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Penelope had been in Aubrey Hall for a week, and yet it didn't feel that way.
It felt much longer.
She hadn't the slightest idea what had been wrong lately, only that there was indeed something rather unsettling.
Eloise was her usual self, of course. Animated and lovely and indignant over everything, yet Penelope felt awkward and… off. She knew she was quiet at times, she knew there was something happening somewhere inside her that she couldn't quite place, even as everything appeared pleasant and perfectly agreeable.
Violet was lovely. Of course she was. She'd been subdued and more careful around them than what was normal, but Penelope wrote that off in her head as nerves—Lord Anderson was due for a visit soon.
The Bridgerton ladies and Penelope took tea in the drawing room every day, having biscuits and scones, reliving gossip from season’s past and laughing at the absurdity of it all.
It was as usual.
But sometimes, she felt something different beneath Violet's regular questions of how she was, how she had been feeling, what was on her mind.
Blast it, what's wrong with me?
It was just a curious week all around the house, even Rae was nowhere to be seen during the rest of the day. She'd help Penelope with her morning preparations and then… vanish.
And then, there was Anthony.
Earlier this afternoon, he'd walked in on her, Violet, and Eloise laughing at an old Lady Whistledown pamphlet reporting about the massive Maid Wars that had occurred around the ton when the Penwood household lost their one maid.
It was entertaining and lovely… at least it was until Anthony walked in.
He smiled at her.
She smiled back.
“Are you having a good day then, Miss Penelope?” he had asked, his eyes watching her steadily for… something she did not know or understand.
“Quite,” she replied, her hands wringing on her lap in her nervousness—the viscount had always been so intimidating.
He looked exhausted—his eyes a little bloodshot, his skin a little pale.
He truly must begin taking care of himself.
Anthony nodded once. Paused. Nodded again, before replying, “That is good.”
Yes, it was. It was. Penelope loved Aubrey Hall! And she loved the Bridgertons! It was good.
But if it was, why was everything feeling so strange?
Now, it was nearing midnight and Penelope was ways away from sleep. After what seemed like hours tossing and turning in her bed, she decided to visit the library in search of a book to fall asleep to.
Perhaps something about land management? Which was interesting to Penelope in the daytime, but was something akin to a sleeping potion at this hour.
She crept across her room, careful to keep her footfalls light so as not to wake sleeping Eloise next door, because if she did, then all hope was lost for a good night's rest. They'd while away the hours talking about their books.
As Penelope turned the knob, she felt a prickle of unease at the back of her neck, as though someone was watching her. She turned to look, unsurprised to see that there was nobody there. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out, once. Twice.
Absurd.
Leaving her chambers, she walked the hall to the library, taking with her a candelabra. Moonlight shone through curtain gaps, a few particles of dust floating amid the light as she moved. Her thoughts wandered from one Bridgerton to another, landing finally on Anthony.
Why was there something there today that hadn't been there before? She had always been aloof around him despite their acquaintance. Handsome, distinguished, and imposing—it was no wonder why she had felt timid around him.
But today…
She shook her head, ridding it of girlish fantasies—how she had arrived at visions of the Viscount Bridgerton falling in love with her, she would never understand—as she arrived in the library.
She set her source of light on a small table as she perused the shelves for her next literary victim. She would have loved to explore Violet's new fiction purchases, but if she wanted to sleep, she'd need reading material that was much less exciting.
Penelope huffed, her eyes reading titles along worn spines, her head tilted to one side.
A glimmer caught just right in the candlelight captured her attention—it was a gold chain protruding from a desk drawer left ajar.
Curious.
She moved towards it, drawn to it inexplicably. Pulling the drawer further open, she found a lovely watch.
Penelope picked it up and examined it. It was delicate, feminine.
This beauty must be Violet's.
Yet she had never seen Violet use it. She chose to always use the watch Colin had bought for her in Spain.
She gazed at the watch, noticing a small crack on the glass. The time was stopped at ten minutes past four, perhaps marking the moment it broke. Her finger traced absentmindedly along the jagged line, before she turned it over, surprised to find an inscription.
My every minute with you is my favorite time of day.
Stunned, she held it tight, unwilling to let go. Her chest tightened, her throat was thick with emotion she could not name. It felt familiar, like it belonged to her.
But she knew it did not. That was impossible.
Still, she kept it in her hand, pressed against her bosom. Penelope closed her eyes, suddenly light-headed. Deciding to rest her now weary head—perhaps even drift off to sleep without the aid of a book, and instead with this eerie watch—she blew out the candles and sat comfortably on the sofa.
Her finger kept trailing along the edge of the watch, even while she felt drowsier by the second—which was peculiar, given how elusive sleep was to her just moments before.
But she was too tired.
Too tired to think, to feel, to be.
With her head resting on the back of the sofa, her sleepy hand now playing with the chain, she fell asleep, oblivious to the fact that the watch had started ticking.
Tick, tick, tick.
Penelope stirred awake, feeling warm and exceptionally comfortable. A vague memory of falling asleep on the sofa was dismissed entirely the moment it surfaced, because as she regained consciousness, her head was on a pillow, the rest of her body in a bed.
Odd.
Perhaps she had walked in a half-asleep state back to her chambers? Or perhaps Eloise had sought her in the wee hours and guided her back into bed? Or maybe—
Something—someone—moved beside her. Her eyes flew open in alarm as a muscular arm wrapped around her middle and a deep groan buried itself at the back of her neck.
In her panic, she glanced around the room.
It was far too bright and warm for morning. It must be mid-afternoon. But how could that be?
And she noted with even more panic… this was decidedly not her bedchamber.
The room was lush in decor, the bed was massive, the canopy intricate, the walls and windows grander somehow.
If she thought her assigned room in Aubrey Hall was beautiful, this was exquisitely so.
Penelope breathed—or at least she tried to.
“Awake already, wife? I can feel you thinking,” the man inching closer and closer to her said, until his body was pressed against her back. “A… what do you call it? A royal nap, was it?” he asked as he laughed, pulling her closer to him by the arm he had around her, her heart now beating so rapidly he must be able to feel it.
“Yes, royal indeed,” she replied. It felt natural to do so, as though two different Penelopes lived within her. One that was out of place, confused, reeling. And the other who felt completely at ease, cared for, and… loved.
Wife. He had called her wife, hadn't he?
Tentatively, she placed a hand on his forearm, stroking gently along the tanned skin. She heard a sharp intake of breath, and felt the miniscule tightening of the muscle on his arm.
And before she even turned to face him, before she even lifted his hand to her mouth to place a kiss on his ring, she knew.
This was Anthony.
She was in bed with Anthony Bridgerton.
In bed and married to Anthony Bridgerton.
Carefully, she turned to gaze at him. He was wonderfully rumpled, adorable in his boyish grin, one eye closed, the other teasingly squinting at her.
“My, you are radiant after a nap, my lady.”
Penelope laughed and the woman that felt at home in this body, moved forward to kiss Anthony on his nose.
He sighed. So contentedly that Penelope's heart ached.
But that was the very instant when she felt a different kind of ache… elsewhere. For this was the same moment Anthony Bridgerton, the reformed Capital R Rake that he was, glided his rather large hand along her belly and upward, cupping gently at her breast, compelling her to arch toward him.
How scandalous!
She whimpered at his touch, her lips parting. His eyes were open now, his breathing so ragged that it fanned the wisps of hair near her temples.
Slowly, as he loved her with his hand, he bent his head to kiss her, his eyes fixed upon her mouth.
And to the Penelope who woke up in this very strange time, this would be her very first kiss!
She closed her eyes, waiting and yearning for that first touch of his lips. As she did so, very loud squealing and little footfalls could suddenly be heard in the halls outside their bedchambers.
She groaned in frustration, like a child forced to forgo a sweetmeat, as Anthony laughed and nuzzled her neck. He placed a kiss there instead, and she felt delicious shivers all over her body when he did.
That was... new.
And it was lovely.
“Perhaps later, when the little hellion is in his bath,” he whispered seductively. With the hand that was previously so wonderfully cupped around her, Anthony fixed her robe. “There is a possibility that Seb is accompanied. Let's make you presentable, wife.”
Penelope smiled. It was a wonder being thus far married to Anthony.
“Thank you,” she sighed, as the door burst open and a little boy of three or younger, with chestnut brown hair and bright blue eyes, ran into the room.
“Sebbie, my darling!” Penelope called as Anthony pulled the boy into their bed, Rae and Eloise panting by the doorway.
This was her son.
Their son.
“When did he start. Running. So. Fast,” Eloise muttered in between quick breaths, her hand flying to her hair to fix her chignon.
“You are his godmother,” Rae commented dryly. “He was always meant to be a menace.”
Eloise scoffed, smiling. “You're his godmother too, Rae. Yet I have never experienced him as subdued as you.”
“Because deep inside, Rae is a menace, too,” Penelope interjected as Sebastian climbed onto her lap.
Anthony laughed, his head thrown back. “I know that to be true.”
“Papa!” Sebastian called, his eyes wide and beautiful, looking at his father with such admiration. “Bickit, pease. Bickit, Papa!”
Pretending to debate whether he would indeed grant the little boy what he wanted, Anthony tapped a fingertip lightly on his chin. “You can have a biscuit if you give Papa a big, big kiss.”
Sebastian chuckled, a lovely sound to Penelope's ears, shooting straight into her expanding heart.
Such a happy little boy, such a happy little life…
Sebastian threw himself at Anthony, his little arms wrapping around his father's neck. He kissed him on his cheek with a loud popping sound, causing Penelope to giggle. “Big?” He asked. Anthony smiled and nodded, confirming that the kiss was big enough indeed.
Rae tutted, laughing at Seb’s display, yet looking directly at Anthony now. “Permission to enter your chambers, my lord.”
To Penelope's surprise, Anthony rolled his eyes. “You may enter, Rachel.”
“I have repeatedly asked you to stop calling me that!” Rae complained.
Penelope suppressed a giggle. Rae had always hated being called Rachel.
“Then you shouldn't have written it at the Parish Register after the baptism,” Anthony replied quietly.
Rae groaned as she walked towards them. “Give me little Seb now, Lord Bridgerton. His bickits are waiting with his grandmama.”
Anthony handed the boy over and promised to follow them shortly. Eloise steadied herself by the door as Sebastian begged Rae to put him down, for as soon as his feet touched the floor, he ran screaming excitedly, his godmothers at his heels.
As the door closed, Anthony retrieved something from the drawer beside his side of the bed.
“I believe you were looking for this,” he said, placing something in Penelope's hand.
She gasped. It was the watch she had retrieved from the library.
“Wherever did you find it?” she asked, holding it with reverence as she realized that it was truly hers.
Anthony laughed, his hand tracing the side of her face with the same reverence she'd shown her watch. “You always forget where you leave it, yet I always find it in the library, my love.”
She turned it over, and there it was.
My every minute with you is my favorite time of day.
Anthony reached for her free hand, lacing his fingers with hers. “Be grateful I am assured that you love me. Otherwise, I would doubt your affection very much, since you keep misplacing my wedding present,” he teased. He kissed her fingers one at a time, and all Penelope could do was gaze at him.
“No matter how many times I lose it in the same room over and over again, I thank you for always coming to its rescue,” Penelope replied. “And yes,” she continued. “I do love you, husband. So very much.”
He smiled at her, that same boyish grin he donned earlier, making him look decades younger than he was. “I love you as well.”
Suddenly, like a breath drawn unawares, she was pressed into the mattress again after Anthony rolled enthusiastically to land atop her. Giggling madly, she held on to his arms and sighed.
He smiled, touching his nose to hers in a gentle stroke. “Where were we?” he asked, feigning confusion.
“I believe you were about to love me so very skillfully, before the product of being loved skillfully barged into our rooms.”
He laughed again, throwing his head back in amusement. “Then let me love you, wife,” he whispered, his eyes burning into hers, and she nodded.
Finally, he kissed her. His lips moved softly, seductively against hers. His hands trailed her side, lifting up her dress and robe to touch her skin—
And then, cruelly, Penelope woke.
Startled into the life she had thought she left behind in a time she no longer recognized, finding herself once more in the library at Aubrey Hall. The watch was gone, her hand bereft of Anthony's wedding present.
No. It was only a dream. No, no, no! It cannot be!
Staring at her hands, tears forming in her eyes, she raged inside her chest. The sun was shining now, the room bright and warm, a sharp contrast to the heaviness slowly filling her soul.
It felt so real, so loving…
Anthony.
Sebastian.
Her tears fell, and a sharp sob escaped her as she grieved for her husband, her son.
She mourned a life that had happened only in her dreams.
Now what was she to do? How could she go back to that life now? How did they even arrive there?
She looked around the room, eyes darting to every corner, searching for something to ground her. It was early yet. She knew the Bridgertons would still be abed, and that she was free to be impossible and preposterous and daft, weeping over scenes her fatigued imagination had conjured.
“Is everything all right?”
Penelope jumped in her seat, her hands flying to her face to hide her distress.
Anthony was there. Of course, he was. It was not as though it was enough that she was pointlessly pining for him, crying for the life they shared in her slumber, in her treacherous fantasies.
He had to be there to witness her humiliation.
“Miss Penelope?” he called out, his eyes clouded with worry. “Are you all right?”
“Perfectly well, Lord Bridgerton. I thank you.”
She made to stand, only to feel light-headed still and drop back down onto the sofa.
Anthony was there in a moment, his arms outstretched as if to catch her.
“Penelope!” he started, holding her steady and seated on the sofa that should have been their bed. In a house they should have shared.
He had called me wife just minutes ago. We had loved just mere moments before.
No matter how familiar calling her Penelope had been, it broke her not to hear him say my love.
“Apologies, my lord.” Penelope closed her eyes. “It seems I feel quite ill. Would you please help me, perhaps fetch Rae?”
“I am afraid she is away. She took a walk to the stables.”
Wonderful.
“What happened?” he asked. He was kneeling on one knee on the floor now, his hands still on her arms as if he feared she'd fall.
If he only knew how she'd already fallen.
“Tell me,” he implored.
And she did.
“I had a dream. You may think it alarming or preposterous, but my dream… it felt so real.”
She looked at him then, and he was patiently watching her, waiting for her to continue. He placed his one arm along the sofa beside her as the other sought her hand to try and comfort her.
“Was it a nightmare?”
“Well, it wasn't. But now… in the light of day it is!”
She sobbed once more, Anthony's hand tightening on hers as she told him everything.
About waking up to an afternoon nap married to him. About his arm wrapped protectively around her. About his laughter and his smiles.
She told him of Sebastian and his bickits, of his banter with Rae, of Eloise.
She told him that she woke up cold and alone, back in this time while they kissed in her dream. She told him how she felt hungry for more, seeking that same love.
Mourning for her son.
Yearning for her husband.
She closed her eyes, her head bowed as tears fell on her lap. What would Anthony think of her now?
Carefully, he withdrew his hand from hers when her shoulders stopped shaking.
How humiliating.
And then, in a cracked voice that did not feel like his, he whispered, “I thought you'd never come back to me, my love.”
His hand found hers again, but this time, he placed something solid and cool in her hand. Penelope opened her eyes…
And saw her watch, the inscription glaring at her, beseeching her to comprehend.
My every minute with you is my favorite time of day.
Penelope sat upright, her gaze landing on Anthony's tear-streaked face. He gently cupped her face, a laugh building on the corners of his lips.
“What? Did you—did you dream it, too?”
Was this even possible? Was this real?
“It wasn't a dream, Penelope. It was a memory.” His fingers traced her face with the same reverence he had in the dream, and tears fell from her eyes uncontrollably. Anthony continued, his voice softer, his throat tight. “Those scenes were from the day I almost lost you.”
“Tell me,” Penelope begged, grasping the watch tightly in her hand.
“It was late afternoon one month ago. Shortly after Sebastian left, he returned, begging to be carried by his Mama. Of course, you indulged him. We laughed our way out of the room, our son in your arms.”
A shadow passed over Anthony's face as he tried to steady his breathing. He placed his hand over hers so desperately it almost hurt—a pain she was willing to endure, as long as she found the answers she sought.
“You missed a step on the stairs and fell. You were walking ahead of me. I reached out to grab you, but I was too late. And you—”
“What? What did I do?” she asked, her eyes burning, her mind reeling.
“You pivoted your body as you stumbled to protect Sebastian from the fall. You fell, landing on your head… there was so much blood, Penelope, I'd thought you died.”
She felt chilled. Penelope’s throat tightened, flashes rapidly appearing in her mind—of Anthony carrying her back up the stairs to their rooms, of Rae comforting a crying Sebastian, of Eloise frozen in place…
“What happened then?” she asked, preparing for the worst.
“You were asleep for two weeks, delirious for one. I never left your bedside. Benedict took over all my duties for me. Our family… we all looked after Sebastian in your absence.”
“Is he all right?”
“Of course he is! He is walking with Rae at this very moment,” Anthony replied as if offended for her. “He is well and healthy because of you, Penelope! We have our son, thanks to you. You, who risked your own life to save him and—”
“I had to know. I had to ask.”
“I am sorry, my love,” Anthony replied quickly. “What you did broke me, I am not the man I once was, I know that. Yet what you did saved our Sebastian.”
He stood up so abruptly from the floor that it surprised Penelope. Now sitting beside her, she finally saw her husband. She saw the man she loved above all else.
He braced himself and continued, “When you woke from your long, fitful, fevered slumber a week ago, you were so very confused. You asked me what I was doing inside the room with you, and…” Anthony stopped. She saw that it hurt him to continue. That it was taking his every ounce of strength to talk her through that most difficult time.
Penelope turned to him. “You do not have to tell me right now if it pains you, Anthony.”
“I have to. You have to know. The doctor said there was a chance, a probability, that you would regain your memory—he'd seen it happen before.” Anthony took another deep breath then. “He could not say how long you would remain without the memory of our life together, but he asked us all to act as though all is as it should be to protect your mind. Your heart.
“Our family tried, in very subtle ways, to help you recall, using your old Whistledown pamphlets.” Anthony smiled weakly. “I kept my distance from you, no matter how much it hurt me to do so. Mother, Rae, and Eloise helped me with Sebastian—he misses you, you know?”
“I miss him, too,” Penelope wept in reply. “And I miss you. It was like I was in a different time in my dream. I thought I saw a glimpse of what our future could be and lost it just as suddenly. The void it left in my heart when I woke—”
“There is no void, Penelope. There is only us. I am here, and so are you.”
“Anthony,” she whispered, tears blinding her even as she smiled.
At last, he kissed her. He kissed her so deeply and she cried in relief against his mouth, her arms wrapping possessively around him as his hands threaded through her hair.
She remembered. Slowly, more images appeared in her mind as they kissed—a wedding, a wedding breakfast, a wedding night—a life of marital and familial bliss she never thought she'd ever have, a life that she almost lost without realizing.
A life she had found once more.
“Perhaps I did travel through time, just not forward as I assumed,” Penelope said when they broke apart.
“Where did you go?”
She smiled, her palm against his cheek and he leaned into her touch. “Back to you.”
Her husband grinned, that boyish grin she saw in her slumber—more weathered now with everything that had happened, yet even more wonderful than she could have ever pictured.
As they held each other, Penelope looked around the room with new eyes, the watch in her hand steadying her as she noticed… paint on one corner of the wall where Sebastian had played one day, her quills on a table beside Anthony's ledgers.
He stood then, already calling loudly for a footman to find Rae and Sebastian as she laughed amid her weeping. Her husband shouted to the entire house that Penelope had finally remembered. That Penelope was back. And that all was well.
In the bright morning light, in this room where she kept losing her beloved watch, and in the arms of the man who had loved her through a time that would have weakened any other, she found her home once more.