The Bridgertons Happily Ever After by Julia Quinn

straightened.
    Penelope’s eyes darted to the door, then to her husband, who had risen and was shutting the draperies.
    “Colin!” she yelped, because his arms had stolen around her, and his lips were on her neck, and she could feel herself going quite liquid in his embrace. “I thought you wanted food,” she gasped.
    “I do,” he murmured, tugging on the bodice of her dress. “But I want you more.”
    And as Penelope sank to the cushions that had somehow found their way to the plush carpet below, she felt very loved indeed.
     
    Several days later, Penelope was seated in a carriage, gazing out the window and scolding herself.
    Colin was asleep.
    She was a widgeon for feeling so nervous about seeing Eloise again. Eloise, for heaven’s sake. They had been as close as sisters for over a decade. Closer. Except, maybe . . . not quite as close as either had thought. They had kept secrets, both of them. Penelope wanted to wring Eloise’s neck for not telling her about her suitor, but really, she hadn’t a leg to stand on. When Eloise found out that Penelope was Lady Whistledown . . .
    Penelope shuddered. Colin might be looking forward to the moment—he was positively devilish in his glee—but she felt rather ill, quite frankly. She hadn’t eaten all day, and she was not the sort to skip breakfast.
    She wrung her hands, craned her neck to get a better view out the window—she thought they might have turned onto the drive for Romney Hall, but she wasn’t precisely certain—then looked back to Colin.
    He was still asleep.
    She kicked him. Gently, of course, because she did not think herself overly violent, but really, it wasn’t fair that he had slept like a baby from the moment the carriage had started rolling. He had settled into his seat, inquired after her comfort, and then, before she’d even managed the you in “Very well, thank you,” his eyes were closed.
    Thirty seconds later he was snoring.
    It really wasn’t fair. He always fell asleep before she did at night as well.
    She kicked him again, harder this time.
    He mumbled something in his sleep, shifted positions ever so slightly, and slumped into the corner.
    Penelope scooted over. Closer, closer . . .
    Then she organized her elbow in a sharp point and jabbed him in the ribs.
    “Wha . . . ?” Colin shot straight awake, blinking and coughing. “What? What? What?”
    “I think we’re here,” Penelope said.
    He looked out the window, then back at her. “And you needed to inform of this by taking a weapon to my body?”
    “It was my elbow.”
    He glanced down at her arm. “You, my dear, are in possession of exceedingly bony elbows.”
    Penelope was quite sure her elbows—or any part of her, for that matter—were not the least bit bony, but there seemed little to gain by contradicting him, so she said, again, “I think we’re here.”
    Colin leaned toward the glass with a couple of sleepy blinks. “I think you’re right.”
    “It’s lovely,” Penelope said, taking in the exquisitely maintained grounds. “Why did you tell me it was run-down?”
    “It is,” Colin replied, handing her her shawl. “Here,” he said with a gruff smile, as if he weren’t yet used to caring for another person’s welfare in quite the way he did hers. “It will be chilly yet.”
    It was still fairly early in the morning; the inn at which they had slept was only an hour’s ride away. Most of the family had stayed with Benedict and Sophie, but their home was not large enough to accommodate all of the Bridgertons. Besides, Colin had explained, they were newlyweds. They needed their privacy.
    Penelope hugged the soft wool to her body and leaned against him to get a better look out the window. And, to be honest, just because she liked to lean against him. “I think it looks lovely,” she said. “I have never seen such roses.”
    “It’s nicer on the outside than in,” Colin explained as the carriage drew to a halt. “But I expect Eloise will