Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,130

the air, but Penelope held herself perfectly still, completely proud. Colin would say the right thing. She knew he would. Colin always said the right thing.

“I wasn’t surprised that I had fallen in love with her,” he said pointedly, giving the crowd a look that dared them to comment, “but rather that it had taken so long.

“I’ve known her for so many years, you see,” he continued, his voice softening, “and somehow I’d never taken the time to look inside, to see the beautiful, brilliant, witty woman she’d become.”

Penelope could feel the tears trickling down her face, but she couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. She had expected him to reveal her secret, and instead he was giving her this incredible gift, this spectacular declaration of love.

“Therefore,” Colin said, “with all of you here as my witnesses, I would like to say—Penelope—” He turned to her, taking her free hand in his, and said:

“I love you. I adore you. I worship the ground you walk upon.”

He turned back out to the crowd, lifted his glass, and said, “To my wife!”

“To your wife!” they all boomed, caught up in the magic of the moment.

Colin drank, and Penelope drank, even though she couldn’t help but wonder when he was going to tell them all the real reason for this announcement.

“Put down your glass, dear,” he murmured, plucking it from her fingers and setting it aside.

“But—”

“You interrupt far too much,” he scolded, and then he swept her into a passionate kiss, right there on the balcony in front of the entire ton.

“Colin!” she gasped, once he gave her a chance to breathe.

He grinned wolfishly as their audience roared its approval.

“Oh, and one last thing!” he called to the crowd.

They were now stamping their feet, hanging on his every word.

“I’m leaving the party early. Right now, as a matter of fact.” He shot a wicked, sideways grin at Penelope. “I’m sure you’ll understand.”

The men in the crowd hooted and hollered as Penelope turned beet red.

“But before I do, I have one last thing to say. One last little thing, in case you still don’t believe me when I tell you that my wife is the wittiest, cleverest, most enchanting woman in all of London.”

“Nooooo!” came a voice from the back, and Penelope knew it was Cressida.

But even Cressida was no match for the crowd, none of whom would let her pass, or even listen to her cries of distress.

“You might say that my wife has two maiden names,” he said thoughtfully. “Of course you all knew her as Penelope Featherington, as did I. But what you didn’t know, and what even I was not clever enough to figure out until she told me herself . . .”

He paused, waiting for silence to fall over the room.

“. . . is that she is also the brilliant, the witty, the breathtakingly magnificent—Oh, you all know who I am talking about,” he said, his arm sweeping out toward the crowd.

“I give you my wife!” he said, his love and pride flowing across the room. “Lady Whistledown!”

For a moment there was nothing but silence. It was almost as if no one even dared to breathe.

And then it came. Clap. Clap. Clap. Slow and methodical, but with such force and determination that everyone had to turn and look to see who had dared to break the shocked silence.

It was Lady Danbury.

She had shoved her cane into someone else’s arms and was holding her arms high, clapping loud and proud, beaming with pride and delight.

And then someone else began to clap. Penelope jerked her head to the side to see who . . .

Anthony Bridgerton.

And then Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings.

And then the Bridgerton women, and then the Featherington women, and then another and another and more and more until the entire room was cheering.

Penelope couldn’t believe it.

Tomorrow they might remember to be angry with her, to feel irritated at having been fooled for so many years, but tonight . . .

Tonight all they could do was admire and cheer.

For a woman who had had to carry out all of her accomplishments in secret, it was everything she’d ever dreamed of.

Well, almost everything.

Everything she’d truly ever dreamed of was standing next to her, his arm around her waist. And when she looked up at him, at his beloved face, he was smiling down at her with such love and pride that her breath caught in her throat.

“Congratulations, Lady Whistledown,” he murmured.

“I prefer Mrs. Bridgerton,” she replied.

He grinned. “Excellent choice.”

“Can