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Colin was out in town yet again. He didn’t particularly want to be, but there was hardly anything for him to do at home, even though home was where his darling wife and son were.
Penelope was pages deep in her draft of Whistledown, and his son was with Rae. With the queen’s expectations to contend with, Penelope required all of her concentration when she was at her desk, so Colin could not be in the room with her, or he would surely be unable to help himself from distracting her. And if he was not in the same room with her, and his son was occupied by Rae, then there was really no reason for Colin to be in the house at all. He had taken to simply walking the streets or the park and sometimes coming home with treats—biscuits or chocolates or cheese or whatever seemed like a nice treat to return with. Some days, he would take Elliot with him, but he had just gone down for his nap, so Colin stepped out alone.
He should have made a habit to ask if Will or John or Benedict—if he was even in town—wanted to meet him, but it was usually a spontaneous decision to leave the house in the first place. Colin nodded congenially at people as he walked past the shops, looking idly through the windows for something that might pique his interest today.
He did not expect for his eye to be caught by a curl of blue ribbon, but his feet were already carrying him inside the ribbon shop. He nodded absently when the shopkeeper greeted him, and immediately walked over to the display to run his fingers against the soft silk of the powder blue ribbon. He imagined it tied in Penelope’s hair, curling along with her beautiful waves. Then he imagined himself pulling the ribbon out of her hair, and he coughed, straightening. He looked around himself as though someone could have guessed what he’d been thinking about, then turned to the shopkeeper.
“I would like to purchase this ribbon, sir,” Colin told the man.
An hour later, Colin returned to Featherington House with a pretty little box in his hand, eager to give it to Penelope as soon as she had finished with her writing. The house was still quiet, the baby presumably still asleep. He knocked softly on Penelope’s door. Their door, although it had been hers first.
Penelope opened the door with a big smile on her face, a sign that she was done with her writing and that it had gone well. “Husband,” she greeted him cheekily, widening the door. He stepped inside and immediately pressed his lips to hers in a familiar, gentle press that still made his heart flip in a ridiculous sort of way.
She hummed happily against him before resting her cheek against his chest and leaning into him. This, too, made him feel like he was floating. He loved being a place for her to rest. He wrapped his arms around her and rocked slightly, the ribbon box still in one of his hands. It could wait a moment. For as long as she wanted him to stand like this and hold her, he would do it.
A good while later, Penelope sighed and pulled back. “How has your day been?”
Colin gave her a pleased smile. “I have been shopping,” he said, presenting the box to her.
She eyed it suspiciously, but he saw the tinge of delight. “What is it?” she asked.
“Well, you shall have to open it.”
Penelope did not take the box, but instead showed Colin the state of her hands, which were covered in ink. “I think you shall have to open it.”
“Very well.” Colin pulled the cover off the box. “I saw it in a window. I thought it might look lovely in your hair.” He realized then that the ribbon was really such a small thing. Should not he have bought her a necklace? Or perhaps a brooch?
But her face lit up with joy. “Colin, I love it. The color is beautiful.”
“Do you? I am glad.” He was surprised at the emotion in his voice.
“I could call Rae,” Penelope suggested. “She could tie it in my hair…”
“No,” he said suddenly. “No,” he corrected himself, softer this time. “I shall see it on you another time.” He set the box down and ran a finger down her cheek. “You have been hard at work. I wish to help you relax.”
“Mm,” Penelope wore a mischievous look that matched his own. “I should wash my hands first, if relaxing is what you have in mind.”
“I am not scared of a little ink,” Colin smirked before walking her backward to the bed.
The following week, Colin embarked on the same routine. Penelope had shut herself in her room, the nanny had put Elliot down for his nap, and Colin found himself walking past the shops. This time, he fully intended to find another gift for Penelope, something lovelier than a ribbon (although, he had enjoyed seeing his family’s color in his hair the following evening, and then on the floor later that night).
This time, Colin found himself at a jeweler. The shopkeeper was a warm older lady who answered all his many questions and ultimately helped him settle on pearl earrings set with tiny blue opals. He imagined how they would dangle as Penelope moved her head, and how they might feel against his lips as he kissed her earlobe.
When Colin returned to their bedchamber and presented Penelope with the small jewelry box, she went to put her hands on her hips before remembering they were yet again covered in ink.
“Colin, you have just bought me a present last week,” she protested.
“Is there a limit on how many gifts I might buy for my wife?”
She narrowed her eyes at him, but he could tell she was not displeased. She only thought she should be. Watching her war with herself over something she clearly enjoyed was both amusing and adorable.
After a few beats, she sighed comically. “Well, you will have to open it again. I have yet to wash my hands.”
As Colin opened the box, he was reminded vividly of the day he presented Penelope with her engagement ring, and the way she had fallen over him in joy. He suspected it was not the gifts she enjoyed, but rather the receiving. It troubled him to realize how little she received despite having lived a relatively comfortable life in the Featherington household. She had always received just what she needed, but scarcely what she wanted. Colin very much enjoyed giving her what she wanted.
And, he thought some hours later, he was rather enjoying finding ink in some forbidden places when he went to wash up.
Four more weeks passed in a similar manner. Colin had since bought Penelope a butterfly brooch, a glittering blue hair clip, a leather-bound notebook, and even a pair of satin slippers that were meant for relaxing in the home. He was pleased to see her feet snugly within those slippers when he left her at her desk another week later. Given the predictability of this routine, Penelope called after him, “Be sure to give the shopkeepers my love!” to which he only chuckled.
However, before leaving the house, he heard a happy little giggle from the direction of the nursery, followed by a wail of delight. Elliot was awake. Colin smiled at the sound of his son and made his way to the nursery.
“Hello, Rae,” he greeted the maid before crouching in front of Elliot on the floor. He was playing with a little wooden horse. His little fingers kept dropping it, but he would giggle every time, as though it were a game. “Did he sleep?” Colin asked Rae.
“For an hour,” Rae confirmed.
“Hm,” Colin mused aloud. “I was on my way out, for some shopping. Would you mind bringing Elliot along with me?”
Rae smiled that knowing smile she sometimes got when she knew more than she let on. “Of course, sir.” Colin was unsure whether Rae had deduced Colin’s gift-buying habit of her own accord, or if Penelope had confided in her. Either way, it may be helpful to have a second opinion this time around.
Colin had a plan today. By the second week, he could freely admit to himself that buying gifts for Penelope was as much for her sake as it was for his. He enjoyed giving her things. He enjoyed giving her anything—material or otherwise. When he walked past the shops each week, it had become natural for him to look at everything with her in mind. Today, he held Elliot in his arms as Rae pushed the empty pram, and he pointed at all the shop windows saying things like, “Do you think mama would like that?” and “Is that a nice color?” and “Look at that shiny hairpiece!” Colin stopped in front of each window to allow Elliot to marvel at the wares. His son was mesmerized by everything, as he always was. Several people stopped to talk to them, cooing at Elliot and remarking how darling he was and how like his mother he looked. Colin wholeheartedly agreed with them on all accounts. His son was a miniature version of Penelope, with his red hair, his cheeks, his blue eyes, and his sense of wonder. Colin was constantly in awe that he was real, and that he was theirs. It was hard to believe he was not living in some elaborate dream.
Colin walked into the modiste, his intended destination despite taking his time walking past the shops.
“Mr. Bridgerton,” Madame Delacroix greeted him with surprise. She smiled at Elliot, as no one could help but do. Before last week, Colin had never officially met the modiste, as Colin hadn’t cause to go to the shop himself. But Penelope had talked of Genevieve’s assistance with Whistledown, and Colin suspected he had been a subject of conversation between the two women as well. “Welcome back. Please, follow me.” Madame Delacroix led Colin to the next room, where she kept the dresses she was working on. “What do you think?” she gestured to one of the mannequins.
Colin’s eyes drank in the creation, picturing Penelope in his mind’s eye as he did with everything he saw in a shop these days. “Beautiful,” he murmured to himself.
Madame Delacroix smirked. “I am glad you like it, Mr. Bridgerton. I will have it packed in a just a moment.”
He caught Rae eyeing him curiously before he went to the counter to settle the account. Colin knew it was an odd choice for a dress. Of all the gifts he had purchased in these past weeks, this one was the most for him. He hoped Penelope would like it, or at least understand why he had bought it for her.
Madame Delacroix returned from the back room with a large box, and a smaller one on top of it.
“What is—?” Colin began to inquire about the second box.
“I had some extra fabric,” Madam Delacroix explained, opening the smaller box to show him the contents. “Consider it a gift.”
Colin’s face lit up when he saw what the modiste had fashioned with the extra fabric. “She will love it,” he said, his voice choked with emotion. Good God. He needed to get home.
Rae smiled at Colin approvingly when she took the boxes from the modiste, and Colin’s own smile lasted the entire carriage ride home.
“Pen!” Colin called through the door before knocking. “Pen, may I come in?” He was excited, and quite frankly prepared to interrupt her writing if he had to.
“Come in!” she called.
She stood at the wash basin, cleaning the remnants of today’s ink stains from her hands. Colin was sorry to see it, but he reasoned that this was a gift he wished for her to touch and hold for herself, and he had brought his son along, in any case.
“My darling,” Penelope cried when she saw Elliot in Colin’s arms. Rae stood slightly behind the pair of them, holding the dress boxes, and entered after them to deposit them on the bed.
“Shall I leave you?” Rae asked Colin and looks briefly to Elliot, obviously intending to take him back to the nursery.
“No, you may stay, Rae,” Colin said, still holding Elliot in his arms and bouncing him slightly so that he giggled.
“Alright, what do we have this week?” Pen asked. Colin was not the least bit bothered by the question. In fact, he hoped she would become accustomed to weekly gifts even if practicality dictated they would likely cease one day.
“Go on,” Colin nodded to the boxes. “But start with the larger one.”
“I would recognize Madame Delacroix’s boxes anywhere,” Penelope said as she dried her hands. “You know, Whistledown used to be transported in boxes like these.” She ran her now-dry hands over the top of the box.
“My clever wife,” Colin said, knowing the whole story very well by now. “Isn’t your mama the cleverest?” he asked Elliot, who gurgled happily. “She is, isn’t she?”
“Oh, shush.” Penelope lifted the lid from the box. She did not react right away, just looked at the dress inside with a neutral expression. Finally, she turned to look at him, openly curious. “It’s yellow,” she said.
“It is,” he confirmed. “I know it is no longer your preference, but…” He swallowed. It should be odd that he still sometimes felt nervous in front of his wife, who was also his best friend. But, perhaps some habits died slowly, as he had not always been quick to share his innermost thoughts without bracing for some judgment to be passed on them. “I have fond memories of you in yellow.” This was both a truth and an understatement. Perhaps he did not have great romantic memories of her in those yellow dresses, but the color always did remind him of her, even before he had realized his feelings. And in recent weeks, he had been visited by a recurring dream of a beauty dressed in yellow, and then woken up each time with his face buried in Penelope’s hair as she slept soundly.
Penelope looked at him doubtfully. “You do?”
“I do. But if you do not like it, I shall return it immediately. I only thought, as things are different now, you might see the color a little differently. Perhaps…the way I always have.”
Penelope pursed her lips. “That is sweet,” she said.
She still looked hesitant, making no move to even touch the dress, as though it may be poisoned. Colin felt it was within his rights to pull out one of his favorite words. “Please?” he asked softly, going to stand beside her. “I know Elliot would love to see his mama in a pretty new dress.” He leaned forward with Elliot so that the boy’s face neared Penelope’s and they all smiled and laughed as Penelope planted a kiss on their son’s cheek.
“Anything for my son,” Penelope said pointedly. “Rae?” The maid came forward to pull the dress out of the box, and Penelope went to stand in front of the mirror.
Rae removed her gown and helped Penelope step into the new one. The dress was cotton, as Colin only intended for Penelope to wear it in the home. It was, after all, a gift for himself as well. It was pale yellow, with sleeves to the elbow and a skirt overlayed by a sheer, daisy-patterned lace. Certainly the dress was more youthful than one typically worn by a married woman, but Penelope always reminded Colin of the freest parts of youth, and he wished to remind the both of them of their youth with this dress. Penelope might have the pressure of the Queen’s watchful gaze upon her, but she still deserved to live her life, and Colin wanted to ensure that she did.
“Hm,” Penelope evaluated herself once Rae had finished buttoning the dress. Colin thought she looked beautiful, and he felt a strong sense of deja vu as he viewed his wife in the familiar color, which she had yet to wear during their married life. It felt as though Past Penelope was overlayed with his wife. Penelope squirmed a bit.
“You do not like it, then?” Colin asked.
“I do not know.”
“You do not have to like it,” Colin stepped behind her. Elliot reached out a tiny hand to pull at Penelope’s hair, and she gently removed his hand and played with it instead. “But allow me to tell you what I see.”
She met his eyes in the mirror with a combination of weariness and trust.
“I think this is a lovely shade of yellow,” he said. “I asked Madame Delacroix specifically whether there was a shade of yellow that would most flatter you, and she gave me her best recommendation.” Penelope seemed to relax at that, and he watched as her eyes scanned her reflection again, perhaps giving it another chance.
“It is pretty,” she allowed.
“Isn’t it?” Colin asked Elliot. “Isn’t mama pretty?”
Elliot gave a joyful scream, which made Colin and Penelope laugh.
“Hm, I do not hate it,” Penelope said finally. “Do you like it?”
“I do,” Colin said, running a hand lightly up and down the sleeve.
“Well, then. I suppose I can wear it occasionally. In the house,” she added cheekily.
“That sounds perfect,” said Colin, as that was precisely his plan to begin with.
Penelope snorted, likely deducing this. “Wait, what is that other box?”
“Before you open it, it was Madame Delacroix’s idea entirely, as much as I wish to take credit.”
Rae brought it to her, evidently as excited by it as Colin had been. “Here you are, miss.”
Penelope lifted the lid while Rae held the box for her, and she gasped when she saw the baby clothing inside, exactly matching the pale yellow fabric of her dress.
She lifted the little outfit from the box. “Oh, it is precious!” Her eyes were full of pure delight when she looked back at Colin. “We must dress him in it right away.”
Rae helped them dress Elliot in his new outfit, and then the three of them surveyed the little boy as he wriggled on the bed.
“He looks terrible, Colin,” Penelope declared, barely suppressing laughter. It was, of course, impossible for their little boy to look terrible in anyone’s eyes, but Colin supposed he understood what Penelope meant. The shade of yellow warred with his red hair and pale complexion. Maybe Madame Delacroix’s recommendation only extended to Penelope?
“Hm,” Colin tilted his head. “Perhaps these clothes are also just for the house, then.”
“Yes,” Penelope agreed. “Or perhaps just for the nursery.”
Colin laughed. “I promise not to buy yellow clothes for our son again.” He brought his arms around Penelope’s middle and leaned his chin on her shoulder. “You, however, look radiant in anything.”
“Shall I take the young lord to the nursery, ma’am?” Rae asked.
“Please,” Colin answered for her.
“Change him back before you do, though,” Penelope laughed as Colin kissed her neck quickly.
“Of course, ma’am.”
A long minute later, Rae and Elliot had gone, and Colin was intent on showing his wife just how radiant he thought she looked. Penelope turned in his arms, and he knew instantly that she was more intent on talking, so he sighed petulantly and allowed it.
“Why have you been buying me so many gifts?”
“Do you not like them?” Colin scanned her face, worried, but she was only looking up at him with love and a little curiosity.
“I like them all. I just hope you know that I don’t expect gifts.”
“I know,” Colin assured her. “But it gives me a sort of…mission. While you are writing. For if I stayed in this house,” he smirked. “I would surely distract you.”
Penelope grinned. “Oh? So the gifts are for you, then?”
Colin made a show of pondering this. “Yes,” he concluded. “It is quite fun, to visit the shops with you in mind. But you must tell me as soon as you no longer enjoy it. I do not wish to give you things you do not want.”
“I adore your gifts,” she told him, putting a hand on his cheek. “But perhaps not every week, lest we need to empty a room to serve as storage.”
Colin chuckled. “Alright then, I shall have to find some other way to occupy myself while you write.”
“You could write,” she pointed out.
“I have nothing to write about,” he said honestly. He had been inspired on his travels, when there was always something new to take in, to learn, to experience. He was happy these days, yes, but not particularly inspired to write.
She gave him a pitying look, and thought for a moment. “Maybe you can help Benedict search for his Lady in Silver.”
“His what?”
Penelope squinted at him. “The woman he met at the masquerade ball. He has been obsessed with her for four months. Have you not spoken to him?”
“I might have…been distracted.”
“By what.”
“You?”
Penelope seemed stunned to silence. She blinked up at him for several long seconds. “S-still?”
“You,” he ran a thumb over her cheek. “Are all am ever able to think about, Pen. And I know that you don’t need me to buy you gifts, but maybe I need to be doing something…to show you how much I think you deserve.”
“Colin,” Penelope rolled her eyes slightly. “I’ve already told you. All I need from you is to—”
“To stand by you,” Colin repeated, because she had reminded him of this before. “To hold you. To kiss you.” He pressed his lips to her brow. “I remember.” He sighed into her hair.
“Good,” she said into his neck. “And maybe…you could do that now.”
“I am already standing by you,” Colin pointed out, feigning obliviousness.
“Colin!” she shoved his chest.
“I thought you wanted me to hold you,” he protested, pulling her back to him and pressing his lips down on her smiling mouth, relishing the happy noise she made. This was all he wanted. His wife, happy. Nothing could make him happier than that, although he did plan to continue buying her gifts, for as long as she would allow it.