"Here," he said, pushing open a door.
To Penelope's amazement, she found herself on a small balcony, overlooking the entire ballroom. "Oh. Dear. God," she gulped, trying to yank him back into the darkened room behind them. No one had seen them yet; they could still make their escape.
'Tsk tsk," he scolded. "Bravery, my sweet."
"Couldn't you post something in the paper?" she whispered urgently. "Or just tell someone and allow the rumor to spread?'
"There's nothing like a grand gesture to get the point across."
She swallowed convulsively. As gestures went, this was going to be grand. "I'm not very good at being the center of
attention," she said, trying to remember how to breathe in a normal rhythm.
He squeezed her hand. "Don't worry. I am." He looked out over the crowd until his eyes found those of their host, his brother-in-law, the Duke of Hastings. At Colin's nod, the duke began to move toward the orchestra.
"Simon knows?" Penelope gasped.
"I told him when I arrived," Colin murmured absently. "How do you think I knew how to find the room with the balcony?"
And then the most remarkable thing happened. A veritable fleet of footmen appeared as if from nowhere and began handing tall flutes of champagne to every guest.
"Here's ours," Colin said approvingly, picking up two glasses that were waiting in the corner. "Just as I asked."
Penelope took hers silently, still unable to comprehend all that was unfolding around her.
"It's probably a little flat by now," Colin said in a conspiratorial sort of whisper that she knew was meant to set her at ease. "But it's the best I could do under the circumstances."
As Penelope clutched Colin's hand in terror, she watched helplessly as Simon quieted the orchestra and directed the
throng of party goers to turn their attention to his brother and sister on the balcony.
His brother and sister, she thought in wonder. The Bridgertons really did inspire a bond. She never thought she'd see the day when a duke referred to her as his sister.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Colin announced, his strong, confident voice booming throughout the hall, "I would like to propose a toast to the most remarkable woman in the world."
A low murmur spread across the room, and Penelope stood frozen, watching everyone watching her.
"I am a newlywed," Colin continued, beguiling the party-goers with his lopsided smile, "and therefore you are all required to indulge me in my lovesick ways."
Friendly laughter rippled through the crowd.
"I know that many of you were surprised when I asked Penelope Featherington to be my wife. I was surprised myself."
A few unkind titters wafted through the air, but Penelope held herself perfectly still, completely proud. Colin would say the right thing. She knew he would. Colin always said the right thing.
"I wasn't surprised that I had fallen in love with her," he said pointedly, giving the crowd a look that dared them to comment, "but rather that it had taken so long. . "I've known her for so many years, you see," he continued, his voice softening, "and somehow I'd never taken the time to look inside, to see the beautiful, brilliant, witty woman she'd become."
Penelope could feel the tears trickling down her face, but she couldn't move. She could barely breathe. She had expected him to reveal her secret, and instead he was giving her this incredible gift, this spectacular declaration of love.
"Therefore," Colin said, "with all of you here as my witnesses, I would like to say—Penelope—" He turned to her, taking her free hand in his, and said:
"I love you. I adore you. I worship the ground you walk upon."
He turned back out to the crowd, lifted his glass, and said, "To my wife!"
'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 glass, 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 passionate 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 pass, 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 Basset, 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 Lon
don, 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 assured 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.