Chapter Text
A knock had been heard at the study door. Colin lifted his head from his paper and looked at the door. His beautiful wife, dressed in her nightgown, her fiery hair cascading on her shoulders, and her perfect blue eyes full of kindness. She smiled and walked toward him. "Are you still working? It is getting late," she asked, her voice laced with concern.
He was. He spent all day looking for the perfect sentence and words…but nothing. Colin was surrounded by scrap paper and wasted ink. He was blocked, and every word he put down on the page sounded false, empty, and inadequate. Colin looked down at his desk and sighed as Penelope, standing behind his chair, wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I am. But I have nothing." He tried to hide his disappointment, but he failed. Penelope softly kissed his temple as she gently caressed his chest. She knew him; she could sense he was sad. Colin was still struggling with his writerly insecurities. Nothing was ever good enough; nothing sounded alright, but he was wrong. He was a fantastic author, a massive compliment from Lady Wistledown herself.
"I am sure that is not true, let me see." She grabbed the sheets of paper, ready to read, but he snatched them back as quickly as possible.
"No, Pen, it is not good enough." Colin protested.
She sighed. "Very well. I am not going to push you."
"Thank you. Are you not supposed to put Agatha to bed?"
"I was, but she demanded that her papa tell her a story before she went to bed."
Their first child, Agatha, turned three not long ago and has been reclaimed by Colin, who has told her stories every night since she could talk. Penelope suspected it was because Colin used to read the baby aloud while she was carrying it. Sometimes, Agatha was okay with her mama telling her the story, but she was so attached to her daddy that she was glued to Colin. Also, "Papa made funny voices when he told the story, so it had to be Colin.
"And you know I can not say no to that face." Continue Penelope.
"Neither can I!" Chuckled Colin. He got up and turned to his wife. He grabbed her tiny hand and kissed it before bringing her closer to him. "I'll meet you later in our bed chamber, then."
"I'll wait for you." Penelope smiled before getting on her tiptoes and kissing Colin's lips.
Every time they kissed, it felt like the first time. Colin's mind would always return to that night in the Featherington garden, where a distressed Penelope asked him to kiss her. Something he thought wouldn't mean anything, but something that turned his whole world upside down. Colin has always loved Penelope, but he never realised that those feelings were romantic before that night, before that kiss. Three years later, he was the happiest man alive whenever he looked at Penelope. Every time he touched her, kissed her, talked to her, or even thought about her, he was in a state of bliss.
This happiness grew even bigger the day Penelope told him she was with child. And what a child! The most perfect little red-header baby girl. The spitting image of her mother with her father's personality. It's an ideal blend of both. Agatha was brilliant, just like Penelope, and would deduce things that children her age wouldn't even realise. Also, her speech was impeccable for her age. Colin put that on having two writing parents who read a lot to her. He couldn't wait to see what their next baby, Penelope, who had been growing inside for six months now, would look like. Colin couldn't wait for Agatha to be a big sister. He adores all his siblings and knows his children would be as close to one another.
Colin let go of his wife and left the study for Agatha's room. He found her awake in her bed, her doll in her arms, waiting for him.
Colin has always wanted children, and he loves them. Caring for his daughter, protecting her, playing with her, and telling her stories was his greatest joy. Agatha could make him forget all his worries and troubles with her little smile and bright baby-blue eyes, just like Penelope! His wife and daughter just had to bat their gorgeous eyes at him, and he melted at the sight, unable to say no to anything.
"Papa!" Screamed the little girl at the sight of her father.
Colin smiled and got closer. He sat on a tiny stool beside the bed, making his long legs uncomfortable. He reached out to take Agatha's hand. It was so small she could just wrap it around his thumb. Colin was melting at the cuteness of his daughter. "A little bird told me you were waiting for a story from me."
"Yes"
"Well, what should we read today?" Asked Colin as he looked through the little notebooks he and Pen filled with stories to read to their kids.
"No, I want you to make one up." Whined the little redhead.
Colin froze. Usually, he would be thrilled to make up a story on the spot for his baby. However, he didn't feel he was up to the task at the moment. He couldn't even write a single good line all day; how could he make up a story just like that? He swallowed."Very well."
The words "Once upon a time" left his mouth. He was ready to go blank, but to his surprise, words flowed out. He wasn't thinking about making things perfect; he was thinking about his daughter, making her happy, giving her something to dream about, and leaving her with a happy memory to cherish at the end of the day. The story was simple: a brave, handsome knight had to rescue the gorgeous, kind princess from the evil witch who had raised her. Well, it was a fantasy and magic version of how Colin lived every interaction with his mother-in-law, Portia. Not every word he chose was perfect, and the plot was weak, but he told it with such ease and performance, making funny voices. Agatha ate every word her father spoke, clutching her doll, mesmerised by the story.
Once the story ended, Agatha clapped her little hands, sparks in her eyes and a big smile on her face. "It was incredible, Papa!"
"Well, thank you, darling." Colin chuckled at his daughter's enthusiasm. "Now, it's time for bed," he whispered as he bent over to tuck Agatha in.
"Papa?" Ask the little girl as she adjusted herself on her pillow.
"Yes, angel?"
"Was the princess in the story, Mama? And the evil witch Grand-mama Portia?" Colin froze as he said she was brilliant. He chuckled.
"Do not tell your mother," he murmured to ensure no one could hear. Agatha laughed at his comment and nodded in response.
They were always fooling around together, sometimes having to hide their foolery from Penelope. It could be an accidentally broken vase, or not denying they ate sugar together before bed, or not telling her silly little secrets that she technically already knew.
"Goodnight, papa." Whispered Agatha as she closed her eyes.
"Good night, baby." Colin bent down to kiss her head. "I love you." He murmured.
"I love you too." She answered, sleepy.
Colin blew out the candles in the bedroom, except for one tiny little one on the nightstand. Someone was still scared of the dark, but she was three, so it was understandable. Colin looked at his daughter, waiting a moment to make sure she was asleep. Often, she would fake it, staying up late to play with her dolls. But she was really finding slumber this time.
Colin smiled and got out of the room. He always left the door open in case of a problem so they could hear Agatha or she could come to find them.
Colin returned to the bed chamber he shared with his wife. When they got married, he insisted on sleeping by her side every night for the rest of his life. Sure, it wasn't something really popular in marriage, but that was w’s what his parents did. He knew for sure that's what Anthony and Kate did. And that's what he wanted to do with his wife. Penelope was surprised but agreed right away when he suggested a shared room.
Colin entered the room and closed the door behind him, which had stayed open. Penelope, lying in their bed, reading a book, lifted her head and looked at him.
"Is she asleep?" She asked as she watched her husband strip down to his underwear so he could get ready for sleep.
"Yes, she is, and she loved the story I made on the spot."
"On the spot? I thought you had writer's block?"
"Well, I realised that not everything needs to be perfect. It is not about perfection; it is about the intention behind the words." He finished while climbing into his bed and lying beside Penelope.
"Good, because I read what you wrote today. It is excellent, Colin. You are too harsh on yourself."
Penelope was always the one who believed in him. She was the one who inspired and encouraged him to write. She praised his writing for the first time in the study at Bridgerton House, during one of their "lessons," when he was helping her find her husband. In his defence, he found her a husband in the end; it just happened to be himself. Since that day, she has never stopped praising his writing. Penelope was the reason he was writing; he was the one who gave him the courage to publish his work, his editor, his partner in business and in life, and his muse. He wrote so many pages thinking just about her, so many words to just describe one piece of hair, to just tell her lips. There are many ways to describe her. She was his everything.
Colin cuddled his wife. He wrapped his arms around her waist, making sure to squeeze her too much or crush her baby bump. He then rested his head on her breast, or what he would call the best, softest and prettiest pillows in the world. Penelope responded by playing with his hair with one hand as the other held her book.
"You think so?" Asked Colin.
"Yes, very much. Your work is great." She kissed the top of his head, and he settled a little deeper in her chest. "And for future reference, my mother is not an evil witch." Said seriously, Penelope.
Colin lifted his head in surprise. Mortified at the thought that Penelope heard him from Agatha's room. He didn't know what to say; Penelope knew he didn't appreciate Portia, especially for the way she treated her daughter. But, still, making her the villain of her story was perhaps not a good idea.
"She is a cold-hearted dragon." Added Penelope, making both laugh. Colin could have been ready for everything but this. Once they had calmed down again, Colin looked up.
"So, love, what are we reading tonight?" He asked as Penelope was stroking his cheeks.
They had this habit of reading together before bed. One would read out loud a book of this choice, while the other would just listen and cuddle. It was relaxing, a peaceful, slow moment full of love and intimacy. They sometimes even read their own writing and shared thoughts.
"Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen." She answers in the most neutral voice possible, hiding her excitement about re-reading her favourite.
"Again?" Smiled Colin, surprised. "It really is your favourite book."
"Well." She closed her book and put it on the nightstand beside the bed. Penelope looked down. "Maybe YOU can make up a story for me?" She had that defiant tone in her voice.
A tone that Colin was probably the only one ever to hear. A tone that he actually loves because it shows her confidence, her cockiness, a side of her that Penelope hides from the world. A side of her that she shouldn't hide from the world, as it was a great compliment to her sweet nature. Also, as the most successful writer in London, she was known to be cocky.
"Hum…have I ever told you the story of an English gentleman whose world turned upside down when he fell in love with his gorgeous red-headed lady friend who had a secret?"
It was a joke this time, although Colin would usually retell stories about him and Penelope: how they met, how they fell in love, how he ruined her proposal with that vegetarian Lord he actually forgot the name of because he wasn't relevant anyway. How he proposed, "Chaotically!" would usually answer his wife.
Penelope laughed at Colin's description of their love story. She looked into her husband's eyes and smiled. "You have." She softly said. "But it is one of my favourites."
"Really? Which one is really your favourite?" Whispered Colin.
"When that same dashing English gentleman married his lady friend." She answered, "How did you describe her again? Gorgeous?"
"I would like to rectify with "The most beautiful woman on earth"." He murmured to her.
Colin wrapped his mouth around Penelope's. He kept kissing her while caressing her sides with one hand and grabbing her thigh with the other. Penelope's hands found their way to her husband's hair as she kissed him back. No bedtime stories for them; another kind of bedtime activity was planned that night. Without any surprise, Colin woke up the next day with plenty of ideas and confidence to write.