Bridgerton - Romancing Mr. Bridgerton Part 47

'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 gla.s.s, 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 pa.s.sionate 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 pa.s.s, 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 Ba.s.set, 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 London, 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 a.s.sured 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."

He was smiling as he leaned forward. "What are you working on?"

She blushed; she wasn't sure why. "A novel."

"A novel? Why, that's brilliant, Penelope!"

"You think so?"

"Of course I think so. What is it called?"

"Well, I've only written a few dozen pages," she said, "and there's much work to be done, but I think, if I don't decide to change it pvermuch, that I will call it The Wallflower''

His eyes grew warm, almost misty. "Really?"

"It's a little bit autobiographical," she admitted.

"Just a little bit?" he returned.

"Just a little."

"But it has a happy ending?"

"Oh, yes," she said fervently. "It has to."

"It has to?"

She reached her hand across the table and rested it atop his. "Happy endings are all I can do," she whispered. "I wouldn't know how to write anything else."

Where did Eloise disappear to in the last chapter? Find out in the next installment of Julia Quinn's magnificent Bridgerton series "To Sir Phillip, With Love".