Chapter Text
1824 – Wiltshire
“Come along, Lord Whistledown,” Anthony beckons grandly to their younger brother.
Lord Whistledown???
Surely, Benedict must have misheard.
But then the most remarkable thing happens: Colin, despite a fair bit of grumbling, answers to the absurd moniker, looking oddly self-satisfied as he follows Anthony to see to their horses before they push on to retrieve Eloise and sort out whatever dreadful mess she’s gotten herself into.
What the bloody hell is that about?
“I – what? Wait a minute, come back here!” he commands. “What have I missed?”
“Oh, yes,” says Anthony, far too casually to be sincere, as he turns back, “turns out –”
“Get Sophie first,” Gregory cuts in. “You know she’ll be furious if we tell you before her.”
He could scream (and he so hates it when one of his brothers is right about the smallest thing, but especially Gregory, who is an infant), but it is true, so he does fetch his wife, resisting the urge to pick her up and carry her out bodily in his haste. By God, now he has to know what the hell his brother has to do with that diabolical scribbler, who seems to know an alarming amount about their family – and especially when they are or are not expecting a child . . .
But it can’t actually be Colin, because he’s been away half the time. Or perhaps he is one of several people who –?
“As I was about to say before Gregory so rudely interrupted me,” Anthony resumes impatiently, “it turns out my wife was right. Lady Whistledown is one of us.”
Sophie’s jaw drops.
“One of us?” she echoes in disbelief when she finally regains her powers of speech. “A Bridgerton? How did we never figure it out all these years?”
“Well, she is a very recent addition to the clan,” Anthony says meaningfully.
Penelope?
“No,” he finally manages, “surely not –?”
Colin doesn’t volunteer anything, but his expression has turned thunderous and Benedict finds himself on the receiving end of a very intent look – intent as in if you say one single, solitary bloody little word wrong right now on the subject of my wife, I’ll be intent on bludgeoning you.
And so, he knows for certain that it’s best not to say anything else just then and promptly shuts his mouth.
Instead, he lets Sophie do the talking for both of them. “Oh, that’s brilliant! Good on her. No wonder I’ve always liked Whistledown.” She puts a hand on Colin’s arm. “You’ll have to tell Penelope that she must be prepared for me to pester her for all the details next we’re in London. Oh, I can’t wait! My sister Lady Whistledown – how grand!”
He grins at her excitement. He never understood Sophie’s intense interest in – just a shade less than obsession with – Whistledown, but it made her happy and so, annoying as he always found the woman, it made him happy too.
Sophie smiles, a bit softer, as a thought occurs to her. “No wonder Whistledown was never mean-spirited. Penelope could never.”
It’s true, he realizes. Besides the bits on fashion, Whistledown was never nasty to anyone who didn’t truly deserve it; she never even said a cross word about the utterly horrifying Smythe-Smith musicales, for heaven’s sake.
(On the other hand, he can still picture Eloise crowing every time the column criticized that cow Cressida Cowper Twombley.)
“No, she couldn’t,” Colin agrees with a soft smile of his own.
And she’d never told the truth about Sophie. He’s always felt indescribably lucky that they managed to keep the full story under wraps, but it wasn’t luck, was it?
It was discretion, tact, kindness. There had been no compelling need to reveal their secret, so Penelope simply didn’t. She couldn’t not write about their family altogether, but nor did she abuse her position as Eloise’s dearest friend and confidante.
“I’m a bit jealous you all found out before I did,” Sophie continues with a slight frown. “Did you just sit the family down and announce it?”
“Does that seem sufficiently dramatic for him?” Anthony asks, the question clearly a rhetorical one.
Sophie purses her lips in thought.
He loves to watch her think.
But it barely takes her a moment. “Not at all,” she says quickly, grinning.
Colin doesn’t deny it.
“How did it really go?”
Anthony shrugs. “At Daff’s ball. He made a toast and announced it to the assembled guests.”
Gregory makes a disgusted face. “Trust Anthony to make it sound as pedestrian as possible. It was rather grand and romantic, actually.” Gregory has a soft heart.
Frankly, he wouldn’t be surprised at all if his baby brother had shed a tear.
Colin brushes an imaginary bit of dust off each shoulder, looking impossibly smug.
Sophie’s eyes widen, instantly interested. “Oh, how lovely. You must tell –”
Anthony rolls his eyes. “I did find out before that, however,” he interrupts, sounding as smug as Colin looks.
“I didn’t have a choice but to tell you sooner,” Colin mutters. “Seeing as –”
“I was impressed, of course,” Anthony interrupts. “And rather amused. But mostly, I was surprised. I’ve always known Penelope was sensible. But if she was clever enough to fool us all these years, she’s far too clever for our brother. I have had days to consider this conundrum and still I truly cannot fathom how such an intelligent woman fell in love with such an idiot.”
Colin glares and punches him in the arm.
Anthony grunts. “And now my wife won’t shut up about being right that Whistledown had a tendre for Colin, you know,” he grumbles.
Colin smiles at that, but it’s a bit wistful.
“Bloody annoying,” Anthony continues.
“Before I knew,” says Colin wryly, “I complained to her that Whistledown always called me charming.”
Gregory snorts.
“Has she apologized for insulting you so grievously?” Sophie teases, elbowing Colin companionably.
Colin rolls his eyes. “Does that seem in keeping with her character?”
Sophie clearly can’t help but laugh.
“At the time, I was told to be grateful that Whistledown hadn’t called me an overripe citrus fruit.”
“Yes, it was very clever of her to insult herself,” Sophie says thoughtfully.
“Well,” Anthony begins.
Colin tilts his head in question. “Yes?” he asks in a dangerously soft tone.
Anthony, being Anthony, is incapable of backing away from the brink. “You must admit those gowns were hideous.”
“Is that so?” Colin asks faux-conversationally.
They were hideous and they all know they were hideous – Colin himself included – but the rest of them aren’t fools enough to say as much just now.
Anthony rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop looking at me like you want to rack me. We all know it’s true. Every woman in the family commented on it when she finally started choosing her own clothing – what an improvement it was, how they wished her dear mama had kept away from the modiste years ago –”
“Yes, her mother has the fashion sense of a gnat,” Sophie interrupts crossly.
“I think that’s an insult to the gnat,” Benedict mumbles.
“Still, you ought to be grateful to your mother-in-law,” Anthony continues.
Colin blinks and looks at the rest of them as if they’ve suddenly been trapped in a farce. “Did he hit his head when I wasn’t looking?”
Anthony shrugs. “As disturbing as I find the notion of feeling anything more positive than mild disdain toward Portia Featherington, the fact remains that, had Penelope been permitted to dress herself without her input years ago, she might well have married elsewhere.” He’s grinning, obviously joking, but Colin’s expression turns serious.
“Stop it,” Sophie scolds.
He protests, “I didn’t even –”
Sophie shakes her head. “Not you.” She turns to his younger brother. “Colin,” she says gently, slipping her arm through his and leading him a bit ahead of the rest of them as they walk on. Her words are hushed, but Benedict’s always been blessed with superb hearing. “Stop that. Things happen when they are supposed to. Do I sometimes wonder how things might’ve gone if I’d told Benedict who I really was when we first met?”
She’s never once said that to him in their seven years of marriage.
“Certainly. Would we have had two more happy years together, earlier? Perhaps. But I’m not so sure. In fact, my heart tells me it wouldn’t have ended this way. The timing was wrong. We weren’t ready to love one another in the way we each deserved.”
Sophie’s right. Certainly, she’s right when it comes to his brother, but she’s right when it comes to them, too, he realizes.
He can’t regret the path that got them here when the destination was his dreams come true.