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When Eloise begged her to come along early to Aubrey Hall, Pen thought the plea was a bit overdramatic. It was not exactly an inconvenience for her to spend more time with the Bridgertons instead of enduring her own family, with Cousin Jack threatening to make Cressida Cowper the new female head of Featherington House, and her mother doing her best to take control of the situation. Penelope welcomed the reprieve from the anxiety, though she made sure to post her Lady Whistledown column just before departing the next morning. It wouldn’t do to have her identity revealed because she decided to leave London a few days early.
She shared a carriage with Eloise, of course, while Francesca, Hyacinth, and Lady Bridgerton sat across from them. Remarkably—or perhaps not, as Pen never knew the Bridgertons to be overtly unkind—there were no cutting remarks, no criticism, no animosity at all. Even the usual mild sparring between Eloise and Lady Bridgerton never ended in shouting or bitter comments muttered under their breath. It was a stark contrast to Pen’s usual experience, crammed in a carriage with her mother and sisters, bickering over everything and nothing, competing and fighting over the attentions of the same suitors, all while Portia berated them for seemingly minuscule faux pas.
It was quite lovely, actually.
Upon arrival, Eloise dragged Pen upstairs to her room, which they would share until the Featheringtons arrived with the rest of the ton. It had not changed much since the last time Pen visited the Bridgertons at their ancestral home—the same green quilt, stacks upon stacks of books laying on the floor and every other available surface, a few forgotten childhood toys, and a wardrobe filled with many dresses that no longer fit Eloise and were not handed down to Francesca because despite being related, the sisters could not be more different.
“It must be quite nice to have Aubrey Hall so close,” Pen remarked, circling the room and taking in the familiar sight of a toy carriage and horses she and Eloise had once purloined from the nursery. “My family’s country home is in Derbyshire.”
“I suppose so,” Eloise sighed. She flopped back dramatically onto her bed, arms stretched above her head, legs dangling over the edge.
“When will Daph—I mean, the Duchess—arrive?” Pen asked.
“You’ve known her nearly as long as I have. I think you’ve earned the right to call her Daphne despite her new title,” Eloise replied, grunting as she sat up and began tugging off her gloves, finger by finger. “Not until tomorrow afternoon. She wanted to spend a bit more time with Simon before she left with Augie.”
“So, it will be just us for supper?” Pen inquired. “Do I need to dress formally?”
“Not at all. I’ve worn my nightdress to supper before, especially when it’s too hot to think in the summer months,” Eloise said breezily. “Wear whatever you like.”
Pen did want to change out of her travelling clothes, though they were not especially dirty. She picked out a dress in a shade of pale green, one of the few that had slipped past her mother’s notice thanks to Madame Delacroix’s sneaky packaging. She and Eloise dressed quickly, and while Eloise darted out ahead in her eagerness to claim a good seat at the table, Pen lingered behind for a few minutes longer to re-pin some of her hair that escaped the low twist at her nape.
After a late start that morning—the fault of corralling so many children into carriages, each with their own trunks, and a few valets and ladies’ maids between them—it was already growing dark outside when she looked out the window. She hurried, skipping a few tendrils around her face in her rush, assuming supper would be served soon.
Or she hoped, anyway. She was quite hungry.
She slipped into the hallway, gently pulling the door shut behind her. Quickly, she turned around—and quite literally ran into a solid wall.
A very warm, soft, solid wall.
“Oof!” Colin exclaimed, steadying her with his hands on her upper arms.
“Sorry!” Penelope gasped, reaching instinctively for his forearms to keep herself from toppling over.
“You must be as hungry as I am to be in such a rush that you did not notice me waiting,” Colin said lightly, laughter lacing his voice.
“Something about this—country air,” she managed, breathless as she met his dark blue eyes.
“Makes one starved,” he agreed. He let go of her arms, only to offer the crook of his elbow. “Shall we?”
Pen nodded silently and wrapped her hand around the thick fabric of his jacket, warm from his skin and the strong muscle underneath.
She felt lightheaded the entire walk, focusing entirely on the feeling of him against her palm, replying to his questions but never quite registering what he was saying.
He was so…dizzying.
Downstairs, food was already on the table.
“Are we late?” Pen asked as they approached. “I did not think I dallied too long—”
“Not at all,” Colin assured her. “The staff had everything ready upon our arrival for whenever we made our way to the table. We never bother with formal announcements when it’s just family.”
“Oh,” Pen replied.
She assumed that the Bridgertons wouldn’t think dinner tonight was a family affair because Penelope was there, too.
But at least for now, while she was just Penelope, she was family, too.
She reluctantly released Colin and glanced around, searching for a seat. While Anthony and Lady Bridgerton occupied each end of the table, the rest of the siblings filled in between them haphazardly.
“Pen!” Eloise called. “Over here!”
She leaned over the chair beside her, hands on the cushion as she glared at Hyacinth, who stood directly behind it and pouted.
“Thank you, El,” Pen said gratefully, making her way to the other side of the table and sliding in, smiling apologetically to Hyacinth.
Just as Hyacinth moved to claim the chair on Penelope’s other side, Colin swooped in, grabbing her shoulders and spinning them both around before plopping down triumphantly before she even knew what was happening.
“Hey!” Hyacinth cried. “I wanted to sit next to Penelope!”
“Too late!” Colin said with a childish grin. “She’s my friend, and you got to ride in a carriage all day with her. I haven’t talked to her at all today.”
Hyacinth searched her mind for a moment, sulking. “But we…did not finish our game of charades!”
They very much had, Pen thought, but she suspected that Hyacinth could play games indefinitely if allowed. She was quite good, too.
Smugly, Colin lifted his chin. “It’s my turn.”
“Let’s not fight over our guests like they are toys,” Lady Bridgerton interrupted, firm but calm. “Colin can sit next to Penelope tonight, and Hyacinth will have the honor tomorrow. Does that satisfy everyone?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Fine,” Hyacinth muttered, frowning as she took the last remaining seat beside Gregory.
Penelope blinked, half-expecting the squabbling to continue.
But it didn’t.
Remarkably, supper was quite pleasant. Plates full of roast chicken, poached fish, vegetables swimming in rich sauces, warm bread, and buttery potatoes passed around the table, everyone helping themselves freely to as much or as little as they liked, skipping what they did not.
Pen silently appreciated that she could pass on the potatoes.
Colin regaled them with more tales from his travels. Pen listened with rapt attention, enjoying the stories even if she’d already read them in his letters. Everyone else hardly looked at him, sometimes having conversations between themselves instead of paying attention.
After everyone ate their fill, they all continued Hyacinth’s game of charades from the carriage at her insistence. In the parlor, people rotated across the sofas as the riddles were solved, each winner rising to take their turn at the front. Twice, Penelope found herself seated beside Colin.
Twice, she knew the answer and stayed silent, unwilling to give up her place so quickly.
When Lady Bridgerton began to nod off in her chair, she finally declared it was time to retire for the night. In a small herd, they traipsed up the stairs, peeling off one by one as the crowd passed their designated rooms.
Eloise took Penelope’s hand as they neared their shared doorway. Colin paused across the hall, his hand resting on the knob.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said with a lazy wave.
“Goodnight, Colin,” Penelope whispered, and slipped inside after Eloise.
✦✧✦✧
The next morning, after a hearty breakfast seated beside Hyacinth—who chattered endlessly, leaving Penelope just enough space to slip in the occasional “Oh, really?” or “I see!”—she found herself standing around in the drawing room with the rest of the family, awaiting the arrival of the Duchess of Hastings over tea and plates of biscuits. She stood between Colin and Eloise, sneaking shortbread from the excessively large pile on his plate. He caught her more than once, but never said anything to bring attention to her thievery.
The door opened, and Daphne swept in, prompting everyone to spring to attention.
“Sister!” Francesca exclaimed, hurrying forward.
As the family gathered around, Penelope noticed that Daphne was holding baby Augie in her arms.
“Oh, I am so pleased you were able to come,” Violet smiled as she walked over. Francesca and Hyacinth immediately began cooing at the adorable infant.
Truth be told, Penelope didn’t have much experience with babies. As the youngest daughter in her family, she’d never seen a human so small and fragile until she started visiting the Bridgertons. By then, even Hyacinth had been old enough to walk, and thought she enjoyed being held, was far too big for Penelope to pick up at the time.
This baby, though, was very small, weighing no more than a stone and a half, and very, very adorable.
“As if I would let dear Augie miss the chance to watch his mother win this little family tradition,” Daphne said with mock haughtiness, bouncing her son gently as he let out a gurgle. “Second year in a row, if I might add.”
“Charming words from a duchess,” Benedict quipped.
“A duchess who is still a Bridgerton,” Daphne replied, smirking just slightly.
Penelope had always known the Bridgertons were competitive, but as she stood in the middle of the siblings as they glared at one another out of the corners of their eyes, she was only now realizing just how seriously they took a simple lawn game.
“Oh, come and see the baby, Eloise!” Francesca called, trying to coax her sister off the sofa.
“Why? Has he changed since I saw him last?” Eloise remarked dryly.
Over the past few months, Eloise had offered Penelope a series of unflattering descriptions of her nephew. Penelope had expected a wailing, messy bundle of snot and sticky fingers, but the little person in Daphne’s arms did not resemble that description at all. He was mostly silent, his wide eyes drifting from one painting to the next while his aunts and uncles fussed over him, one after another letting his tiny hand wrap around their fingers.
“He’s grown at least an inch, haven’t you?” Daphne said brightly, looking at her son and bouncing him on her hip.
Eloise did eventually rise as the baby was passed into his grandmother’s arms.
“Oh, my lovely,” Violet beamed, patting him on his back as he settled into her. Even the usually stern Viscount was smiling and pulling faces, eliciting a soft giggle as Augie snuggled closer to his grandmother.
But as soon as the baby settled, Eloise reluctantly joined the group, and despite her quiet protests, promptly had Augie thrust at her. Making a face of mild discomfort and extreme confusion, her hands wrapped around his middle, under his armpits.
Held awkwardly at arm's length instead of nestled close, the baby began to fuss almost immediately. Penelope bit back a snicker, her gaze flicking to Colin’s. Their eyes met in a shared, knowing look.
“Do not mind your Auntie Eloise,” Colin said lightly, and Pen’s heart thrummed in her chest as he rushed in and scooped Augie from his sister’s inept grasp. “She’s too busy reading to notice anything else, as usual.”
Penelope’s breath caught as Colin’s voice shifted, softening, lifting a note as he spoke to the baby. She stood next to him as he arranged Augie’s bum to rest on his right arm, against his side, his back supported securely with his other hand.
It came to him so naturally.
Sometimes Pen forgot that Colin had five younger siblings, though he was only twelve or thirteen years of age when Hyacinth was small enough to hold—perhaps four when Eloise was born and he was old enough to understand how to be gentle. And yet knowing Colin, and his endless patience and eagerness to be helpful, it wasn’t hard to imagine him stepping in wherever he was allowed. He’d likely changed nappies under the direction of the nursemaid, fed the babies mushy peas during family suppers, and led childish games of make-believe with his sisters and brother without complaint. Anthony and Benedict were so much older that they often seemed in a world of their own, even to Penelope. But Colin was kind, and sweet, and caring, and much less intimidating even as a man grown.
Penelope was the youngest in her household. She’d never held a baby. She’d hardly been around anyone younger than her, except for Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth. It was expected that women—wives—would take over all the child-rearing, whether that be by themselves or with hired help.
But Pen had no idea where she would even start.
But Colin clearly did.
It caused a dull, pressing tendril of warmth to unfurl in her belly and settle in that private place between her legs.
“Is it not nap time?” Eloise said caustically, directed at Colin, even though she was technically speaking to the baby. She grasped her book in her hands like it could save her from further unwanted interactions with the child. “Perhaps Uncle Colin will lull you to sleep with his many, many tales of his travels.”
She might have defended him from his sister’s cutting words, but Pen could not hear much else for the roaring of blood pounding through her head. The eager warmth turned into a growing, sparking heat as Colin took Augie’s little hand in his own. She shifted on her feet, clenching her thighs together in a futile attempt to ease the slight ache building between them. All it did was intensify the wet, liquid yearning bubbling up inside of her that she had no idea how to control or quell in a public setting. Had she been alone in her room, where this sort of thing usually happened, she might have tried to touch down there or taken a nap, but she saw no opportunity to excuse herself.
Colin leaned down to place a smacking kiss on Augie’s cheek, the baby giggling and fisting Colin’s jacket in his hands.
“Yes, I seem to be missing the peace and solitude of the Greek Isles already,” he said, rolling his eyes and casting another glance at Penelope.
Eloise left to sit on a different sofa, Benedict and Francesca following, but Penelope stayed beside Colin and everyone else who wanted to see the baby.
“I have not met little Augie yet,” Pen said, trying to keep her voice from shaking and revealing just how affected she was by this man holding a small child.
“Well, allow me to introduce you,” he cooed, turning so Pen could see the baby’s face. Augie looked up at her with big, wide brown eyes, little tufts of hair poking out from beneath his white bonnet, his adorable lips parted as he blinked up at her. Colin grinned, taking the baby by his tiny wrist and gently waving his hand. “Pen, this is Augie. Augie, this is your…Auntie Pen.”
“Hello, little one,” she smiled brightly, hoping to look friendly and welcoming so she would receive a warmer reception than Eloise. “I admit I do not have much experience with children.”
“Would you like to hold him?” Colin asked.
Truthfully, Pen thought she would like to continue to watch Colin hold him, but she said, “I would love to.”
The baby felt heavier than she expected as Colin carefully transferred him into her arms, but he settled easily against her hip. He smelled surprisingly fresh and clean, like soap and warm grass.
“You certainly hold him more comfortably than Eloise,” Colin remarked, eyes warm as he observed, ready to intervene should Augie start fussing.
One by one, the siblings and Lady Bridgerton peeled back until it was just Pen and Colin, some silent decision to leave the baby in capable hands.
“Well, it helps to hold someone like a person, not like some soiled frock,” Pen said with a small laugh. Instinctively, her voice softened, shifting into the gentle, singsong tone everyone else used around babies to show them that they were a safe person. She looked down at Augie’s face. He stared at her intently as if he were deciding whether he wanted to cry or not. “This is not so hard, is it?” she asked softly. When a smile twitched the corners of Augie’s lips, she nearly sighed with relief.
He nestled in, his impossibly soft cheek resting against her chest. His fingers clung to her arm, tiny slivers of fingernails digging in not painfully, and he shifted closer decisively.
Apparently, without knowing it existed, she passed some mysterious test and now had the trust of a baby.
“He likes it when you bounce him around on your hip a little, Penelope,” Daphne called absently from across the room before turning back to her conversation with Anthony, discussing the imminent arrival of Lady Danbury and the Sharmas and his potential future bride.
“Does he, now?” Pen said cheerfully. She shifted her stance so she could sway back and forth, causing the baby to jiggle up and down. Augie giggled and smiled even wider, delightedly batting one of his hands on her chest and fisting the other in a curled lock of her hair that dangled onto her shoulder.
“You’re a natural,” Colin said, something strange in his tone, something soft and…wistful?
Nothing had ever felt as natural, as intuitive, as holding this baby in her arms.
“It’s much easier than I expected,” she said quietly.
“Especially if you’ve had Eloise feeding you false narratives on his developing character,” he chuckled. “Well, now you know. He’s not terrible, and is, in fact, just a baby.”
“No. Not bad at all.”
Pen actually thought this was all quite…good.
And suddenly, the thought slammed into her that she yearned for this. She needed this for herself.
A small, living piece of her. A whole person, out in the world, half her and half someone else.
Of course, in her most private daydreams, that someone else was always Colin.
A hopeless fantasy, sure, but she indulged herself anyway. His brown hair and her blue eyes, or her red hair and his sharp nose, or her writing ability and his easy charm—endless conceivable combinations, each one more impossible than the last.
Colin would never feel that way about her. He was worldly, travelled, and had said to her not that long ago that he’d sworn off women for the time being, barring her because she did not count. He saw her as his little sister’s friend, hardly more than a girl. To him, she was certainly not someone he would ever marry, let alone make a baby with.
Not that she knew precisely how the baby-making occurred, but that was a separate issue only tangentially related to Colin.
She had seen many statues. She had read the well-worn, scandalous books left in the library from some previous Lady Featherington and hid them beneath the floorboards in her bedroom so her mother would not find them sitting out on a side table. She even learned a little from the couples who would slip away in the middle of balls, finding some secluded closet or empty office.
But she did not know the specifics of what occurred behind those locked doors, other than a mutual cacophony of sounds coming from each party involved. She also knew vaguely what nude men looked like, as long as the paintings were created accurately and without embellishment. Sometimes, after reading certain passages from her books, a glowing heat bloomed in her stomach and between her legs when she thought about doing those things with Colin.
Kissing him.
Touching him.
Inserting with him.
It did not matter where she imagined him doing any of those things. They all sent her mind and body alight.
Slick always followed this thrumming in her heart that sent flutters down to her core. Occasionally, she touched between her legs and spread the liquid around, fumbling and searching but never finding. It all felt too embarrassing to pursue beyond precursory explorations, even alone in her room.
She could assume that the insertion part of the act felt nice, but her own experiments proved fruitless.
After slinking around corners last year, gathering gossip for her column, she heard many innuendos and insinuations, but it was all rather vague, and the act was still shrouded in a fog of understanding Penelope was not yet equipped to clear. That particular part of a man, the dangling bit at his hips, inserted into her center, the part that grew hot and slick—where the baby would eventually evacuate her womb—but she wasn’t quite sure why women would risk their ruin for the act. Supposedly, it felt nice, and Pen gathered the whispers to be true because why else would she throb and ache so wonderfully when she thought of Colin touching her?
Still, it did not make sense to her how that translated to an enjoyable experience worth sneaking away for. How the child implanted itself in a womb baffled her even more. Marina explained to her last season that this pleasure is what eventually led to becoming with child, that chasing this carnal enjoyment is why so many women willingly fall into bed with men. To Pen, the risk of ruin still seemed too daunting to take a chance for just a bit of pleasure.
It didn’t really matter, though, because she might never experience it at all.
And definitely not with Colin.
She shouldn’t be thinking of such lascivious things in front of him, because her face felt flushed, and she suddenly felt the need to rub on top of something like a dog in heat.
Thankfully, Pen was saved when a footman spoke quietly with Lady Bridgerton, and she brightened.
“A carriage is making its way up the road,” she called out to her children. “Let us greet Lady Danbury and the Sharmas on the front steps.”
For a moment, Penelope stood awkwardly, holding the baby, unsure of what she should do. Was Augie included in this? Should she just…start walking? Should she hand him over to someone else?
Colin opened his mouth to speak for a moment, one hand reaching out but just barely grazing Penelope’s skirt, before the Duchess appeared next to them.
“I’ll take him to his nurse, Penelope,” she said, gathering her son in her arms. “Thank you for watching him. I appreciated the reprieve, however brief.”
“He’s a joy,” Pen replied honestly. “It was no trouble at all.”
Then Colin leaned in, his hands tucked behind his back, his voice warm against her ear.
“Come, Pen,” he murmured with a mischievous glint. “Let the games begin.”
✦✧✦✧
Lady Danbury, Lady Mary, Kate, Edwina, and Newton took about an hour or so to settle in and refresh themselves after the carriage ride. By the time the entire party made their way to the lawn, a few Bridgertons were already setting up white metal hoops in a smattering across the grass, while a tall rack of mallets stood at attention smack in the middle of the lawn, looking a bit menacing in Pen’s opinion.
“So, you choose a mallet and try to hit your matching ball through each wicket in order,” Eloise explained as they descended the stairs.
“Seems…simple,” Pen said skeptically. “Why do you all love Pall Mall so much, exactly?”
“Because she lives to beat her older brothers,” came Colin’s voice as he suddenly appeared beside them, a glint in his eye. “Though she never manages to place better than fourth.”
“Not true!” Eloise huffed, irritated at his sudden presence. “Four years ago, I came in second only because Benedict came out of nowhere and won at the last wicket.”
“And ever since, you’ve placed sixth, because you spend all your time sabotaging the rest of us instead of advancing your own ball,” Colin retorted, flashing a smirk meant only for Penelope.
“I see,” Pen said, her lips twitching. “So sabotage is permitted?”
“If not encouraged, one might say,” Colin replied. “If that is your style, of course. Some of us prefer to go in with a strategy, however.”
“Says the man who has never won a game,” Eloise taunted him, offended by his directed snide remark.
“Neither have you,” Colin retorted.
“But you could at least try to knock Anthony's or Daphne’s ball into the pond. Anthony won last year, but they’ve passed the victory between themselves for three years in a row. Someone else should have a chance to win,” Eloise complained.
“Soon to be four!”
Penelope turned to see Daphne practically skipping down the stairs, grinning with confidence before striding outside just a bit faster than propriety allowed.
“Do not set up any more wickets without me!” Eloise called, suddenly running after her. “I will not have you all cheating and placing one in the brush by the horse trail again!”
She tore away toward the lawn, leaving Penelope alone with Colin at the threshold of the terrace.
“I should warn you,” Colin said, lowering his voice slightly as they stepped onto the grass. “You should not choose the black mallet. It’s not worth the headache you will receive from Anthony’s whining that you took his preferred option.”
“Noted,” Pen replied, giggling. “Anything else I should know?”
Colin smiled. “Have fun. Don’t worry about playing well or knocking anyone else’s ball. Though I expect you could get away with anything.”
Pen furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“You are so kind and…sweet,” he said. “No one could be angry with you for interfering with their game for very long.”
Sweet.
Penelope kept her smile in place, even as her breath caught in her chest and that warmth from earlier returned to her stomach. “I shall keep that in mind. Now, which color should I choose?”
“Any of the others are fair options,” he said. “Except for yellow. I always choose yellow.”
“You have no danger of any competition, in that case,” Pen replied, chuckling. “Is that your lucky color?”
Colin pondered for a moment and then shrugged. “Though I have never won a game with it, I suppose…yes.”
✦✧✦✧
It was hot, and he was losing.
Colin knocked his yellow ball through the next wicket to a smattering of polite applause. They only clapped because their mother was watching, and all the siblings knew if the game grew too rowdy or ill-mannered, she would put an end to it without hesitation.
“Nice shot,” Pen said, sidling up next to him. He shot her a smile. She added lightly, “You do not compete as obviously as your siblings do, but you are skilled.”
“Are you saying I should be more aggressive?” he asked teasingly.
“Not at all,” she replied. “I think the fine subtlety of your strategy might prevail, in fact.”
“At least someone has faith in me,” he muttered, watching Daphne glide her ball cleanly through a wicket two numbers ahead of his. She grinned and curtsied dramatically before turning toward the tent where their mother lounged with Lady Danbury, fanning herself and sipping lemonade. Augie sat nearby with his nursemaid, but when Daphne waved and blew kisses, the baby laughed and clapped, utterly delighted by his mama.
Colin saw Penelope watching the exchange, her expression softened with something that felt deeper than admiration. Fondness, perhaps. Longing.
And then, after a moment, she blurted out, “Colin, do you want children?”
He blinked. “What?”
The question hit him like a bucking horse. Until that morning, he’d barely given the idea any thought. Growing up with so many siblings, he always just…assumed that he would have some of his own in the future.
The far future.
Though he was one and twenty now. His parents were younger than him when Anthony was born. Daphne was married last year and already a mother. Perhaps it was not so far off.
“Sorry,” she said quickly, the color rising from her cheeks down to her collarbone. “I suppose I was simply curious. I do not know what possessed me to—”
“No,” Colin shook his head. “Your question took me by surprise, is all. I suppose…I always assumed I would have children. Eventually.”
Admittedly, while watching Pen hold his nephew earlier in the drawing room, he’d had many thoughts of children and babies and where they came from and how they were made. Augie had fit so neatly against her hip, his cheek tucked into her neck and his little hands resting on her…bosom…She had looked like the picture of motherhood.
But Colin could not tell Pen that he was thinking so extensively about such an intimate part of her.
“I have not spent much time around infants,” she admitted. “But after holding your nephew today, I think… I think I have determined that I want a child of my own.”
He tried not to react, because he did not need that revelation to sink into his psyche too deeply just yet. “Augie is rather nice for a baby,” he offered as a deflection.
“You have lived around children far more than I, so I will take your word for it.”
“I suppose I had never thought of that,” he said, surprised. As the youngest child, Penelope would not be around children often. A realization struck him. “Is Augie the first baby you’ve held?”
“The first one that is as small as Augie. Any bigger and they are a bit too much for me to carry comfortably,” she admitted. “And I am rather enamored by him, if I am honest. He’s lovely.”
“He is charming, for certain,” Colin agreed. “So, you’ve decided that when you marry, you wish for children?”
“Yes.”
“You’re one step ahead of El, then,” he chuckled. “I doubt she will ever find herself wanting children.”
“Eloise and I are more different than you might think,” Penelope said quietly.
Interesting.
He brushed her strange reaction off as nerves. It was an odd conversation for them to have, but not entirely unlikely, given their ages and friendship. She was obviously very different from his sister, most notably in Pen’s quiet charisma compared to Eloise’s loud berating.
Though perhaps the berating only came about because she was his sister.
“Well, at least you can tell your future husband that you desire a family, whenever that day comes,” he said brightly.
“Soon, I hope,” she muttered. He might not have heard if not for everyone holding their breath moments before Anthony expertly knocked his ball through the next wicket.
Pen was younger than him by three years. Surely, she could not want children just yet. She had no suitors, no line of bachelors eager to write their name on her dance card at balls, and never received any callers at her home.
Eloise did not have any of those things either, but that was how his sister preferred it. Pen was best friends with Eloise, and he always assumed they would grow old together, perhaps live in a little cottage in the country, gardening and terrorizing the village with Eloise’s political speeches.
Did something change Pen’s mind about marriage?
“Soon?” Colin echoed, tilting his head toward her. “But you are so…young. You cannot mean too soon.”
“I am, but…” she trailed off for a moment, her eyes lingering on Augie once again. “I found spending time around Augie to be so enlightening. I would like to have a family—a baby—of my own, sooner rather than later.”
His mother was eighteen when she married Colin’s father. His sister had married at eighteen last year. He had nearly eloped with Marina—who later married her dead lover’s brother and gave birth to twins, and was currently living not far away with her new family—and she was not much older than Penelope. But still he could not seem to wrap his mind around his friend wishing to be married, wanting to have a baby, knowing that she would have to make that baby with her husband—
“I see,” Colin said, the words cutting off with a croak before he took a moment to clear his throat. “So…you are looking for a husband, then? I know Eloise—”
“Was rather forcefully thrust into this season despite her protests,” Pen finished for him. She smiled, though she couldn’t meet his eyes as she lined up her next shot. “My…situation—it’s a bit different from hers. My family can be quite…overbearing, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I would quite like to have a house of my own. The only path to that, for women like me and Eloise, is marriage, as much as it frustrates her.”
“But I never see you dancing,” Colin said, still baffled. “Or even speaking with any eligible men.”
Pen knocked her ball through the wicket, earning polite applause from all but Eloise, who clapped and exclaimed, “Yes, Pen!” quite loudly and vigorously before boasting about her friend’s achievement to Benedict.
Penelope flushed pink. “No one ever asks to dance with me. Except you, of course.”
Colin frowned. “But if you are open to courtship, unlike Eloise, then…why?”
She bit her lip, looking uncharacteristically melancholy. “Take your pick from any number of shortcomings the ton deems irredeemable. My family. My mother. My red hair. My short stature. My…figure. My wardrobe. My…my…”
She trailed off, and something in her voice cracked. Colin leaned closer.
“Pen?” he asked softly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly with a quick, short laugh as she shook her head. “I should not disparage myself so much. It is unseemly.”
“No!” he insisted. “I bemoaned to you about my feelings every week in our letters. There’s no reason why you shouldn’t be afforded the same privilege now that we are together in person. Speaking of them is no different from writing such things with ink and paper.”
When she looked up at him, her clear blue eyes soft, Colin gulped.
“Thank you, Colin,” she whispered. “Sometimes I feel as though you are one of the few people who truly see me.”
He did see her. In every room, at every ball, he sought her out first. He looked forward to her letters more than anyone else's. He delighted so much in hearing her laugh that he counted it a triumph when he was the cause.
“I—”
“Colin!” Eloise interrupted suddenly, appearing as though from nothing and grabbing Pen’s hand. “Why are you monopolizing my best friend?”
Before he could respond, she was already dragging Pen away, rambling about her need to throw Benedict’s mallet into the pond.
Sorry, Pen mouthed over her shoulder with an apologetic smile.
Colin was not paying attention to the game anymore and did not care one whit if he won.
The match continued in its usual chaotic fashion. Anthony and Kate circled each other like lion and gazelle, though Colin couldn’t determine who was the predator and who the prey. Their verbal sparring bordered on theatrical, and when Kate sent Anthony’s ball hurtling into the woods, Colin took it upon himself to knock her ball in after it, if only to give the rest of them a moment’s peace while the pair argued their way through the underbrush.
That left the others free to return to normal sibling antagonization, giving Colin ample opportunity to turn his thoughts back to Penelope and her sudden, startling desire to start a family.
It was not an entirely confusing aspiration, for if he had to share a home with her sisters and mother, he might go a bit mad and make a plan to leave, too. His brief experience visiting her home last season had left a lasting impression, and not a flattering one.
How strange that the last time he was in the Featherington home was when he was still engaged to Marina.
He had not spoken with her since their last argument facilitated by Daphne, though he’d heard second-hand gossip from his family, and from Penelope in her letters while he was abroad. Marina’s babies would be at least several months old by now, depending on how far along she was when she misled him into engagement. She and Sir Phillip Crane did not live too far from Aubrey Hall.
Had Pen gone to visit them? Has she met her cousin’s children?
She must not have, or else she wouldn’t have said that Augie was the first infant she’d ever held.
God, his mind still reeled from the revelation that Pen wanted one of her own. Would that ever happen for her? Before children, she would need to marry. He’d always assumed that Pen shared Eloise’s views on marriage, that it was misogynistic and an archaic notion that women could only start families or stay at home the rest of their lives, and she would rather not participate at all. But Pen said that she didn’t share the same views as Eloise.
Would a man want to marry Penelope?
Of course he would. Most pretty young women married in their first few seasons, and—well, he hadn’t given it much thought before, because she was so young and his sister’s friend. But now she was his friend, too, and Penelope was more than simply pretty.
She had gorgeous red hair and bright blue eyes, a sweet face that radiated with light and kindness, and a quick wit to tie it all together with a ribbon. The bow on such a lovely present was her very healthy—assets.
Very full, robust, substantial assets.
Though perhaps asset was the wrong word. It was the wrong end of her, anyway.
Endowment fit better.
He exhaled sharply, a little embarrassed at the uncharacteristically crude reflections of his friend, and disguised it as a cough when Benedict looked over to see what was the matter. Colin cleared his throat, shook his head, and took his next shot as he turned his thoughts back to Penelope and her future babies she eagerly yearned for.
Whose child would she grow round with?
A quick image of a baby with chestnut brown hair and stormy blue eyes flashed through his mind. Though fleeting, the child bore a startling resemblance to his siblings.
To Colin.
It wasn’t so odd, he thought, to immediately picture small children who looked like him. He’d seen so many small Bridgertons in his life—Eloise, Francesca, Gregory, Hyacinth, and now little Augie, all bearing some unfathomable feature that tied them all together, more than just the colour of their hair or eyes. He sometimes wondered, in the passive sort of way one imagines their future, what his children would look like, how much they would take after him, if they would have his eyes or his laugh or his easy charm, and…what parts of his wife they would share with her.
As it did so often the last year, the thought shot through him like a bolt of lightning—if he’d married Marina, he’d be a father right now.
Of course, the child would not have resembled him, no matter how firmly Marina might have insisted otherwise. He wasn’t so heartless that he would abandon a baby, but he could never have trusted Marina again—not enough to willingly share a bed, let alone bring more children into the world with her.
How could he? He could never be sure she’d truly loved him in the first place. She’d lied to him. Manipulated him into a proposal before he even had time to realize she was carrying another man’s child. And if she could deceive him so easily once, what would stop her from doing it again?
It had been Lady Whistledown, of all people, who revealed the truth. The method had been brutal, the timing cruel to Marina most of all.
But if not for that public unmasking, he would be married to a woman he didn’t trust, raising a child that wasn’t his, living a life of quiet misery.
He could not truly say if Marina and Sir Phillip were entirely happy with their arrangement, either.
Daphne won the game of Pall Mall rather abruptly, though no one was particularly surprised. Relieved it was over, Colin wasted no time racking his mallet and ball before making a hasty retreat toward his room upstairs. But before he could escape entirely, Daphne, making her usual rounds of triumph and only sparing the guests out of courtesy, intercepted him with a wide, satisfied smile.
“I told you I would win again,” she grinned, practically glowing.
“So you did,” Colin replied, trying and failing to match her cheer. It came out more subdued than intended.
“A sore loser for once?” she teased.
“No, it is not the game,” he explained hurriedly, eager to be alone. “I am happy for you, sister.”
Her smile faltered slightly as she caught the shift in his mood. “Well… thank you,” she said, more gently now. “The guests arrive tomorrow. Ready to dance until you cannot feel your feet?”
“I’m not sure,” he muttered.
At that moment, he could think of a hundred things he’d rather do than waltz and smile and pretend that he was happy with his life. Perhaps he would do one of them instead.
✦✧✦✧
The night after the Pall Mall game, after that unexpected conversation with Pen about marriage and babies, he hadn’t slept a wink. For a long while after he had dressed for bed, he’d sat awake by his window, staring out at the stars twinkling in the clear summer sky over the vast fields of farmland and flickering dots of tenant houses, growing smaller and smaller in the distance.
Her words had continued to echo in his mind, looping and spinning and spiraling.
I think I have determined that I want a child of my own.
I would like to have a family—a baby—of my own, sooner rather than later.
No one ever asks to dance with me. Except you, of course.
Why did it unsettle him so? Penelope marrying shouldn’t have been shocking. It was inevitable, really. One day, some man would propose, and they would stand before a vicar or a bishop in a church and say their vows, and have a wedding breakfast and go off to their honeymoon to Brighton or Scotland, but they would stop at some inn along the way and share a bed, and he would strip her bare and sink inside her—
And then it was morning. Colin had barely closed his eyes.
Colin had spent perhaps twenty minutes greeting guests, most of it with Penelope, and then Eloise when she had inevitably intruded on their conversation and stole her away again. Shortly after Eloise likened him to a tree and whisked Pen away to go sit under a tent and sip lemonade with other young ladies at their mother’s insistence, he’d slipped away, climbing into one of the family carriages.
After what felt like an agonizing eternity of social niceties and carriage arrivals, he’d had enough of pretending that he was fine. He needed air, somewhere away from all these people looking at him, somewhere he could take some space and gain some clarity. So, he did something a bit unusual. But then, he did have a tendency to run whenever his thoughts became too loud. It just so happened that instead of leaving everything behind, he chose to run toward a main source of these confounding feelings.
Instead of staying to play host, he had gone to visit Marina.
Now, it was late, well after dark, and he was on his way home, deeply regretting the excursion.
He’d left late in the morning and arrived in time for tea, staying long into the evening after meeting Sir Phillip.
Part of him was just a bit nosy. The rumors surrounding her clouded anything factual. She disappeared from society as all respectable pariahs do. Pen relayed some information to him, along with bits and pieces from his family, but he wanted to see her for himself.
To apologize, and to forgive.
But another part of him, perhaps the more honest one, wanted to ensure she was well. That her husband was treating her with some measure of kindness. That she wasn’t miserable.
And she wasn’t. Not exactly.
Marina seemed… content. Not joyful, not swept away in romance, but safe, or steady, even if she and Sir Phillip did not enjoy each other's company as a husband and wife usually did.
Colin had been raised by love. His parents’ devotion to each other was the foundation of his understanding of marriage. His mother nearly faded with grief after his father died. It was the kind of love that shaped everything he believed was possible between two people. But Marina seemed to hold an understanding with her husband, that their arrangement was meant to be functional, practical.
He truly liked Sir Philip, though. He seemed a reasonable, gentle, educated sort of man, and cared for Marina even if he did not quite love her. Though they were his niece and nephew by blood, he doted on the babies as any father would. He ensured Marina lived a contented life, and did not intrude or press her for affection that she seemed unwilling to give.
Marina was comfortable, even if it was not what she’d dreamed of.
She’d said as much.
He’d tried to speak with her before he departed. She called him out immediately, asking if he had gone all that way to form his opinion of her husband. He said no, but she was not entirely wrong, even if it was not the whole truth.
He also sought forgiveness for their argument and closure on their relationship that left him so bereft during his travels that even foreign parts were not far enough away to clear his mind.
She did not want any of it, his apology for his own part in the dissolution of their engagement, or his forgiveness for her transgressions.
She had moved on completely, unshakably, with a strong acceptance of the life she was given because of her own choices and actions. Perhaps she was right and things were better than they seemed in the few short hours he’d visited, and it was uncalled for that he assumed things might be worse just because she and Sir Phillip did not share much outward affection for one another.
But then she called him a boy.
She had told him to wake up.
He left her not long after.
He was a boy to her, this woman he once thought he loved.
It was love as he’d known it to be, anyway. Love as it looked to him, on the surface, on her face and in her eyes.
He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to look like anymore. He had even less of an idea of what it was supposed to feel like.
And she’d also told him to look around and see what was already in front of him. People who he made happy. People who were not her.
She had mentioned Penelope, specifically.
Confoundingly.
Yesterday, Pen said that she felt like Colin was the only person to truly see her.
Is that what Marina meant?
The two women had lived under the same roof last season. They must have talked. Had Marina ever asked Pen about him? What he was like? How to charm him? Enchant him into a courtship?
He remembered when Pen tried to warn him about George, and he had so easily dismissed her concerns.
He was a fool.
Marina had seen him as an escape. A means to an end. A pleasant, naïve pawn she could manipulate into marrying her before anyone discovered the truth. He’d been kind, and she’d used it against him, and it twisted and churned in his stomach.
He was just a stupid, sweet boy in her eyes, even now.
And maybe he was.
His brothers thought so too, especially after he set his cap at the first girl to bat her eyelashes at him and drag him alone into a darkened room, treating him like he was special for the first time in his life. He could not even kiss her then, so caught up in the romantic notion of sharing himself with his wife for the first time on his wedding night.
Anthony and Benedict had offered, more than once, to take him to a brothel. He always declined. The idea felt… disingenuous. Base. Wrong. Not for him.
He could not kiss Marina even when they were engaged. How was he meant to make love to a strange woman, please her, enjoy her, when he did not know her real name, her story, her favorite food, or what made her laugh?
But that did not make him any less of a man. It should not.
Did it?
He was not a rake. He was not worldly in that particular sense. But he was still a man, capable of strength, charm, kindness, and desire.
He did not need experience to be a man. He did not need conquests to be worthy, to know what he wanted.
Did he?
✦✧✦✧
Lady Featherington, Prudence, and Jack Featherington arrived in the afternoon with the dozens of other guests, and Penelope immediately wished they would turn right back around and leave again.
Colin had left to visit Marina not long after the arrivals began, leaving Pen nearly alone with her family. Philippa was still on her honeymoon with Albion, so it was just the three women and Jack. Eloise managed to take Pen around the house a few times, ranting about being forced to socialize with the other debutantes who only wished to speak of courtship and embroidery, and hoping for another clue to Lady Whistledown’s true identity. Lady Featherington sought Pen out again and again, dragging her away to whisper to her about her grand plan to push Lord Featherington to propose to Prudence. At supper, they were all seated together—Penelope dressed in a hideous gown of lemon yellow and chartreuse green, resembling a fading bruise in the bouquet of soft pastels worn by the other young ladies. Only Prudence and Lady Featherington could rival her in unfortunate color choices, draped in shades of coral, fuchsia, and teal. Lord Featherington looked quite nice, as usual, and seated himself next to Cressida Cowper as he continued his courtship with her.
Unfortunately, Pen was expected to share a room with her family instead of Eloise now that they were here. Lord Featherington, the only bearable member, was alone in his room across the hall. As Pen dressed for bed, Prudence fussed with the pillows, claiming most of them to support her head while Pen was left with one on her side of the mattress. Pen, struggling with the last button of her dress in the middle of her back, reached behind her awkwardly with her short arms, trying her best to do things for herself. Even after months with no lady’s maid, she still found it difficult to reach that particular spot.
“Here,” her mother appeared behind her. “I can do it.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Pen replied, holding the dress to her chest so it would not fall as it loosened completely.
“You seem rather unhappy, Penelope,” Portia continued, taking Pen by her shoulders and looking at their reflections in the tall dressing mirror before them. “Are you not excited for the ball tomorrow?”
“I am quite eager for it, actually,” Pen said, forcing a smile. “I am just tired, I suppose. It’s the country air.”
Portia hummed, unconvinced but not pressing the issue. “I do hope you’ll make an effort to catch a gentleman’s eye. Not to overshadow Prudence, of course, since she must secure Lord Featherington’s affections, unless you’d prefer we all end up on the street.”
“I doubt I could draw enough attention to eclipse her even if I tried,” Pen said, bitterness creeping into her tone.
Her mother did not notice. “Still, you should have someone in mind. You’re next, you know. It’s time you began thinking about your future husband.”
There was only one man Pen wanted, and he’d gone to visit his former fiancée that afternoon.
There was a better chance of snow falling tomorrow, in the middle of summer, than there was of his developing feelings for her.
✦✧✦✧
Lady Bridgerton, as always, knew how to throw a party.
Penelope stood on the grand staircase above the Bridgerton’s ballroom, decorated in shades of pink for the ball, and surveyed the dancers below, her gaze searching for one person in particular.
She did not see him.
Colin had taken his meals upstairs today. Pen had asked Hyacinth, Lady Bridgerton, and a random maid if he was ill, but only received vague answers in return. She had assumed he would make at least a brief appearance for his family’s ball, but evidently, his presence wasn’t required.
She hoped she was not at fault for his absence. She could not stop thinking that she had something to do with it.
“Are you bracing yourself, too?”
Pen turned her head to find Eloise, elegantly dressed in a pale peach gown with blue and green embroidery, looking utterly miserable.
“Something like that,” Pen replied.
They descended the stairs together and paused at the edge of the dance floor, watching the waltzing couples spin and float in elegant circles. Penelope longed to join them, but no one here would ever ask her.
Especially not with Eloise scowling at every man who so much as glanced in their direction.
“Do you think Lady Whistledown is among us?” Eloise asked, scanning the room, her fixation never far from her thoughts.
“It is quite possible,” Pen replied, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. Their arms still looped together, she scanned the room some more. “Where’s Colin? I have not seen him since yesterday.”
“He told Mama that he wasn’t feeling up to socializing tonight.”
If Pen were honest, she would say that she was worried she’d scared him off with too much talk of babies and marriage the other day, and hoped he was not avoiding her.
“Is he unwell?” Penelope asked, trying not to sound too concerned.
“No, nothing like that,” Eloise replied. “After visiting with Marina, he’s been feeling sorry for himself, so he’s upstairs in his room moping around.”
“Ah,” Pen said, keeping her tone neutral. “I wouldn’t think he would still be so…torn up about her.”
“From what I can tell, he isn’t,” Eloise sighed. “He thinks he is, but even I can see he’s focusing on the wrong problem.”
“And what is his problem?” Pen asked, smiling. “In your expert opinion, of course.”
“He wants to run again,” Eloise replied easily.
Colin did have a habit of retreating when things grew complicated. And now that he could disappear to an entirely different country rather than just sulking a floor or two away, his escapes had become far more literal.
“Why do you think that is?” Pen asked quietly.
“I do not know,” Eloise said, “but I do wish I could jaunt off to France whenever my mother tries to push yet another lord in my direction. It must be nice to simply go wherever one wants to.”
When she put it that way, it did seem rather vast. The entire world at his fingertips, Colin could pick nearly any one of them and just…book passage on a ship and leave. It was daunting.
Perhaps that was part of the issue. With so many options of where to go, it must be difficult to find any direction at all.
“Lord,” Eloise mumbled. “She—she’s coming towards me with a suitor.”
Pen blinked in confusion for just a moment, until she spotted Lady Bridgerton approaching with a very tall lord on her arm.
“And what if you said yes?” Pen posed lightly.
Eloise’s head snapped to her. “To a dance?” she replied incredulously.
“I only mean to say—” Pen continued with a teasing smile. “It’d entertain me so much for you to say yes to the dances you are offered so I might hear about them. There is only so much more I can hear about a pamphlet—or your brother.” When Eloise did not reply immediately, she shook her head, knowing Eloise would not back down from the challenge. “Never mind.”
“Eloise!” Lady Bridgerton said as she and the lord approached, grinning. Eloise spun in a panicked circle, searching for an exit.
Penelope, unhelpfully, turned to face the wall, leaving Eloise to fend for herself.
“No, no, no, no…” Eloise whispered frantically.
“I would like to introduce you to Lord Morrison,” Lady Bridgerton said brightly, slipping an arm around Eloise to push her forward. Pen watched from the corner of her eye.
“Miss Eloise,” the gentleman replied. “A pleasure. Might I have the honor?”
Pen covered her mouth with her gloved hand to smother her laugh.
Slowly, she backed away until she reached the staircase again. With her skirts hiked up so she would not trip, she walked back up to the main floor leisurely, even though her heart pounded at the prospect of what she was about to do.
If Eloise had not divulged precisely what was going on with Colin these last two days, then Pen would find out for herself.
She crept up the staircase leading to the bedrooms, her beaded gown heavy in her fist as she held her skirts up so she would not trip. Staying silent, though no one wandered around, especially in the family wing, she found Colin’s door and knocked thrice.
He was not asleep, because she immediately heard shuffling on the other side, something like running up before the knob jiggled and the door swung open—
Colin stood there in only a white shirt open to his chest and black trousers.
No jacket, no waistcoat, no shoes, no braces—not even a cravat around his throat. She’d never seen him so undone before, the contrast stark next to her pink, heavily beaded evening gown.
“Pen!” he gasped, even more breathless than her, leaning up against the doorway. “What are you doing here? Why are you not downstairs at the ball?”
He whispered, peering out into the hallway. He slept in the family wing, far away from the other guests. The only other people in the vicinity were Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth, still too young to attend balls.
“I…wanted to see how you fared,” Pen said awkwardly. “Eloise said you were not feeling up to dancing and socializing tonight.”
“I am not,” he replied, not tired or unwell, just pensive. “Come in here. I don’t want us to be discovered.”
He grabbed her by the wrist and tugged her inside, the door sealing shut behind her like a vault.
She fought through the hitch in her breath at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around her skin.
“It is unlike you to miss an opportunity to dance,” she said, prying for more information.
“I didn’t have the heart for it after yesterday,” he muttered before exhaling. “Are you not disappointing a few gentlemen tonight by inquiring after me?”
Pen scoffed, smiling and shaking her head. “I doubt anyone will miss me at all. The only man I’ve ever danced with is you.”
He blinked. “Truly?”
“Would I lie about that to you?” she asked steadily.
“No,” he replied, clearing his throat. “I suppose not. It is only that…You look quite nice. That color looks…nice.”
“Thank you,” she said, a bit wary. “My Mama could not go against the theme this time. I quite like pink, and I am glad your Mother chose Hearts and Flowers for her ball.”
“It suits you,” he said, and then looked a bit panicked. “Not that what you usually wear does not suit you. It’s just that—pink is different for you…it’s…nice. The other colors are nice too. You look well in yellow. And the green you wore the other day. But pink is also good—”
“It’s fine, Colin,” Pen laughed softly. “I understand what you mean.”
For several long, silent seconds, Colin looked like he wanted to say something, but could not decide if he should.
Eventually, he took a deep breath and asked quietly, “What are you thinking about?”
“I was thinking about…babies,” Pen blushed, blurting it out even though it was not exactly true.
Although the topic was on her mind after the last two days, and something about Colin always caused her to think of babies, she wasn’t precisely thinking of them at that moment. Thinking about why he might be hiding from everyone—from her—and looking at Colin, especially disheveled and half-undressed as he was, always caused her to begin spewing a bunch of nonsense.
He looked sufficiently flustered at the mention, however, and she hated whatever demon on her shoulder that caused her to bring it up.
“I see…” Colin said, laughing uncomfortably.
Pen tried to turn it around. “Sorry, it’s not exactly…I mean to say, my thoughts tend to—meander. It has nothing to do with you. Or anything else. And I cannot speak of such things with Eloise, as you know, since she will simply rant that I deserve more than simple motherhood in life. Little Augie is just so adorable, and he incites such…fantasies in me—”
To silence her awkward rambling, Colin interrupted, “I admit my mind also wandered to the same topic often these past few days.”
Pen blinked. “It did?”
Colin sighed. “Well, I have not had much reason to think of children before, believing them to be something far off in my future,” he began.
“I thought the same,” Pen said softly, encouragingly.
“But you mentioned that after meeting Augie, you felt yourself ready to have a family of your own.”
“Yes,” she replied a bit skeptically, deciding to echo his words from before. “He’s a rather lovely baby.”
“Exactly!” Colin exclaimed, a bit too enthusiastically. “So I thought, when might I have one of my own? My father was around my age at Anthony’s birth.”
“Right…”
The implication hung in the air, unspoken but understood. If he’d married Marina, he would already have had children—perhaps not his by blood, but his in every other way. And Penelope knew he would’ve loved them deeply, no matter what.
Colin would not meet her eyes, instead staring somewhere over her shoulder. “And that started me thinking about who I would like to raise a child with.”
“Did you come to any conclusions?” Pen asked, perhaps a little too hopeful.
“Well, I should say that I first thought of who you might have as a husband. Who might be the father to your children,” he said. As he gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbed in his uncovered throat.
She hadn’t expected that. “Oh,” she managed, a little squeak of surprise.
“And—well, I couldn’t wrap my head around you, married, pregnant, with babies,” he continued uneasily.
Her heart dropped.
“Not like that!” he added quickly, holding out his hands and waving them frantically as though he could erase his fumble. “I only meant that you are so young, and I’ve known you for so long that it is strange to think of you as someone’s wife. Of course, you are out in society and of an age to find a husband. It makes sense. I can see that now that I’ve thought about it for a while.”
“Of course,” she echoed, masking her disappointment with agreement.
“And since you said you want children, naturally I started thinking about what that might look like. For you. As a friend. Since you would have to…choose a husband and create the babies with him.”
Pen couldn’t help but think it was not exactly a friendly thing to dwell upon, but she couldn’t allow her thoughts to follow that tangent for too long.
Colin stood so close to her that she could feel his breath tickling her face, and if she reached out just a bit, she could touch the soft plane of his stomach. She could not linger in the fantasy that he might one day be the father to her babies—her husband.
And yet he had not thrown her from his room.
In the low light given off by two candles and the moon shining through the curtains, his face looked…open.
Yearning?
Warmth flooded her, and she felt something like courage come with it, perhaps provided by that pesky demon whispering in her ear again, encouraging her to say the first thing that came to mind. “I admit that, though I know I want a child, I do not yet know the specifics of—of their creation,” she stammered slightly, her faltering voice revealing her nerves.
Colin choked for a moment, coughing and clearing his throat. “I suppose they do not explain such things to young ladies.”
“I’m not entirely ignorant,” she said, biting her lip as warmth flushed her cheeks. “I’ve seen statues.”
“Statues,” he repeated, his brow quirking in amusement.
“And…paintings.”
“In museums.”
“And private collections,” she added.
“Private.”
“Right.”
“But…nothing else?”
“Nothing in the…flesh,” she said, struggling for words that did not sound vulgar. His gaze flicked up to meet hers, and the weight of it seemed to strip her bare. “I’ve noted some differences.”
“I should hope so,” Colin laughed awkwardly.
“And…books,” she added, nearly whispering. “I’ve read some books.”
“Books?”
“Yes,” she continued, nearly choking on her own saliva as she swallowed. “I’ve read books quite often, as you know.”
“Well, yes,” Colin replied, raising a brow.
“But…” Pen shook her head and looked toward the ceiling. “I meant…they’re not—the sort of books one might expect a proper young lady to read.”
She wasn’t looking at his face, but his breathing changed—stopped, for just a moment, but she noticed. He stepped toward her, just two careful pats of his feet on his plush rug. His voice sounded somewhere between intrigued and…warm—when he replied, “What sort of improper things have you been reading, Penelope?”
“Evidently, one of my ancestors had a penchant for romance,” she muttered, daring to glance up.
His eyes glittered. “Oh? What sorts of romance?”
“The…usual sort?”
“I do not believe Sense and Sensibility would cause such a hesitant response, Pen,” he pointed out, smirking.
She sighed. “These are perhaps a bit more… descriptive.”
“I see,” he said, a teasing smirk curling the corners of his lips. “How do these authors describe such romantic encounters?”
Pen started to regret the series of decisions that brought her here.
Not just to Aubrey Hall.
Whatever brought her into this mortal plane of existence.
“I—I don’t—I really shouldn’t—” she stammered awkwardly, laughing in the pauses because she wasn’t sure what else to do. She felt a bit lightheaded, her breathing shallow and her knees locked stiffly beneath her heavily beaded dress weighing on her shoulders.
“Pen?” Colin said gently, concerned when he noticed her chest heaving.
So concerned, in fact, that he reached toward her and grabbed her right forearm to steady her.
“I was only teasing,” he said, his thumb brushing against her skin.
“I know,” she whispered. “I just…I…was trying to figure out a way to answer you and…the prospect of speaking such things aloud is daunting, let alone to you.”
Fingers that clenched around her began to relax. Gently, calmly, he pulled her just a bit closer, clearing his throat. Just one step, but mere inches separated them now.
“It’s a bit surprising, is all,” he said, his voice a bit rough. “I never expected you to enjoy books like that. You always seem so…sweet.”
“I can be sweet and still have a few scandalous hobbies,” she replied softly, still catching her breath. Her left hand fisted in her skirts, just for something to do so she did not reach out for his other arm.
“You do like a bit of gossip in a dark corner of a ballroom,” he said, chuckling. His fingers started to trace a pattern on her bare skin as hers felt the underside of his arm, still covered in white linen but radiating heat from his body.
“It’s certainly the only thing I’m doing in dark corners,” she replied. When Colin snorted, choking back a laugh, she added, “The books told me what sort of thing usually happens in dark corners.”
Still smiling, Colin pressed her for more. “What kinds of things do these fictional people do in ballrooms when they think no one is watching?” He sounded strained, gulping hard a few times as he ran his thumb along the blue veins beneath her pale skin.
“They start with…kissing,” she began.
Her breath hitched as Colin slid his palm across the entire length of her forearm and took her hand in his, his palm twice the size of hers as he compared their fingers. Her fingers felt sticky and clammy compared to the rough, steady warmth of him.
“Go on,” he encouraged her quietly.
She felt dizzy. “And then there’s some element of…insertion.”
“I think they must have skipped a few steps,” he chuckled.
Or Penelope skipped a few steps because she could hardly bear to talk about where she wanted his hands and tongue to touch her.
“Perhaps. But the most important part—from what I’ve gathered in my…research—is introducing some—element of m—the man with the woman.”
Colin laughed easily, familiarly, while nodding. “Yes, I believe so. Do you know which part?”
“I concluded that the—long part between a man’s legs must go into the center part between mine,” she said, blood rushing rapidly between her head and the throbbing wetness she spoke of, the part begging for touch and relief.
“An astute observation,” he rumbled, pulling her hand up to his lips and placing a kiss on her knuckles, like the knights of her fairytales. His softly parted mouth reverently touched her skin, his eyes closed as he felt her against his face, her fingers trembling and tense despite his gentleness.
“Is it correct?” she asked breathlessly. “Admittedly, the books are not exactly descriptive of such things. It’s all…implied.”
Wrangling a touch of slippery boldness in her grasp, she looked up and held his stare for longer than a moment.
Something in Colin’s expression changed. His eyes darkened, sharpened—decided, perhaps. He exhaled slowly.
Swiftly, he slid an arm around her and pulled her close.
She gasped softly as a hard lump pressed against her stomach from beneath his trousers.
“Would you…like a demonstration?” he asked plainly.
The need, raw and burning in his voice, nearly stunned her.
“Yes,” she breathed, reaching up for his face. The rough stubble of his shaven beard against her hands intrigued her, but she could not linger on his jaw. She wound her fingers into his hair and tugged.
But he would not allow her to pull him down to her lips. Instead, he paused, just inches away.
“Do you know what you are asking for, Pen?” he demanded, straining like it pained him to hold back.
“I want you, Colin,” she whispered, to herself in a way, like it could remain a secret even though the object of her deepest desires and affections stood right before her, his mouth mere inches from hers, his body pressed to her chest, and something hard in his trousers against her soft belly.
“I do not know if I have the strength to turn back from this, should we begin,” he stated seriously. “I…I do not wish to stop if we start. I can manage, if you change your mind, but…I want this.”
“I have—I have dreamed of this,” she boldly admitted, throwing the rest of her caution to the wind. “And I cannot hold myself back any longer now that—you are here before me. And I think you might want me, too.”
“You have dreamed of this?” he said, puzzled. “Who have you dreamed of doing…this with, exactly? I do not think most ladies know of such activities.”
“You,” she breathed, laughing slightly that his first thought was she might want someone else. “Only you. I did not know what I wanted, other than you in this vague, yearning, longing, heat, and I think I know now—I know what that means. For us.”
“You wanted me?” Colin puzzled, his breath catching.
With one last thread of courage, she replied shyly, “Why else would I want a baby so terribly after seeing you hold one?”
He blinked several times, and exhaled. He grasped her hand firmly, and the arm around her waist tightened.
“You have feelings for me?” Colin asked in wonder.
“I do,” she said, her voice trembling, unguarded. “I have for so very long—oh, God!”
The exclamation escaped her as he suddenly reached up, threading his fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and tugging her gently upward. In the next instant, his mouth was on hers.
When Colin kissed her, Pen thought she could hear a bell ring, like angels celebrating and triumphant. His hands slipped from her head and hovered over her body, not quite certain if she wanted to be touched, but never daring to part from her lips. The noises he made, the grunts and groans as he slid his tongue into her mouth, flushed a desperate heat from her toes to her hair, twisting and settling between her legs.
“Colin,” she breathed when he paused, pulling back only slightly, their breaths tangling in the thin liminal space between them. He stared at her in awe, his brows furrowed, and his eyes soft.
“I never knew,” he gasped into her, the world stopping around them as he cradled her face. “Never knew kissing could be so…”
He didn’t finish the thought, only pulled her in even tighter, an arm wrapping around her bum and causing her to stand as high up on her toes as her shoes would allow. She tangled her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, raking her nails through it, hoping to coax another one of those delicious, broken moans from him. Her reward came in the form of a sharp inhale just before his hands moved to her skirts, bunching the fabric up around her waist.
“What are you—” she began breathlessly, but then he grabbed her by the thighs and lifted.
She gasped, instinctively jumping to help him as her legs wrapped around his waist. One large hand cupped her bottom, the other bracing her back as she clung to his shoulders. That hard lump she felt earlier now pressed against her center. Pleasure sparked when he backed her up against the door behind them so he could rut his hips against hers.
“God, Penelope,” he groaned, burying his face between her breasts, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses across her chest as he rocked against her, the only barriers between them her smallclothes and his trousers.
“Colin,” she breathed, scrabbling against his shoulders. Tremors rolled through her every time that hard length pressed against her, threatening to completely undo every coherent thought that tried to form. “I need—”
He looked up, and the expression on his face stole her breath.
He looked drunk, but he could not have had a drop of alcohol in days if he was taking food in his rooms. His eyes were heavy-lidded, glassy with lust and something deeper. Hunger. Fervor. Adoration.
Desire. For her.
“What do you need, Penelope?” he slurred, her full name rolling off his tongue in reverence.
“Touch me,” she pleaded, arching her back and pressing into him more, seeking relief.
Almost ferally, Colin growled.
He bit her bottom lip, not enough to sting, tugging it sensually before he came at her open-mouthed. Their tongues tangled, Pen pushing hers into him boldly, trying to release some of this pent-up arousal.
“Please,” she whispered against him. “Please, please, please…”
Encouraged by her whimpers and soft begging, he slid a hand between their bodies. His fingers found that secret place that ached for relief, just barely grazing her as he parted the coarse curls that grew there, but it was enough to send a shiver up her back and a moan tearing from her lips.
“You are so wet,” he said, thick with awe and disbelief as he parted her slick folds with the hesitance of a student but the enthusiasm of a teacher.
“Help me, Colin,” she whispered, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, anywhere her lips could reach. A few pins fell out of her hair and tinkled to the floor when she threw her head back in frustration, some curls tumbling loose around her face.
“You’ll have to forgive me,” he said, voice low and eager despite the nerves curling at the edges. “I’ve no practical experience, but I’ve always been told I’m a quick study.”
He inserted a finger inside of her, and watched her face.
She drew a deep, trembling breath, then exhaled on a sighing, “Oh.”
“Good?” he asked, pulling it out and thrusting back in again, a test.
“G—oh!”
She couldn’t even finish before dissolving into moans. He dragged the tip, curling it up inside of her. If she’d been standing, her knees would’ve buckled. In and out, he stroked a few times, unimaginable bliss rolling inside her. She fisted a hand in his shirt just for something to hold on to while he dragged cries from her lips with each thoughtful movement of his hand.
“Fuck,” he cursed quietly, dazed and blinking slowly. “Hang on.”
And then he removed the finger.
“No!” Pen gasped, her hips following his retreat. He chuckled deeply, and she could not find a shred of embarrassment for her wantonness.
“Let’s go to the bed,” he said roughly. “I want you to be comfortable. I want to make sure you enjoy this.”
Pen thought she was already enjoying it more than anything else in her entire life, but she complied. Taking a moment to slip her shoes off, she approached the mattress, stopping a foot in front of it.
“Should I…?” she trailed off, holding her skirts in one hand and holding them out in question.
Colin, enthralled, only nodded.
“I need help with the buttons,” she whispered. “Can you…?”
“I’ve got it,” he muttered.
It was strangely intimate, the way Colin pushed her hair over one shoulder, exposing the line of delicate pink buttons trailing down her spine. Slowly, with surprisingly nimble fingers, he unfastened each one with quiet precision. With every button undone, her bodice loosened until it parted entirely and slipped to the floor.
She stood before him in only her corset, smallclothes, and stockings.
“Can you do the laces, too?” she asked quietly behind her.
He did not respond and simply untied the knot at her waist and started tugging. She wished she could see his face, know what he was thinking as she bared herself before him.
Her corset fell to the floor, and her heavy breasts dropped and settled.
“Thank you,” she murmured, breath catching as her trembling fingers worked at the buttons of her smallclothes. The fabric slid down her legs, and she bent slightly to untie the ribbon garters holding her stockings. Behind her, she heard Colin inhale sharply.
She turned around, and bit her lip nervously as she looked at the hungry expression on his face.
It turned her limbs weak with need.
Nothing in her life before this compared to the thrill that ran through her at the sight.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered, barely audible in the quiet of the room.
Once, twice, he kissed her. Not to arouse or please, but to express his adoration and utter contentment. Their hands clasped, and their souls entwined, and Pen knew for certain that she loved Colin, and no one else would ever compare to him. One of his palms slipped up from her waist and grazed the sides of her breast, barely testing the weight in his fingers before he stopped himself, much to Pen’s disappointment. Colin groaned against her, cradling her neck, her hands against his chest, his heart thumping under her palm.
And then she was on the bed.
He pressed her into his yellow quilt. His lips claimed hers, feverish and sweet, before trailing down her throat. He settled in next to her and tucked one of her legs between his, keeping her parted open for his hand. His gentle touch sent fire burning through Pen, like nothing she’d ever felt before, and she writhed against him, desperate to soothe the ache he stoked within her.
“I want…” she gasped when he touched a spot at the apex of her folds that ignited another flood of boiling heat.
“Hmm?” Colin hummed, kissing the side of her neck, sucking at her shoulder and collarbone while his finger worked magic against her slick folds.
“I want…something,” she continued, bucking against him, urging him to move faster.
“A baby?” he teased. Pen could tell it was a façade, something to cover up the tension that tinged his voice. He hadn’t done this before, and she’d gathered that he wanted to be good for her. He had no need to be nervous, because whatever he was doing to her was driving her higher, spiraling her tighter.
“If conceiving a baby will relieve this aching, then yes,” she groaned, clutching at the back of his head, the other hand fisting in the sheets.
“You ache?” he asked, growling low in his throat. For some reason, he pulled back from the pleasurable bud and slipped his fingers down, feeling how slick she was and somehow stroking the burning she felt, growing the need and aching and throbbing. She wished he would put his finger inside her again.
“Yes,” she hissed, rolling against him, trying to direct his hand. “More.”
Playfully, he rubbed her, just barely slicking over it, and he smirked as he felt her body shiver and jolt against him. “Like this?” he cooed.
“Hmmm,” she moaned and whined. “Not enough.”
She wanted to tell him—to beg him—to insert himself into her, but nerves caught the words at her throat. She clawed at his hair, slipping her hands under his collar so she could feel the warm skin of his chest. She’d peeked at the hint of chest hair smattering under his shirt earlier, longing to drag her fingernails through it.
She turned her head and her lips kissed his jaw and his neck and his chin, his stubble rough and masculine and wonderful. She could just feel his member, hard against her thigh through his trousers against her naked skin, and she could not fathom how he restrained himself from pressing into her harder.
“Like this?” he asked, finally touching her again but not moving at all, just pressing his thumb on top of her throbbing nub.
“Yes,” she hissed. “Faster!”
“You’re awfully impatient,” he said, growing more confident.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” she breathed. “I quite believe I have the patience of a saint—oh!”
The second he slid his finger inside her again, a moan tore from her throat, cutting off her words. The pressure truly began to spiral inside of her, like something boring a well right to the very heart of her being, her secrets pouring out from her tongue.
“For how long?” Colin asked, his voice smug, unaware of just how long her feelings had hidden in the shadows of every one of their conversations.
There was no use pretending, now that she was literally naked and exposed before him. “Since the day we met in Hyde Park—Oh! More, please, Colin!” she exclaimed in hushed whispers, her breath catching as she tried to stay quiet, remembering the others sleeping in the same hallway.
“When we were children?” Colin asked, wonder seeping into his voice even as he dangled more pleasure within her reach.
“Yes! For so very long—oh, God!”
Just when the tension climbed unbearably high, he paused.
A low, keening cry broke from her throat as her hips rolled.
“So you…does that mean you love me?”
Something in his voice—hesitant, yearning—struck her even through the haze of need.
And then he touched her again. Gently, he brushed a damp curl from her face and stroked her cheek with tenderness. His finger curled up inside her again, his thumb circling her bud with more purpose. His rhythm returned, and after just a few moments, she clenched around him and she wailed, tumbling, falling, drowning.
“Oh, yes! I love you, Colin!” she yelled as she came, and neither cared if anyone heard.
It was unlike anything she’d ever experienced, like any of her secret, shameful nighttime experiments multiplied by a million. Stars exploded behind her eyes, and her body crumbled apart and slowly built itself back up again in the long moments as she caught her breath.
When she finally thought she could speak again, Colin lay against her, an arm slung around her waist as he nestled himself in the crook of her shoulder.
“Where did you learn to do that?” she said, sighing and smiling contentedly.
“Nowhere,” Colin muttered, his face buried in her neck while he kissed her racing pulse.
“Sure,” she giggled. “Whichever lady you met in Greece was certainly lucky—”
“I did not jest, Pen,” he said, pulling back. He looked nervous, biting at his lip and forcing himself to look at her face. “I’ve never—I haven’t—”
“You… truly?” she blinked. “You haven’t? You didn’t?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Not even…last year with Marina, I assumed—”
“Never,” he sighed. “We did not even kiss. That’s not to say—I should mention…I did try in Greece, so—only twice, though—and nothing close to this—I just couldn’t manage to—”
Pen reassured him with a quick press of her lips to his. “I’m thoroughly impressed, Colin.”
Even if she never experienced this again, she would never forget what he gave her.
A pause. Colin smirked, but it faded quickly as his brow furrowed, remembering.
“You…you love me?”
He looked wide-eyed and uncertain as he asked.
“I do,” Pen said, calmly but resolutely.
“Are you certain?” he asked again.
“Absolutely.”
He laughed, shaking his head and peppering small pecks along her collarbone.
She loved this man more than anything in the world. More than her own family, than Eloise, than writing, than Lady Whistledown. He was so gentle, so kind, so careful with her, so protective, and always tried to do the right thing even if that meant giving up his own comfort.
He shouldn’t have to do that anymore.
Saying the words, though in the throes of passion, felt well overdue, and she did not have any regrets.
Suddenly, Colin propped his head up on her chest with his chin and blurted out, “You said you would like children, right, Pen?”
She blinked, her mind catching up for a moment. “Yes, I would,” she said. “I do not know if it will ever be possible, but—”
“Marry me.”
Pen startled and stopped breathing for a moment.
“What?” she whispered in complete disbelief.
Colin’s expression shifted, slightly unsure of her confused reaction. “We both want babies, and we should not bring a child into the world out of wedlock if possible, so—”
“But the babies do not just appear out of thin air, Colin,” she interrupted.
“Yes, we would have to make them. And you would have to carry them, and birth them, and we would parent them together.”
“I thought this was just…a demonstration?” she questioned.
He wanted…more? Forever? With her?
“I like to think of it more like a promise,” he said fondly and smiled. “I will not let you go now that I have hold of you, Pen.”
She would be quite the willing captive.
“And that would not be terrible for you?” she asked.
“Of course, it would not,” he scoffed. “How could you think such a thing? My mother has told all of us that the best marriages are to your dearest friends. And you, Penelope Featherington, are the person I cherish most in the world. I just needed some distance to see it.”
She couldn’t breathe. Nothing came out of her mouth, not protests that he deserves better or questions about when he began thinking of her like that, because the realization dawned that he truly wished to marry her. She struggled for a moment, but her lips settled on saying, “Why?”
“You wrote to me all summer,” he started with a smile. “You cared about what I had to say, and I found myself only desiring your thoughts and opinions. Better still, I longed to hear about your days. Where you visited with Eloise. Your trip to your family’s country house. What the clouds looked like when you rode your carriage to Rotten Row, and what you dined on for supper, and how Mrs. Varley could never style your hair in the way you wanted it. You are so…utterly charming, and intelligent, and witty, and once I cleared my vision from my need to prove myself a man to my family and my desire to show them who I am…I could see that you were there the entire time. You believed in me and treated me as…Colin. As more than a Bridgerton. As a person, and a man. You see me, Pen, as you said two days ago that I see you. You care for me. And now that I am no longer blinded by my own feelings, I can also notice just how enchanting you are. How kind. How captivating. How clever. And how breathtakingly beautiful, too. Not that you were not always those things, but…”
“Certain aspects are more easily seen in the light,” she provided.
“Yes,” he grinned, kissing her hand. “I’m only sorry that it took visiting my former fiancé to realize just how wonderful you are.”
“No apologies needed,” she said, grinning. “I’m just happy you came to that conclusion at all.”
He kissed her quickly, but had to stop as he dissolved into joyful laughter, wrapping her in his arms instead.
“This feels like it’s all happened so quickly,” he said, “but any slower and I would go mad.”
Pen pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “So you…want this? Want me? This isn’t some…reaction to visiting Marina? A way to prove everyone wrong?”
Colin looked down for just a moment, but pulled her hand into his, lacing their fingers together. “I won’t like and say she did not push me to think about a few aspects of my life.”
“Oh?” Pen said, her stomach dropping.
“She treated me like I was a child,” he murmured, bringing Pen’s fingers to his lips to kiss them. “It did not push me to do anything but think. About my future, about fatherhood and babies and wives and women and what I wanted from life. I realized I loved her as I knew how to last year, but I did not love her anymore. I thought about…our conversation, and how you seemed to find a purpose so easily, and how I wanted that, too.”
“I’m not sure I would call having a child a purpose,” she whispered.
“But it is a calling, yes?” he asked her. “You feel so compelled to marry and start a family that it almost hurts?”
“Yes,” she agreed. “Like…I need to finish something I barely began.”
“And I wanted to find something I could have, too,” he explained. “And then you come to my door tonight, dressed so beautifully, asking me about babies again, and I think…everything seemed to fall into place.”
“You found what you wanted?” she asked softly.
“It turns out, it was right here all along,” he said, pulling her close for another consuming embrace. “And this time, there is nothing to prove. You might have come to my room, but I hardly think it was to seduce me.”
Pen snorted. “Not at all. I mostly wanted to make sure you were not uncomfortable with me after our conversation about conception and marriage.”
“Turns out, it was also on my mind,” he said lightly. “I love having someone I can be completely honest with, and will give the same courtesy to me.”
Unfortunately, Pen’s heart dropped when reality tickled the corner of her thoughts, and she remembered something quite important he should be privy to before he entered into any agreements with her.
Colin pulled back and cleared his throat, a silly grin on his lips. “Penelope Featherington, are you going to m—"
“Colin,” she interrupted. “I…I should tell you something before you ask me such an important question.”
Colin looked unconcerned. “What is it, Pen?”
She never dreamed when he told him that she would be entirely naked, breasts bare and legs entwined with his as he wore just a white shirt and black trousers.
“I am Lady Whistledown.”
It was Colin’s turn to be stunned. “You…what?”
“I know this is a shock…”
Colin continued to babble for a moment. “How…you…you are—and that means that last year—”
“I was the one to reveal Marina’s pregnancy,” she supplied. “I’m sorry, Colin. I did not wish to hurt you, but you did not deserve to live half a life with a marriage based on a lie—"
“You know what,” he said clearly, “that makes complete sense.”
“…Colin?”
“I have devoted a little bit of thought to figuring out how Lady Whistledown knew about Marina’s pregnancy last season,” he said, pushing himself atop her, hovering his body enticingly above hers, “including the fact that she was apparently with child before she ever arrived. Not many people would know that, but someone in the Featherington Household would.”
“So, you are not angry?” she asked, her voice small.
“Of course, I am angry,” he stated, his face anything but furious. “I just had a big speech about how much I love you, and it is a rather big secret, one that will affect both of us when we marry.”
“When we marry?” she echoed, blinking. “So, you still wish to?”
“Of course, I do,” he said like it should be obvious. “We can hash out the finer details of this later. You are still my dearest friend, and I cannot see myself with anyone else. You decided to divulge your secret, which is enough for me, for now. I can’t even say it’s a certain part of my anatomy talking for me at the moment because I don’t think I’ve ever been more clear-headed in my life. I love you, Penelope.”
Dreams could only be this sweet because if this were real, if Colin truly loved her, then this night would eventually end, and she would have to leave his side.
Reality could never be this perfect, this beautiful.
And yet, Pen was wide awake, feeling every inch of his glorious, warm, sticky skin against hers, listening to his breathing in her ear, watching his eyes follow the lines of her body and linger on the most hidden parts, now revealed to him.
“I love you, Colin,” she laughed through the sudden pressure of tears, joy bubbling uncontrollably in her chest. “I will marry you.”
“Thank God,” he murmured, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her temple. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if you said no.”
“I could say the same. You would just find some other girl, I imagine,” she teased.
“No,” he said simply. “The only woman for me is you.”
She kissed him because she was afraid she might cry and ruin the magic cast over their bed. After her promise, a precursor to the vow she now anxiously awaited at the altar, she poured every ounce of her love into him through her lips and tongue, sealing their engagement.
He coaxed himself into her mouth, tangling and sliding against her teeth. He moaned, overcome with want, roughly running his nails over her nipples. Pen shivered, and with a small press of her hand on his chest, pushed him back slightly, his red lips kiss-swollen and parted in confusion.
“Can you take your clothes off?” she asked, bold but breathless.
Colin laughed warmly. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He stood beside the bed, fingers at the buttons of his fall. As he moved, Pen’s confidence gave way to awe. He was just so much larger than her, and when he pulled his shirt over his head and revealed his broad shoulders and the dusting of hair across his chest, the muscles of his arms rippled beneath his skin.
Noticing her parted lips and wide eyes as she watched him, Colin smirked. “Do I resemble what you expected after only statues for reference?”
“You are a much more natural shade of beige,” she said dreamily. “Much nicer than marble.”
He chuckled a bit and nervously, slowly, pushed his trousers down over his hips.
Pen noted that his strong thighs looked a bit hairy, too, all the way down his calves to his feet. In the nude, he looked so different, but somehow just as he should. He wasn’t made of hard edges like many of the paintings, with a soft middle and large legs and strong arms that made her feel safe. He was something real, something alive and yearning for her.
She trembled with excitement when he crawled on top of her once more.
“Do you know what happens next?” he asked roughly. His fingers skimmed the sides of her breasts, teasing, seeking permission.
“Does that—” she said, pointedly looking down at the large, stiff appendage hanging between them at the juncture of his legs and torso, “—go inside of me?”
“It does,” he groaned.
Curious, Pen slipped a hand from around his neck and reached for it, wrapping her palm around near the base. When it jumped in her hand and Colin gasped, she let go. “Sorry!” she apologized. “Did that hurt? I did not know—”
“It felt good, Pen,” he said, dazed and breathless.
She returned her hand and watched his mouth fall open when she touched him once again. His hips rocked back and forth, and she figured stroking would help. Her fingertip grazed the head of it, something a bit wet dripping from the slit on the top, and Colin moaned, his head dropping for a moment before steadying himself.
His thumb reached out to flick one of her nipples, and she inhaled sharply at the jolt of pleasure flickering down her back. He pinched it gently and pulled, gauging how much better she liked that over the slow, teasing touches. Settling for something in between, he suddenly leaned down and used the flat of his tongue to taste her.
“Keep doing that,” she said, arching up into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.
“These are so lovely,” he muttered to himself, lips wrapped around her reverently, almost like a babe nursing.
His mouth latched onto one side while his hand cupped the other, thumb circling slowly. He traced the edge of her areola with his fingernail, then drifted downward to follow the soft arc beneath her full breast. Gooseflesh formed on her skin, her nipples puckering, and prickles of tingling scattering across her chest.
“How is this real?” she whispered as he continued his worship of her bosom. “How is any of this real?”
“We’ll figure that out later,” he replied, chuckling under his breath without stopping his teasing fingers.
He did not let go of her, but he kissed his way back to her face, finding her lips and sliding his tongue against hers, deep and searching. She liked to think she could taste her own skin on him, feel the remnant of her mark in his mouth.
The tension coiled inside her again, burning and winding around her center, begging to snap and shatter.
“I need more, Colin,” she whined, barely recognizing the begging in her own voice.
“So do I,” he admitted, hoarse with desire.
He drew back, hands retreating, and Pen protested for a moment until he repositioned himself fully between her thighs.
One hand braced beside her, the other wrapped around himself, and with care, he guided the thick tip of his arousal to her entrance.
When the tip brushed her entrance, she gasped. “Please,” she begged, hips lifting and urging him forward even as he hesitated.
“You still want this, correct? Because once I do this, there is no going back. If I enter you, I do not think I will be able to stop myself from finishing inside of you,” he admitted, breathless.
His eyes, so dark above hers, pleaded for an answer before his control snapped.
“Colin,” she breathed. “Make a baby with me.”
“Anything for you, Pen,” he growled and thrust inside.
She moaned immediately, her body welcoming him in a way that banished any lingering fear of pain.
Some of the books said it would hurt.
It definitely did not.
“Oh, Colin!” she gasped, relishing his groan as he stilled inside her, just for a moment as he lost himself in the feeling. He filled her completely, the stretch between her legs akin to loosening a sore muscle, but so much more pleasurable.
“God, you feel good around me,” he cursed. “So perfect, Penelope.”
He pulled back and thrust inside again, quickly and sharply, hitting something inside of her that shot a flutter around her stomach and wound the coiled spring tighter in her core.
And then he did it again.
And again.
And again.
Pen whimpered, moaned, cried out with each roll of his hips, something splitting her wide open and exposing the raw depths of her heart. Her fingers clung to his hair and shoulders as his frayed control attempted to keep rhythm.
She didn’t care.
All she cared about was the sound of their skin meeting, the little grunts of effort and pleasure he made, the feel of his arms beneath her palms.
“More, more, more,” she chanted, breathless and wild.
“Are you going to come again for me?” he panted above her, nipping at her racing pulse on her neck.
“Is that what it’s called?” she asked through the haze of overwhelming sensations. “Coming?”
“Among other things,” he said teasingly. “It’s a release, a climax, a finish, a precipice. The scientific word is orgasm.”
“And that’s what you did to me earlier?” she asked, filled with wonder and yearning and aching.
“Yes,” he groaned. “And that’s what I’m going to do very soon. I would like to do it with you, at the same time.”
“Teach me how,” she begged, nearly sobbing.
“You can put your hand on that spot between your legs,” he instructed, “but the most important part is to just feel, I think. Are you—”
“Close,” she said. “Just…a bit…”
Her fingers felt a bit clumsy down there compared to his elegant strokes earlier. Now that she knew what she could accomplish on her own, perhaps she would have to practice at night before she went to sleep. It couldn’t hurt to gain a bit more experience if they wanted to do this more often. It wouldn’t exactly be a chore.
As it was, she climbed higher and higher despite her fumbling movements. Colin’s member pushed her closer with each thrust, his panting breath tickling her ear. One of his hands, elbow still on the bed, reached over and grabbed hold of her breast again, fingers pinching and rolling her nipple, everything snapping tighter, almost unbearable.
They grew frantic, frenzied, desperate for their orgasms, just out of their reach, chasing the same blissful peak, both waiting for the other to say they were ready, they were there, they were done.
Then the coil inside Pen sprang apart, releasing the flood and a rush of warmth and light and tension all at once.
Colin cried out, and she could feel something pulsate inside her even through her own clenching walls, and figured he must have found his climax, too.
The first thing to come back into her control was her breathing, which she noted to be slightly difficult because Colin had collapsed on top of her. She inhaled deeply, and as her chest rose beneath him, he seemed to remember he weighed significantly more than her. With a groggy grunt, he rolled to the side.
Pen exhaled. Slowly, sensation returned to her limbs. She shifted closer to him and wrapped an arm around his middle, snuggling into his warmth.
They lay in silence, their breaths gradually syncing as the night air cooled the sheen of sweat on their skin. Pen’s heart slowed as the pleasure faded from something dizzying into soft, sated serenity.
Something sticky gushed from her, and when she reached down to see what it was, the liquid was mostly clear on her fingers.
Colin grumbled slightly.
“Fuck,” he muttered, the harsh curse startling her. “I should’ve pulled out.”
“What?” she asked, her brows knitting.
He sighed. “That…fluid between your legs. Some of it is yours, and some of it is mine. That is what is required to conceive. If I’d thought about it in the moment, if I wasn’t so caught up in the feelings and romance of it all, I would’ve pulled away at the last moment and spilled into my hand.”
“And waste it?” she asked, frowning.
Colin turned to her, smiling through his incredulity. “Waste it? So…you would not be angry if—"
“If we just made a baby…I would be quite happy,” she said, smiling softly. “I told you that when we started, and I meant it. I want a child with you. Why wait?”
Colin exhaled a laugh of relief, then pulled her close. “I’m definitely marrying you.”
“I should hope so,” she teased. “I already agreed to that. Did the last thirty minutes of your memory turn into that fluid you squirted inside of me?”
He barked out a laugh. “No. I just wanted to make sure you still felt the same.”
“I’ll need your help, of course,” she added. “Yet another area where my knowledge is severely lacking.”
“Perhaps you can teach me how you publish your columns while I show you how to change a dirty nappy,” he suggested, placing a deferential kiss on her cheek.
They lapsed into a companionable silence. Pen collapsed into his warmth, surrounded by his scent. The moon in the sky behind the curtains, and faint echoes of music drifting to them from downstairs, the ball was still in full swing, but they were both exhausted.
“I can see why they keep women in the dark about such matters,” Pen mused quietly.
Colin groggily kissed her temple. “Why might that be?”
“Well,” she said, fighting through a yawn as fatigue overcame her. “I’m not sure if I would be able to wait, either, if I knew that was what everyone kept such a closely guarded secret.”
✦✧✦✧
In the morning, Eloise discovered them together in bed.
Apparently, Lady Featherington had assumed Penelope spent the night with Eloise, and Eloise assumed she was with her mother. Prudence and Lord Featherington became engaged at some point the night before, and Portia was too busy planning a quick wedding to pay mind to her last daughter. It wasn’t until breakfast when neither party could account for Penelope’s whereabouts that Eloise panicked. Convinced Penelope had either perished in the orangery or wandered lost in the woods, she raced off to find her.
She decided to check the house first, though, which is when she discovered that Colin had not left his room yet—quite unusual, as breakfast was his second favorite meal.
Eloise burst into his room and immediately clapped her hands over her eyes when she caught sight of Colin’s bare bum and Pen’s red hair. After some scandalized gasps and pleading shushing, Eloise agreed to fetch Lady Bridgerton without alerting the rest of the house to the situation.
After witnessing Anthony’s engagement to Edwina, Violet did not mention the scandal, pretending not to notice. Instead, she gleefully exclaimed, “Two weddings I must plan now! Two! In one season!”
They married the next week after Anthony grumbled and groused about paying for a special license again. Pen worried the entire time that Colin would leave her at the altar after she realized just how angry he was about her hiding Lady Whistledown from him, insisting that it was dangerous. She refused to back down, and despite his irritation, he did not ever make her feel that his concern came from anything but love. She felt she needed to prove herself, show him that she was trustworthy, but she didn’t really need to do anything. When she was just herself, Colin saw the real her, and allowed the parts she hid to take space in his heart, right next to the girl in the yellow dress he met falling off his horse.
When she signed her new name, Penelope Bridgerton, on their wedding papers, she cried.
They never made it out of the carriage to their wedding breakfast. Her mother took one look at her, pins tangled in her hair, veil cast to the side, shoes completely off, and skirts rucked up to her waist with Colin’s hand glistening as it tugged up the sleeve of her dress, she rolled her eyes and shut the door again. The driver took them straight to an inn for the evening.
A marriage to one’s dearest friend, indeed.
✦✧✦✧
Eight months after their wedding, a very healthy baby was born about a month early. He was surprisingly large for an early baby, but everyone was polite enough not to mention it. They called him Thomas Edmund Bridgerton, and after some surprise revelations about the inheritance of the barony, he acquired the title Lord Featherington, too. Pen and Colin reluctantly departed their newlywed nest for Featherington House, as someone needed to wrangle the accounts into order while the Little Lord grew into his position.
As Colin wandered the halls, his son sleeping in his arms, he was happy to report that the rooms were no longer papered bright green, and the rooms were filled with laughter and joy. His wife hesitated when they were pressed into taking the master suite, so they still lived in her old bedroom for now, making new memories.
She didn’t know much about changing nappies or how to feed Thomas at first. He taught her what he could, and already she’d expressed a desire for more children.
Colin was more than happy to oblige.