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“Mama is here, little one.”
Penelope Bridgerton soothed her coughing and wailing baby as she picked him up from his crib.
She held him to her bosom, his little snorts and hacks letting Penelope know that their Little Lord Featherington was still unwell.
Sighing from exhaustion and frustration, the young mother walked gently to the armchair beside the nursery window and sat down while clutching her son. The deep purple stains under his eyes were further proof of his exhaustion due to illness.
The baby then desperately fisted at the neckline of Penelope’s nightgown and rooted, seeking to be fed.
Penelope held his little hands in one of hers and moved them away, so she could lower her gown and offer her son her painfully full breast.
“Love, wait, you will tear my night shift…”
She then murmured to herself, smiling in spite of her own lack of sleep,
“So like your Papa, are you not?”
Her son neither cared nor listened. He latched on to her nipple and gulped desperately, unlatching periodically to take a breath then attaching to Penelope once more. His little nose was congested, making breathing a difficult affair.
Penelope felt the letdown of milk and relaxed, sinking back in the chair. She caressed her son’s reddish curls, matted from sweat as he had been feverish just a few hours before.
Thankfully, his fever had broken, and he was now just miserable from a clogged nose and a returning appetite. Hence Penelope’s engorged bosoms.
Her Little Lord had not eaten much since falling ill. But as a true son of Colin Bridgerton, he was making up for lost time, feasting while Penelope hummed a soft lullaby and rubbed his arms and legs. After emptying out one breast, she offered the other and he gladly continued his much-anticipated meal.
Penelope was glad that the engorgement was finally resolved. She was worried about becoming ill herself from milk fever and then not being able to care for her little family.
Her husband had also come down with the fever and was now fitfully sleeping in their bed chamber.
“Ah, ah, ah, mmma…” her boy muttered, now full and drowsy.
Penelope placed him over her shoulder to pat his back gently, coercing a loud belch from him.
After checking his nappy, and gladly noticing he was wet and well hydrated, she quickly changed him and placed him back in his crib, already asleep.
“Oh, thank Heavens!” Penelope called out in a low voice.
She wrapped her silk dressing gown about her and padded in her slippers quietly to the hallway, to find out the time. A mantle clock on a side table near the staircase said it was past 2 in the morning.
Penelope stretched, rubbing her sore neck and shoulders.
Her Little Lord was a healthy-sized child for his age and as she had decided to feed him without the aid of a wet nurse, his weight when carried caused her muscles to tense and knot.
But she would not trade the beautiful bond she and her baby had for anything. Well, maybe for some badly needed sleep!
Penelope walked back to the nursery. She had been sleeping in a little bed, placed across from the crib, for three days now. Only to be relieved by their nurse maid or her faithful Rae so she could attend to her husband and rest for a few hours during the day.
She settled back under the coverlet and let her tired head fall back on the soft pillow. From the bed, she could see her little one clearly.
The cloudless night let moonlight seep through the window’s gauzy curtains.
The baby had turned himself and was now in an adorable position, on his stomach, his bottom propped up, and his legs folded, tucked under his chest.
His face was turned toward his Mama, his cherubic cheek squished onto the mattress, and his large blue eyes closed, the eyelashes fluttering in rhythm with whatever dreams he was having.
Penelope grinned at the sight and breathed slowly, to calm herself and to allow sleep to claim her.
An odd sensation settled over Penelope. She felt a chill even as she was snugly tucked under the bedding.
Opening her eyes, she lifted her head off the pillow and gazed at the window to ascertain that the glass was not open, letting the night air in. It appeared closed, the curtains were unmoving.
Confused, she turned her head to look at her son in his crib.
He was not alone.
A cloaked figure was leaning over the crib, admiring her son.
Penelope noticed a woman’s hand extending out of the figure’s garment, to gently touch her son’s forehead.
Penelope sat up quickly and made to stand, to rescue her son from this mysterious stranger.
She began to yell: “Get away from my son!”
The figure then faced Penelope.
Her hood fell away, and a beautiful dark-haired woman with a sad smile and gentle eyes appeared.
She walked to Penelope. No, not walked, she floated to Penelope, placed a cold finger on Penelope’s lips and whispered:
“Shhh.”
Penelope fell back onto the bed, frozen, her scream of fear trapped in her throat. Her body was stiff and heavy. She tried to move her lips but no sound came out.
The woman was there and not there; Penelope noticed in horror that she could see through her!
And when Penelope was certain this was the moment she and her son would perish, the phantasm bent over her supine body and said in an other-worldly voice:
“Bella famiglia. Siate benedetti, tutti voi.”
And vanished.
Penelope did not know how long it took for her body to react. She was breathing but still could not coerce her tongue, her lips and her throat to utter a word.
It was agony!
After a focused effort to make a sound, she felt the vibration of her vocal cords, a guttural cry leaving her still closed mouth and throbbing against her immobile lips.
She tried again.
This time, her lips parted slightly, and she forced the air from her lungs. She began to whisper with much effort:
“Colin!”
She could barely hear herself. Still unable to move any other part of her body, she tried again:
“Colin! Colin…” Penelope began to weep.
As much as she tried to raise herself from the small cot, her limbs would not obey her mind’s appeal to get up.
“Colin, please. Our son!” Her pitch increased. Her mouth was now opening and closing without effort.
“COLIN!!!”
She heard her husband’s loud, heavy footsteps getting closer.
He entered the nursery and rushed to Penelope’s side.
His face was pale and his dark hair wild, but he seemed to be walking without pain; his body was not shivering from the fever or doubled over in achy misery.
His nightshirt was damp in areas with sweat, and he had a blanket wrapped around his broad shoulders.
“What is wrong, Pen? Are you also unwell?” He whispered as he bent down to sit on the cot beside her, his weight making the thin mattress sink considerably.
He placed a mildly clammy hand on his wife’s forehead to determine if she was also feverish.
She felt cold, unusually cold. And she was staring up at him, her eyes large and terrified, blinking rapidly.
“Pen? What happened?”
“The baby! Colin, the baby!” Penelope mumbled.
“Has he worsened?” Colin stood up quickly and walked to his son’s crib, placing his hand on his son’s back and then his forehead.
He smiled; his little one felt cool and seemed to be sleeping comfortably.
He turned back to his wife, who was still lying down.
“Pen, he is well! Come and see for yourself.” Colin reached out his hand to Penelope, while he held the blanket about his shoulders with his free one.
“I cannot move. Colin, please, something is wrong!”
“What do you mean you cannot move?” Colin kneeled by the bed, dropping the blanket on the floor. He grabbed Penelope’s shoulders, helping her to a seating position.
Penelope’s arms and legs were like hard rods of iron, unyielding.
Colin rubbed her limbs, his warm hands giving his wife’s body much needed heat.
He kissed her lips, and pulled her to him, his arms about her waist.
“Do you wish to return to our bedchamber? As you can tell, I am better. And this uncomfortable cot has made your body stiff. Come.”
Colin held Penelope and stood. She stumbled and leaned against his torso. Her arms became responsive once more and she wrapped them about her husband.
Her legs, while supporting her weight, could not yet allow her to take a step. She gazed up at her much taller spouse, tears gathering in her eyes.
“Are you certain our son is well?”
“Yes, but I worry you are not. Let me take care of you now.” He kissed the top of her head and quietly led her out of the nursery.
Penelope’s feet moved of their own accord. Once in their bedroom, Colin helped her into bed and cuddled beside her, surrounding her with his body.
Penelope’s face was laid gently upon his chest. His familiar scent was comforting. She absentmindedly rubbed at the soft patch of dark curls that escaped his opened shirt.
“I have missed you, Pen. I cannot sleep without you it seems.” He sighed and held his wife firmly, glad of his recovering strength.
Penelope was quiet but Colin knew she was preoccupied. He gave her a few minutes to compose herself. When he felt she was at ease, he asked:
“Will you tell me what frightened you so?”
“Colin, I am not sure what occurred. I nursed the baby, placed him in his crib and went to lay down. I think I had a nightmare from the exhaustion.” Penelope answered, not sure if what she saw was real.
“I must have been quite a nightmare to make you so frightened. Do you want to tell me about it? It could help.”
Penelope looked up at Colin and weighed in her mind what to tell him but ultimately decided to share all she could recall. Colin was not the kind of person who would ridicule another when they were under duress, regardless of how strange a story they told.
She sat up and leaned against the headboard. Colin did the same, holding on to her hand.
“I am listening.”
Penelope then told Colin what had happened, how the spectral figure manifested out of nowhere. How it (or she?) was fascinated by the sight of their Little Lord asleep, how she had reached out to touch him.
And, how the figure’s touch had caused Penelope to become as a cadaver: stiff, cold.
“And then, she spoke Colin. I was so scared, I could not make out the words, because it was like she whispered them directly into my mind, without sounds. I cannot explain exactly how I heard or understood her.”
“What did she say?”
Colin squeezed her hand in a comforting gesture, but Penelope could tell her husband was equally alarmed. After all, he’d seen the end results of Penelope’s possible phantom encounter.
Penelope took a breath, as her nerves were starting to get frayed once more while she recollected the events.
“I think she said: ‘beautiful family’. The other words, I am not sure about. My knowledge of Italian is very spotty.”
Colin swallowed. He stared at Penelope and placed a hand over his mouth, before lowering it to his lap, along with his gaze.
“She spoke in Italian? What else did she say?”
His voice was low, with an edge of sadness.
Penelope placed her hand on his chin and made her husband look at her.
“Something that sounded like ‘sia beneditee too voy’, I cannot remember exactly Colin.”
Colin’s eyes were now tearful:
“Was it ‘siate benedetti tutti voi’?”
Penelope nodded.
Colin looked away as he wiped at the few tears that fell.
“Colin, why are you so upset?”
Colin bit his lips together, pondering something that Penelope could not guess at.
His voice was cautious as he replied:
“I am not sure if I should tell you, Pen. But we have promised one another to be open.”
“Yes, I know I have been the most at fault about that, but I am truthful in this, Colin.”
Penelope shrank, worried she had upset her husband with her fantastical story and that he was now questioning her honesty.
Colin faced his wife:
“Yes, I believe you with all my heart. I, well, I also had a dream tonight, but after what you have told me, I am not sure…”
Her tall and strong husband began to weep.
“Colin? What is it?”
“I dreamed that Teresina visited me while I was feverish. She touched my face and kissed my forehead. She whispered: ‘Be blessed, my charming one, and love your family. I will miss you’. Pen, I thought I was delirious from the fever!”
Penelope asked:
“The Contessa?”
Colin nodded, his breathing had become agitated, and he was now openly crying.
Penelope was quiet, processing all Colin had shared, as she embraced her husband.
“I am sorry Penelope, please I know I should not be dreaming of another, but I thought it was the fever…”
Penelope shook her head:
“I am not upset. I am glad you had someone who cared for you. I could never begrudge you that.”
Colin asked, shaken:
“Do you think this means… she is gone?”
“I do not know, but if she is, I am thankful for her blessing from beyond.”
Husband and wife held each other in their marital bed, unable to sleep.
<<*>>
Two months later…
“Colin? I am just returned from your mother’s. Her cook sent you your favorite biscuits.” Penelope called out from the hall after she handed her parasol and shawl to Rae. She held the buttery confections in a simply adorned box as she walked to the study, in search of her husband.
Not hearing an answer but noticing that the door to her Papa’s former study was open, she entered, smiling as she saw her husband sitting in the well-worn leather chair behind the desk.
“Hello, you didn’t answer.” She smiled, approaching the desk and placing the small package atop a pile of journals.
Colin looked up. He had an open letter in his hands. His expression was melancholy.
Penelope panicked and walked around the desk to Colin, placing her hand on his shoulder:
“Who has written? Is it about the estate?”
“No. Pen, I received this letter from an acquaintance I met while traveling in Italy.” He looked up at her; there was no need to explain further.
Penelope knew what the letter said.
She held her husband’s face in her hands, unable to keep her own tears from rolling down her cheeks.
“Thank you for understanding, Pen.”
“Always, my love.”
How blessed can a husband and wife be that even those no longer in this world approve of their love.