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Colin stirred in their shared bed, his hand seeking Penelope's warmth, only to find her side cold and empty. He rose in that instant, his heart pounding. The house lay in stillness, save for the soft cooing of an infant. Following the sound, he came upon Penelope in the nursery, their son, Thomas, cradled in her arms. She was seated by the window, the morning light catching the tears that glided down her cheeks.
“Pen,” he murmured, stepping softly into the room. “What troubles you?” She started at his voice and quickly brushed the tears from her face.
“Colin, you should not have risen,” she said. “You need your rest.”
“How could I sleep when you are in such evident distress?” He knelt beside her, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “Tell me,” he whispered. She hesitated, her gaze drifting to the sleeping child in her arms.
“It is foolish, I know,” she began, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “But the thought of leaving this house unravels me. It was here you first confessed your love for me. Here we conceived this beautiful child. I had envisioned all of our children growing up under this roof, their laughter filling these halls, their small hands planting flowers in the garden . Will such memories ever take root in Featherington House?” Colin's heart wrenched at her words, for he too felt the pang of farewell.
Taking her free hand in his, he said, “''Tis not foolish, dearest. This house shall forever hold our fondest recollections. But Featherington House is to be our son's legacy, a place where our family will thrive, and where we shall create new joys.” Penelope’s eyes shimmered with fresh tears, though her expression softened.
“But will it feel as warm? Featherington House holds so many difficult memories for me. I fear Thomas may one day feel lonely within it as I did." Such declarations from her lips, even now, brought a pang to his heart. Colin regarded Lady Featherington's attempts at atonement and the fragile bond she had forged with Penelope over the past twelve months with a gracious heart. Being a man unaccustomed to prolonged grievances, he readily chose to let bygones rest. Yet, the recollection of the trials she had endured under her mother’s governance awakened in him a desire to rewrite the past, to shield her from such sorrows. How he lamented the ignorance born of his own fortunate upbringing, a blissful and harmonious home that had blinded him to the rarity of such felicity.
“We shall fill it with love, laughter, and the brightness of family,” he assured her, his tone resolute. “The warmth we bring will render its walls a haven for all who dwell within. And I promise you, Pen, that you and Thomas shall never feel lonely a day of your lives. It is not the bricks and mortar that shape a home, but the hearts that reside there.” A small smile graced her lips as she met his steady gaze.
“You speak truth, Mr. Bridgerton. You and Thomas are my home. Wherever the two of you are, my heart shall reside.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her brow.
“Indeed, Mrs. Bridgerton. We have all we shall ever need as long as we have each other.”
As the sun ascended, the family lingered, cherishing these final moments within the home that had cradled the beginnings of their marriage. Soon the carriages would arrive to bear them and their belongings away to Featherington House, but for now, they clung to the present.