The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,36
smile in return, no matter how irate he was with Hyacinth.
And he did. Somehow, amidst everything, he knew what she needed. He always did.
Penelope turned back to Eloise. “I was,” she amended. “No longer. I’ve retired.”
But of course Eloise already knew that. Lady W’s letter of retirement had circulated long before Eloise had left town.
“For good,” Penelope added. “People have asked, but I shan’t be induced to pick up my quill again.” She paused, thinking of the scribblings she’d embarked upon at home. “At least not as Whistledown.” She looked at Eloise, who had sat down next to her on the table. Her face was somewhat blank, and she hadn’t said anything in ages—well, ages for Eloise, at least.
Penelope tried to smile. “I am thinking of writing a novel, actually.”
Still nothing from Eloise, although she was blinking quite rapidly, and her brow was scrunched up as if she were thinking quite hard.
And so Penelope took one of her hands and said the one thing she was really feeling. “I’m sorry, Eloise.”
Eloise had been staring rather blankly at an end table, but at that, she turned, her eyes finding Penelope’s. “You’re sorry?” she echoed, and she sounded dubious, as if sorry couldn’t possibly be the correct emotion, or at least, not enough of it.
Penelope’s heart sank. “I’m so sorry,” she said again. “I should have told you. I should have—”
“Are you mad?” Eloise asked, finally seeming to snap to attention. “Of course you should not have told me. I could never have kept this a secret.”
Penelope thought it rather remarkable of her to admit it.
“I am so proud of you,” Eloise continued. “Forget the writing for a moment—I cannot even fathom the logistics of it all, and someday—when it is not my wedding day—I shall insist upon hearing every last detail.”
“You were surprised, then?” Penelope murmured.
Eloise gave her a rather dry look. “To put it mildly.”
“I had to get her a chair,” Hyacinth supplied.
“I was already sitting down,” Eloise ground out.
Hyacinth waved her hand in the air. “Nevertheless.”
“Ignore her,” Eloise said, focusing firmly on Penelope. “Truly, I cannot begin to tell you how impressed I am—now that I’ve got over the shock, that is.”
“Really?” It hadn’t occurred to Penelope until that very moment just how much she’d wished for Eloise’s approval.
“Keeping us all in the dark for so long,” Eloise said, shaking her head with slow admiration. “From me. From her.” She jabbed a finger in Hyacinth’s direction. “It’s really very well-done of you.” At that she leaned forward and enveloped Penelope in a warm hug.
“You’re not angry with me?”
Eloise moved back and opened her mouth, and Penelope could see that she’d been about to say, “No,” probably to be followed by “Of course not.”
But the words remained in Eloise’s mouth, and she just sat there, looking slightly thoughtful and surprised until she finally said . . . “No.”
Penelope felt her brows lift. “Are you certain?” Because Eloise didn’t sound certain. She didn’t much sound like Eloise, to be honest.
“It would be different if I were still in London,” Eloise said quietly, “with nothing else to do. But this—” She glanced around the room, gesturing rather vaguely toward the window. “Here. It’s just not the same. It’s a different life,” she said quietly. “I’m a different person. A little bit, at least.”
“Lady Crane,” Penelope reminded her.
Eloise smiled. “Good of you to remind me of that, Mrs. Bridgerton.”
Penelope almost laughed. “Can you believe it?”
“Of you, or me?” Eloise asked.
“Both.”
Colin, who had been keeping a respectful distance—one hand firmly clamped around Hyacinth’s arm to keep her at a respectful distance—stepped forward. “We should probably return,” he said quietly. He held out his hand, and helped first Penelope, then Eloise, to her feet. “You,” he said, leaning forward to kiss his sister on the cheek, “should certainly return.”
Eloise smiled wistfully, the blushing bride once again, and nodded. With one last squeeze of Penelope’s hands, she brushed past Hyacinth (rolling her eyes as she did so) and made her way back to her wedding party.
Penelope watched her go, linking her arm in Colin’s and leaned gently into him. They both stood there in contented silence, idly watching the now empty doorway, listening to the sounds of the party wafting through the air.
“Do you think it would be polite if we left?” he murmured.
“Probably not.”
“Do you think Eloise would mind?”
Penelope shook her head.
Colin’s arms tightened around her, and she felt his lips gently brush her ear. “Let’s go,” he said.