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Penelope Bridgerton woke with a start. Something was amiss. It was not the usual disquiet of an unfamiliar bedchamber; she had been waking up at Aubrey Hall for the past week now, and the grand country estate of her husband’s family was not an unknown place to her. No, it was something else. She turned to where Colin ought to have been, only to find his side of the bed vacant, the sheets in disarray.
Sitting up, she listened. The house was still, save for the faint tick of the longcase clock in the hall. Penelope frowned. Colin was not prone to after-hours wandering. Given their blissful union, he had never once voluntarily absented himself from their bed.
Throwing on her night robe and slipping her feet into her embroidered slippers, she took up a candle and crept from the room, careful not to wake any of the household. She crept through the corridors, her candle flickering shadows upon the wood paneling.
And then - a noise. A peculiar clatter - and was that, a muffled exclamation?
Penelope stopped, candle aloft, ears straining.
The kitchens.
Lowering her candle to shield the flame from the drafts, she made her way downstairs, where the scent of cold hearth soot and last night’s roast still lingered in the air. The servants had long since retired, leaving the great kitchen empty - except, it seemed, for one rogue figure hunched over the pantry door. Penelope stifled a gasp.
Colin Bridgerton stood in his nightshirt, one hand braced against the pantry door while the other grappled blindly for what appeared to be a roly-poly pudding.
“Colin?” she ventured.
He did not startle. In fact, he did not acknowledge her at all. Instead, he grasped the pudding dish with the solemn air of a man securing a war prize. Penelope took a cautious step closer.
“Colin, what are you doing?”
Silence.
Or rather, chewing.
His hand, moving with slow determination, retrieved a piece of bread-and-butter pudding next. Penelope watched in astonishment as her husband stuffed it into his mouth with a childlike enthusiasm. Then, suddenly, he turned - eyes half-lidded, expression vacant.
Penelope gasped.
He was asleep.
Suppressing the hysterical laughter threatening to escape, Penelope approached him with care, reaching for his hand.
“Colin, darling, perhaps you would like to, ah, finish that in bed?”
His only reply was a soft grunt of satisfaction as he wolfed down another bite of pudding. With no other recourse, she took him gently by the elbow and turned him about, putting the pudding dish aside.
“Come now, my love. Let us get you back upstairs before Cook finds you and declares you a kitchen ghost.”
Somehow, she managed to maneuver him up the stairs, though he did attempt to take a detour toward the sideboard, as if sensing more food nearby. By the time she had him tucked beneath the covers, Penelope was torn between laughter and exasperation.
Some hours later, as Colin stretched and yawned at the breakfast table, he showed no sign of recalling his early morning escapades.
As Colin lifted a piece of toast to his mouth however, he frowned slightly.
“How odd,” he murmured. “I seem to have the most peculiar taste of custard.”
At that precise moment, the Dowager Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat.
“It is no wonder,” she said, “considering your lifelong habit of raiding the kitchens in your sleep.”
“My - what?”
“Oh, yes,” his mother smiled. “You were an absolute menace as a child. We once found you gnawing on a raw onion at the age of four.”
Penelope could not contain her laughter any longer. Colin turned to her, unable to suppress a grin.
“Did you know about this, Darling?”
“Not until last night,” she admitted. “I had to coax you back to bed.”
Colin joined in on the laughter, dropping his head into his hands, while his mother merely sipped her tea with the air of a woman well-accustomed to the eccentricities of her children.
Penelope, patting her husband’s arm, leaned in to whisper, “Do not worry, my love. I shall stand guard tonight - lest you develop a particular craving for a ham.”
And as Colin bowed his head in embarrassment, Penelope smiled with delight. After all, it was rather a charming thing to be married to a man who loved both her and a good pudding - whether he was awake or not.