Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,142

the nose. “Or we could just stay here.”

“At the Rose and Bramble?”

“We’re supposed to depart tomorrow morning. It’s the last place Hyacinth would look.”

Penelope glanced up at him, her eyes growing warm and perhaps just a little bit mischievous. “I have no pressing engagements in London for at least a fortnight.”

He rolled atop her, tugging her down until she was flat on her back. “My mother did say she would not forgive us unless we produced a grandchild.”

“She did not put it in quite so uncompromising terms.”

He kissed her, right on the sensitive spot behind her earlobe that always made her squirm. “Pretend she did.”

“Well, in that case—oh!”

His lips slid down her belly. “Oh?” he murmured.

“We had best get to—oh!”

He looked up. “You were saying?”

“To work,” she just barely managed to get out.

He smiled against her skin. “Your servant, Mrs. Bridgerton. Always.”

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

“Romancing Mister Bridgerton: The 2nd Epilogue” was originally published as an e-book.

ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON. Copyright © 2002 by Julie Cotler Pottinger. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Digital Edition MARCH 2021 ISBN: 978-0-06-242410-5

Version 02262021

Print Edition ISBN 978-0-06-235368-9

Dedication

For Stefanie and Randall Hargreaves—

You opened your home,

you showed us your town,

you stored our stuff,

and when we arrived,

you had a care package waiting on the porch.

And when I really needed someone,

I knew exactly who to call.

And also for Paul,

this time Because.

It’s really always Because.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Epilogue

To Sir Phillip, With Love: The 2nd Epilogue

Prologue

February 1823

Gloucestershire, England

It was ironic, really, that it had happened on such a sunny day.

The first sunny day in, what had it been—six straight weeks of gray skies, accompanied by the occasional sprinkling of light snow or rain? Even Phillip, who’d thought himself impervious to the vagaries of the weather, had felt his spirits lighten, his smile widen. He’d gone outside—he’d had to. No one could remain indoors during such a splendid display of sunshine.

Especially in the middle of such a gray winter.

Even now, more than a month after it had happened, he couldn’t quite believe that the sun had had the temerity to tease him so.

And how was it that he’d been so blind that he’d not expected it? He’d lived with Marina since the day of their marriage. Eight long years to know the woman. He should have expected it. And in truth . . .

Well, in truth, he had expected it. He just hadn’t wanted to admit to the expectation. Perhaps he was just trying to delude himself, protect himself, even. To hide from the obvious, hoping that if he didn’t think about it, it would never happen.

But it did. And on a sunny day, to boot. God certainly had a sick sense of humor.

He looked down at his glass of whiskey, which was, quite inexplicably, empty. He must have drunk the damned thing, and yet he had no memory of doing so. He didn’t feel woozy, at least not as woozy as he should have been. Or even as woozy as he wanted to be.

He stared out the window at the sun, which was slipping low on the horizon. It had been another sunny day today. That probably explained his exceptional melancholy. At least he hoped it did. He wanted an explanation, needed one, for this awful tiredness that seemed to be taking over.

Melancholy terrified him.

More than anything. More than fire, more than war, more than hell itself. The thought of sinking into sadness, of being like her . . .

Marina had been melancholy. Marina had spent her entire life, or at least the entire life he’d known, melancholy. He couldn’t remember the

Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,142

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