Chapter Text
When Colin first started his mixology course as combination new hobby/research for his next project several months ago, Eloise was his pickiest and most critical guinea pig.
So, it’s no surprise that he’s saved her drink for last, offering her the chilled coupe glass containing her favorite cocktail, a Ruby, perfectly mixed, with a flourish.
Eloise instantly waves it away. “No, thanks, I’m DD-ing tonight.”
Colin raises an eyebrow. “Who are you and what have you done with my vodka aunt sister?”
“I –”
“I’ll take that,” Penelope says, snatching the drink out of Colin’s hand before he can make an even bigger deal out of it.
“But you’re –”
“I’m what?”
He turns pink. Pink. Colin! “You know.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know.” And then she realizes. Oh – “Shit,” she blurts out.
Eloise has gone white.
Colin plucks the drink from her hand and sets it down on one of their side tables. “Excuse us.”
All the Bridgertons and assorted partners and children are staring shamelessly as Colin pulls her out of the room by the hand, down the hallway until he reaches their newly renovated bathroom.
Once the door is closed firmly behind them, Penelope blurts out, “I’m not pregnant.”
Colin’s mouth drops open and he stares at her for a solid five seconds before composing himself. Then he points to the trash can. “But I saw your –”
“It wasn’t mine,” she says quickly.
“Oh,” Colin says very quietly.
“It was –”
“Eloise’s,” he finishes for her, slapping his hand against his face. “Of course.”
(Eloise almost talked herself into a full-blown panic attack when first telling her about her suspicions.
She had only just moved in with Phillip and the kids; it was way too soon; it -
And so, Penelope had simply told her to breathe, that it wasn’t worth panicking over a mere possibility for any longer than necessary, then guided her to the car and they’d gone out and bought a test.)
And then they hear the particular combination of laughter, cheering, and teasing that signals the announcement of an impending arrival in the Bridgerton family; she can just make out Phillip’s usually quiet voice over the rest and Oliver’s stern demand that the baby had “better be a boy.”
She laughs. “Yeah.” But when Colin doesn’t join her, she looks at him a little more closely.
He’s leaning against the bathroom counter, shoulders a little hunched. He looks . . . disappointed?
Oh. “Did you . . . did you want me to be?” she asks slowly.
“I . . . wouldn’t have minded,” he says diffidently after a long silence. “We have the room now.”
“Colin,” she warns.
“It would’ve been nice,” he finally admits with an uncharacteristically shy expression.
“Oh,” she says softly. They both want children, but until now they’ve only talked about it in a when we have kids someday sort of way. But they aren’t getting any younger and she does adore their nieces and nephews and –
“I mean, we do have a pretty great track record on co-creations, Pen.”
“A TV show is hardly the same as a baby,” she scolds, though only half-seriously.
“But it does prove we’re an excellent team,” he counters with a grin.
“That is true,” she allows.
His eyes grow warmer and his grin a little softer. “And I couldn’t imagine a better teammate for this particular endeavor.”
“Nor could I,” she says softly, tilting her head up for a quick, chaste kiss, smiling into it.
“You know,” Colin says thoughtfully when they break apart, not quite able to suppress what is now a roguish smirk, the one she adores. “We could get started now.”
She can feel the warmth zipping across her skin and through her veins at the promises he makes with those oh-so-green eyes of his, but she is a Responsible Adult. They are homeowners now and hosting a family party. “With the family here?”
“My mother would gladly move the party to hers if it served the cause of more grandchildren,” he assures her mischievously.
“Except it’s our housewarming party, which by definition needs to be at our house, you dummy,” she says affectionately.
“Pity,” he sighs. But then he brightens. “How long do you think Eloise’s announcement will buy us?”
“No more than ten minutes and that’s only if they start arguing about names and somebody spills some –”
“That’ll do,” Colin murmurs, turning them and lifting her to sit on the counter in one smooth motion before setting to work.