Chapter Text
Epilogue
It’s early Saturday morning. Too early really. But the soft murmur of voices and the clatter of breakfast being prepared downstairs pulls Penelope from sleep.
She stretches lazily in bed, her hand instinctively resting on her growing belly, feeling the warmth of the child inside her. The house feels alive with the sounds of her family, bustling and already well into their day.
She rolls onto her side, carefully shifting her weight, and takes a deep breath. The smell of pancakes drifts upstairs, and she smiles. Anthony is always the first one up on Saturdays. Preparing breakfast with the little ones. She can hear Agatha giggling about something, while Edmund, no doubt, is making his usual demands for syrup in the most spoiled but charming way a three-year-old can.
Penelope sits up, her hands sliding over her belly as she moves to the doorway. She's wobbling down the stairs. Following the sounds of laughter until she comes to the kitchen. She leans against the door frame for a moment, watching them. The love of her life, their five-year-old girl, red curls bouncing just like hers and their mischievous boy with his father's brown eyes and chestnut hair.
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The kitchen is a glorious mess of breakfast chaos. Anthony is showing giggling Agatha, who is sitting on the counter top, how to flip pancakes in the air. His multitasking skills both impressive and slightly reckless. Meanwhile, Edmund, seated in his high chair, is pounding the tray with his tiny fists, chanting for "More syrup! More syrup!" as if the world might end without it.
Penelope walks in, her hand resting on her belly, a teasing smile pulling at her lips. "You call this multitasking, Mr. Bridgerton?" she laughs softly, taking in the scene of flour dusting the counter and syrup already dripping down the side of the high chair.
Anthony glances over his shoulder, grinning that roguish grin that still makes her heart flutter. “I am offended by your insinuations, Mrs. Bridgerton. I Will have you know I’m an expert on pancakes.” he replies, flipping a pancake with a little too much enthusiasm, narrowly missing Agatha's head. “See?”
Penelope just shakes her head fondly as she moves closer. His free hand instinctively drops to her bump, rubbing gently. “Hey, you, sleepyhead” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Hungry?”
Before Penelope can answer, their daughter chimes in with all the enthusiasm of a five-year-old. “Mama, can we name the baby after a unicorn? Or my little pony. Or maybe a dragon! Or Olaf! I love Olaf.”
Anthony chuckles, his eyes meeting Penelope’s with mischiefus spark.“What do you think?” he teases. “Olaf Bridgerton does have a certain ring to it.”
Penelope rubs her belly, rolling her eyes playfully. “If this baby doesn’t come out breathing fire, considering all the heartburn I have, I’ll be very disappointed.”
Their daughter gasps dramatically, clearly delighted by the idea. Edmund, oblivious to the conversation, just wants more syrup. “More! More!” he squeals, and Anthony sighs, reaching for the bottle again.
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After breakfast, the chaos moves to the living room, where it transforms into something softer, cosier. Penelope sinks into the couch with a contented sigh, the weight of her baby bump making her feel every “joy” of pregnancy today. Anthony settles next to her, pulling her close and gently lifting her feet onto his lap. His hands, warm and familiar, start massaging her swollen ankles, and she melts into the cushions, eyes half-closed in bliss.
“Is there anything you can’t do, Mr. Bridgerton?” she teases softly, her voice lazy with affection.
“Am I not god among men?” he grins, rubbing her feet in slow, soothing circles. “You need some reminding Mrs. Bridgerton?” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and she has to giggle.
“Don't make me laugh, I'll have to go pee again. And you're not done with my foot rub”
“Reduced to a mere footman now, am I?”
Their daughter, full of boundless energy after the sugary pancake feast, clambers onto Penelope’s lap, resting her head against her belly. “Mama, you’re so soft!” she giggles, nestling closer, while Penelope’s hand instinctively strokes her red curly hair.
Edmund, determined not to be left out, wriggles his way between his parents, burrowing under Anthony’s arm like a kitten seeking warmth. “Not without me!” he demands proudly, snuggling into the space between them.
Anthony’s hand slides over Penelope’s belly, pausing as he feels a little kick from the baby. “I think Eddie might be getting some competition for attention, huh?” he says with a grin. Penelope smiles, resting her hand over his. She never tires of that feeling, the quiet reassurance of their baby growing inside her.
Agatha’s eyes widen, and she leans down, her face close to Penelope’s bump. “Hi, baby!” she calls in a loud, almost yelling voice. “It’s me! Your sister! Can you hear me? Kick if you can hear me!”
Suddenly, Penelope winces as the baby kicks hard against her belly. “Ouch! It sure can. Looks like this one’s going to be a football player,” she says with a small laugh, rubbing the spot.
Anthony chuckles, resting his hand on her belly. “Well, maybe the next one will be more gentle,” he teases, catching her gaze with a playful smile.
Penelope raises an eyebrow, pretending to be scandalised. “Next one? You’re already planning another?”
“Well,” Anthony says, his tone mischievous, “four seems like a good number, don’t you think?”
“Four?!” Penelope laughs. “Let’s get through number three first, shall we?”
Agatha, now intrigued by the idea of another baby, perks up. “What’s after four?” she asks innocently.
“Chaos,” Penelope and Anthony say in unison, laughing as their little family piles together on the couch, cuddled in a mess of warmth and love.
🪩💃🏻🕺🏻THE END 🕺🏻💃🏻🪩