Quinn, Julia - Romancing Mister Bridgerton With 2nd Epilogue

So Penelope held out hope.

Well, not really. She knew Colin wasn’t going to marry her, but at least he danced with her at every ball, and he made her laugh, and every now and then she made him laugh, and she knew that that would have to be enough.

And so Penelope’s life continued. She had her third season, then her fourth. Her two older sisters, Prudence and Philippa, finally found husbands of their own and moved away. Mrs. Featherington held out hope that Penelope might still make a match, since it had taken both Prudence and Philippa five seasons to snare husbands, but Penelope knew that she was destined to remain a spinster. It wouldn’t be fair to marry someone when she was still so desperately in love with Colin. And maybe, in the far reaches of her mind—in the farthest-back corner, tucked away behind the French verb conjugations she’d never mastered and the arithmetic she never used—she still held out a tiny shred of hope.

Until that day.

Even now, seven years later, she still referred to it as that day.

She’d gone to the Bridgerton household, as she frequently did, to take tea with Eloise and her mother and sisters. It was right before Eloise’s brother Benedict had married Sophie, only he didn’t know who she really was, and—well, that didn’t signify, except that it may have been the one truly great secret in the last decade that Lady Whistledown had never managed to unearth.

Anyway, she was walking through the front hall, listening to her feet tap along the marble tile as she saw herself out. She was adjusting her pelisse and preparing to walk the short distance to her own home (just around the corner, really) when she heard voices. Male voices. Male Bridgerton voices.

It was the three elder Bridgerton brothers: Anthony, Benedict, and Colin. They were having one of those conversations that men have, the kind in which they grumble a lot and poke fun at each other. Penelope had always liked to watch the Bridgertons interact in this manner; they were such a family .

Penelope could see them through the open front door, but she couldn’t hear what they were saying until she’d reached the threshold. And in a testament to the bad timing that had plagued her throughout her life, the first voice she heard was Colin’s, and the words were not kind.

“. . . and I am certainly not going to marry Penelope Featherington! ”

“Oh!” The word slipped over her lips before she could even think, the squeal of it piercing the air like an off-key whistle.

The three Bridgerton men turned to face her with identical horrified faces, and Penelope knew that she had just entered into what would certainly be the most awful five minutes of her life.

She said nothing for what seemed like an eternity, and then, finally, with a dignity she never dreamed she possessed, she looked straight at Colin and said, “I never asked you to marry me.”

His cheeks went from pink to red. He opened his mouth, but not a sound came out. It was, Penelope thought with wry satisfaction, probably the only time in his life he’d ever been at a loss for words.

“And I never—” She swallowed convulsively. “I never said to anyone that I wanted you to ask me.”

“Penelope,” Colin finally managed, “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said.

“No,” he insisted, “I do. I hurt your feelings, and—”

“You didn’t know I was there.”

“But nevertheless—”

“You are not going to marry me,” she said, her voice sounding very strange and hollow to her ears. “There is nothing wrong with that. I am not going to marry your brother Benedict.”

Benedict had clearly been trying not to look, but he snapped to attention at that.

Penelope fisted her hands at her sides. “It doesn’t hurt his feelings when I announce that I am not going to marry him.” She turned to Benedict, forcing her eyes directly on his. “Does it, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Of course not,” Benedict answered quickly.

“It’s settled, then,” she said tightly, amazed that, for once, exactly the right words were coming out of her mouth. “No feelings were hurt. Now, then, if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I should like to go home.”

The three gentlemen immediately stood back to let her pass, and she would have made a clean escape, except that Colin suddenly blurted out, “Don’t you have a maid?”

She shook her head. “I live just around the corner.”

“I know, but—”

“I’ll escort you,” Anthony said smoothly.

“That’s really not necessary, my lord.”

“Humor me,” he said, in a tone that told her quite clearly she hadn’t any choice in the matter.

She nodded, and the two of them took off down the street. After they had passed about three houses, Anthony said in a strangely respectful voice, “He didn’t know you were there.”

Penelope felt her lips tighten at the corners—not out of anger, just out of a weary sense of resignation. “I know,” she replied. “He’s not the sort to be cruel. I expect your mother has been hounding him to get married.”

Anthony nodded. Lady Bridgerton’s intentions to see each and every one of her eight offspring happily married were legendary.

“She likes me,” Penelope said. “Your mother, that is. She can’t see beyond that, I’m afraid. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter so much if she likes Colin’s bride.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that ,” Anthony mused, sounding not so much like a highly feared and respected viscount and rather more like a well-behaved son. “I shouldn’t like to be married to someone my mother didn’t like.” He shook his head in a gesture of great awe and respect. “She’s a force of nature.”

“Your mother or your wife?”

He considered that for about half a second. “Both.”

They walked for a few moments, and then Penelope blurted out, “Colin should go away.”

Anthony eyed her curiously. “I beg your pardon?”

“He should go away. Travel. He’s not ready to marry, and your mother won’t be able to restrain herself from pressuring him. She means well. . . .” Penelope bit her lip in horror. She hoped the viscount didn’t think she was actually criticizing Lady Bridgerton. As far as she was concerned, there was no greater lady in England.

“My mother always means well,” Anthony said with an indulgent smile. “But maybe you’re right. Perhaps he should get away. Colin does enjoy travel. Although he did just return from Wales.”

“Did he?” Penelope murmured politely, as if she didn’t know perfectly well that he’d been in Wales.

“Here we are,” he said as he nodded his reply. “This is your house, is it not?”

“Yes. Thank you for accompanying me home.”

“It was my pleasure, I assure you.”

Penelope watched as he left, then she went inside and cried.

The very next day, the following account appeared in Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers :

La, but such excitement yesterday on the front steps of Lady Bridgerton’s residence on Bruton Street!

First, Penelope Featherington was seen in the company of not one, not two, but THREE Bridgerton brothers, surely a heretofore impossible feat for the poor girl, who is rather infamous for her wallflower ways. Sadly (but perhaps predictably) for Miss Featherington, when she finally departed, it was on the arm of the viscount, the only married man in the bunch .

If Miss Featherington were to somehow manage to drag a Bridgerton brother to the altar, it would surely mean the end of the world as we know it, and This Author, who freely admits she would not know heads from tails in such a world, would be forced to resign her post on the spot .