Quinn, Julia - Romancing Mister Bridgerton With 2nd Epilogue

“What brings you this way?” yelled Robert Huxley.

Colin touched his ears—he couldn’t help himself—then said, “I was—”

“Oh, goodness,” fluttered Mrs. Featherington, “we do not mean to interrogate our guest, do we?”

Colin hadn’t really thought Huxley’s question constituted an interrogation, but he didn’t really want to insult Mrs. Featherington by saying so, so he merely nodded and said something completely meaningless like, “Yes, well, of course.”

“Of course what?” asked Philippa.

Philippa was married to Nigel Berbrooke, and Colin had always thought it was a rather good match, indeed.

“I’m sorry?” he queried.

“You said, ‘Of course,’” Philippa said. “Of course what?”

“I don’t know,” Colin said.

“Oh. Well, then, why did you—”

“Philippa,” Mrs. Featherington said loudly, “perhaps you should fetch the food, since Penelope has forgotten to ring for it.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Penelope said quickly, starting to rise to her feet.

“Don’t worry,” Colin said through a smooth smile, grabbing hold of her hand and yanking her back down. “Your mother said Prudence could go.”

“Philippa,” Penelope said.

“What about Philippa?”

“She said Philippa could go, not Prudence.”

He wondered what had happened to her brain, because somewhere between his carriage and this sofa, it had clearly disappeared. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“No, not really, but—”

“Felicity,” Mrs. Featherington interrupted, “why don’t you tell Mr. Bridgerton about your watercolors?”

For the life of him, Colin couldn’t imagine a less interesting topic (except, maybe, for Philippa’s watercolors), but he nonetheless turned to the youngest Featherington with a friendly smile and asked, “And how are your watercolors?”

But Felicity, bless her heart, gave him a rather friendly smile herself and said nothing but, “I imagine they’re fine, thank you.”

Mrs. Featherington looked as if she’d just swallowed a live eel, then exclaimed, “Felicity!”

“Yes?” Felicity said sweetly.

“You didn’t tell him that you’d won an award.” She turned to Colin. “Felicity’s watercolors are very unique.” She turned back to Felicity. “Do tell Mr. Bridgerton about your award.”

“Oh, I don’t imagine he is interested in that.”

“Of course he is,” Mrs. Featherington ground out.

Normally, Colin would have chimed in with, Of course I am , since he was, after all, an exceedingly affable fellow, but doing so would have validated Mrs. Featherington’s statement and, perhaps more critically, ruined Felicity’s good fun.

And Felicity appeared to be having a lot of fun. “Philippa,” she said, “weren’t you going to go after the food?”

“Oh, right,” Philippa replied. “Forgot all about it. I do that a lot. Come along, Nigel. You can keep me company.”

“Right-o!” Nigel beamed. And then he and Philippa left the room, giggling all the way.

Colin reaffirmed his conviction that the Berbrooke-Featherington match had been a good one, indeed.

“I think I shall go out to the garden,” Prudence suddenly announced, taking hold of her husband’s arm. “Penelope, why don’t you come with me?”

Penelope opened her mouth a few seconds before she figured out what to say, leaving her looking a little bit like a confused fish (but in Colin’s opinion a rather fetching fish, if such a thing were possible). Finally, her chin took on a resolute mien, and she said, “I don’t think so, Prudence.”

“Penelope!” Mrs. Featherington exclaimed.

“I need you to show me something,” Prudence ground out.

“I really think I’m needed here,” Penelope replied. “I can join you later this afternoon, if you like.”

“I need you now .”

Penelope looked to her sister in surprise, clearly not expecting quite so much resistance. “I’m sorry, Prudence,” she reiterated. “I believe I’m needed here.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Featherington said breezily. “Felicity and I can keep Mr. Bridgerton company.”

Felicity jumped to her feet. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, her eyes round and innocent. “I forgot something.”

“What,” Mrs. Featherington asked between her teeth, “could you possibly have forgotten?”

“Uhh . . . my watercolors.” She turned to Colin with a sweet, mischievous smile. “You did want to see them, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” he murmured, deciding he very much liked Penelope’s younger sister. “Seeing as how they are so unique.”

“One might say they are uniquely ordinary,” Felicity said with an overly earnest nod.

“Penelope,” Mrs. Featherington said, obviously trying to hide her annoyance, “would you be so kind as to fetch Felicity’s watercolors?”

“Penelope doesn’t know where they are,” Felicity said quickly.

“Why don’t you tell her?”

“For God’s sake,” Colin finally exploded, “let Felicity go. I need a private moment with you, anyway.”

Silence reigned. It was the first time Colin Bridgerton had ever lost his temper in public. Beside him, Colin heard Penelope let out a little gasp, but when he glanced at her, she was hiding a tiny smile behind her hand.

And that made him feel ridiculously good.

“A private moment?” Mrs. Featherington echoed, her hand fluttering to her chest. She glanced over at Prudence and Robert, who were still standing by the window. They immediately left the room, although not without a fair bit of grumbling on Prudence’s part.

“Penelope,” Mrs. Featherington said, “perhaps you should accompany Felicity.”

“Penelope will remain,” Colin ground out.

“Penelope?” Mrs. Featherington asked doubtfully.

“Yes,” he said slowly, in case she still didn’t understand his meaning, “Penelope.”

“But—”

Colin gave her such a glare that she actually drew back and folded her hands in her lap.

“I’m gone!” Felicity chirped, sailing out of the room. But before she closed the door behind her, Colin saw her give a quick wink to Penelope.

And Penelope smiled, love for her younger sister shining clearly in her eyes.

Colin relaxed. He hadn’t realized just how tense Penelope’s misery was making him. And she was definitely miserable. Good God, he couldn’t wait to remove her from the bosom of her ridiculous family.

Mrs. Featherington’s lips spread into a feeble attempt at a smile. She looked from Colin to Penelope and back again, and then finally said, “You desired a word?”

“Yes,” he replied, eager to get this done with. “I would be honored if you would grant me your daughter’s hand in marriage.”

For a moment Mrs. Featherington made no reaction. Then her eyes grew round, her mouth grew round, her body—well, her body was already round—and she clapped her hands together, unable to say anything other than, “Oh! Oh!”

And then, “Felicity! Felicity!”

Felicity?

Portia Featherington jumped to her feet, ran to the door and actually screamed like a fishwife. “Felicity! Felicity!”

“Oh, Mother,” Penelope moaned, closing her eyes.

“Why are you summoning Felicity?” Colin asked, rising to his feet.

Mrs. Featherington turned to him quizzically. “Don’t you want to marry Felicity?”

Colin actually thought he might be sick. “No, for God’s sake, I don’t want to marry Felicity,” he snapped. “If I’d wanted to marry Felicity, I’d hardly have sent her upstairs for her bloody watercolors, would I?”

Mrs. Featherington swallowed uncomfortably. “Mr. Bridgerton,” she said, wringing her hands together. “I don’t understand.”