She had a point there, loath as Colin was to admit it. In his mind, this had all played out with Eloise somehow being aware that she was the only person who didn’t know the secret of Lady Whistledown’s identity.
Which was ridiculous to be sure, but still, a satisfying daydream.
“Hmmmm,” he said.
Penelope looked at him suspiciously. “What are you thinking?”
“Are you certain we cannot tell her on her wedding day?”
“Colin . . .”
“Because if we don’t, she’s sure to find out from someone, and it doesn’t seem fair that we not be present to see her face.”
“Colin, no.”
“After all you’ve been through, wouldn’t you say you deserve to see her reaction?”
“No,” Penelope said slowly. “No. No, I wouldn’t.”
“Oh, you sell yourself too cheaply, my darling,” he said, smiling benevolently at her. “And besides that, think of Eloise.”
“I fail to see what else it is I have been doing all morning.”
He shook his head. “She would be devastated. Hearing the awful truth from a complete stranger.”
“It’s not awful,” Penelope shot back, “and how do you know it would be a stranger?”
“We’ve sworn my entire family to secrecy. Who else does she know out in this godforsaken county?”
“I rather like Gloucestershire,” Penelope said, her teeth now charmingly clenched. “I find it delightful.”
“Yes,” he said equably, taking in her furrowed brow, pinched mouth, and narrowed eyes. “You look delighted.”
“Weren’t you the one who insisted we keep her in the dark for as long as humanly possible?”
“Humanly possible being the phrase of note,” Colin replied. “This human”—he gestured rather unnecessarily to himself—“finding it quite impossible to maintain his silence.”
“I can’t believe you’ve changed your mind.”
He shrugged. “Isn’t it a man’s prerogative?”
At that her lips parted, and Colin found himself wishing he’d found a corner as private as it was quiet, because she was practically begging to be kissed, whether she knew it or not.
But he was a patient man, and they did still have that comfortable room reserved at the inn, and there was still much mischief to be made right here at the wedding. “Oh, Penelope,” he said huskily, leaning in more than was proper, even with one’s wife, “don’t you want to have some fun?”
She flushed scarlet. “Not here.”
He laughed aloud at that.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” she muttered.
“Neither was I, as a matter of fact,” he returned, completely unable to keep the humor off his face, “but I am pleased that it comes to mind so readily.” He pretended to glance about the room. “When do you think it would be polite to leave?”
“Definitely not yet.”
He pretended to ponder. “Mmmm, yes, you’re probably correct at that. Pity. But”—at that he pretended to brighten—“it does leave us time to make mischief.”
Again, she was speechless. He liked that. “Shall we?” he murmured.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you.”
“We need to work on this,” he said, giving his head a shake. “I’m not sure you fully understand the mechanics of a yes-or-no question.”
“I think you should sit down,” she said, her eyes now taking on that glint of cautious exhaustion usually reserved for small children.
Or adult fools.
“And then,” she continued, “I think you should remain in your seat.”
“Indefinitely?”
“Yes.”
Just to torture her, he sat. And then—
“Nooooo, I think I’d rather make mischief.”
Back to his feet he was, and striding off to find Eloise before Penelope could even attempt to lunge for him.
“Colin, don’t!” she called out, her voice echoing off the walls of the reception room. She managed to yell—of course—at the precise moment when every other wedding guest paused to take a breath.
A roomful of Bridgertons. What were the odds?
Penelope jammed a smile on her face as she watched two dozen heads swivel in her direction. “Nothing about it,” she said, her voice coming out strangled and chirpy. “So sorry to disturb.”
And apparently Colin’s family was well used to his embarking on something requiring the rejoinder “Colin, don’t!” because they all resumed their conversations with barely another glance in her direction.
Except Hyacinth.
“Oh, blast,” Penelope muttered under her breath, and she raced forward.
But Hyacinth was quick. “What’s going on?” she asked, falling into stride beside Penelope with remarkable agility.
“Nothing,” Penelope replied, because the last thing she wanted was Hyacinth adding to the disaster.
“He’s going to tell her, isn’t he?” Hyacinth persisted, let out an “Euf ” and an “Excuse me,” when she pushed past one of her brothers.
“No,” Penelope said firmly, darting around Daphne’s children, “he’s not.”
“He is.”
Penelope actually stopped for a moment and turned. “Do any of you ever listen to anyone?”
“Not me,” Hyacinth said cheerfully.
Penelope shook her head and moved forward, Hyacinth hot on her heels. When she reached Colin, he was standing next to the newlyweds and had his arms linked through Eloise’s and was smiling down at her as if he had never once considered:
a.Teaching her to swim by tossing her in a lake.
b.Cutting off three inches of her hair while she slept.
or
c.Tying her to a tree so that she did not follow him to a local public inn.
Which of course he had, all three of them, and two he’d actually done. (Even Colin wouldn’t have dared something so permanent as a shearing.)
“Eloise,” Penelope said, somewhat breathless from trying to shake off Hyacinth.
“Penelope.” But Eloise’s voice sounded curious. Which did not surprise Penelope; Eloise was no fool, and she was well aware that her brother’s normal modes of behavior did not include beatific smiles in her direction.
“Eloise,” Hyacinth said, for no reason Penelope could deduce.
“Hyacinth.”
Penelope turned to her husband. “Colin.”
He looked amused. “Penelope. Hyacinth.”
Hyacinth grinned. “Colin.” And then: “Sir Phillip.”
“Ladies.” Sir Phillip, it seemed, favored brevity.
“Stop!” Eloise burst out. “What is going on?”
“A recitation of our Christian names, apparently,” Hyacinth said.
“Penelope has something to say to you,” Colin said.
“I don’t.”
“She does.”
“I do,” Penelope said, thinking quickly. She rushed forward, taking Eloise’s hands in her own. “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”
“That’s what you needed to say?” Eloise asked.
“Yes.”
“No.”
And from Hyacinth: “I am enjoying myself immensely.”
“Er, it’s very kind of you to say so,” Sir Phillip said, looking a bit perplexed at her sudden need to compliment the host. Penelope closed her eyes for a brief moment and let out a weary sigh; she was going to need to take the poor man aside and instruct him on the finer points of marrying into the Bridgerton family.
And because she did know her new relations so well, and she knew that there was no way she was going to avoid revealing her secret, she turned to Eloise and said, “Might I have a moment alone?”
“With me?”
It was enough to make Penelope wish to strangle someone. Anyone. “Yes,” she said patiently, “with you.”
“And me,” Colin put in.
“And me,” Hyacinth added.
“Not you,” Pene
lope said, not bothering to look at her.