His skin went white. "How?"
Penelope sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "It's my fault," she whispered.
He handed her a handkerchief without ever taking his eyes off of her face. "It's not your fault," he said sharply.
Her lips slid into a sad smile. She knew that his harsh tone was meant for Cressida, but she deserved it as well. "No," she said, her voice laced with resignation, "it is. It happened exactly as you said it would. I wasn't paying attention to what I wrote. I slipped up."
"What did you do?" he asked.
She told him everything, starting with Cressida's entrance and ending with her demands for money. She confessed that
her poor choice of words was going to be her ruin, but wasn't it ironic, because it really did feel like her heart was breaking. But the whole time she spoke, she felt him slipping away. He was listening to her, but he wasn't there with her. His eyes took on a strange, faraway look, and yet they were narrowed, intense.
He was plotting something. She was sure of it.
It terrified her.
And thrilled her.
Whatever he was planning, whatever he was thinking, it was all for her. She hated that it had been her stupidity that had
forced him into this dilemma, but she couldn't stem the tingle of excitement that swept across her skin as she watched him.
"Colin?" she asked hesitantly. She'd been done speaking for a full minute, and still he hadn't said anything.
"I'll take care of everything," he said. "I don't want you to worry about a thing."
"I assure you that that is impossible," she said with shaking voice.
"I take my wedding vows quite seriously," he replied, his tone almost frighteningly even. "I believe I promised to honor
and keep you."
"Let me help you," she said impulsively. "Together we can solve this."
One corner of his mouth lifted into a hint of a smile. "Have you a solution?"
She shook her head. "No. I've been thinking all day, and I don't know ... although ..."
"Although what?" he asked, his brows rising.
Her lips parted, then pursed, then parted again as she said, "What if I enlisted the aid of Lady Danbury?"
"You're planning to ask her to pay off Cressida?"
"No," she said, even though the tone of his voice told her that his had not been a serious question. "I'm going to ask her
to be me."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Everyone thinks she's Lady Whistledown, anyway," Penelope explained. "At least, quite a lot of people do. If she were
to make an announcement—"
"Cressida would refute it instantly," Colin interrupted.
"Who would believe Cressida over Lady Danbury?" Penelope turned to him with wide, earnest eyes. "I wouldn't dare cross Lady Danbury in any matter. If she were to say she was Lady Whistledown, I'd probably believe her myself."
"What makes you think you can convince Lady Danbury to lie for you?"
"Well," Penelope replied, chewing on her lower lip, "she likes me."
"She likes you?" Colin echoed.
"She does, rather. I think she might like to help me, especially since she detests Cressida almost as much as I do."
"You think her fondness for you will lead her to lie to the entire ton?" he asked doubtfully.
She sagged in her seat. "It's worth asking."
He stood, his movements abrupt, and walked to the window. "Promise me you won't go to her."
"But—"
"Promise me."
"I promise," she said, "but—"
"No buts," he said. "If we need to, we'll contact Lady Danbury, but not until I have a chance to think of something else." He raked his hand through his hair. "There must be something else."
"We have a week," she said softly, but she didn't find her words reassuring, and it was difficult to imagine that Colin did, either.
He turned around, his about-face so precise he might have been in the military. "I'll be back," he said, heading for the door.
"But where are you going?" Penelope cried out, jumping to her feet.
"I have to think," he said, pausing with his hand on the doorknob.
"You can't think here with me?" she whispered.
His face softened, and he crossed back to her side. He murmured her name, tenderly taking her face in his hands. "I love you," he said, his voice low and fervent. "I love you with everything I am, everything I've been, and everything I hope to be."
"Colin..."
"I love you with my past, and I love you for my future." He bent forward and kissed her, once, softly, on the lips. "I love you for the children we'll have and for the years we'll have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles."
Penelope sagged against the back of a nearby chair.
"I love you," he repeated. "You know that, don't you?"
She nodded, closing her eyes as her cheeks rubbed against his hands.
"I have things to do," he said, "and I won't be able to concentrate if I'm thinking about you, worrying if you're crying,
wondering if you're hurt."
"I'm fine," she whispered. "I'm fine now that I've told you."
"I will make this right," he vowed. "I just need you to trust me."
She opened her eyes. "With my life."
He smiled, and suddenly she knew that his words were true. Everything would be all right. Maybe not today and maybe not tomorrow, but soon. Tragedy couldn't coexist in a world with one of Colin's smiles.
"I don't think it will come to that," he said fondly, giving her cheek one affectionate stroke before returning his arms to his sides. He walked back to the door, turning the moment his hand touched the knob. "Don't forget about my sister's party tonight."
Penelope let out a short groan. "Do we have to? The last thing I want to do is go out in public."
"We have to," Colin said. "Daphne doesn't host balls very often, and she'd be crushed if we did not attend."
"I know," Penelope said with a sigh. "I know. I knew it even as I complained. I'm sorry."
He smiled wryly. "It's all right. You're entitled to a bit of a bad mood today."
"Yes," she said, trying to return the smile. "I am, aren't I?"
"I'll be back later," he promised.
"Where are you—" she started to ask, then caught herself. He obviously didn't want questions just then, even from her.
But to her surprise, he answered, "To see my brother."
"Anthony?"
"Yes."
She nodded encouragingly, murmuring, "Go. I will be fine." The Bridgertons had always found strength in other Bridgertons. If Colin felt he needed his brother's counsel, then he should go without delay.
"Don't forget to prepare for Daphne's ball," he reminded her.
She gave him a halfhearted salute and watched as he left the room.
Then she moved to the window to watch him walk by, but he never appeared. He must have headed straight out the back to the mews. She sighed, allowing her bottom to rest against the windowsill for support. She hadn't realized just how much she'd wanted to catch one last glimpse of him.
She wished she knew what he was planning.
She wished she could be sure he even had a plan.
But at the same time, she felt oddly at ease. Colin would make this right. He'd said he would, and he never lied.
She knew that her idea to enlist the aid of Lady Danbury wasn't a perfect solution, but unless Colin came up with a better idea, what else could they do?
For now, she would try to push it all from her mind. She was so weary, and so very tired, and right now what she needed was to close her eyes and think of nothing but the green of her husband's eyes, the shining light of his smile.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would help Colin solve their problems.
Today she would rest. She would take a nap and pray for sleep and try to figure out how she wou
ld face all of society this evening, knowing that Cressida would be there, watching and waiting for her to make a false move.
One would think that after nearly a dozen years of pretending she was nothing more than the wallflowerish Penelope Featherington, she'd be used to playing roles and hiding her true self.
But that was when her secret had been safe. Everything was different now.
Penelope curled up on the sofa and closed her eyes.
Everything was different now, but that didn't mean that it had to be worse, did it?
Everything would be fine. It would. It had to. Didn't it?
* * *
Colin was starting to regret his decision to take a carriage over to his brother's house.