Quinn, Julia - Romancing Mister Bridgerton With 2nd Epilogue

“I don’t think—”

He moved his arm closer to her—just by an inch or so, but the message was clear. “Please,” he said.

She nodded and set her lemonade down. “Very well.”

They walked in silence for almost a minute, then Colin said, “I would like to apologize to you.”

“I was the one who stormed out of the room,” Penelope pointed out.

He tilted his head slightly, and she could see an indulgent smile playing across his lips. “I’d hardly call it ‘storming,’” he said.

Penelope frowned. She probably shouldn’t have left in such a huff, but now that she had, she was oddly proud of it. It wasn’t every day that a woman such as herself got to make such a dramatic exit.

“Well, I shouldn’t have been so rude,” she muttered, by now not really meaning it.

He arched a brow, then obviously decided not to pursue the matter. “I would like to apologize,” he said, “for being such a whiny little brat.”

Penelope actually tripped over her feet.

He helped her regain her balance, then said, “I am aware that I have many, many things in my life for which I should be grateful. For which I am grateful,” he corrected, his mouth not quite smiling but certainly sheepish. “It was unforgivably rude to complain to you.”

“No,” she said, “I have spent all evening thinking about what you said, and while I . . .” She swallowed, then licked her lips, which had gone quite dry. She’d spent all day trying to think of the right words, and she’d thought that she’d found them, but now that he was here, at her side, she couldn’t think of a deuced thing.

“Do you need another glass of lemonade?” Colin asked politely.

She shook her head. “You have every right to your feelings,” she blurted out. “They may not be what I would feel, were I in your shoes, but you have every right to them. But—”

She broke off, and Colin found himself rather desperate to know what she’d planned to say. “But what, Penelope?” he urged.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing to me.” His hand was on her arm, and so he squeezed slightly, to let her know that he meant what he said.

For the longest time, he didn’t think she was actually going to respond, and then, just when he thought his face would crack from the smile he held so carefully on his lips—they were in public, after all, and it wouldn’t do to invite comment and speculation by appearing urgent and disturbed—she sighed.

It was a lovely sound, strangely comforting, soft, and wise. And it made him want to look at her more closely, to see into her mind, to hear the rhythms of her soul.

“Colin,” Penelope said quietly, “if you feel frustrated by your current situation, you should do something to change it. It’s really that simple.”

“That’s what I do,” he said with a careless shrug of his outside shoulder. “My mother accuses me of picking up and leaving the country completely on whim, but the truth is—”

“You do it when you’re feeling frustrated,” she finished for him.

He nodded. She understood him. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, or even that it made any sense, but Penelope Featherington understood him.

“I think you should publish your journals,” she said.

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

He stopped in his tracks, letting go of her arm. He didn’t really have an answer, other than the odd pounding in his heart. “Who would want to read them?” he finally asked.

“I would,” she said frankly. “Eloise, Felicity . . .” she added, ticking off names on her fingers. “Your mother, Lady Whistledown, I’m sure,” she added with a mischievous smile. “She does write about you rather a lot.”

Her good humor was infectious, and Colin couldn’t quite suppress his smile. “Penelope, it doesn’t count if the only people who buy the book are the people I know.”

“Why not?” Her lips twitched. “You know a lot of people. Why, if you only count Bridgertons—”

He grabbed her hand. He didn’t know why, but he grabbed her hand. “Penelope, stop.”

She just laughed. “I think Eloise told me that you have piles and piles of cousins as well, and—”

“Enough,” he warned. But he was grinning as he said it.

Penelope stared down at her hand in his, then said, “Lots of people will want to read about your travels. Maybe at first it will only be because you’re a well-known figure in London, but it won’t take long before everyone realizes what a good writer you are. And then they’ll be clamoring for more.”

“I don’t want to be a success because of the Bridgerton name,” he said.

She dropped his hand and planted hers on her hips. “Are you even listening to me? I just told you that—”

“What are you two talking about?”

Eloise. Looking very, very curious.

“Nothing,” they both muttered at the same time.

Eloise snorted. “Don’t insult me. It’s not nothing. Penelope looked as if she might start breathing fire at any moment.”

“Your brother is just being obtuse,” Penelope said.

“Well, that is nothing new,” Eloise said.

“Wait a moment!” Colin exclaimed.

“But what,” Eloise probed, ignoring him entirely, “is he being obtuse about?”

“It’s a private matter,” Colin ground out.

“Which makes it all the more interesting,” Eloise said. She looked to Penelope expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” Penelope said. “I really can’t say.”

“I can’t believe it!” Eloise cried out. “You’re not going to tell me.”

“No,” Penelope replied, feeling rather oddly satisfied with herself, “I’m not.”

“I can’t believe it,” Eloise said again, turning to her brother. “I can’t believe it.”

His lips quirked into the barest of smiles. “Believe it.”

“You’re keeping secrets from me.”

He raised his brows. “Did you think I told you everything?”

“Of course not.” She scowled. “But I thought Penelope did.”

“But this isn’t my secret to tell,” Penelope said. “It’s Colin’s.”

“I think the planet has shifted on its axis,” Eloise grumbled. “Or perhaps England has crashed into France. All I know is this is not the same world I inhabited just this morning.”

Penelope couldn’t help it. She giggled.

“And you’re laughing at me!” Eloise added.

“No, I’m not,” Penelope said, laughing. “Really, I’m not.”

“Do you know what you need?” Colin asked.

“Me?” Eloise queried.

He nodded. “A husband.”

“You’re as bad as Mother!”

“I could be a lot worse if I really put my mind to it.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Eloise shot back.

“Stop, stop!” Penelope said, truly laughing in earnest now. They both looked at her expectantly, as if to say, Now what?

“I’m so glad I came tonight,” Penelope said, the words tumbling unbidden from her lips. “I can’t remember a nicer evening. Truly, I can’t.”

Several hours later, as Colin was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the bedroom of his new flat in Bloomsbury, it occurred to him that he felt the exact same way.

Chapter 8

Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington were seen in conversation at the Smythe-Smith musicale, although no one seems to know what exactly they were discussing. This Author would venture to guess that their conversation centered upon This Author’s identity, since that was what everyone else seemed to be talking about before, after, and (rather rudely, in This Author’s esteemed opinion) during the performance .

In other news, Honoria Smythe-Smith’s violin was damaged when Lady Danbury accidentally knocked it off a table while waving her cane .