Chapter Text
At the break of dawn, a soft golden light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the dishevelled bed. Penelope stirred, her body aching. She stretched languidly, biting her lip as she felt the pleasant soreness in places she hadn’t known could feel so alive. As she sat up, the cool air brushed her skin, and she realised just how thirsty she was. Reaching for the glass of water on the nightstand, she sipped quietly, her eyes drifting to her husband still sleeping beside her.
She slipped out from the bed, careful not to wake Colin, and pulled on her silken, flowing nightrobe – the very one she often wore when writing her Whistledown column in the late hours of night – the fabric cool and smooth against her skin. She meandered over to the adjoining sitting room, unable to keep the smile from her face. Glancing at her reflection in the vanity mirror, she winced at the state of her hair – a wild mess of curls and knots. She grabbed her brush and worked it through the tangles, her thoughts wandering aimlessly until she found herself seated at the writing desk.
Taking a deep breath, Penelope pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, her quill poised over the page. She wanted to write something – though what, she had no idea, for there was no mystery or anonymity with Lady Whistledown anymore. But the need to write was as much a part of her as breathing.
So, her hand began to move across the page, the words flowing effortlessly:
Dearest Gentle Reader,
I find myself suddenly at a loss for words. My reticence is not due to a desire to protect any risqué couplings, though I have heard whispers of a few. My restraint comes from a place of joy. To all those who feel they have been wronged by this humble writer, my sincerest apologies. I wish you only the best.
It is time now to look toward the future, whatever it may bring. This author knows better than to make any predictions about what the future may hold. But with every closing chapter, the story is sure to grow richer and deeper.
It has been quite a journey we have taken together. And so it is with the heaviest heart that I write this final, unbelievably short sentence as Lady Whistledown: Goodbye.
She blinked, feeling somewhat stunned. She knew it was not goodbye forever. But still – it was the end of an era, and she couldn’t help feeling rather emotional about it. Change – even a positive one – was always rather bittersweet, after all.
Exhaling shakily, Penelope then stood and turned towards the bed. Colin lay sprawled out, his leg partially exposed beneath the rumpled blanket, his bare chest rising and falling steadily. His hair was a delightful mess, and his skin glistened faintly from their earlier exertions. He looked utterly undone, as though the night had been as exhilarating and exhausting for him as it had been for her. Penelope’s gaze lingered, a blush creeping up her neck. He looked utterly dishevelled – and completely irresistible.
Watching him sleep, her lips curled into a mischievous smile as an idea began to form in her mind.
Biting her lip, Penelope walked over to him and leaned down, unable to resist the pull to touch him. She kissed him softly, first on the corner of his mouth, then on his cheek, letting her lips linger just enough to wake him.
Colin stirred, his lips curving into a lazy smile even before he opened his eyes, as he felt her fingers stroke his bare chest. The way she caressed his skin and kissed him so slowly, so tantalisingly, was the sweetest thing. It filled him with a desire unlike anything he had ever experienced before. When he saw the longing in her gaze, he raised his eyebrows, smirking.
‘Again?’ he murmured, his voice thick with sleep but laced with amusement as his gaze swept over her robe, clearly appreciating the way the silk clung to her figure.
Penelope leaned closer, her breath brushing his ear. ‘I want to try something,’ she whispered, a mischievous glint in her eye.
Colin’s smile widened, his expression both intrigued and utterly besotted. ‘Well,’ he said, his hands reaching for her waist. ‘We do have lost time to make up for.’
Penelope swallowed, feeling a little nervous but also determined. A few weeks ago, she had overheard Philippa giving Prudence advice on how to avoid flattening one’s hair during the marital act; Penelope wanted to try it out for herself.
Emboldened, Penelope slowly climbed onto the bed, her knees settling on either side of Colin’s hips as he lay back against the pillows. The ardent smirk on his face mirrored the one he had worn during that magical carriage ride when she had first stroked his hair. This time, however, she held the reins, and he didn’t seem afraid or hesitant for her to take the lead and guide him, which only made her more aroused. Her confidence soared under his smouldering gaze, his wonder and admiration giving her all the encouragement she needed.
She continued to straddle him, her movements deliberate and confident, her eyes locked with his. Her hands roamed over Colin’s shoulders and neck, memorising the planes and curves of his body as if committing them to memory. She ran her hands slowly down his bare chest and taut muscles, savouring the feel of his smooth skin and chest hair beneath her fingertips, and she lingered teasingly at his nipples before trailing lower. A small smirk appeared on her face as she watched him, dishevelled and sweaty from their night’s activities, gazing at her hands before gazing back up at her face, completely awestruck.
Colin could only stare at her, utterly captivated, his gaze flicking between her face, the curve of her body, and the wedding ring glinting on her finger. His heart swelled with emotion as he realised that he would see that ring on her finger for the rest of their lives. She was his. Forever.
Penelope then pressed her hand firmly onto his chest and leaned up; Colin gripped her thighs as, with a slow, deliberate motion, she lowered herself onto him.
He watched in awe as she sank down onto him, and they both breathed heavily in awe as their bodies melded together. Colin exhaled sharply and leaned forward, his hands instinctively gripping her hips to steady her. His brows furrowed, his mouth falling open in a deep groan as he surrendered completely to her. His hands ran over her thighs, guiding her as they moved together – not that she needed any guidance at all. She knew exactly what she was doing, and exactly what she wanted.
Penelope’s back arched and she threw her head back as she moaned softly, relishing the feeling. She took her time, savouring the way his muscles tensed beneath her and the desperate way he clung to her.
Colin’s thighs clenched as his hands continued to run over her calf and robe, overcome. He loved the way she was touching him, the way she moved on top of him. She was so beautiful. She was starlight and sunshine in one. She was a goddess. And she was the best part of his life.
Moaning again, Penelope then leaned down and pulled Colin up towards her, almost desperately; he sat up at once and she captured his lips in a deep, voluptuous kiss, her tongue intertwining with his as she ran her fingers along his neck and through his ruffled hair. Colin responded by lifting her slightly, their movements seamless as they found a rhythm that belonged to them alone.
‘Pen,’ he murmured against her mouth, his voice raw with need as his hands ran over her thighs to hold her even closer, gathering the silk of her robe in his fists.
His gaze dropped to her hand as it moved to undo the sash of her silky robe. As she slowly untied it, exposing her bare chest to Colin’s hungry gaze, and let it slip slowly from her shoulders, Colin groaned appreciatively. She laughed, the sound dissolving into a gasp as he tugged her robe down further, exposing her bare shoulders. His lips found the delicate curve of his favourite shoulder, the one he loved to kiss, and she untied the robe completely, letting it fall away. Colin groaned as his hands reverently cupped her breasts, his mouth pressing kisses along the soft valley between them.
His nose and lips lingered between her breasts, his kisses growing hungrier. ‘And what would Lady Whistledown write about this?’ he teased, his voice muffled against her skin.
Penelope laughed, a sound that melted into his kisses as she continued to move on top of him. ‘Perhaps you would like me to write about it?’
‘Perhaps I would,’ he murmured, his voice low and teasing as he pressed her tighter to him. ‘But not right now.’
With a groan, he pulled her even closer, his hands steadying her as their bodies moved together in perfect harmony. They fell into each other once more, their laughter mingling with their moans as they gave in to the blissful rhythm of their love. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they gave themselves fully to the moment, their love free and uninhibited, their hearts finally at peace.
Their bodies entwined in the flickering candlelight, and when they finally collapsed into each other’s arms, breathless and spent, Penelope and Colin lay back onto the bed and held each other close. They lay intertwined in the afterglow, their breathing slowed, their hearts beating in unison.
As the rays of sunlight painted their entwined forms in golden hues, Colin tightened his arms around Penelope and pressed a kiss to her temple. With the world quiet and his wife cradled against his chest, he closed his eyes, finally at peace as the sun kissed the horizon.
Their bodies curled together, and as the sun continued to rise, Penelope and Colin surrendered once more to the comfort of sleep.
***
Minutes turned to hours as the newlyweds lay there together, snuggled in each other’s arms. Colin dozed in and out of sleep, unable to stop gazing at Penelope and how glorious she was, her skin glowing in the pink and orange light of the morning sky shining in through the window. He had a radiant beam on his face as he took it all in, and let himself truly feel this moment in his soul. All was well again with the love of his life – could he really ask for much better than that?
Penelope woke up a few hours later, the midday sun filtering through the curtains and casting warm shadows over the rumpled bedclothes and the tangle of limbs beneath them. For a fleeting, heart-clenching moment, she feared she had woken alone again, and her hand instinctively reached out. The bed beside her was warm, the faint scent of Colin lingering, and she relaxed as her fingers brushed against the tousled strands of his dark hair spread across the pillow. Relief washed over her, followed by a rush of warmth that made her heart ache with its intensity. He was still there. He always would be. And for all that she was – Lady Whistledown, Penelope Bridgerton, a woman with flaws and secrets and dreams – he loved her.
She turned her head to study him, marvelling at how peaceful he looked, his features softened in sleep. For so long, she had doubted she could ever have this – this sense of being wholly loved and accepted for all that she was. Yet here she was, cradled in it.
A smile curved her lips as Colin shifted, his eyes opening to meet hers, heavy with sleep but bright with affection. ‘Good morning,’ he murmured, his voice still husky.
‘Good morning. Although, ‘good afternoon’ might actually be more appropriate,’ Penelope replied, her hand brushing his cheek, and they both chuckled.
They lay there for a time, wrapped in the golden glow of the new day, laughter spilling between them as naturally as breathing. Gone were the days when Penelope shyly covered herself; she felt no need for such barriers anymore, and her arms rested comfortably as Colin’s eyes roved over her naked body with a blend of reverence and delight. He teased her with soft words, playful kisses and tickles until they both dissolved into giggles, their joy bubbling over like an unstoppable fountain.
But then their moment of bliss was interrupted when Penelope’s stomach twisted without warning. Her face paled, and she scrambled from the bed, making it to the basin just in time. Colin was at her side in an instant, holding her hair back and murmuring soothing words as she emptied her stomach, even as she waved him away, mortified.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said weakly, straightening up and dabbing at her mouth with a handkerchief. ‘I must have caught something.’
‘You’re apologising to me? You are the one suffering,’ Colin said with a concerned frown, guiding her back to bed and passing her a glass of water. ‘Lie down and rest.’
Penelope complied, though her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘Oh, Colin, you might have caught this. If you start feeling ill, you must tell me.’
‘Nonsense,’ Colin replied firmly, sitting down on the bed beside her. ‘If I did, it would be worth it. Do not worry about me.’
He smiled softly at her for a moment, his hand stroking her cheek, then, once she was settled, he crossed the room to his desk and returned holding his journal in one hand and a stack of papers in the other. He sat back down on the bed and placed the papers down at her lap.
‘I thought this might cheer you up,’ he said softly. ‘You asked if you could read more one day. Well, this is the first chapter of my manuscript – adapted from my journal, just like I had told you about. I would very much value your opinion. Your honest opinion.’
Penelope’s eyes widened as she took the pages, her hands trembling slightly. ‘Colin…you truly want me to read it?’ she murmured.
Colin’s smile was bashful, but his gaze was steady. ‘I do,’ he said firmly.
So, Penelope flipped through the pages, her eyes skimming his familiar scrawl, while Colin sat by her side stroking her hair. Her lips curled into a smile, then widened into a full grin. By the time she reached the end of the first chapter, she was positively glowing.
‘Oh, Colin, this is wonderful!’ she gushed. ‘It is so insightful! And clever, funny, and full of heart. It’s you.’
Colin’s cheeks reddened, and he grinned back. ‘You really think so?’
‘I know so,’ Penelope said fervently.
Emboldened by her praise, Colin nodded and then handed her his journal. ‘There are some chapters later on that I am…struggling with,’ he said, his brow furrowing slightly. ‘Knowing which parts to keep and which to remove. Would you…would you perhaps help me with that at some point? Only if you wanted to, that is.’
Penelope felt as if she might cry. ‘Colin, there is nothing I would love more,’ she said earnestly, her eyes brimming. ‘If you truly mean it.’
‘I do,’ Colin said, his expression softening. ‘There is no one else I would trust with this.’
Penelope squeezed his hand, overwhelmed, then turned back to his manuscript pages. The fact that Colin would willingly do this meant nothing less than his complete trust in her, and that fact alone was glorious. As she read some more, her smile grew, her eyes lighting up with pride and wonder.
‘Colin,’ she said, her voice thick with emotion, ‘this is incredible. You truly have such a way with words.’
His cheeks coloured, but he didn’t look away. ‘Well, if I do, that is because of you. You have always seen more in me than I have seen in myself. And I suppose I must have picked up a few writing tips from your letters and Whistledown columns along the way.’
Penelope tilted her head at him, a fond smile on her face. ‘You are wrong,’ she said, clutching the pages to her chest. ‘You were always this brilliant, all by yourself. I just had the good fortune to notice first.’
Colin chuckled, and knew in that moment that their connection was unbreakable, for they had become an open book to one another. He had felt so protective and even embarrassed about his writing, and then determined that he had to write in order to impress her. But now…he felt more than comfortable in laying bare his work for her and asking for her honest critiques and edits. Accepting her help did not lessen his accomplishments, after all. It simply meant that they were a team, each one striving to make the other better, more complete.
If happiness was a tangible thing, it would be Colin and Penelope, that alone was clear.
What a joy it was, to see smiles on each other’s faces once more. The ice between them had melted, and it already felt like it had been years ago since their…strained period. The sun had come out again, and everything was once again all right between them. No, not just all right – wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.
***
The next few days were a whirlwind of emotions and family gatherings. Colin and Penelope had hoped for a few moments of quiet, just the two of them, to recalibrate after the storm of gossip and stares that now followed them wherever they went. But Violet had other plans, insisting they join the family in the days leading up to Francesca and John’s departure for Scotland. The new husband and wife wished to live at John’s estate there, away from the hustle, bustle and noise of London society, and – much to everyone’s surprise – Eloise had chosen to accompany them for a while, for a much-needed change of scenery.
One crisp morning found Penelope and Colin at Bridgerton House with the family. The drawing room buzzed with energy, as it often did when everyone was gathered together. Penelope, seated next to Colin, felt the warmth of his presence and the occasional brush of his fingers against hers – a quiet reassurance amidst the whirlwind of activity. It had been only a few days since her announcement as Lady Whistledown, but the weight of secrecy already felt like a distant memory. Now, all she wanted was a reprieve with her husband.
‘You will have plenty of time to yourselves later,’ Violet had insisted to them both that morning, to which Penelope and Colin had no argument.
Not long after they had arrived for tea and cake, Francesca took Penelope to the side of the room, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. ‘Penelope, could I ask you something please?’ she said, sounding rather nervous.
‘Of course,’ Penelope said warmly, curious.
Francesca’s normally composed demeanour was replaced by visible nerves as she fidgeted with her hands. ‘I know this is terribly improper to ask,’ she began, her cheeks flushing, ‘but…about marriage. About…the marital act. John and I have not yet…he knows I am nervous and so we are taking things…slow. He is being very kind and patient. And I-I just want to know if it’s…’ She trailed off, her face flushing crimson.
Penelope swallowed hard. Discussing such a topic with Colin’s sister felt mortifying. But Francesca’s vulnerability melted her hesitation, and she smiled sympathetically at her.
‘Well…I can only speak from my own experience – and because my husband happens to be your brother, that is why I will not go into detail,’ Penelope said, her face burning. ‘But…the marital act is the most joyous, wonderful, intimate thing in the world. Especially when you trust your husband. When it is with someone you love, it is…perfect.’
Francesca’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and she gave Penelope a tentative smile. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, blushing slightly as she looked over at John stood by the fireplace with her siblings. ‘That helps more than you know.’
‘Of course,’ Penelope said, smiling as she brushed Francesca’s arm.
It felt strange, to be the one doing the reassuring and educating on matters of romance. But it was a very nice strange.
The family’s collective attention was soon diverted by the arrival of John the footman, who was holding a letter addressed to the entire Bridgerton family. Violet opened it eagerly, her face lighting up as she read the tidy handwriting aloud.
‘Daphne has given birth to a girl!’ she exclaimed, and everyone gasped. ‘Both mother and child are doing splendidly.’
‘Oh, how wonderful!’ Hyacinth gushed.
Cheers erupted around the room, and plans were immediately made to visit their new family member in Clyvedon after the season concluded in a few days’ time. The joy was bittersweet, however, as not everyone was present to celebrate with them all; they would not be able to make contact with Anthony and Kate for some time, given the length of the voyage to India.
‘But wherever they are,’ Violet said, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, ‘as long as they are together, they shall be just fine.’
Truer words had never been spoken; everyone present knew that, as long as Anthony and Kate were with each other, all was well with the world.
Later that evening, a new face joined the bustling household: Michaela Stirling, John’s striking cousin, who, it transpired, was planning to accompany Francesca, John, and Eloise to the estate in Scotland. Michaela commanded attention with her confident, flirtatious smile and poised charm. Her rich brown skin seemed to glow under the warm candlelight, and her wit was as sharp as her beauty. She immediately put everyone at ease, seamlessly weaving into the Bridgerton dynamic.
‘It is so wonderful to meet you all,’ Michaela said graciously. ‘I have heard plentiful stories of the chaos and charm in this family.’
‘Perhaps you shall fit right in,’ Colin remarked, earning a chuckle from Michaela and the others.
‘Oh, I shall certainly endeavour to do so,’ Michaela said with a playful flicker of her eyebrows, and she tilted her head over at Francesca. ‘I am afraid you might grow rather tired being stuck with me in Scotland.’
Francesca chuckled awkwardly, not really knowing how to respond. Michaela’s smiling lips parted as she watched her, looking both endeared and a little intrigued.
Eloise couldn’t seem to contain her excitement about their upcoming trip. ‘I truly cannot wait to leave. No offence to you all,’ she declared cheerfully. ‘But it will be a refreshing change of pace. I expect everyone to write to me regularly.’
‘Oh, of course we will,’ Violet promised.
A chorus of agreements followed, making Colin scowl jokingly. ‘Oh, so she gets letters, does she? I did not see anyone rushing to correspond with me when I was away.’
‘You did not even give us your address half the time,’ Benedict quipped, drawing laughter.
Colin rolled his eyes and shrugged, smirking; he couldn’t argue with that.
Later during their evening meal, Penelope found herself at the centre of attention as the family, and Michaela, asked all about her Lady Whistledown origins and career. They erupted into animated discussion about the column’s mentions of their exploits over the years; Penelope hesitated to engage at first, but Colin squeezed her hand under the table, silently encouraging her. So, she recounted the early days of her writing, the thrill and terror of being an unnoticed observer of the ton, and how she had navigated publishing her columns in secret.
The family exchanged looks and chuckles throughout her story, recalling all the times Whistledown had targeted – or saved – them.
Michaela leaned back, an incredulous expression on her face. ‘Wait,’ she said, sweeping her gaze around the room before landing pointedly on Eloise and Colin. ‘She rescued you time and again, and still you saw fit to be aggrieved with her?’
Eloise grimaced awkwardly.
Colin cracked a grin, shaking his head. ‘You do have a point,’ he admitted, glancing at Penelope beside him; she smirked and winked at him.
The room fell silent for a moment before a chorus of awkward chuckles rang around the dining table.
Michaela grinned, shaking her head. ‘Well, if Penelope were not already family, I would adopt her myself,’ she said, and Penelope’s heart swelled with gratitude as Michaela raised her a glass. ‘To Lady Whistledown, then. The saviour of scandal – and quite possibly my new favourite person.’
The toast was met with cheers, and by the end of the evening, Michaela was firmly entrenched in the Bridgerton fold, her quick wit and candid observations earning her nods of approval from even Violet.
As the candles burned low, Penelope leaned against Colin’s shoulder, smiling to herself. Chaos it may have been to get here, but in this family, she had finally found her place.
***
Time passed, though the days following Penelope’s dramatic announcement that she was Lady Whistledown were anything but simple. Though she had expected some turbulence, she had been naïve to hope that a single speech at the Dankworth-Finch Ball, coupled with the Queen’s gracious smile of approval, would smooth her path entirely. It turned out that the ton was not so easily appeased, and everyone’s reactions ranged from icy disdain to reluctant admiration.
Scornful looks trailed her at every turn. Women whispered behind their fans and men muttered under their breath, their words following her like shadows. Penelope felt the weight of their stares, and she was forced to acknowledge the truth – there was hardly a soul in London untouched by the sharp pen of Lady Whistledown. Penelope knew that her words had caused pain as much as they had brought entertainment, and now, standing revealed, she had no choice but to face the consequences. No one, not even her closest friends, had been spared from her columns’ clever critiques and biting observations. Her words had burned bridges, revealed secrets, and altered lives. She couldn’t simply sweep it under the rug, nor did she want to.
And yet, she wasn’t entirely shunned. The Bridgertons, with their unyielding solidarity, ensured she remained untouchable. Their name carried an air of invincibility, and by extension, so did she. Penelope often marvelled at the duality of her situation – castigated by the ton, yet insulated from their harshest censure by her connection to one of society’s most powerful families. No, not connection - belonging.
Colin’s unwavering presence at her side only strengthened Penelope’s resolve. Wherever they went, his hand rested at her back, his gaze fierce whenever someone dared to let their disapproval linger too long. Penelope knew that she could endure anything with him beside her.
The ton, begrudgingly respectful of the Bridgertons’ influence, did not dare to go further than whispers and cold shoulders – nevertheless, Penelope’s outings in public were met with a mixture of intrigue, disdain, or admiration. Invitations to the most prestigious events dwindled, though others clamoured to have her attend merely for the novelty of it. Penelope handled it all with quiet grace, though her heart ached at the realisation that her carefully crafted persona had caused such ripples – although, she was keenly aware of how much worse it could have been if not for the family she had married into and Colin’s unwavering support.
One afternoon, Penelope visited the Modiste to speak to Genevieve about all that had happened since their last meeting; Genevieve greeted her with both awe and pride.
‘I must say, Penelope, I still cannot believe you went through with it,’ Genevieve said, chuckling, as she handed Penelope a cup of tea. ‘You warned me in your last letter, but still, to hear about what you did at that ball – what courage!’
Penelope smiled faintly. ‘I am not sure if it was courage or madness. Perhaps a bit of both.’
Genevieve tilted her head, her expression shifting to one of curiosity. ‘So, what does this mean for the future? Will there be more?’ she asked, leaning forward, her eyes alight.
Penelope frowned, confused. ‘More of what?’
‘Well – what comes next for Lady Whistledown?’ Genevieve asked, grinning.
Penelope hesitated. ‘I…I hope to keep publishing, at some point in the future once all the fuss has died down,’ she admitted. ‘I am not sure what form it will take yet, but…for the first time in years, I do not feel like I have to hide. And Colin and Eloise…they are encouraging me to keep writing. To find a way forward and…explore what comes next. I suppose time will tell.’
Genevieve’s smile softened. ‘Then you are already ahead of most, mon cher. You have something many do not: a fresh start and a husband who believes in you,’ she said.
She reached out to squeeze Penelope’s hand, and Penelope beamed back, content in the knowledge that the wonderful force of Genevieve’s words would resonate with her for weeks, months, possibly even years to come.
Determined to make amends, Penelope spent long hours at her writing desk, penning letters of apology to those she had wronged. Each one was heartfelt, acknowledging the pain her words had caused and promising to do better. To her surprise, responses trickled in – some curt, others warm, and one in particular that lifted a huge weight off Penelope’s shoulders:
Dearest Penelope,
I received your letter, and I must confess, it took me some time to find the words to respond. Your confession certainly caught me by surprise, although it explains much I had long wondered. You always were more perceptive than anyone gave you credit for.
To learn that you are Lady Whistledown – and that your words once upended my life – is no small revelation. I would be lying if I said the memory does not still sting.
Yet time has softened my anger. What you wrote in your column, though painful, pushed me towards a life of contentment, safety and security for myself and my children under the care of Sir Phillip.
I am not angry anymore; I only hope you will use your gift to bring light instead of hurt moving forward. Please know that I forgive you, Penelope. Whatever your reasons for revealing my condition, you are my cousin, and I know you acted not with malice, but with a heart too big and a secret too heavy.
Be kind to yourself, and to Colin. Let the truth set you free, if you can. And tread carefully – the Queen is not one to cross lightly.
Do write to me again soon. I would very much like us to become friends again and see one another, if that is something you wished for as well.
Yours,
Marina
Tears blurred Penelope’s vision as she read Marina’s words. Her letter buoyed Penelope’s spirits, and she shared it with Colin, who pulled her into a tight embrace.
‘See?’ he murmured against her hair. ‘I told you all would be well.’
And he was right – even Penelope could not deny it.
Her confessions, her vulnerability, and her efforts to make amends had brought her closer to everyone than she had ever been – most crucially, perhaps, her mother, Colin and Eloise. Portia no longer underestimated or belittled her daughter; she was openly, fiercely proud. Colin, once distant and hurt by her secrecy, now looked at her with unrestrained pride. Eloise, her truest friend, offered not judgement but admiration for her bravery.
But the ton still remained divided, and Penelope knew that would be the case for quite some time. Some admired her boldness, while others held grudges too deeply rooted to let go. Penelope’s life had changed irrevocably; her shield of anonymity was gone, but in its place stood something far more precious – authenticity, trust, and Colin’s steadfast love.
One evening, as they sat together by the fire in their sitting room, Penelope nestled against Colin’s side. ‘Do you think they will ever forgive me? she asked quietly.
Colin tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. ‘Does it matter?’ he said, and they both sighed and smile at each other. ‘It will pass, Pen, do not worry. And we will get through this, just like we always do. Together.’
Penelope smiled, resting her head against his shoulder. He was right. Whatever storm came next, they would weather it together. The ton might be slow to forget, but Penelope had Colin’s love, the Bridgertons’ support, and the chance to build something new – both as Lady Whistledown and as herself. And, as long as Colin was at her side, Penelope knew she could endure absolutely anything.