For those gentle (and ignorant) readers who are new to town this year, Mr. Bridgerton is third in the legendary string of eight Bridgerton siblings (hence the name Colin, beginning with C; he follows Anthony and Benedict, and precedes Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth).
Although Mr. Bridgerton holds no noble title and is unlikely ever to do so (he is seventh in line for the title of Viscount Bridgerton, behind the two sons of the current viscount, his elder brother Benedict, and his three sons) he is still considered one of the prime catches of the season, due to his fortune, his face, his form, and most of all, his charm.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
2 APRIL 1824
ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON
“You’re a terrible liar, did you know that?”
He straightened, tugging slightly at his waistcoat as he lifted his chin. “Actually, I’m an excellent liar. But what I’m really good at is appearing appropriately sheepish and adorable after I’m caught.”
What, Penelope wondered, was she meant to say to that? Because surely there was no one more adorably sheepish (sheepishly adorable?) than Colin Bridgerton with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes flitting along the ceiling, and his lips puckered into an innocent whistle.
* * *
Colin knew the ton well. He knew how his peers acted. The aristocracy was capable of individual greatness, but collectively they tended to sink to the lowest common denominator.
FIRST COMES SCANDAL
“Hold the baby, would you?” Violet thrust Colin forward, and Georgie had no choice but to take him.
He immediately began to scream.
“I think he’s hungry,” Georgie said.
“He’s always hungry. Honestly, I don’t know what to do with him. He ate half of my meat pasty yesterday.”
Georgie sent a horrified look at her little nephew. “Does he even have teeth?”
“No,” Violet replied. “He just gummed the whole thing down.”
ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON
It was quite strange, actually, how he loved returning home just as much as he did the departure.
* * *
Colin had never been opposed to marriage. He’d simply been opposed to a dull marriage.
* * *
“And here I thought I was inscrutable.”
“Afraid not,” she replied. “Not to me, anyway.”
Colin sighed. “I fear it will never be my destiny to be a dark, brooding hero.”
“You may well find yourself someone’s hero,” Penelope allowed. “There’s time for you yet. But dark and brooding?” She smiled. “Not very likely.”
* * *
“I do love my family, but I really just go for the food.”
ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON
Colin decided then and there that the female mind was a strange and incomprehensible organ—one which no man should even attempt to understand. There wasn’t a woman alive who could go from point A to B without stopping at C, D, X, and 12 along the way.
ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON
“A man can’t travel forever; to do so would take all the fun out of it.”
* * *
Suddenly he didn’t know what to say. Which was strange, because he always knew what to say. In fact, he was somewhat famous for always knowing what to say. It was, he reflected, probably one of the reasons he was so well liked.
But he sensed that Penelope’s feelings depended on his next words, and at some point in the last ten minutes, her feelings had become very important to him.
THE VISCOUNT WHO LOVED ME
“Honor and honesty has its time and place, but not in a game of Pall Mall.”
ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON
“Mother,” he said, turning toward Violet, “how have you been?”
“You’ve been sending cryptic notes all over town,” Violet demanded, “and you want to know how I’ve been?”
He smiled. “Yes.”
Violet actually started wagging her finger at him, something she’d forbidden her own children from ever doing in public. “Oh, no you don’t, Colin Bridgerton. You are not going to get out of explaining yourself. I am your mother. Your mother!”
“I am aware of the relation,” he murmured.
* * *
“Biscuits are good,” Hyacinth said, thrusting a plate in Penelope’s direction.
“Hyacinth,” Lady Bridgerton said in a vaguely disapproving voice, “do try to speak in complete sentences.”
Hyacinth looked at her mother with a surprised expression. “Biscuits. Are. Good.” She cocked her head to the side. “Noun. Verb. Adjective.”
“Hyacinth.”
“Noun. Verb. Adjective,” Colin said, wiping a crumb from his grinning face. “Sentence. Is. Correct.”
ON THE WAY TO THE WEDDING
Gregory had told Colin everything, even down to the events of the night before. He did not like telling tales of Lucy, but one really could not ask one’s brother to sit in a tree for hours without explaining why. And Gregory had found a certain comfort in unburdening himself to Colin. He had not lectured. He had not judged.
In fact, he had understood.
When Gregory had finished his tale, tersely explaining why he was waiting outside Fennsworth House, Colin had simply nodded and said, “I don’t suppose you have something to eat.”
Gregory shook his head and grinned.
It was good to have a brother.
“Rather poor planning on your part,” Colin muttered.
ROMANCING MISTER BRIDGERTON
Everything he thought he’d known about kissing was rubbish.
Everything else had been mere lips and tongue and softly murmured but meaningless words.
This was a kiss.
There was something in the friction, the way he could hear and feel her breath at the same time. Something in the way she held perfectly still, and yet he could feel her heart pounding through her skin.
There was something in the fact that he knew it was her.
* * *
He assumed he’d say something flip and droll, like the devil-may-care fellow he was reputed to be. “This means nothing,” perhaps, echoing her own sentiments, or maybe, “Every woman deserves at least one kiss.” But as he closed the bare distance between them, he realized that there were no words that could capture the intensity of the moment.
No words for the passion. No words for the need.
No words for the sheer epiphany of the moment.
And so, on an otherwise unremarkable Friday afternoon, in the heart of Mayfair, in a quiet drawing room on Mount Street, Colin Bridgerton kissed Penelope Featherington.
And it was glorious.
* * *
And that was when he realized that Daphne had been right. His love hadn’t been a thunderbolt from the sky. It had started with a smile, a word, a teasing glance. Every second he had spent in her presence it had grown, until he’d reached this moment, and he suddenly knew.
TO SIR PHILLIP, WITH LOVE
“How can you think of food?” Gregory said angrily.