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Penelope Bridgerton did not intend to drink absinthe.
This was important to establish, mostly because she would later, loudly, insist upon it to anyone who would listen, including but not limited to: her husband, her sisters-in-law, Agatha Danbury, a very scandalized footman, and the bust of Edmund Bridgerton in the front hall, whom she would at one point thank for his service.
It had begun, as many questionable Bridgerton decisions did, with Benedict.
“Just a sip,” he’d said, swirling the pale green liquid in a crystal glass as if he were about to summon something unholy. “It’s New Year’s Eve. Tradition. Or rebellion. Or art. One of the three.”
Penelope, already warm from champagne and laughter, perched on the edge of a velvet sofa beside Eloise, squinted suspiciously at the drink. “That looks like it might curse me.”
“Oh, it will,” Eloise said cheerfully, stealing the glass and taking a swig before Benedict could protest. “But only socially.”
Penelope should have stopped there. She should have laughed, declined, returned to Colin’s side, where he was currently in animated conversation with Anthony and Kate, looking unfairly handsome in a way that should have been illegal at family gatherings, and continued the evening as a respectable Bridgerton wife and mother.
Instead, she took the glass.
“Happy New Year,” Benedict said solemnly.
Penelope drank.
It tasted like licorice, fire, and extremely bad ideas.
She coughed, sputtered, and then, quite unexpectedly, laughed. Not a delicate laugh. Not even her usual warm giggle. This was a full-bodied, surprised bark of laughter that startled Eloise into spilling her own drink.
“Oh,” Penelope said, blinking. “That’s… that’s quite something.”
Eloise’s eyes gleamed. “Isn’t it?”
Benedict poured her another.
By the time the clock edged toward ten, the Bridgerton drawing room had reached a level of convivial chaos only achievable when all the siblings were present, their spouses scattered among them, and Violet Bridgerton, glowing, triumphant hostess that she was, floated about ensuring everyone had a drink and a sense of belonging.
Colin had last seen his wife twenty minutes ago, laughing far too hard at something Eloise whispered in her ear.
He should have known better than to ignore that.
“Have you seen Pen?” he asked Kate, who was watching the room with the practiced eye of someone who had accepted her fate as co-host and occasional referee.
Kate smiled slowly. “She went off with Benedict and Eloise.”
Colin winced. “That’s not reassuring.”
“She looked… determined,” Kate added.
That was worse.
Across the room, Portia Featherington sat primly beside Violet, babysitting her grandson Elliott, currently fast asleep in a basket lined with knitted blankets, whilst gripping her tea as if it were a lifeline.
“Oh he is so precious,” Portia said.
“He is and he has Colin’s charms,” Violet replied gently. “And he so looks like Penelope. Colin’s Aunt Georgie would be thrilled, she always wanted a redhead in the family”
“He really does resemble her, it’s remarkable,” Portia smiled.
Penelope Bridgerton was coming down the hallway with the unsteady grace of a woman who had absolutely had too much absinthe and had decided, without consulting anyone, that this was the perfect moment to remind her husband exactly how much she appreciated him.
She paused beside a potted fern, squinting at it.
“Excuse me,” she said politely to the plant. “You’re not my husband.”
The fern did not respond.
Penelope nodded. “Worth checking.”
She smoothed her emerald gown, which she had chosen earlier for its flattering cut and the way Colin had stared at her when she descended the stairs. That memory alone sent a warm thrill through her chest.
Colin. Her Colin.
She smiled to herself, then spotted Gregory and Hyacinth near the piano.
“Oh!” she said brightly, swooping toward them. “Have you seen your brother?”
Gregory blinked. “Which one?”
“The handsome one,” Penelope said earnestly. “With the shoulders.”
Hyacinth snorted. Gregory turned pink.
“He’s married to you,” Hyacinth said dryly. “So statistically, he’s probably nearby.”
Penelope nodded solemnly. “Yes. Because he cannot resist me.”
Hyacinth raised an eyebrow. “That is… deeply obvious.”
Penelope leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “Did you know he has the strongest hands?”
Gregory choked.
“I mean,” Penelope continued, gesturing vaguely with her glass, which someone had inexplicably refilled, “have you seen the man? It’s rude, really. Just walking around like that. Those arms. That mouth. The way he—”
“Penelope,” Hyacinth said quickly, grabbing her arm. “I think Anthony is looking for you.”
Penelope waved her off. “Anthony always looks like that.”
She wandered away, leaving two stunned Bridgertons behind.
Across the room, Fife watched her trajectory with interest. “Is she… drunk?”
“Yes,” Cho humoured. “Seems little Penelope isn’t so innocent after all.”
Cho’s assessment proved tragically, gloriously correct.
Penelope wasn’t innocent tonight.
She drifted away from the corner like a woman guided by instinct alone, absinthe lending her courage, champagne lending her warmth, and love lending her a very specific mission: find Colin Bridgerton and inform him, in exhaustive detail, how profoundly attractive he was.
Unfortunately, Penelope Bridgerton, currently vibrating at a frequency only dogs, poets, and Benedict could hear, was no longer operating with a reliable internal compass.
Her first stop was the refreshment table.
“Ah,” she murmured, gazing upon it with reverence. “Sustenance.”
She reached for a glass, missed, steadied herself on the edge of the table, and then squinted suspiciously at a decanter.
“This is not absinthe,” she accused.
The footman froze. “No, my lady. It’s—”
She waved him off. “Then I don’t want it.”
She turned too quickly, skirt swishing dramatically, and nearly collided with Anthony Bridgerton.
Anthony Bridgerton, pillar of responsibility, looked down at his sister-in-law with the wary expression of a man who had seen too much Bridgerton nonsense in his lifetime and knew more was coming.
“Penelope,” he said carefully. “Are you well?”
She peered up at him, head tilting. “You’re… not my husband.”
Anthony exhaled slowly. “No.”
“Hm.” She poked his arm. “You’re broader than him.”
Anthony stiffened. Kate, who had been standing just behind him, let out a choking laugh.
“But,” Penelope continued thoughtfully, tapping her chin, “you lack the sparkle.”
Anthony blinked. “The what?”
“The sparkle,” Penelope repeated patiently. “Colin has it. It’s very distracting. Also,” she added, leaning closer and lowering her voice, “he smells nice.”
Kate lost the battle and laughed outright.
Anthony stepped back. “Where is Colin?”
Penelope gasped, eyes lighting up. “Do you know?”
Kate gently took Penelope’s elbow. “Why don’t we sit you down for a moment?”
Penelope recoiled as if Kate had suggested something scandalous. “I cannot sit. I am on a journey.”
Before either of them could intervene, she slipped past and continued onward, humming faintly to herself.
Kate watched her go, eyes shining. “We should stop her.”
Anthony hesitated.
“…Should we?”
Near the piano, Benedict was already watching events unfold with the delighted fascination of a man who knew he was at least partially responsible.
“She’s reached Phase Three,” he announced to Eloise.
Eloise crossed her arms. “Define Phase Three.”
“She’s stopped filtering her thoughts,” Benedict said. “But she’s still upright. It’s a golden window.”
Eloise’s mouth twitched. “Oh, this is going to ruin Colin.”
“Or strengthen him,” Benedict countered. “Marriage is about resilience.”
Penelope approached them then, eyes bright.
“There you are,” she said warmly. “You did this to me.”
Benedict placed a hand on his chest. “Artistically.”
Eloise leaned closer. “Pen, how many fingers am I holding up?”
Penelope squinted. “Eloise, I love you dearly, but I am not a child.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Penelope leaned in, stage-whispering. “I am trying to find my husband so I can kiss his face and tell him things.”
Eloise sighed. “What sort of things?”
Penelope smiled beatifically. “Compliments.”
Benedict snorted.
“Private compliments,” Penelope added, then paused. “Well. Mostly private.”
Eloise grabbed her arm. “Absolutely not.”
Penelope slipped free with surprising agility. “He deserves praise.”
“Someone stop her,” Eloise muttered.
“No,” Benedict said dreamily whilst handing Penelope another glass of Absinthe. “This is gold.”
Penelope’s next victim was poor, unsuspecting Violet Bridgerton herself.
Violet was mid-conversation with Portia Featherington, the two women united in grandmotherly watchfulness over Elliott’s basket, when Penelope appeared at Violet’s elbow.
“Mrs Bridgerton,” Penelope said fondly.
Violet turned, smiling—then blinked.
“Oh. Oh, my dear.”
Penelope clasped Violet’s hands. “You did such a good job.”
Violet’s brows rose. “With…?”
“Everything,” Penelope said fervently. “The children. The house. Colin.” She leaned in. “Especially Colin.”
Portia stiffened. “Penelope.”
Penelope waved at her mother without looking. “Mum.”
“Lower your voice.”
Penelope did not lower her voice.
“He’s a marvel,” Penelope continued. “Truly. You must be very proud. He’s kind, and clever, and when he—”
Violet’s eyes widened just in time.
“—smiles at me,” Penelope finished innocently, “I forget my own name.”
There was a collective exhale.
Violet squeezed her hands. “That’s… lovely, dear.”
Portia hissed, “You are embarrassing yourself.”
Penelope turned, affronted. “I am celebrating my husband.”
Portia glanced around, mortified. “Not like this.”
Penelope considered this, then softened. “Mum,” she said gently, “he chose me.”
Portia froze.
Penelope smiled, radiant and unguarded. “And I choose him. Repeatedly.”
Violet’s eyes shone.
Portia opened her mouth, then closed it again, utterly disarmed.
“Oh dear,” Violet murmured. “Where is Colin?”
Penelope followed Violet’s gaze down to the basket.
“Oh,” she breathed.
Her entire posture softened at once, bravado dissolving into something achingly tender as she drifted closer. Elliott Bridgerton lay fast asleep, one tiny fist curled beneath his chin, utterly oblivious to the social calamity his mother was currently causing.
Penelope crouched, mostly gracefully, beside him.
“There he is,” she whispered, reverent. “My masterpiece.”
Portia inhaled sharply. “Penelope—”
“No, Mum,” Penelope said gently, holding up a finger without looking away from her son. “This part is important.”
Violet knelt beside her, instinctively steadying Penelope by the elbow.
“He’s been perfect all evening,” Violet said softly. “Not a sound.”
Penelope smiled, eyes suspiciously bright. “That’s because he’s clever. He knows when to sleep and when to make demands.” She glanced up at Violet. “He gets that from his father.”
Violet’s lips trembled with emotion.
Penelope leaned closer to the basket, brushing one careful finger along the edge of Elliott’s blanket. “Did you know,” she whispered conspiratorially, “that he smells like milk and victory?”
Portia pressed a hand to her chest despite herself. “He smells like a baby.”
“Yes,” Penelope agreed solemnly. “A very successful one.”
Elliott stirred, letting out a tiny, indignant huff before settling again.
Penelope gasped. “Oh no. I’ve offended him.”
Violet laughed quietly. “He’ll forgive you.”
Penelope straightened, wobbling only slightly, then looked between the two women, her mother and her mother-in-law, with sudden seriousness.
“Thank you,” she said, voice thick with sincerity. “For keeping him safe. For loving him. For letting me be… me.”
Portia blinked, unprepared. Violet reached for Penelope’s hand.
“You are very loved, Penelope,” Violet said warmly.
Penelope nodded, swallowing. “Good. Because I intend to raise him knowing that. And knowing,” she added, lifting her chin with renewed purpose, “that his father is exceptional.”
Portia closed her eyes. “Here it comes.”
Penelope rose to her feet, smoothing her gown, affection reigniting like a spark catching flame.
“I should find Colin,” she announced. “He should know that his son is perfect. And that he is very handsome. That I want to make another baby. And that I—”
She paused, frowning slightly.
“…may need assistance with the stairs.”
Violet stood quickly. “Yes. Let’s—”
Too late.
Penelope had already turned, determination blazing once more as she set off into the party, leaving behind two grandmothers staring after her, one glowing, one stunned, both aware that chaos was inevitable.
Portia exhaled. “She’s drunk.”
Violet smiled fondly. “She’s in love.”
And somewhere in the crowded room, Colin Bridgerton was about to learn exactly how loudly.
Across the room, murmurs had begun.
“Is she all right?”
“Isn’t she usually quieter?”
“Good heavens, did she just compliment the plant pot?”
Fife watched with open delight. “I take back everything I’ve ever said about marriage.”
Cho nodded. “Same.”
Hyacinth, who had taken up a vantage point on the stairs, leaned over the banister. “Someone fetch Colin. She’s headed toward the terrace.”
Too late.
Penelope had spotted the doors.
Cold air, stars, space to think.
Or, more accurately, space to project her feelings loudly.
She burst onto the terrace, breathless, laughing at nothing at all.
“Oh!” she said to the night sky. “There you are.”
She rested her hands on the balustrade, gazing out, then sighed dreamily.
“He has the nicest shoulders,” she told the darkness. “Very reliable. And his hands—”
A cough sounded behind her.
Penelope turned.
“Oh!” she said brightly to an unfortunate cousin by marriage whose name she had never learned. “You are not my husband.”
He fled.
Penelope nodded approvingly. “Correct response.”
She sauntered back inside.
Colin found her moments later attempting to compliment Agatha Danbury.
“Your eyes,” Penelope was saying sincerely, hands clasped. “They’ve seen things. And I respect that.”
Agatha laughed, a rich, delighted sound. “My dear, you are drunk.”
“Only on life,” Penelope said, then frowned. “And absinthe.”
Colin stepped in smoothly, sliding an arm around her waist. “Pen. Darling.”
She turned, gasped, and then grinned like she’d won a prize at a fair.
“There you are,” she said, poking his chest with deep satisfaction. “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?”
Colin flushed instantly. “You’re intoxicated.”
“And you,” she continued, entirely unbothered by his protest, dragging her finger slowly down the front of his coat as if she were tracing a favorite passage in a book, “are offensively sexy.”
Several nearby guests froze.
“If she hasn’t been stopped before midnight,” Agatha murmured, “the year will begin exactly as it means to continue.”
Colin cleared his throat, tightening his hold just slightly. “Penelope, perhaps we should—”
She reached up, cupping his face with startling tenderness, thumbs brushing his jaw like she’d memorized it. “You are very good to me,” she said earnestly. “Very patient. Very strong. Very generous.”
Colin’s brain short-circuited.
“And also,” she added, nodding to herself as though confirming a well-known fact, “exceptional in bed.”
A footman dropped a tray.
Colin squeezed his eyes shut.
Penelope smiled at him, soft and adoring, as if they were entirely alone. “Truly,” she continued, voice warm and unguarded, “I don’t know how you manage it. Those hands. Those shoulders. The way you look at me like I’m the only woman who has ever existed.” She sighed happily. “It’s no wonder we made such a beautiful baby.”
Colin’s eyes flew open. “Pen—”
“Oh!” she said brightly, cutting him off. “And we could make more.”
Someone gasped. Someone else laughed.
Penelope leaned closer, lowering her voice—but not nearly enough. “I think you’d be excellent at it. You’re so… enthusiastic. And careful. And very committed to the task.”
Colin made a strangled sound that might have been her name.
She kissed his cheek, chaste, affectionate, devastating, then rested her forehead against his. “You’re a wonderful husband,” she murmured. “And an even better father. Elliott adores you. And the others—”
“The others,” Colin repeated faintly.
“Yes,” she said, patting his chest. “The future ones. We’ll need a system.”
Colin tightened his arm around her waist decisively, steering her away from the stunned semicircle of guests. “That is quite enough planning for one evening.”
Penelope laughed, completely delighted, curling into him without resistance. “You always rescue me,” she said fondly. “That’s very attractive too.”
Colin bent his head, murmuring urgently into her hair, “We are going upstairs immediately.”
She smiled against his chest. “Good,” she said. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
Penelope took a wrong turn.
This was not unusual.
She had been aiming for the corridor, when she instead encountered the marble bust of Edmund Bridgerton, positioned in quiet, paternal dignity against the wall.
She stopped short.
“Oh,” she said solemnly.
Colin, a few steps behind her, froze. “Penelope—”
She stepped closer to the bust, peering up at it with narrowed, thoughtful eyes. “You’re him.”
The bust, predictably, said nothing.
Penelope nodded. “Yes. I see it now.”
She reached out, steadying herself by placing a very gentle hand on the pedestal. “I just wanted to say… thank you.”
Colin pinched the bridge of his nose.
“For your sons,” Penelope continued earnestly. “You did very good work.”
Colin choked.
Penelope waved a finger at the marble likeness. “Exceptional craftsmanship. Strong. Broad. Very… capable.” She squinted. “It must be genetic.”
“Pen,” Colin hissed, mortified. “That’s my father.”
“I know,” she said kindly. “That’s why I’m being respectful.”
She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a confidence. “Colin, in particular, is… extremely well endowed with talents.”
Colin made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a prayer.
“And I appreciate it,” Penelope went on, patting the pedestal. “Truly. Elliott exists because of it. Possibly others in the future.”
She straightened, wobbling only a little, and smiled up at the bust. “You’d be very proud.”
Then she nodded once, decisively. “All right. Thank you for your time.”
She turned, nearly colliding with Colin, who caught her automatically.
He stared down at her, voice low and desperate. “We are never speaking of this again.”
She smiled sweetly. “I spoke to your father. It would have been rude not to.”
Behind them, Anthony Bridgerton, who had unfortunately witnessed the entire exchange, turned on his heel and walked away without a word.
Agatha Danbury’s laughter echoed faintly from the drawing room.
Colin Bridgerton had faced many trials in his life.
Foreign travel. Hangovers. Conversations with Anthony about responsibility. The realization that his wife was far cleverer than he was.
None of it prepared him for escorting a drunk, adoring Penelope Bridgerton up the main staircase of his childhood home while half his family, their spouses, and several scandal-hungry acquaintances watched in rapt silence.
He kept his arm firmly around her waist.
She kept both hands on him like he was a particularly handsome bannister.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” she informed him, patting his chest as they approached the first step. “Very steady. Excellent posture. Strong legs.”
Colin muttered, “Penelope, darling, please don’t narrate.”
“I must,” she said seriously. “It’s important feedback.”
Behind them, Violet Bridgerton had risen halfway out of her chair, hands clasped together in something between concern and delight.
“Oh,” she murmured. “They’re going upstairs.”
Portia Featherington made a small, horrified noise. “They are making a scene.”
“They’re married,” Violet said soothingly.
“Yes, but that’s my daughter,” Portia hissed. “And she’s swaying.”
Penelope missed the first step entirely.
Colin tightened his grip instantly, heart jolting into his throat. “Pen—”
“I meant to do that,” she said, leaning into him with complete trust. “It was a test.”
“A test of what?”
“Of you,” she replied, smiling up at him. “You passed.”
Colin exhaled, half laughing, half dying.
God help him, he loved her.
They ascended another step.
Penelope paused, peering down at the hem of her gown. “These stairs are narrower than I remember.”
“They are exactly the same width they’ve always been,” Colin said through his teeth.
She hummed thoughtfully. “You were smaller then.”
“I was not.”
“You were,” she insisted. “I bet you were all elbows and feelings.”
Colin’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Behind them, Hyacinth whispered loudly to Gregory, “Five pounds says she tells a childhood story before they reach the landing.”
Gregory whispered back, “Ten says she kisses him again.”
Anthony folded his arms. “No one is betting, go and distract the guests.”
Kate leaned into him. “You’re absolutely afraid of losing.”
Penelope chose that moment to stop walking entirely.
Colin nearly collided with her.
“Oh no,” she said softly.
“What?” he asked, panic flaring. “What’s wrong?”
She turned, looping her arms around his neck with affectionate gravity. “I just realized.”
He swallowed. “Realized what?”
“That this is where you grew up,” she said, gazing around as though seeing the staircase anew. “You were once very small here.”
“I was a child,” he said weakly.
She touched his cheek. “You survived.”
Colin laughed under his breath, resting his forehead briefly against hers. “Penelope, sweetheart, we really must—”
She pressed a quick, soft kiss to his jaw.
Anthony made a strangled sound.
Violet beamed.
Portia covered her eyes. “I cannot watch this.”
“And yet,” Violet said fondly, “you are peeking.”
Colin resumed their ascent, every nerve alight.
This was the thing about Penelope: even drunk, even causing social devastation, she trusted him completely. Leaned into him. Let him steady her. Let him be the man she believed him to be.
It made his chest ache.
It also made his body extremely aware that his wife was pressed against him in a way that would absolutely haunt him later.
Focus, he told himself. Childhood bedroom. Shut door. Breathe.
Penelope ran her fingers absently along his collar as they climbed. “You smell like home.”
“That’s… comforting,” he said.
“And also,” she added brightly, “like a man who knows what he’s doing.”
Colin groaned softly. “Pen.”
She smiled lazily. “I married well.”
They reached the landing.
A ripple of applause broke out.
Colin froze.
Penelope waved graciously at the assembled audience. “Thank you. We’ll be practicing for the next Bridgerton baby shortly.”
Benedict’s laughter rang out like a victory bell.
Colin turned his wife decisively toward the corridor. “That’s quite enough socializing.”
She leaned in, whispering loudly, “You’re blushing again.”
“I will never recover from this.”
At the foot of the stairs, Violet clasped her hands together, eyes shining.
“They’re so happy,” she said softly.
Portia peeked through her fingers. “She just announced future children in front of the entire party.”
“Yes,” Violet agreed serenely. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
Portia stared at her. “You are enjoying this.”
Violet smiled. “Immensely.”
Halfway down the corridor, Penelope slowed again, squinting at the doors.
“So many rooms,” she murmured. “How did you ever choose?”
“I didn’t,” Colin said. “I slept where I was told.”
She laughed, delighted. “Always so obedient darling.”
“Occasionally,” he said. “This is it.”
He stopped before a familiar door.
His childhood bedroom.
Penelope tilted her head, studying it like a puzzle. “This is where you kept your secrets.”
Colin hesitated, then smiled. “Some of them.”
She reached for the handle. “I have opinions.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
As he opened the door and guided her inside, Colin had just enough time to think—
God help me.
The door closed with a soft, decisive click.
The sound echoed far louder in Colin’s head than it had any right to.
Penelope stood very still in the center of the room, swaying slightly, taking it all in with the reverence of a woman who had just been handed a secret.
“Oh,” she said.
Colin’s heart stuttered.
This was it. His childhood bedroom. The place of awkward dreams, restless nights, badly written travel fantasies, and, God help him, years of thinking about Penelope Featherington long before he’d understood what that meant.
She turned slowly, eyes bright, cataloguing everything.
“So this,” she announced, gesturing broadly, “is where you became you.”
Colin leaned back against the door, arms folding automatically as if to brace himself. “I wouldn’t romanticize it.”
“I absolutely will,” she said firmly. “First of all—” She pointed. “The bed.”
His spine went rigid.
She crossed to it, pressing a hand into the mattress experimentally, then sat.
It dipped.
She bounced once.
Colin swallowed hard.
“Oh,” Penelope said again, pleased. “Sturdy.”
“Pen—”
“Very important quality,” she continued thoughtfully. “Especially for—”
He cut in quickly, “It’s old.”
She frowned. “So are we, and look how well that turned out.”
She lay back fully, her cleavage lifting, staring up at the canopy. “This bed has history.”
Colin could not breathe.
His mind supplied images unhelpfully: her there, laughing, hair loose, calling his name the way she did when she wasn’t drunk, soft, certain, devastating.
He shifted, painfully aware of how close she was, how much he wanted her, how desperately he was trying to behave.
Penelope sat up again, gaze sharpening.
“These sheets,” she declared. “Are yellow.”
He winced. “Yes.”
She pinched the fabric between her fingers, squinting. “They’re… aggressively yellow.”
“They were fashionable,” he said weakly.
She looked at him, eyes suddenly suspicious. “Did you choose them?”
“No,” he admitted. “My mother did.”
“Hm.” She studied him for a long moment. “Then why keep them?”
He hesitated.
She tilted her head. “Colin Bridgerton.”
Damn it.
He sighed. “Because you always looked beautiful in yellow.”
Her expression changed instantly, softening, warming, undoing him.
“Oh,” she breathed.
She rose, crossing the room to him with careful steps, placing her hands on his chest. “You loved me in yellow.”
“I loved you in everything,” he said before he could stop himself.
Her smile was slow and incandescent. “I knew it.”
She turned again, spotting the small desk by the window.
“And what’s this?”
His panic spiked.
She reached it before he could intervene, picking up a framed sketch.
His ship.
Thirteen years old. All ambition and impossible dreams. He’d kept it, absurdly, like a promise to himself.
She examined it closely. “You drew this?”
“Yes.”
Her finger traced the lines. “It’s very… impressive.”
He flushed. “It’s rough.”
She tapped the mast thoughtfully.
“Mmm,” she said. “That’s a very nice mast.”
Colin made a sound that absolutely was not dignified.
She glanced at him, eyes dancing. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“I like your mast,” she added helpfully. “Very strong. Very tall.”
“Penelope.”
She laughed, delighted, and set the sketch down before drifting to the bookshelf.
Her gasp this time was genuine.
“Oh my goodness.”
She pulled out a familiar volume.
Her book.
One of her earliest publications, worn at the edges.
“You kept these.”
“All of them,” he admitted quietly.
She stared at the spines, fingers brushing each one. “You read them.”
“Repeatedly.”
Her voice softened. “Even the early ones?”
“Yes.”
“The bad ones?”
“They weren’t bad.”
She turned to him, eyes suddenly searching. “Did you… think of me? When you were in here?”
His throat tightened.
“Yes,” he said honestly. “Often.”
Her cheeks flushed pink. “Did you ever have… improper thoughts?”
His mind flashed, traitorous and vivid.
He closed his eyes briefly. “Penelope.”
She smiled sweetly. “I did.”
That nearly ended him.
Then her brow furrowed.
“Wait,” she said suddenly. “Did other girls come in here?”
His stomach dropped.
“No,” he said quickly. “Never.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
She searched his face. “Not even once?”
“No.”
Her shoulders relaxed instantly. “Good.”
Then she narrowed her eyes. “If I find out later—”
“You won’t.”
She nodded.
She returned to the bed, testing it again, patting the mattress beside her.
“This would be a very good place to make another baby.”
Colin’s pulse roared.
“Pen.”
She grinned. “You’re an excellent father. Elliott adores you.”
His voice softened despite himself. “He’s wonderful.”
“And guess what,” she said firmly. “He told me earlier he wants a brother or sister.”
Colin blinked. “He can’t speak Pen.”
“He absolutely did,” she insisted. “In spirit.”
She lay back again, arms spread. “I think this bed agrees.”
Colin stared at her, his wife, flushed and radiant, full of love and mischief and future plans, and felt his resolve crack entirely.
He crossed the room, stopping just short of touching her.
“You are dangerous,” he said hoarsely.
She smiled up at him. “You married me anyway.”
He exhaled, desire coiled tight beneath his ribs, aching, restrained.
“Yes,” he said. “And I would again. Every time.”
Penelope, gloriously tipsy from the absinthe and champagne, leaned against him heavily, her copper-gold curls disheveled and her curvy body pressed close in her rumpled gown. Elliott was safe with his grandmothers, leaving the night entirely theirs.
She pulled back just enough to look up at him, her large blue-green eyes sparkling with mischief and unfiltered adoration.
'This is where it all started, isn't it? Little Colin Bridgerton, dreaming big dreams in this very room.' Her voice was a husky slur, laced with laughter as she kicked off her shoes.
'But tell me, hubby, seriously did you ever dream dirty thoughts of me here? Back when we were just friends, sneaking glances?'
Colin chuckled, his dark eyes darkening further with heat as he shrugged off his jacket, his broad shoulders flexing under his shirt.
He stepped closer, hands settling on her hips. 'God, Pen, you are a menace tonight”
Penelope giggled, the sound bubbling out like champagne as she swayed into him, her hands roaming up his chest. 'Mmm, I love that gorgeous mouth of yours, always saying the sluttiest things, and doing even better.'
Penelope grinned wickedly, stroking his trousers and cock with tipsy fervor. 'This impressive mast's got baby-making written all over it…long, hard, and full of Bridgerton magic. Promise you'll give me another one? I want a house full of our chaos.'
Colin groaned, pulling her closer. 'Oh, I promise, Pen. I'll pump you full until it sticks. Our kids will have your fire and my wanderlust, starting tonight.'
She nipped at his lower lip, then pulled away with a playful shove toward the bed.
'But let's make those dreams come true. Right now. In your childhood bed, with those ridiculous yellow sheets.'
She tugged at her dress, letting the fabric pool at her feet, revealing her soft, voluptuous body, full breasts heavy and inviting, hips swaying as she sauntered closer, completely unselfconscious in her drunken haze.
As she tugs at his trousers, freeing his cock: Penelope burst into giggles, her cheeks flushed as she wrapped her hand around his thick length.
'Oh, Colin, look at this cock! It's like a Bridgerton family heirloom, big, proud, and ready to claim its territory. No wonder Elliott's got your charm; Daddy knew what he was doing from the start.'
She gave it a playful squeeze, eyes wide with mock seriousness. 'But seriously, I always think, how do you walk around with this? It's a wonder you don't trip over it darling!'
Colin's breath hitched as he laughed, his gaze locking on her breasts, the way they bounced slightly with each move of hers. He was weak for them, always had been, and she knew it.
'Penelope... you're breathtaking. Those tits, full and perfect, made for my hands, my mouth.' He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her between his legs, his large palms cupping them gently at first, thumbs circling the rosy peaks until they hardened.
While lifting her boobs to tease him: She cupped her heavy breasts, jiggling them with a hiccuping laugh. 'These girls are my secret weapons, Mr Bridgerton. Soft as pillows, but deadly against your willpower. Remember when I caught you staring at the garden party when we were teens? I bet they haunted your dreams. And now? They're begging for your mouth—and maybe a little more filling for baby number two. Wouldn't our next one love nursing from these?'
Colin's voice rumbled low, thumbs teasing her nipples to peaks. 'Pen, they're perfection. Full, warm, spilling over my hands like they're made for me. I could worship them all night, sucking until you're arching and begging. And imagining them swelling for our next child? It drives me wild. I'll fill you so deep, love, we'll have that sibling for Elliott before spring.'
She arched into his touch, moaning softly, but her eyes danced with feral delight. 'You like that, don't you? They’re so heavy, so ready to swell even more for our next baby.'
She cupped her own breasts, lifting them teasingly, pressing them together as she leaned down, brushing the soft flesh against his face.
'Imagine them full of milk, Colin. You'd lose your mind sucking on them, wouldn't you? Give you a taste of what you're weak for.' Her voice was bold, flirty, a mix of seduction and humour as she giggled at his groan.
He didn't need more invitation. Colin's mouth latched onto one nipple, sucking firmly, tongue swirling as his hands gripped her ass, pulling her closer.
'Fuck, yes, love how they fill my mouth, so sweet and responsive.' He switched to the other, laving it with wet, open-mouthed kisses, his talented fingers kneading the soft globes. Penelope's head fell back, her laughter turning to breathy gasps, but she wasn't done teasing.
'Oh, Colin, your mouth is magic. But I want more. I want your fingers inside me, curling just right like only you can.' She pushed him back onto the yellow sheets, climbing over him with wobbly grace, her thighs straddling his hips. Her hands grabbing his thick cock, impressive and hard, veins pulsing under her touch.
'Look at this beauty. So thick, so perfect. I love your cock, Colin, love how it stretches me, fills me up like nothing else.' She stroked him slowly, base to tip, her thumb smearing the bead of precum, eyes locked on his with raw hunger.
'And I want it deep, pumping me full of your cum. Give me another baby, Colin. I'm feral for you, need you to fill me right here.'
He laughed, a deep, affectionate rumble, his hands sliding up her thighs to part them wider. 'My wild wife, always full of surprises. You're insatiable tonight, and I love every second.'
His fingers delved between her legs, finding her pussy slick and hot, two digits sliding in easily as he curled them against that spot that made her buck.
'So wet for me already. This tight heat, gripping my fingers like it can't get enough. And your ass, so round and grabable.' He squeezed one cheek, pulling her down so his cock nudged her entrance.
He curled his digits slowly, watching her face with dark intensity. 'Feel that? My fingers know every inch of your slick heat, but nothing beats how your pussy milks my cock. Thick and throbbing just for you, veins pulsing to breed you right. You're so tight, so ready; I'll thrust until you're overflowing with me, creating our family right here in this bed.'
Penelope rocked against his hand, giggling through her moans. 'Yes, talented fingers, gorgeous mouth, and this cock that's going to ruin me all over again. But you're mine, all mine.'
She lifted her hips, guiding him inside her with a slow, deliberate sink, both of them groaning at the stretch. 'Oh, fuck, feels so good. Thick and deep, just how I crave it.'
She started riding him, breasts bouncing with each roll of her hips, leaning forward to dangle them over his face again. 'Suck them while I fuck you, baby. Make me cum so you can fill me up.'
Colin obliged, mouth capturing a nipple as he thrust up to meet her, his hands on her hips guiding the rhythm. Laughter escaped between their gasps, hers at the way the bed creaked like it hadn't in years, his at her drunken professions.
Penelope threw her head back, laughing breathlessly as she ground down. 'God, your cock's intense too, hitting all the right spots it’s obscene how big he is inside me. But don't stop; I need it to fill me with a baby. Come on, Daddy, let's make another tiny terror just like Elliott!'
She gasped between bounces, her laughter mixing with moans. 'Faster, Colin, give me your baby! Fill me up; I can already picture her with your eyes and my curls.'
He thrust harder, chuckling huskily. 'And she'll have your laugh, love. Take every drop; I'm breeding you tonight, making our family bigger baby.'
'God, Pen, your body's a wonder. Curves that drive me mad, pussy clenching around my cock like a vice. I dreamed of this, yeah, in this room, jerking off to thoughts of you bent over this desk.' He flipped them suddenly, pinning her beneath him with gentle strength, pounding deeper. 'But now? I'm going to give you that baby. Pump you full until it takes.'
Colin's hips snapped forward, burying his cock to the hilt as he growled seductively. 'Your body's a dream, Pen, curves that grip me, boobs bouncing with every pound. I love how you take me, clenching like you never want to let go. We’ll make a baby tonight; my cum deep in you, growing our love into another life. You're mine to fill, over and over.'
She wrapped her legs around him, nails digging into his back, her laughter turning to wild cries. 'Yes, fuck me, Colin! Love you so much, you sexy man. Your shoulders, your hands, everything about you.'
Her body tensed, climax crashing over her as his fingers found her clit, rubbing in tight circles while he sucked hard on her breast. She shattered, pussy pulsing around him, pulling him over the edge.
With a guttural moan, Colin buried himself deep, cock throbbing as he came, flooding her with hot spurts. 'Take it all, love, my cum, for our next little chaos-maker.'
He collapsed beside her, both panting and laughing, bodies slick and tangled in the yellow sheets.
Penelope snuggled into his side, tracing lazy patterns on his chest. 'That was so hot, best drunken tumble ever. But I'm not done yet, hubby.' Her eyes twinkled with renewed mischief, hinting at adventures to come.
It was a couple of hours later and the last guests had left and the family had gone to bed.
Penelope sighed contentedly, her body still humming from the aftershocks of their lovemaking, but the alcohol's warmth lingered still in her veins, keeping her mind buzzing with mischief. She propped herself up on one elbow, her copper-gold curls tumbling over her bare shoulders, and grinned at Colin, who was tracing lazy circles on her hip with his thumb. The yellow sheets were tangled around their legs, a bright splash of color in the dimly lit room, Colin's old bedroom at Aubrey Hall, the Bridgerton family estate where the New Year's Eve party had unfolded in all its chaotic glory downstairs. With Elliott safely with his grandmothers' for the evening, it felt like their private playground now.
'You know, darling,' she said, her voice a slurry mix of affection and impish delight, poking his chest with a finger, 'that was brilliant, but I'm not done causing trouble yet. This house , your room, it's full of memories, and I want to make some new ones. Right now. With you.'
She sat up fully, her full breasts swaying enticingly as she reached for her discarded dress, but instead of putting it on, she tossed it aside and stood, gloriously naked, her curvy figure illuminated by the moonlight filtering through the curtains. A tipsy wobble sent her giggling into his arms again, but she pulled back, eyes sparkling. 'Come on! Let's explore. I want to see where little Colin Bridgerton dreamed of adventures... and maybe where grown-up Colin first thought about ravishing his best friend.'
Colin laughed, sitting up and catching her wrist gently, his dark eyes gleaming with that mix of adoration and renewed hunger. 'Pen, you're still three sheets to the wind. What if we wake the house? Your mother’s probably still nursing a headache from your terrace speech.'
But he was already rising, pulling on his trousers with a grin, his broad chest still bare and tempting. He loved this side of her, wild, unfiltered, professing her love in the most outrageous ways. 'Fine, lead the way, my chaotic queen. But if we get caught, it's your fault.'
She grabbed his hand, tugging him toward the door with exaggerated stealth, though her bare feet slapped against the wooden floorboards loud enough to echo. He grabbed her dress throwing it over her head loosely before she could throw the door open.
'Shh! We're ghosts, sexy, slutty ghosts haunting the halls to make more babies.' Her laughter bubbled out as they slipped into the dimly lit corridor, the house quiet save for the distant tick of a grandfather clock. Penelope darted ahead, her hips swaying with playful allure, glancing back to blow him a kiss.
'First stop: the library. I bet you hid in there, scribbling stories about far-off lands... and sneaking peeks at me during family gatherings.' She pushed open the heavy oak door, the room smelling of aged leather and polished wood, moonlight casting long shadows over the shelves.
Colin followed, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she spun in the center of the room, her voluptuous form a vision against the books.
'Guilty as charged. But those peeks turned into fantasies, your laugh echoing in here, me imagining pulling you onto that rug, kissing every inch until you begged.' His hands slid up to cup her breasts again, thumbs teasing the sensitive peaks through her dress, drawing a soft moan from her. She arched back against him, feeling his cock hardening against her ass through his trousers.
'Mmm, show me,' she whispered, turning in his arms to press her lush curves flush against his chest, her hands roaming down to squeeze him firmly.
'Your cock's already stirring again. Good boy, reliable for baby-making, just like I told Mrs Danbury.' She nipped his jaw, then pulled away with a flirtatious wink, dodging toward the desk. 'But not here. More exploring! The kitchens next, where you probably stole biscuits and dreamed of sweet things like... me.' Her voice turned husky, laced with humor as she led him out, her bare arms goosebumped in the cool night air, but the thrill kept her warm.
Down the grand staircase they went, her giggles echoing softly, one hand trailing the banister while the other clutched his for balance. In the kitchen, moonlight spilled across the marble counters, and she hopped up onto one, legs dangling, pulling him between them.
'Remember teaching me to bake here as kids? Flour everywhere, my dress ruined... now I'd let you ruin me properly.' She wrapped her legs around his waist, drawing him close for a deep, lingering kiss, her tongue dancing with his in a way that tasted of champagne and promise. 'I love you, Colin Bridgerton. Madly. Feral-ly. Let's fill this house with our chaos, and our children. Elliott needs a brother to wrestle with, or a sister to boss around.'
He groaned into the kiss, his talented fingers slipping between her thighs to find her still slick from earlier, stroking gently until she whimpered. 'God, Pen, your pussy's so responsive, wet and ready again. I love how you take me, how you'd swell with our baby, tits even fuller for me to suckle.'
But she squirmed away with a playful shove, hopping down and spinning him toward the door. 'Tease! Not yet. The gardens, wait, no, your old playroom! I want to see where you built forts and plotted world domination.'
They crept through the house like mischievous spirits, her drunken energy turning every corner into an adventure. In the playroom, dusty toys and faded maps lined the shelves, and she flopped onto an old rug, pulling him down with her.
'Here! Build me a fort of blankets, then fuck me inside it like we're kids playing house, but grown-up style.' Laughter mingled with their kisses as he obliged, draping a throw over chairs to create a makeshift tent, their bodies tangling within. She straddled him pulling her dress over her head, grinding against his hardness, her breasts brushing his chest. 'Your mouth, put it on me. Lick my nipples while I ride your fingers.'
Colin complied eagerly, his tongue swirling over one peak as two fingers delved into her heat, curling just right to make her gasp and rock.
'So beautiful, love, curves that fit me perfectly, ass I can't get enough of gripping.' She came undone quickly, her cries muffled against his shoulder, body shuddering in waves of pleasure. But true to her chaotic spree, she didn't stop there, professing her love between breaths, flirting with bold whispers about how his thick cock would feel sliding into her again, filling her with the promise of more life.
Eventually, exhausted but blissful, they made their way back to his room, the door closed behind them with a quiet, decisive click.
Colin leaned his forehead against it for half a second longer than necessary, breathing out through his nose like a man who had just survived a minor war.
Penelope, meanwhile, had made herself comfortable.
She was already halfway across the room, humming softly, shrugging out of her gown with uncoordinated determination until it slipped to the floor in a puddle of silk and scandal. She climbed onto the bed with a satisfied little sound, curling on her side amid the bright yellow sheets like a cat who had chosen her favorite sunbeam.
“Ahhh,” she sighed. “Home.”
“This,” Colin said, turning slowly, “is not our home.”
She blinked at him. “It is tonight.”
He crossed the room, sitting beside her and immediately pulling the sheet up around her shoulders, muscle memory kicking in before modesty even occurred to him.
She smiled at that. Softened.
“There he is,” she murmured. “My good man.”
He lay down beside her, propping himself on one elbow, eyes scanning her face for any sign she’d tipped from tipsy into unwell.
She was flushed, eyes bright, hair wild, but relaxed. Safe. Content.
“You all right?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, curling closer, tucking her face into the warm hollow of his neck. “Just floaty.”
He wrapped an arm around her, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles along her upper arm.
“Good,” he murmured. “Stay floaty. I’ve got you.”
She hummed again, clearly pleased, then giggled.
“Oh no.”
He stilled slightly. “What?”
“I just remembered something,” she said, laughter bubbling up in that slightly breathless way that meant trouble.
“Penelope…”
She lifted her head, peering at him with exaggerated seriousness. “Colin. Did Benedict and Eloise give me absinthe?”
He stared at her.
“You’re only remembering this now?”
Her eyes widened. “They did, didn’t they?”
“I’m gonna kill them.”
“How much?”
He winced. “Enough that Benedict is no longer allowed to pour you anything stronger than tea.”
She collapsed back onto the pillow with a groan. “Those traitors.”
He laughed softly. “You were very insistent.”
“I don’t remember insisting.”
“You insisted,” he assured her. “With confidence.”
She covered her face with both hands. “Oh God. That explains everything.”
“What, specifically, do you think it explains?” he asked carefully.
She peeked at him through her fingers. “Did I… speak without thinking?”
“Yes.”
“Did I… flirt aggressively?”
“With me,” he said. “And several inanimate objects.”
She gasped. “The bust.”
He bit his lip.
“I spoke to the bust,” she whispered.
“You thanked my father,” Colin confirmed gently, rubbing her back as her entire body curled inward in delayed horror.
“For… reasons?”
“For ‘excellent sons,’” he said delicately.
She shrieked into the pillow.
“I can’t ever face this family again.”
“You’re married into it,” he reminded her, amused. “They’re stuck with you.”
She groaned. “Did anyone laugh?”
“Agatha Danbury nearly applauded.”
She went still. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
She rolled toward him, face pressed into his chest, mortified but laughing helplessly. “Why didn’t you stop me?”
“I tried,” he said honestly. “But you were on a mission.”
She lifted her head again. “What mission?”
“To tell me,” he said softly, “exactly how much you adore me.”
Her expression shifted instantly, embarrassment melting into something tender and warm.
“Oh,” she said.
He smiled. “You were… thorough.”
She smiled too, sheepish now. “Did I say anything untrue?”
“No.”
“Anything cruel?”
“Never.”
“Anything that will haunt you?”
He considered. “Only in the sense that I may never emotionally recover from how loved you made me feel.”
Her eyes shimmered.
“That’s not fair,” she murmured. “You can’t say that right when I’m trying to be embarrassed.”
“I absolutely can,” he replied, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
She sighed, relaxing again, fingers tracing idle shapes against his chest.
“Did I talk about babies?” she asked faintly.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Yes.”
She winced. “Was I loud?”
“Only with enthusiasm.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I really do love you.”
“I noticed.”
She snuggled closer, tucking her knees against him, head beneath his chin.
“And you didn’t mind?” she asked quietly. “All of it. Me being… like that?”
He tightened his arm around her without hesitation.
“No,” he said firmly. “I minded that you might trip. Or hit your head. Or wake Elliott.”
She smiled. “But the rest?”
“The rest,” he said, voice warm and utterly sure, “is part of you. And I married all of it.”
She let out a long, contented breath.
“You’re very good at aftercare,” she murmured.
He chuckled. “I’ve had practice.”
“With me?”
“Only you.”
She tipped her head back to look at him, eyes soft, then pressed a slow, affectionate kiss to his jaw.
“I’m sobering,” she admitted. “Just enough to know I was ridiculous.”
“You were magnificent,” he corrected.
“I announced population growth plans.”
“You did.”
She sighed. “I will enact my revenge on Benedict and Eloise tomorrow… may the odds be in their favour.”
He laughed, pulling her closer as the room finally settled into quiet, the house asleep, the party long over, the yellow sheets glowing softly around them as they lay tangled together, safe, adored, and utterly at ease.
Penelope shifted, tilting her head to look up at him, eyes still bright despite the haze. “Happy New Year, Colin.”
His expression softened instantly. He brushed his thumb along her cheek, forehead resting against hers. “Happy New Year, love.”
She smiled, slow and content. “I think it’s going to be a good one.”
He kissed her hair, holding her just a little tighter as the first moments of the year stretched quietly around them. “I know it will be.”