by Quinn, Julia
"Colin!" she exclaimed, somehow breaking her mouth free of his.
"Shush."
"Colin, you have to stop!"
He looked like a lost puppy. "Must I?"
"Yes, you must."
"I suppose you're going to say it's because of all the people just next door."
"No, although that's a very good reason to consider restraint."
'To consider and then reject, perhaps?" he asked hopefully.
"No! Colin—" She pulled herself from his arms and moved several feet away, lest his nearness tempt her into forgetting herself. "Colin, you need to tell me what is going on."
"Well," he said slowly, "I was kissing you...."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it."
"Very well." He walked away, his footsteps echoing loudly in her ears. When he turned back around, his expression had turned deadly serious. "I have decided what to do about Cressida."
"You have? What? Tell me."
His face took on a slightly pained expression. "Actually, I think it might be best if I didn't tell you until the plan is under way."
She stared at him in disbelief. "You're not serious."
"Well.. ."He was looking longingly at the door, clearly hoping for an escape.
'Tell me," she insisted.
"Very well." He sighed, then sighed again.
"Colin!"
"I'm going to make an announcement," he said, as if that would explain everything.
At first she said nothing, thinking that maybe it would all become clear if she just waited a moment and thought about it. But that didn't work, and so she asked, her words slow and careful, "What sort of announcement?"
His face turned resolute. "I'm going to tell the truth."
She gasped. "About me?"
He nodded.
"But you can't!"
"Penelope, I think it's best."
Panic began to rise within her, and her lungs felt impossibly tight. "No, Conn, you can't! You can't do that! It's not your
secret to reveal!"
"Do you want to pay Cressida for the rest of your life?"
"No, of course not, but I can ask Lady Danbury—"
"You're not going to ask Lady Danbury to lie on your behalf," he snapped. "That's beneath you and you know it."
Penelope gasped at his sharp tone. But deep down, she knew he was right.
"If you were so willing to allow someone else to usurp your identity," he said, "then you should have just allowed
Cressida to do it."
"I couldn't," she whispered. "Not her."
"Fine. Then it's time we both stood up and faced the music."
"Colin," she whispered, "I'll be ruined."
He shrugged. "We'll move to the country."
She shook her head, desperately trying to find the right words.
He took her hands in his. "Does it really matter so much?" he said softly. "Penelope, I love you. As long as we're together, we'll be happy."
"It's not that," she said, trying to tug her hand from his so that she could wipe the tears from her eyes.
But he wouldn't let go. "What, then?" he asked.
"Colin, you'll be ruined, too," she whispered.
"I don't mind."
She stared at him in disbelief. He sounded so flip, so casual about something that would change his entire life, alter it in ways he couldn't possibly imagine.
"Penelope," he said, his voice so reasonable she could barely stand it, "it's the only solution. Either we tell the world, or Cressida does."
"We could pay her," she whispered.
"Is that what you really want to do?" he asked. "Give her all the money you've worked so hard to earn? You might as well have just let her tell the world she was Lady Whistledown."
"I can't let you do this," she said. "I don't think you understand what it means to be outside of society."
"And you do?" he countered.
"Better than you!"
"Penelope—"
"You're trying to act as if it doesn't matter, but I know you don't feel that way. You were so angry with me when I published that last column, all because you thought I shouldn't have risked the secret getting out."
"As it turns out," he remarked, "I was right." "
"See?" she said urgently. "Do you see? You're still upset with me over that!"
Colin let out a long breath. The conversation was not moving in the direction he'd hoped. He certainly hadn't intended for her to throw his earlier insistence that she not tell anyone about her secret life back in his face. "If you hadn't published that last column," he said, "we wouldn't be in this position, that is true, but the point is now moot, don't you think?"
"Colin," she whispered. "If you tell the world I'm Lady Whistledown, and they react the way we think they will, you'll never see your journals published."
His heart stood still.
Because that was when he finally understood her.
She had told him before that she loved him, and she had shown her love as well, in all the ways he'd taught her. But never before had it been so clear, so frank, so raw.
All this time she'd been begging him not to make the announcement—it had all been for him.
He swallowed against the lump that was forming in his throat, fought for words, fought even for breath.
She reached out and touched his hand, her eyes pleading, her cheeks still wet with tears. "I could never forgive myself,"
she said. "I don't want to destroy your dreams."
"They were never my dreams until I met you," he whispered.
"You don't want to publish your journals?" she asked, blinking in confusion. "You were just doing it for me?"
"No," he said, because she deserved nothing less than complete honesty. "I do want it. It is my dream. But it's a dream
you gave me."
"That doesn't mean I can take it away."
"You're not."
"Yes, I—"
'No," he said forcefully, "you're not. And getting my work published ... well, it doesn't hold a candle to my real dream,
which is spending the rest of my life with you."
"You'll always have that," she said softly.
"I know." He smiled, and then it turned rather cocky. "So what do we have to lose?"
"Possibly more than we could ever guess."
"And possibly less," he reminded her. "Don't forget that I'm a Bridgerton. And you are now, too. We wield a bit of power in this town."
Her eyes widened. "What do you mean?"
He shrugged modestly. "Anthony is prepared to give you his full support."
"You told Anthony?" she gasped.
"I had to tell Anthony. He's the head of the family. And there are very few people on this earth who would dare to cross him."
"Oh." Penelope chewed on her lower lip, considering all this. And then, because she had to know: "What did he say?"
"He was surprised."
"I expected as much."
"And rather pleased."
Her face lit up. "Really?"
"And amused. He said he had to admire someone who could keep a secret like that for so many years. He said he couldn't wait to tell Kate."
She nodded. "I suppose you'll have to make an announcement now. The secret is out."
"Anthony will hold his counsel if I ask him to," Colin said. "That has nothing to do with why I want to tell the world the truth."
She looked at him expectantly, warily.
"The truth is," Colin said, tugging on her hand and pulling her close, "I'm rather proud of you."
She felt herself smiling, and it was so strange, because just a few moments earlier, she couldn't imagine ever smiling again.
He leaned down until his nose touched hers. "I want everyone to know how proud I am of you. By the time I'm through, there won't be a single person in London who doesn't recognize how clever you are."
"They may still hate me," she said.
"They may," he agreed, "but that will be the
ir problem, not ours."
"Oh, Colin," she sighed. "I do love you. It's an excellent thing, really."
He grinned. "I know."
"No, I really do. I thought I loved you before, and I'm sure I did, but it's nothing like what I feel now."
"Good," he said, a rather possessive gleam appearing in his eyes, "that's the way I like it. Now come with me."
"Where?"
"Here," he said, pushing open a door.
To Penelope's amazement, she found herself on a small balcony, overlooking the entire ballroom. "Oh. Dear. God," she gulped, trying to yank him back into the darkened room behind them. No one had seen them yet; they could still make their escape.
'Tsk tsk," he scolded. "Bravery, my sweet."
"Couldn't you post something in the paper?" she whispered urgently. "Or just tell someone and allow the rumor to spread?'
"There's nothing like a grand gesture to get the point across."
She swallowed convulsively. As gestures went, this was going to be grand. "I'm not very good at being the center of
attention," she said, trying to remember how to breathe in a normal rhythm.
He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry. I am." He looked out over the crowd until his eyes found those of their host, his brother-in-law, the Duke of Hastings. At Colin's nod, the duke began to move toward the orchestra.
"Simon knows?" Penelope gasped.
"I told him when I arrived," Colin murmured absently. "How do you think I knew how to find the room with the balcony?"
And then the most remarkable thing happened. A veritable fleet of footmen appeared as if from nowhere and began handing tall flutes of champagne to every guest.
"Here's ours," Colin said approvingly, picking up two glasses that were waiting in the corner. "Just as I asked."
Penelope took hers silently, still unable to comprehend all that was unfolding around her.
"It's probably a little flat by now," Colin said in a conspiratorial sort of whisper that she knew was meant to set her at ease. "But it's the best I could do under the circumstances."
As Penelope clutched Colin's hand in terror, she watched helplessly as Simon quieted the orchestra and directed the
throng of party goers to turn their attention to his brother and sister on the balcony.
His brother and sister, she thought in wonder. The Bridgertons really did inspire a bond. She never thought she'd see the day when a duke referred to her as his sister.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Colin announced, his strong, confident voice booming throughout the hall, "I would like to propose a toast to the most remarkable woman in the world."
A low murmur spread across the room, and Penelope stood frozen, watching everyone watching her.
"I am a newlywed," Colin continued, beguiling the party-goers with his lopsided smile, "and therefore you are all required to indulge me in my lovesick ways."
Friendly laughter rippled through the crowd.
"I know that many of you were surprised when I asked Penelope Featherington to be my wife. I was surprised myself."
A few unkind titters wafted through the air, but Penelope held herself perfectly still, completely proud. Colin would say the right thing. She knew he would. Colin always said the right thing.
"I wasn't surprised that I had fallen in love with her," he said pointedly, giving the crowd a look that dared them to comment, "but rather that it had taken so long. . "I've known her for so many years, you see," he continued, his voice softening, "and somehow I'd never taken the time to look inside, to see the beautiful, brilliant, witty woman she'd become."
Penelope could feel the tears trickling down her face, but she couldn't move. She could barely breathe. She had expected him to reveal her secret, and instead he was giving her this incredible gift, this spectacular declaration of love.
"Therefore," Colin said, "with all of you here as my witnesses, I would like to say—Penelope—" He turned to her, taking her free hand in his, and said:
"I love you. I adore you. I worship the ground you walk upon."
He turned back out to the crowd, lifted his glass, and said, "To my wife!"
'To your wife!" they all boomed, caught up in the magic of the moment.
Colin drank, and Penelope drank, even though she couldn't help but wonder when he was going to tell them all the real
reason for this announcement.
"Put down your glass, dear," he murmured, plucking it from her fingers and setting it aside.
"But—"
"You interrupt far too much," he scolded, and men he swept her into a passionate kiss, right there on the balcony in front of the entire ton.
"Colin!" she gasped, once he gave her a chance to breathe.
He grinned wolfishly as their audience roared its approval.
"Oh, and one last thing!" he called to the crowd.
They were now stamping their feet, hanging on his every word.
"I'm leaving the party early. Right now, as a matter of fact." He shot a wicked, sideways grin at Penelope. "I'm sure you'll understand."
The men in the crowd hooted and hollered as Penelope turned beet red.
"But before I do, I have one last thing to say. One last little thing, in case you still don't believe me when I tell you that my wife is the wittiest, cleverest, most enchanting woman in all of London."
"Nooooo!" came a voice from the back, and Penelope knew it was Cressida.
But even Cressida was no match for the crowd, none of whom would let her pass, or even listen to her cries of distress.
"You might say that my wife has two maiden names," he said thoughtfully. "Of course you all knew her as Penelope Featherington, as did I. But what you didn't know, and what even I was not clever enough to figure out until she told me herself..."
He paused, waiting for silence to fall over the room.
"... is that she is also the brilliant, the witty, the breathtakingly magnificent—Oh, you all know who I am talking about," he said, his arm sweeping out toward the crowd.
"I give you my wife!" he said, his love and pride flowing across the room. "Lady Whistledown!"
For a moment there was nothing but silence. It was almost as if no one even dared to breathe.
And then it came. Clap. Clap. Clap. Slow and methodical, but with such force and determination that everyone had to
turn and look to see who had dared to break the shocked silence.
It was Lady Danbury.
She had shoved her cane into someone else's arms and was holding her arms high, clapping loud and proud, beaming with pride and delight.
And then someone else began to clap. Penelope jerked her head to the side to see who ...
Anthony Bridgerton.
And then Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings.
And then the Bridgerton women, and then the Featherington women, and then another and another and more and more
until the entire room was cheering.
Penelope couldn't believe it.
Tomorrow they might remember to be angry with her, to feel irritated at having been fooled for so many years, but tonight...
Tonight all they could do was admire and cheer.
For a woman who had had to carry out all of her accomplishments in secret, it was everything she'd ever dreamed of.
Well, almost everything.
Everything she'd truly ever dreamed of was standing next to her, his arm around her waist. And when she looked up at him, at his beloved face, he was smiling down at her with such love and pride that her breath caught in her throat.
"Congratulations, Lady Whistledown," he murmured.
"I prefer Mrs. Bridgerton," she replied.
He grinned. "Excellent choice."
"Can we leave?" she whispered.
"Right now?"
She nodded.
"Oh, yes," he said enthusiastically.
And no one saw them for several days.
EPILOGUE
Bedford Square,
Bloomsbury Lon
don, 1825
It's here! It's here!" Penelope looked up from the papers spread over her desk. Colin was standing in the doorway of her
small office, jumping from foot to foot like a schoolboy.
"Your book!" she exclaimed, jumping to her feet as quickly as her rather ungainly body would allow. "Oh, Colin, let me see. Let me see. I can't wait!"
He couldn't contain his grin as he handed her his book.
"Ohhhh," she said reverently, holding the slim, leather-bound volume in her hands. "Oh, my." She held the book up to her face and inhaled deeply. "Don't you just love the smell of new books?"
"Look at this, look at this," he said impatiently, pointing to his name on the front cover.
Penelope beamed. "Look at that. And so elegant, too." She ran her finger over the words as she read,
"An Englishman in Italy, by Colin Bridgerton."
He looked ready to burst with pride. "It looks good, doesn't it?"
"It looks better than good, it looks perfect! When will An Englishman in Cyprus be available?"
"The publisher says every six months. They want to release An Englishman in Scotland after that."
"Oh, Colin, I'm so proud of you."
He drew her into his arms, letting his chin rest on top of her head. "I couldn't have done it without you."
"Yes, you could," she replied loyally.
"Just be quiet and accept the praise."
"Very well," she said, grinning even though he couldn't see her face, "you couldn't. Clearly, you could never have been published without such a talented editor."
"You won't hear any disagreement from me," he said softly, kissing the top of her head before he let her go. "Sit down,"
he added. "You shouldn't be on your feet for so long."
"I'm fine," she assured him, but she sat down, anyway. Colin had been overly protective since the first moment she'd told him she was pregnant; now that she was only a month from her due date, he was insufferable.
"What are these papers?" he asked, glancing down at her scribblings.
"This? Oh, it's nothing." She started to gather them into piles. "Just a little project I was working on."
"Really?" He sat down across from her. "What is it?"
"It's ... well... actually ..."
"What is it, Penelope?" he asked, looking exceedingly amused by her stammers.
"I've been at loose ends since I finished editing your journals," she explained, "and I found I rather missed writing."
