children, in their study with watercolours and charcoals, gifts from uncle Benedict, permitting them to soil their fingers and create as they pleased. He was curious about their drawings; the ones they would present to them in the late afternoon with pride. Thomas followed him like a soldier. He was just like him, except that his hair was the same coppery hue as his mother's, and he had taken that responsibility. He was walking next to his father, all serious, making sure everything was running smoothly and that his siblings were calm and busy.

Only Agatha was missing. Colin glanced at the mahogany clock in the corridor and noticed it was almost eleven in the morning. Agatha had remained abed longer than usual, shouting from her room that she absolutely had to write down a peculiar dream in her diary or she would forget its details, colours, and flavours. His lips curved gently as he thought of how his eldest daughter was already an accomplished writer, but he was worried by the thought that she hadn't left her room since.

He stopped eavesdropping at the drawing room door, sending Thomas to check on his younger siblings, and went up the stairs two at a time, heading for the bedrooms, almost colliding with a maid who was just emerging from Agatha's chamber.

"She will not rise, sir," Judith said breathlessly. "She says she only wants her mother. She won't allow us to enter or tell us what's the cause of her distress," she added, almost annoyed by the little girl's stubbornness. "But there must be something wrong. It has never happened before."

Colin blinked in surprise. "Does she feel sick? Did she hurt herself?" he asked, laughing at his own anxious questioning, sounding rather like his own mother he had once teased.

"We cannot say, sir. She wouldn't tell us," she added timidly, almost fearing rebuke. "She just insists upon her mother," she said, shrugging.

"No, sir, she does not look hurt or sick. But she seems upset," added another maid, Lucy, who was carrying freshly ironed linen to the closet. "She awoke weeping and hid beneath the sheets, begging us to leave."

"Yes, and Miss Agatha has never been rude. So we think it's something important, sir," Judith added again.

Colin seemed to ponder his options for a moment. "I shall attend her myself. Thank you." He approached Agatha's bedroom door, pausing with his hand in midair before knocking. He wondered if this was the right choice, since she had asked specifically for her mother.

He started to turn away, but then hesitated. He was his father, after all. He could solve this problem, too, whatever it was.

He approached the door and knocked gently. "Aggie, my love," he said softly, in a voice so delicate he didn't recognize it. The room was already filled with light, and he saw her hidden under the blankets, only a tuft of chestnut-coloured hair peeking out from the pillow.

Agatha didn't answer at all.

"Aggie, darling, it's Papa. What –"

He heard a muffled sound, like an annoyed sob. "I do not want you. I want Mama. Only Mama." Agatha's voice was high-pitched, angry, and unrecognizable.

Colin took a deep breath and closed the door softly behind him. "Has…has something dreadful happened, Aggie?"

"No!" Agatha's voice was high and trembling. "I want Mama, only Mama!"

"Aggie", he whispered calmly.

“Papa go away!” She sobbed in exasperation.

"Agatha," he said in a firmer voice, sitting at the foot of the bed, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "What are you hiding under there?"

“Not-nothing,” the little girl squeaked, clutching the covers so tightly her knuckles turned white.

"Are you sure?" Colin tentatively tried to lighten the situation. "Could it be a frog?"

“No!” she replied, her voice betraying a note of amusement.

"Are you really trying to make me guess?" Colin asked, smiling, thinking he was on the right track. "Agatha...surely you have not wet the bed, have you?"

“No, Papa!” she cried, a little too quickly.

Colin thought for a moment he'd guessed right. He frowned, but tried not to make her feel judged or shamed. Agatha had never wet the bed, not even when she was little. Perhaps she had been frightened in her sleep?

"Aggie…it matters not,” he said softly. “Whatever it is, we shall set it right.”

"No—it's not that, Papa. Please, call Mama, I beg you." Agatha pleaded, her voice wobbly.

Colin sighed deeply, unwilling to disturb Penelope. And perhaps deep down, he didn't want to admit, or admit to her, that for one day he hadn't been able to solve every problem and take care of everything. He stared at the heap of sheets under which his daughter lay, still motionless, her hands firmly on the bedclothes and her feet dangling.

If there was one thing they had in common, it was stubbornness. Colin began tugging at the blankets, while Agatha, on the other end, pulled it towards her. She protested, even calling him immature, which made him grin, and in response, her father tickled her, earning a fierce kick from the little girl, who tried to free herself, amid a worried laughter.

At last, the blanket slipped enough to reveal what Agatha had been desperately trying to conceal. There was a dark crimson stain and unmistakable on the white sheets and her equally white nightgown.

A moment of silence followed, as heavy and thick as a bank of fog.

Agatha flushed scarlet and her eyes instantly filled with tears, struggling to breathe. She hadn't wanted this to happen, and especially hadn't wanted her father to see it. "I did not mean to! It was not my fault, it happened while I was sleeping. Perhaps I'm broken, or perhaps I'm dying.” She froze, her eyes filled with dread. “Papa, I'm dying."

"You're-you're not dying." That was all he could say, still shocked, cursing himself for his stubbornness. You're not dying, but maybe I am, my child. "You're-you're not broken, but..." It was Colin's turn to blush. "I think... yes, I believe it best that we call your mother."

And so, as soon as he entered, Colin Bridgerton fled the chamber, leaving Agatha perplexed and intent on wiping her nose with the sleeve of her nightgown.

He burst into the drawing room in a state of agitation. His gaze was wide, his face pale. Penelope, his sisters, and his mother stared at him in astonishment. "Colin?". They all uttered in unison.

He hadn't greeted them or said anything or even explained the reason for his abrupt entrance. He'd simply walked over to the cupboard, pulled out a glass and a bottle, and poured two fingers, maybe even three, of brandy, which he gulped down without much ceremony.

“Colin…it is morning,” Violet intervened, shocked by her son’s behaviour.

"Agatha…she…she is…" He stopped and took another deep gulp. "She has become…she…she…"

"For Heaven’s sake, Colin, breathe. You look like you're about to have an apoplexy," Eloise said with a laugh.

“Yes, it could happen,” Colin added, turning even whiter.

"What happened to Agatha, darling?" Penelope asked worriedly, having meanwhile joined him near the sideboard, placing her hands on his arms. Colin looked like a restless animal in a cage, and Penelope struggled to catch his gaze, which darted from one place to another, avoiding meeting hers.

"She is…she…oh Penelope" he said on the verge of tears.

“Colin, do you want to tell me what happened?” she blurted out exasperatedly.

"She…needs you." He said, swallowing loudly. "She got…got her courses."

The last two words came out in a whisper, his voice shaking, then he raised his glass and drained it in one gulp.

Daphne coughed to hold back a laugh, followed by Eloise, amused by her brother's panic, while Violet murmured how wonderful it was that she had blossomed into a young lady.

A young lady. Colin thought to himself. Dresses, balls, flowers, suitors, weddings. "No, Penelope. No. I can’t. I will not have suitors at the door."

"You won't have them for years, darling," she said amusedly, biting her lip. "She is but twelve. But it is only natural."

“Twelve! She’s a child,” he replied, running a hand through his hair, ruffling it.

"Good God, I can't imagine Phillip when it will be our Penelope’s turn. He almost had a heart attack with Amanda," she paused to look at Colin, "kind of like how Colin is now."

"She's not so much a child anymore. And that means..." Daphne added amusedly, as Colin looked at her, squinting, "that you're growing old, my dear Colin. The same thing I told Simon. He had borne it thrice already."

Colin began to breathe quickly, labouredly. He found another glass of brandy in his hand, handed to him by his mother, who gave him a tender smile. "You shall need it, dearest. Believe me."

He nodded. "Penelope." He murmured her name like a prayer, as if she had the answers to all his questions.

"You stay here, drink if you must, and do not allow Eloise to torment you too much. I shall go to Agatha…she will be frightened."

And thus, Penelope departed at once, leaving him to his terror and to the clutches of his sister.

Agatha was still hidden under the covers when Penelope finally entered her room, but she emerged from her cave as soon as she heard her mother's voice.

Penelope sat on the bed, and Agatha threw herself into her arms, trembling. "Oh Mama, I ruined everything. And he... he saw me."

Penelope held her tightly, cradling her like she had when she was a child. "No, darling, you have not ruined anything. It's dreadful, yes...but natural. It is just a sign that your body is changing and growing. That you're becoming a woman."

“But Papa…,” she said, sniffling.

"Your foolish papa is more frightened than you are. And he's going to need some help. Even strong papas get scared sometimes, large as they are."

Agatha laughed through her tears. "He ran away so swiftly."

“And it’s not the first time he’s done it, when faced with the women of this house,” she replied smiling, cupping her daughter’s cheeks, and drying her tears with her thumbs.

"What…what happened?" Agatha asked curiously.

"You have begun your courses, darling. And unfortunately, it will only be once a month, until your body decides otherwise. It is nature’s way of preparing you for children, when the time comes. Many, many years from now."

"And didn't it have another way to tell us? It's filthy, mortifying...and painful."

Penelope smiled, kissing her brow. "You know…once upon a time, many, many years ago, when I was your age, I thought I was dying."

“I thought the same, Mama,” Agatha beamed, snuggling against Penelope’s soft chest.

"But Grandmama Portia explained everything to me calmly." Penelope smiled as she thought back to how her mother, on that rare occasion, had been truly kind and understanding, facing that frightened little girl.

"Your body will change too, my darling. You shall see...there will be some quick changes...and some slower ones...and sometimes you won't recognize yourself. Every woman endures it. You will, too. It is but another step towards growing."

"I don't think that is fair," Agatha said, wrinkling her nose. "Boys do not suffer this."

"Your aunt Eloise once said the same." She stroked her cheek. "No, it doesn't happen to boys, but they go through their own changes. Life moves swiftly, Aggie. Too swiftly. I thought we had more time. But you've always been impatient to grow." Her expression softened maternally.

"And what about the pain? It feels like someone's punching me in the front and back…and from within."

"Now, a warm bath will soothe you. And we'll change your linens, so you won't be scared anymore. Then a nice cup of chamomile tea with honey and complete rest. That helps restore order to your mind and body. And perhaps, darling, a hot water bottle upon your belly would be a good idea. I think it might help. You focus on resting, I'll take care of everything else."

Agatha listened with wide eyes, still a little pale and frightened, but definitely calmer. She bit her lip, as she always did when in doubt.

“Tell me, darling,” Penelope smiled at her.

"Do you think I should talk to him? He must be hiding." Agatha laughed, hiding in her mother's gown.

Her mother nodded. "I think you should, whenever you are ready. Perhaps he needs your embrace more than you need his." She kissed her forehead. "But in the meantime, I'll take care of him." Her mother hugged her once more and then went out to tell the maids, promising to return soon. And Agatha treasured that promise.

When she closed the door to her room, Penelope stood still for a moment in the corridor, her back pressed against the cold wood. One day, Agatha would grow and perhaps forget about this morning, the fear, the embarrassment, and that embrace. But not her. She would always remember her daughter's gaze and the way she'd snuggled against her chest as she had as a newborn. She understood Colin. It was terrifying being in front of something one cannot halt.

She, too, felt that terror inside... sure, she hadn't run away, but she understood it. The feeling of dealing with something that was moving away and couldn't be stopped, of no longer being necessary and perhaps only sufficient.

She had to seek him out and reassure him, and be reassured in return. But she loved him, even when he was imperfect, and especially for that. And in that moment, as she ordered hot water and chamomile tea, she loved him even more.

It was only late in the afternoon that Agatha found the courage to look for her father. The rest had been invigorating; her mother had been right. Yet all day, Agatha had thought about nothing but her father's gaze. He wasn't disgusted, he was...terrified. Perhaps because he didn't know how to help her, perhaps because she was growing up. And she, for the first time, had thought that perhaps they really were losing each other. She had prepared a plate of cinnamon biscuits, her father's favourite, as a sign of peace.

She opened the study door slowly and saw him sitting on the floor, a book in his hand, which he wasn't even reading, staring into space. He wished he had the right words, he wished he were ready, but perhaps you're never ready for the moment when your daughter begins to slip away. Perhaps his mother had always felt this way every time he went on a journey, arrogant and with all his life in his hands, leaving her helpless at home.

“Papa,” she said uncertainly.

“Aggie,” he replied, a little hesitantly, looking at her as if there was nothing else in the world.

“May I stay with you for a while?” she asked, tilting her head slightly to the side.

He nodded and motioned for her to come closer. She rushed to sit next to him, setting the plate on the floor, and hugged him, letting herself be enfolded by her father's strong arms, which seemed unwilling to let her go. They remained like that in silence for a few moments.

“I’m sorry I was cross today,” she said calmly. “I didn’t mean to.”

"You weren't cross, my love. You were…frightened." He paused, as if trying to find the words. "And I didn't listen. You asked me several times about your mother…I just wanted to lend you a hand, be useful." He said, running a hand behind his neck, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry I fled,” he admitted.

Colin looked at her for a long time, as if trying to re-draw her face in his mind. It was true that she was growing up. Her face had slowly abandoned the plump curves of childhood and was becoming more mature. And God, if before she had been a Bridgerton through and through, now he saw Penelope in her.

Of her mother, she only had the colour of her eyes, that warm, chocolate brown with golden streaks near the pupils, and yet now she was similar to her in the way a shy smile formed on her face, in the way she held back her thoughts, measuring her words, in the way her face tilted slightly when she thought.

It was as if a new awareness had formed within him, and simultaneously fallen upon Agatha, without warning. She was becoming a young woman, and soon her body would change too, and she would probably no longer want to be held and cuddled by him. Colin felt his eyes water and a lump form in his throat.

It was natural, she was growing up, yet it hurt so much.

Agatha frowned. "Stop looking at me so."

“How am I looking at you?” asked Colin, genuinely puzzled.

"As though I were different. I'm no different than I was this morning. I'm still Agatha. I feel like something's wrong." She paused to swallow. "And I don't want anything to be wrong between us. Nothing has changed between us, has it?”

He shook his head. “No, my darling. That's not why I look at you like that." He admitted, looking at her lovingly.

“So, what is it then?” Agatha blurted out.

"You're growing up" He cleared his throat. "You're becoming a woman and looking more and more like your mother. And you've never been more beautiful. That's it. And your poor old papa may find it difficult to accept." Colin cupped her face in his hands. "You are no longer my little girl."

She looked into his eyes intently, with that seriousness Penelope always had when he said something nice to her and she didn't seem to believe it. Then she seemed to darken, and Colin instinctively caressed her cheek.

"Papa...is it fine if...if I remain your little girl a while longer?" Agatha asked him, her voice shaking. She didn't want it to all happen suddenly, and she felt it would break her heart if her father pushed her away now.

He smiled through his tears. "For as long as you wish, Aggie," then he hugged her again. "Even forever, if you desire it. I shall never leave you."

Colin knew the day would come when he would have to let her go. The day a boy would hold her hand with the same gentleness he had caressed her cheek, as if she were something fragile and precious. But not today. Today she was still his daughter. And that was enough for him.