Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,115

“It’s well known that Anthony settled ample livings upon all of his brothers.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to do with it all.”

“Buy something new,” he suggested. Didn’t all women like to shop?

She looked at him with an odd, almost inscrutable expression. “I’m not sure you understand how much money I have,” she said hedgingly. “I don’t think I could spend it all.”

“Put it aside for our children, then,” he said. “I’ve been fortunate that my father and brother saw fit to provide for me, but not all younger sons are so lucky.”

“And daughters,” Penelope reminded him. “Our daughters should have money of their own. Separate from their dowries.”

Colin had to smile. Such arrangements were rare, but trust Penelope to insist upon it. “Whatever you wish,” he said fondly.

She smiled and sighed, settling back against the pillows. Her fingers idly danced across the skin on the back of his hand, but her eyes were far away, and he doubted she was even aware of her movements.

“I have a confession to make,” she said, her voice quiet and even just a touch shy.

He looked at her doubtfully. “Bigger than Whistledown?”

“Different.”

“What is it?”

She dragged her eyes off of the random spot on the wall she seemed to be focused upon and gave him her full attention. “I’ve been feeling a bit”—she chewed on her lip as she paused, searching for the right words—“impatient with you lately. No, that’s not right,” she said. “Disappointed, really.”

An odd feeling began to prickle in his chest. “Disappointed how?” he asked carefully.

Her shoulders gave a little shrug. “You seemed so upset with me. About Whistledown.”

“I already told you that was because—”

“No, please,” she said, placing a gently restraining hand on his chest. “Please let me finish. I told you I thought it was because you were ashamed of me, and I tried to ignore it, but it hurt so much, really. I thought I knew who you were, and I couldn’t believe that person would think himself so far above me that he would feel such shame at my achievements.”

He stared at her silently, waiting for her to continue.

“But the funny thing is . . .” She turned to him with a wise smile. “The funny thing is that it wasn’t because you were ashamed at all. It was all because you wanted something like that for your own. Something like Whistledown. It seems silly now, but I was so worried because you weren’t the perfect man of my dreams.”

“No one is perfect,” he said quietly.

“I know.” She leaned over and planted an impulsive kiss on his cheek. “You’re the imperfect man of my heart, and that’s even better. I’d always thought you infallible, that your life was charmed, that you had no worries or fears or unfulfilled dreams. But that wasn’t really fair of me.”

“I was never ashamed of you, Penelope,” he whispered. “Never.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments, and then Penelope said, “Do you remember when I asked you if we might take a belated honeymoon trip?”

He nodded.

“Why don’t we use some of my Whistledown money for that?”

“I will pay for the honeymoon trip.”

“Fine,” she said with a lofty expression. “You may take it out of your quarterly allowance.”

He stared at her in shock, then hooted with laughter. “You’re going to give me pin money?” he asked, unable to control the grin that spread across his face.

“Pen money,” she corrected. “So you can work on your journals.”

“Pen money,” he mused. “I like that.”

She smiled and placed her hand on his. “I like you.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I like you, too.”

Penelope sighed as she settled her head on his shoulder. “Is life supposed to be this wonderful?”

“I think so,” he murmured. “I really do.”

Chapter 21

One week later, Penelope was sitting at the desk in her drawing room, reading Colin’s journals and making notes on a separate piece of paper whenever she had a question or comment. He had asked her to help him edit his writing, a task she found thrilling.

She was, of course, overjoyed that he had entrusted this critical job to her. It meant he trusted her judgment, thought she was smart and clever, felt that she could take what he had written and make it even better.

But there was more to her happiness than that. She’d needed a project, something to do. In the first days after giving up Whistledown, she’d reveled in her newfound free time. It was like having a holiday for the first time in ten years. She’d