The Bridgertons: Happily Ever After

by Julia Quinn

  Penelope shuddered. Colin might be looking forward to the moment—he was positively devilish in his glee—but she felt rather ill, quite frankly. She hadn’t eaten all day, and she was not the sort to skip breakfast.

  She wrung her hands, craned her neck to get a better view out the window—she thought they might have turned onto the drive for Romney Hall, but she wasn’t precisely certain—then looked back to Colin.

  He was still asleep.

  She kicked him. Gently, of course, because she did not think herself overly violent, but really, it wasn’t fair that he had slept like a baby from the moment the carriage had started rolling. He had settled into his seat, inquired after her comfort, and then, before she’d even managed the you in “Very well, thank you,” his eyes were closed.

  Thirty seconds later he was snoring.

  It really wasn’t fair. He always fell asleep before she did at night as well.

  She kicked him again, harder this time.

  He mumbled something in his sleep, shifted positions ever so slightly, and slumped into the corner.

  Penelope scooted over. Closer, closer . . .

  Then she organized her elbow in a sharp point and jabbed him in the ribs.

  “Wha . . . ?” Colin shot straight 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 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, so she said, again, “I think we’re here.”

  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, as if he weren’t yet used to caring for another person’s welfare in quite the way he did hers. “It will be chilly yet.”

  It was still fairly early in the morning; the inn at which they had slept was only an hour’s ride away. Most of the family had stayed with Benedict and Sophie, but their home was not large enough to accommodate all of the Bridgertons. Besides, Colin had explained, they were newlyweds. They needed their privacy.

  Penelope hugged the soft wool to her body and leaned against him to get a better look out the window. And, to be honest, just because she liked to lean against him. “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 an unexpected sense of relief. For all his irritation with her, he loved his sister. They had not been particularly intimate while growing up; he had been much closer in age to Daphne, and Eloise had often seemed nothing so much as a pesky afterthought. But the previous year had brought them closer, and if it hadn’t been for Eloise, he might never have discovered Penelope.

  And without Penelope, he’d be . . .

  It was funny. He couldn’t imagine what he’d be without her.

  He looked down at his new wife. She was glancing around the entry hall, trying not to be too obvious about it. Her face was impassive, but he knew she was taking everything in. And tomorrow, when they were musing about the events of the day, she would have remembered every last detail.

  Mind like an elephant, she had. He loved it.

  “Mr. Bridgerton,” the butler said, greeting them with a little nod of his head. “Welcome back to Romney Hall.”

  “A pleasure, Gunning,” Colin murmured. “So sorry about the last time.”

  Penelope looked to him in askance.

  “We entered rather . . . suddenly,” Colin explained.

  The butler must have seen Penelope’s expression of alarm, because he quickly added, “I stepped out of the way.”

  “Oh,” she started to say, “I’m so—”

  “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. “I expect he’s improved by now.” He caught her glancing down at his hands and let out a chuckle. “Oh, it wasn’t me,” 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.”

  And sure enough, Violet Bridgerton was bustling down the hall. “You’re late,” she said, even though Colin was fairly certain they were not. He 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 the matron of honor, 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, much less understand. They told each other everything, and—

  He turned sharply. “Don’t,” he warned, “say a word.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Penelope let out a little huff of righteous indignation. “I’m the one who said we couldn’t tell her on her wedding day.”

  “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. “I’ve already instructed the others to keep their mouths shut.”

  “Even Hyacinth?” Penelope asked doubtfully.

  “Especially Hyacinth.”

  “Did you bribe her?” Violet asked. “Because it won’t work unless you bribe her.”

  “Good Lord,” Colin muttered. “One would think I’d joined this family yesterday. Of course I bribed her.” He turned to Penelope. “No offense to recent additions.”

  “Oh, none taken,” she said. “What did you give her?”

  He thought about his bargaining session with his youngest sister and nearly shuddered. “Twenty pounds.”

  “Twenty pounds!” Violet exclaimed. “Are you mad?”

  “I suppose you could have done better,” he retorted. “And I’ve only given her half. I wouldn’t trust that girl as far as I could throw her. But if she keeps her mouth shut, I’ll be another ten pounds poorer.”

  “I wonder how far you could throw her,” Penelope mused.

  Colin turned to his mother. “I tried for ten, but she wouldn’t budge.” And then to Penelope: “Not nearly far enough.”

  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 under-

  estimate her.”

  “Good Lord,” Colin replied, “we don’t do that.”

  “You’re so sweet,” Violet said, leaning forward to give Penelope an impromptu hug.

  “It’s only through sheer force of luck she hasn’t tak
en 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.”

  “You’re planning to walk?” he asked doubtfully.

  “Of course not,” his mother replied dismissively. “And we certainly cannot spare a carriage for you.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of asking for one,” Colin replied, deciding that a solitary stroll through the fresh morning air was decidedly preferable to a closed carriage with his female relations.

  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.

  “Penelope!”

  Eloise started to jump from her seat to greet her, but Hyacinth, who was supervising the dressing of her hair, jammed her hand on her shoulder with a low, almost menacing, “Down.”

  And Eloise, who normally would have slain Hyacinth with a glare, meekly resumed her seat.

  Penelope looked to Daphne, who appeared to be supervising Hyacinth.

  “It has been a long morning,” Daphne said.

  Penelope walked forward, pushed gently past Hyacinth, and carefully embraced Eloise so as not to muss her coiffure. “You look beautiful,” she said.

  “Thank you,” Eloise replied, but her lips were trembling, and her eyes were wet and threatening to spill over at any moment.

  More than anything, Penelope wanted to take her aside and tell her that everything was going to be all right, and she didn’t have to marry Sir Phillip if she didn’t want to, but when all was said and done, Penelope didn’t know that everything was going to be all right, and she rather suspected that Eloise did have to marry her Sir Phillip.

  She’d heard bits and pieces. Eloise had been in residence at Romney Hall for over a week without a chaperone. Her reputation would be in tatters if it got out, which it surely would. Penelope knew better than anyone the power and tenacity of gossip. Plus, Penelope had heard that Eloise and Anthony had had A Talk.

  The matter of the wedding, it seemed, was final.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Eloise said.

  “Goodness, you know I would never miss your wedding.”

  “I know.” Eloise’s lips trembled, and then her face took on that expression one makes when one is trying to appear brave and actually thinks one might be succeeding. “I know,” she said again, a little more evenly. “Of course you wouldn’t. But that does not lessen my pleasure in seeing you.”

  It was an oddly stiff sentence for Eloise, and for a moment Penelope forgot her own secrets, her own fears and worries. Eloise was her dearest friend. Colin was her love, her passion, and her soul, but it was Eloise, more than anyone, who had shaped Penelope’s adult life. Penelope could not imagine what the last decade would have been like without Eloise’s smile, her laughter, and her indefatigable good cheer.

  Even more than her own family, Eloise had loved her.

  “Eloise,” Penelope said, crouching down beside her so that she might put her arm around her shoulders. She cleared her throat, mostly because she was about to ask a question for which the answer probably did not matter. “Eloise,” she said again, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Do you want this?”

  “Of course,” Eloise replied.

  But Penelope wasn’t sure she believed her. “Do you lo—” She caught herself. And she did that little thing with her mouth that tried to be a smile. And she asked, “Do you like him? Your Sir Phillip?”

  Eloise nodded. “He’s . . . complicated.”

  Which made Penelope sit down. “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.”

  Penelope leaned in, aware that Hyacinth’s auditory skills were positively canine. “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 from the doorway. “We really must be on our way.”

  “We wouldn’t want the groom to think you’ve run off,” Hyacinth quipped.

  Eloise stood and straightened her shoulders. “I’ve done quite enough running off recently, wouldn’t you say?” She turned to Penelope with a wise, wistful smile. “It’s time I began running to and stopped running from.”

  Penelope looked at her curiously. “What did you say?”

  But Eloise only shook her head. “It’s just something I heard recently.”

  It was a curious statement, but this wasn’t the time to delve further, so Penelope moved to follow the rest of the family. After she’d taken a few steps, however, she was halted by the sound of Eloise’s voice.

  “Penelope!”

  Penelope turned. Eloise was still in the doorway, a good ten feet behind her. She had an odd look on her face, one that Penelope could not quite interpret. Penelope waited, but Eloise did not speak.

  “Eloise?” Penelope said quietly, because it looked as if Eloise wished to say something, just wasn’t sure how. Or possibly what.

  And then—

  “I’m sorry.” Eloise blurted it out, the words rushing across her lips with a speed that was remarkable, even for her.

  “You’re sorry,” Penelope echoed, mostly out of surprise. She hadn’t really considered what Eloise might say in that moment, but an apology would not have topped the list. “For what?”

  “For keeping secrets. That wasn’t well-done of me.”

  Penelope swallowed. Good Lord.

  “Forgive me?” Eloise’s voice was soft, but her eyes were urgent, and Penelope felt like the worst sort of fraud.

  “Of course,” she stammered. “It is nothing.” And it was nothing, at least when compared to her own secrets.

  “I should have told you about my correspondence with Sir Phillip. I don’t know why I didn’t at the outset,” Eloise continued. “But then, later, when you and Colin were falling in love . . . I think it was . . . I think it was just because it was mine.”

  Penelope nodded. She knew a great deal about wanting something of one’s own.

  Eloise let out a nervous laugh. “And now look at me.”

  Penelope did. “You look beautiful.” It was the truth. Eloise was not a serene bride, but she was a glowing one, and Penelope felt her worries lift and lighten and finally disappear. All would be well. Penelope did not know if Eloise would experience the same bliss in her marriage as she’d found, but she would at least be happy and content.

  And who was she to say that the new married couple wouldn’t fall madly in love? Stranger things had happened.

  She linked her arm through Eloise’s and steered her out into the hall, where Violet had raised her voice to heretofore unimagined volumes.

  “I think your mother wants us to make haste,” Penelope whispered.

  “Eloeeeeeeeeeeeese!” Violet positively bellowed. “NOW!”

  Eloise’s brows rose as she gave Penelope a sideways glance. “Whatever makes you think so?”

  But they didn’t hurry. Arm in arm they glided down the hall, as if it were the church aisle.

  “Who would have thought we’d both 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.”

  “It will be grand.”

  “Magnificent!”

  “Stupendous!”

  “We shall be leaders of crone fashion!”

  “Arbiters of cronish taste.”

  “What,” Hyacinth demanded, hands on hips, “are the two of you talking about?”

  Eloise lifted her chin and looked down her nose at her. “You’re far too young to understand.”

  And she and Penelope practically collapsed in a fit of giggles.

  “They’ve gone mad, Mother,” Hyacinth announced.

  Violet gazed lovingly at her daughter and daughter-in-law, both of whom had reached the unfashionable age of twenty-eight before becoming brides. “Leave them alone, Hyacinth,” she said, steering her toward the waiting carriage. “They’ll be along shortly.” And then she added, almost as an afterthought: “You’re too young to understand.”

  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.

  “You’re terrible,” Penelope replied. “It’s her wedding.”

  Which was not one of the two customary answers to a yes-or-no question. Colin resisted the urge to let out an impatient breath, and instead offered a rather smooth and urbane “By this you mean . . . ?”

  Penelope stared at him for a full ten seconds, and then she muttered, “I don’t know what Eloise was talking about. Men are abysmally simple creatures.”

  “Well . . . yes,” Colin agreed, since it had long been obvious to him that the female mind was an utter and complete mystery. “But what has that got to do with anything?”

  Penelope glanced over both shoulders before dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. “Why would she even be thinking about Whistledown at a time like this?”