Penelope Bridgerton, usually armed with a witty remark, found herself speechless. Her husband, Colin, had returned from a whirlwind journey with his brothers, searching for Eloise, who had, shockingly, run off.
“Is she married?” Penelope blurted, anxiety clouding her voice.
Colin, ever the charmer, tossed his hat with a flourish, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Not yet,” he replied, leaving Penelope both relieved and frustrated.
Eloise’s impulsive act had sent the Bridgerton family into a frenzy. Penelope, staying with her mother-in-law, Violet, had witnessed the matriarch’s usually composed facade crumble under the weight of worry. Now, Colin was back, seemingly unfazed, dodging Penelope’s questions with infuriating ease.
“How could you not have told her?” Penelope repeated, her voice laced with exasperation, trailing after him.
Colin casually settled into a chair, shrugging dismissively. “There really wasn’t an appropriate time.”
“You were gone five days!”
“Yes, well, not all of them were with Eloise. A day’s travel on either end, after all.”
“But—but—” Colin’s gaze swept around the room, settling on her expectantly. “Don’t suppose you ordered tea?”
“Yes, of course,” Penelope responded automatically, a habit ingrained after only a short time of marriage to her charmingly demanding husband, learning that having food at the ready was the best strategy. “But Colin—”
“I did hurry back, you know.”
“I can see that,” she said, noticing his disheveled hair. “Did you ride?”
He nodded.
“From Gloucestershire?”
“Wiltshire, actually. We retired to Benedict’s.”
“But—”
He offered a disarming smile. “I missed you.”
Penelope, still adjusting to Colin’s affections, couldn’t help but blush. “I missed you, too, but—”
“Come sit with me.”
Penelope’s inner thoughts screamed, “Where?” The only available space was his lap.
His smile grew warmer, more suggestive. “I’m missing you right now,” he murmured.
Much to her dismay, her gaze instantly drifted downwards. Colin chuckled, and Penelope crossed her arms, her cheeks a crimson hue. “Don’t, Colin,” she warned.
“Don’t what?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“Even if we weren’t in the sitting room, and even if the draperies weren’t open—”
“An easily remedied nuisance,” he interjected, glancing towards the windows.
“And even,” she continued, her voice deepening, “were we not expecting a maid to enter at any moment, the poor thing staggering under the weight of your tea tray, the fact of the matter is—”
Colin sighed dramatically.
“—you have not answered my question!”
He blinked, feigning ignorance. “I’ve quite forgotten what it was.”
After a long pause, Penelope retorted, “I’m going to kill you.”
“Of that, I’m certain,” he said casually. “Truly, the only question is when.”
“Colin!”
“Might be sooner rather than later,” he murmured. “But in truth, I thought I’d go in an apoplexy, brought on by bad behavior.”
She stared at him, confused.
“Your bad behavior,” he clarified.
“I didn’t have bad behavior before I met you,” she retorted.
“Oh, ho, ho,” he chortled. “Now that is rich.”
Penelope begrudgingly conceded, shutting her mouth. He had a point. That’s what this was all about. Her husband, after entering the hall, shrugging off his coat, and kissing her rather soundly on the lips (in front of the butler!), had blithely informed her, “Oh, and by the by, I never did tell her you were Whistledown.”
If there was anything that might count as bad behavior, it had to be ten years as the author of the now infamous Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. Over the past decade, Penelope had, in her pseudonymous guise, managed to insult just about everyone in society, even herself.
Penelope had “retired” just before her marriage, but a blackmail attempt had convinced Colin that the best course of action was to reveal her secret in a grand gesture, and so he had announced her identity at his sister Daphne’s ball. It had all been very romantic and very, well, grand, but by the end of the night it had become apparent that Eloise had disappeared.
Eloise had been Penelope’s closest friend for years, but even she had not known Penelope’s big secret. And now she still didn’t. She’d left the party before Colin had announced it, and he apparently had not seen fit to say anything once he’d found her.
“Frankly,” Colin said, his voice laced with irritability, “it’s less than she deserved after what she put us through.”
“Well, yes,” Penelope murmured, feeling rather disloyal even as she said it. But the entire Bridgerton clan had been mad with worry.
“We have to go back in a few days for the wedding,” he said. “We’ll tell her then.”
“Oh, but we can’t!”
He paused, smiling. “And why is that?” he asked, his eyes resting on her with great appreciation.
“It will be her wedding day,” Penelope explained. “She must be the center of all attention. I cannot tell her something such as this.”
“A bit more altruistic than I’d like,” he mused, “but the end result is the same, so you have my approval—”
“I don’t need your approval,” Penelope cut in.
“But nonetheless, you have it,” he said smoothly. “We shall keep Eloise in the dark.” He tapped his fingertips together and sighed with audible pleasure. “It will be a most excellent wedding.”
The maid arrived with the tea tray, and Penelope tried not to notice the grunt as she struggled to set it down.
“You may close the door behind you,” Colin instructed.
Penelope’s eyes darted to the door, then to her husband, who was shutting the draperies.
“Colin!” she yelped, feeling his arms stealing around her and his lips on her neck. “I thought you wanted food,” she gasped.
“I do,” he murmured, tugging at her bodice. “But I want you more.”
As Penelope sank to the cushions on the floor, she felt loved indeed.
Days later, Penelope found herself in a carriage, scolding herself for her anxiety.
Colin was asleep.
She was a widgeon for feeling so nervous about seeing Eloise again. Closer than sisters for over a decade, but not quite as close as they had thought. They had kept secrets, both of them. Penelope wanted to wring Eloise’s neck for not telling her about her suitor, but really, she didn’t have a leg to stand on. When Eloise found out that Penelope was Lady Whistledown… Penelope shuddered.
She kicked Colin, gently. It wasn’t fair that he had slept like a baby from the moment the carriage had started rolling.
Thirty seconds later, he was snoring.
She kicked him again, harder this time.
“Wha…?” Colin shot awake, blinking and coughing. “What? What? What?”
“I think we’re here,” Penelope said.
He looked out the window, then back at her. “And you needed to inform me of this by taking a weapon to my body?”
“It was my elbow.”
He glanced down at her arm. “You, my dear, are in possession of exceedingly bony elbows.”
Penelope was quite sure her elbows—or any part of her, for that matter—were not the least bit bony, but there seemed little to gain by contradicting him.
Colin leaned toward the glass with a couple of sleepy blinks. “I think you’re right.”
“It’s lovely,” Penelope said, taking in the exquisitely maintained grounds. “Why did you tell me it was run-down?”
“It is,” Colin replied, handing her her shawl. “Here,” he said with a gruff smile. “It will be chilly yet.”
“I think it looks lovely,” she said. “I have never seen such roses.”
“It’s nicer on the outside than in,” Colin explained, as the carriage drew to a halt. “But I expect Eloise will change that.”
He opened the door himself and hopped out, then offered his arm to assist her down. “Come along, Lady Whistledown—”
“Mrs. Bridgerton,” she corrected.
“Whatever you wish to call yourself,” he said with a grand smile, “you’re still mine. And this is your swan song.”
As Colin stepped across the threshold of what was to be his sister’s new home, he was struck by a sense of relief that was as unsurprising as it was unexpected. For all his irritation with her, he loved his sister. Without Penelope, he’d be lost.
He looked down at his new wife, glancing around the entry hall. Mind like an elephant, she had. He loved it.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” the butler said, greeting them. “Welcome back to Romney Hall.”
“A pleasure, Gunning,” Colin murmured. “So sorry about the last time.”
Penelope looked to him askance.
“We entered rather…suddenly,” Colin explained.
“Sir Phillip did not,” Gunning cut in.
“Oh.” Penelope coughed awkwardly. “Is he going to be all right?”
“Bit of swelling around the throat,” Colin said, unconcerned. He caught her glancing down at his hands and let out a chuckle. “Oh, it wasn’t I,” he said, taking her arm to lead her down the hall. “I just watched.”
She grimaced. “I think that might be worse.”
“Quite possibly,” he said with great cheer. “But it all turned out well in the end. I quite like the fellow now, and I rather—Ah, Mother, there you are.”
Violet Bridgerton was bustling down the hall. Colin bent down to kiss her proffered cheek, then stepped to the side as his mother came forward to take both of Penelope’s hands in hers. “My dear, we need you in back. You are her main attendant, after all.”
Colin had a sudden vision of the scene—a gaggle of chatty females, all talking over one another about minutiae he couldn’t begin to care about.
He turned sharply. “Don’t,” he warned, “say a word.”
Penelope let out a little huff of righteous indignation.
“I was talking to my mother,” he said.
Violet shook her head. “Eloise is going to kill us.”
“She nearly killed us already, running off like an idiot,” Colin said, with uncharacteristic shortness of temper.
“Even Hyacinth?” Penelope asked doubtfully.
“Especially Hyacinth.”
“Did you bribe her?” Violet asked.
“Good Lord,” Colin muttered. “Of course I bribed her.”
He turned to Penelope. “No offense to recent additions.”
“Oh, none taken,” she said. “What did you give her?”
“Twenty pounds.”
“Twenty pounds!” Violet exclaimed. “Are you mad?”
“I suppose you could have done better,” he retorted.
Violet sighed. “I ought to scold you for that.”
“But you won’t.” Colin flashed her a grin.
“Heaven help me,” was her only reply.
“Heaven help whatever chap is mad enough to marry her,” he remarked.
“I think there is more to Hyacinth than the two of you allow,” Penelope put in. “You ought not to underestimate her.”
“Good Lord,” Colin replied, “we don’t do that. ”
“You’re so sweet,” Violet said, giving Penelope an impromptu hug.
“It’s only through sheer force of luck she hasn’t taken over the world,” Colin muttered.
“Ignore him,” Violet said to Penelope. “And you,” she added, turning to Colin, “must head immediately to the church. The rest of the men have already gone down. It’s only a five-minute walk.”
He leaned down to kiss his wife’s cheek. Right near her ear. “Remember,” he whispered, “no telling.”
“I can keep a secret,” she replied.
“It’s far easier to keep a secret from a thousand people than it is from just one,” he said. “Far less guilt involved.”
Her cheeks flushed, and he kissed her again near her ear. “I know you so well,” he murmured.
He could practically hear her teeth gnashing as he left.
Inside, Eloise started to jump from her seat to greet Penelope, but Hyacinth, who was supervising the dressing of her hair, jammed her hand on her shoulder with a low, almost menacing, “Down.”
Penelope walked forward and embraced Eloise. “You look beautiful,” she said.
More than anything, Penelope wanted to take her aside and tell her that everything was going to be all right. “Do you want this?”
“Of course,” Eloise replied.
But Penelope wasn’t sure she believed her. “Do you like him? Your Sir Phillip?”
Eloise nodded. “He’s…complicated.”
“You’re joking.”
“At a time like this?”
“Aren’t you the one who always said that men were simple creatures?”
Eloise looked at her with an oddly helpless expression. “I thought they were.”
“Does he like you?”
“He thinks I talk too much.”
“You do talk too much,” Penelope replied.
Eloise shot her a look. “You could at least smile.”
“It’s the truth. But I find it endearing.”
“I think he does as well.” Eloise grimaced. “Some of the time.”
“Eloise!” called Violet. “We really must be on our way.”
Eloise stood and straightened her shoulders. “It’s time I began running to and stopped running from.”
Penelope turned. Eloise was still in the doorway, a good ten feet behind her. “I’m sorry.”
Penelope swallowed. Good Lord. “Of course,” she stammered. “It is nothing.” And it was nothing, at least when compared to her own secrets.
Arm in arm they glided down the hall, as if it were the church aisle.
“Who would have thought we’d marry within months of each other?” Penelope mused. “Weren’t we meant to be old crones together?”
“We can still be old crones,” Eloise replied gaily. “We shall simply be married old crones.”
They practically collapsed in a fit of giggles.
After the ceremony, after the reception, and after Colin was able to assure himself once and for all that Sir Phillip Crane would indeed make an acceptable husband to his sister, he managed to find a quiet corner into which he could yank his wife and speak with her privately.
“Does she suspect?” he asked, grinning.
“By this you mean…?”
Penelope glared at him, “Why would she even be thinking about Whistledown at a time like this?”
“Are you certain we cannot tell her on her wedding day?”
“Colin, no. “
“After all you’ve been through, wouldn’t you say you deserve to see her reaction?”
“No,” Penelope said slowly. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, you sell yourself too cheaply, my darling.”
“It’s not awful,” Penelope shot back, “and how do you know it would be a stranger?”
“This human finding it quite impossible to maintain his silence.”
“I can’t believe you’ve changed your mind.”
He shrugged. “Isn’t it a man’s prerogative?”
But he was a patient man, and they did still have that comfortable room reserved at the inn, and there was still much mischief to be made right here at the wedding. “Oh, Penelope,” he said huskily, leaning in more than was proper, even with one’s wife, “don’t you want to have some fun?”
She flushed scarlet. “Not here. ”
He laughed aloud at that.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” she muttered.
“Neither was I, as a matter of fact,” he returned, “but I am pleased that it comes to mind so readily.” He pretended to glance about the room. “When do you think it would be polite to leave?”
Again, she was speechless. He liked that. “Shall we?” he murmured.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
“We need to work on this,” he said, giving his head a shake. “I’m not sure you fully understand the mechanics of a yes-or-no question.”
Back to his feet he was, and striding off to find Eloise before Penelope could even attempt to lunge for him.
Penelope jammed a smile on her face as she watched two dozen heads swivel in her direction. “Nothing about it,” she said, her voice coming out strangled and chirpy. “So sorry to disturb.”
But Hyacinth was quick. “What’s going on?” she asked, falling into stride beside Penelope with remarkable agility.
“He’s going to tell her, isn’t he?” Hyacinth persisted.
“No,” Penelope said firmly, darting around Daphne’s children, “he’s not.”
When she reached Colin, he was standing next to the newlyweds. “Eloise,” Penelope said, somewhat breathless.
“Eloise,” Hyacinth said, for no reason Penelope could deduce.
“Hyacinth.”
“Stop!” Eloise burst out. “What is going on?”
“Penelope has something to say to you,” Colin said.
She rushed forward, taking Eloise’s hands. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
Sir Phillip looked a bit perplexed at her sudden need to compliment the host. She was going to need to take the poor man aside and instruct him on the finer points of marrying into the Bridgerton family.
Turning to Eloise, and said, “Might I have a moment alone?”
Maintaining his silence, Colin held open the door.
“This won’t take long,” Penelope said apologetically.
“Eloise,” Penelope began. There is something I must tell you.”
“I am Whistledown,” she blurted out.
And Eloise said, “I know.”
Penelope sat down. “You know.”
Eloise shrugged. “I know.”
“How?”
“Hyacinth told me.”
“What?” This from Colin, looking fit to be tied. Or perhaps more accurately, fit to tie Hyacinth.
Eloise’s tone was one of complete apathy. Eloise could’ve cared less.
“You didn’t think I wouldn’t eavesdrop, did you?”
“Which isn’t to say that I don’t want the other ten.”
“What does Whistledown have to say?”
She looked over at Colin, not exactly certain why she was doing so except that she loved him so much, and he knew her so well. “I was, I’ve retired.”
Eloise already knew that. “For good People have asked, but I shan’t be induced to pick up my quill again.” She paused, thinking of the scribblings she’d embarked upon at home. “At least not as Whistledown.” She looked at Eloise. “I am thinking of writing a novel, actually.”
“I’m sorry, Eloise.”
Eloise had been staring rather blankly at an end table, but at that, she turned, her eyes finding Penelope’s. “You’re sorry?”
Penelope’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry.”
Eloise didn’t much sound like Eloise, to be honest.
“Are you mad ?”
Penelope felt her brows lift. “Are you certain?”
“You should probably return,” he said quietly. He held out his hand, and helped first Penelope, then Eloise, to her feet. “You should certainly return.”
The morning of the wedding she kept apologizing for keeping secrets, and it never even occurred to me that she was trying to get me to admit to keeping secrets of my own. Made me feel wretched, she did.”
His arms tightened around her, and she felt his lips gently brush her ear. “Let’s go,” he said.
She did not argue.
Later, letters arrived.
“What does she have to say?” he asked.
“Oh, it was nothing,” Penelope replied, even though her expression was rather peeved. “You weren’t there, but the morning of the wedding she kept apologizing for keeping secrets.”
“Do you think Eloise would mind?”
Colin’s arms tightened around her, and she felt his lips gently brush her ear. “Let’s go,” he said.
Penelope shook her head.
Colin’s arms tightened around her, and she felt his lips gently brush her ear. “Let’s go,” he said.
She did not argue.
On the twenty-fifth of May, in the year 1824, precisely one day after the wedding of Eloise Bridgerton to Sir Phillip Crane, three missives were delivered.
“Which shall we open first?” Penelope asked, spreading them before her on the bed.
He liked watching her eyes move from left to right, following the words. He liked watching her lips move as she smiled or frowned. It was rather amazing, actually, how contented he felt, simply watching his wife read.
Until she gasped, that was, and turned utterly white.
He shoved himself up on his elbows. “What is it?”
Privacy be damned. He grabbed the letter. “What did she say?”
Colin felt the blood leave his face.
“Didn’t we say we wanted to visit Italy?”
“Or India.”
He smiled and kissed her on the nose. “Or we could just stay here.”
Penelope glanced up at him, her eyes growing warm and perhaps just a little bit mischievous. “I have no pressing engagements in London for at least a fortnight.”
He rolled atop her, tugging her down until she was flat on her back. “My mother did say she would not forgive us unless we produced a grandchild.”
“She did not put it in quite so uncompromising terms.”
He kissed her, right on the sensitive spot behind her earlobe that always made her squirm. “Pretend she did.”
“Well, in that case—oh!”
His lips slid down her belly. “Oh?” he murmured.
“We had best get to—oh!”
He looked up. “You were saying?”
“To work,” she just barely managed to get out.
He smiled against her skin. “Your servant, Mrs. Bridgerton. Always.”
About the Author
JULIA QUINN started writing her first book one month after finishing college and has been tapping away at her keyboard ever since.The New York Times bestselling author of sixteen novels for Avon Books, she is a graduate of Harvard and Radcliffe Colleges and lives with her family in the Pacific Northwest.Please visit her on the web atwww.juliaquinn.com.
