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Colin hurried to the ball the moment his mother informed him that Penelope might receive a proposal that very evening—from none other than Lord Debling. The thought was unbearable. He could not, would not, allow such a thing to happen. His heart pounded as he entered the ballroom, his eyes sweeping over the gathered crowd. The usual hum of conversation had ceased, and every gaze was fixed upon the center of the room, where two figures commanded attention.

Debling. And Penelope.

Colin’s stomach twisted as he saw Debling beginning to lower himself to one knee before her. A surge of urgency gripped him. Scandal be damned—he would put an end to this before it was too late. He had to tell Penelope the truth, to lay bare the depth of his feelings. He loved her. He longed for her. Every fiber of his being yearned to be with her.

With fists clenched at his sides, he took a step forward, his voice tight with emotion.

“Pen—”

But before he could finish, another voice—a small, high-pitched one—rang out, silencing the room.

“Who are you, and why are you kneeling before Mama?”

The innocent yet commanding question came from a little girl, no older than seven. She stood with hands on her hips, her gaze unwavering as if she were addressing an unruly servant.

The crowd collectively turned to the child, their astonishment palpable.

“Oh, Agatha, there is also Papa!” exclaimed a younger boy, pointing directly at Colin. His eyes were wide with curiosity as he added, “Papa, who is this man, and why is he kneeling before Mama? And why are we at a ball? Shouldn’t we be preparing to visit Uncle Benedict’s house to play with Cousin Violet?”

Before anyone could respond, the boy scampered over to Colin, tugging insistently at his sleeve. “Papa, up, up!

Caught entirely off guard, Colin hesitated, glancing at the bewildered onlookers before finally lifting the boy into his arms. “Umm… Papa?” Colin asked, his voice laden with confusion.

“Yes, Papa. Are you unwell? Mama, why is that man still kneeling? Did he do something wrong?” the boy inquired, tilting his head with childlike earnestness.

“Thomas! Maybe this man did something bad, and he’s asking Mama’s forgiveness,” the girl—Agatha, was it?—declared with a sage nod.

Thomas. Colin repeated the name in his mind. Wait… Did they call Penelope Mama?

“Did you just call Penelope… Mama?” Colin asked, his tone bordering on disbelief.

“Yes, Mama,” Thomas replied matter-of-factly, pointing to Penelope.

“I believe I have endured sufficient humiliation for one evening,” Lord Debling interjected stiffly, rising to his feet. “I shall take my leave.” He turned and made for the nearest exit, his dignity trailing behind him like a tattered cloak.

“Penelope, what is the meaning of this? Who are these children?” Portia Featherington demanded, her voice sharp with fury.

“Mama, I… I do not know,” Penelope stammered, her cheeks aflame. “They simply appeared and began calling me Mama—and Colin Papa—but I assure you, I have no idea—”

The murmurs of the ton grew louder, whispers rippling through the assembly like an uncontainable tide. Anthony Bridgerton, his jaw set with resolve, stepped forward to take command of the situation.

“This has gone far enough,” he declared. “We shall address this matter privately. Miss Featherington, Lady Featherington—come with us. Now.”

As they began to exit the ballroom, Agatha, with her bright, inquisitive eyes, looked up at Anthony and asked cheerfully, “Uncle Ant, may I know where Edmund is?”

“Who is Edmund?” Anthony asked, his brow furrowing. “And might I know your full name, little lady?”

The girl sighed as though speaking to someone dreadfully slow. “You don’t know your own eldest son? Why is everyone acting so strange tonight? I am Agatha Eloise Bridgerton, eldest daughter of Penelope and Colin Bridgerton.”

As they reached the grand steps where the carriages awaited, the children, with their youthful determination, clung to Colin and Penelope, insisting they ride together. Anthony, weary of the murmurs and stares from the ton, relented with a resigned sigh, eager to escape the prying eyes that lingered far too long.

“Fine,” he said, gesturing towards the nearest carriage. “Let them ride with their… parents.” The last word came with a pointed glance at Colin, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Once settled inside, the small space was soon filled with the lively chatter of Agatha and Thomas, their energy boundless. Their rapid conversation was so animated that neither Colin nor Penelope could follow, the two exchanging bewildered glances amidst the whirlwind of words.

Finally, Penelope managed to interject, her voice soft yet tinged with curiosity. “So… you’re saying I’m your mama?”

Agatha paused, her little chin lifting with the pride and certainty of a queen addressing her court. “Of course you’re our mama. The best mama in the ton,” she declared, her voice brimming with affection.

Penelope blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. Colin, seated beside her, couldn’t help but smirk, his gaze darting between Penelope’s stunned expression and the children’s unwavering confidence.

“Well,” Penelope finally said, her tone hesitant but warm, “I… I suppose I must thank you for the compliment.”

“It’s not just a compliment,” Agatha insisted, crossing her arms with a huff. “It’s the truth.”

Colin chuckled softly, the sound low and rich. “Agatha, I do hope you understand that this is all rather… unexpected.”

“Unexpected?” Thomas piped up, his wide eyes fixing on Colin. “But you’re our papa. There’s nothing unexpected about it.”

Colin raked a hand through his hair, glancing at Penelope. “Well, darling,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “it seems we’ve been promoted without so much as an interview.”

Penelope shot him a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “If this is a promotion, Colin, I dare say it comes with more responsibilities than either of us is prepared for.”

Agatha, evidently unbothered by the adults’ perplexity, leaned closer to her mother with a conspiratorial whisper. “Don’t worry, Mama. Thomas and I will help you. We’re very good at looking after Papa.”

At that, Colin burst into laughter, shaking his head as Penelope tried—and failed—to hide her smile. The children, oblivious to the peculiarities of their situation, beamed as though all was right in the world.

Penelope longed to ask more questions, her mind swirling with curiosity, but their carriage came to an abrupt halt, signaling their arrival. The occupants hurriedly disembarked and made their way into the grand Bridgerton house.

“Colin, explain,” Anthony demanded the moment they stepped inside, his tone sharp and commanding. The entirety of the Bridgerton family had gathered, the siblings’ faces alight with varying degrees of curiosity and bewilderment.

“Oh my! Who are these two adorable children?” Hyacinth exclaimed, her eyes widening as she took in the sight. “And why do they look like miniature versions of Penelope and Colin?”

“Hyacinth, please,” Anthony groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My head is already pounding from the events of tonight.”

“But she’s not wrong, brother,” Gregory chimed in, his voice teasing yet earnest. “They truly are the spitting image. You can’t deny it.”

All eyes turned to the children, and the resemblance was, indeed, striking. Agatha stood with a proud tilt to her chin, her brilliant blue eyes sparkling under the chandelier’s glow and her red curls cascading like a fiery crown. Beside her, Thomas clung to Colin’s hand, his blue eyes wide with wonder, his brunette curls tousled as if he had just tumbled from an afternoon nap.

“It’s uncanny,” Benedict murmured, stepping closer to study the children. “It’s as though someone took a brush and painted them directly from you two.”

“Enough of this nonsense,” Anthony snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Colin, who are these children, and why in God’s name were they calling you Papa and Penelope Mama?”

Colin shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Penelope, whose cheeks were flushed a deep crimson. “I… I wish I could explain, brother. Believe me, I’m as baffled as you are.”

“They truly are ours,” Agatha interjected confidently, her small hands clasped in front of her. “I’m Agatha Eloise Bridgerton, and this is my brother, Thomas Benedict Bridgerton. Mama and Papa are just confused because something strange is happening tonight.”

The room fell silent as the Bridgertons exchanged astonished glances. Even Anthony, ever the stoic, appeared momentarily lost for words.

Penelope opened her mouth to speak but faltered, her gaze darting between the children and Colin. “This… this cannot be…” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else.

Thomas tugged at Colin’s sleeve, looking up at him with wide, earnest eyes. “Papa, don’t worry. We’ll help you remember everything. Agatha says we’re good at helping.”

Hyacinth let out a delighted laugh, clapping her hands together. “Well, this is marvelous. A mystery, a scandal, and two delightful children all in one evening. I couldn’t have asked for better entertainment!”

Anthony groaned once more, muttering under his breath, “This is going to be a long night.”

“Agatha, my dear,” Violet began gently, her voice steady yet laced with curiosity. “Might I inquire as to your age, and perhaps you could tell me what year it is?”

Agatha, ever poised despite her tender years, clasped her hands before her and replied, “Granny, I am nearly seven, and Thomas is soon to be five. I believe it is the year 1821, just a few months after Mama and Papa celebrated their seventh wedding anniversary.” She paused, her bright blue eyes catching sight of Eloise. “Oh, hello there, Aunt Eloise! May I ask, where is your Penelope tonight?”

Eloise blinked, her brows furrowing in confusion. “My Penelope? The only Penelope I know is—your mama.” Her words faltered as she glanced at Penelope, who stood wide-eyed beside Colin.

Agatha tilted her head, a frown knitting her delicate brows. “How very peculiar. You don’t seem to remember your own daughter’s name, just as Uncle Anthony doesn’t recall his son’s. It is most strange tonight.” She sighed, then added, as though explaining something quite obvious, “Well, Mama is our Penelope, but you have your own Penelope—your daughter with Uncle Philip.”

The room seemed to collectively hold its breath at the revelation, the air thick with astonishment.

Thomas, who had been clinging to Colin’s hand, suddenly let out a distressed wail. “Aggie, what is happening? Why are they all pretending not to know us?” His small face crumpled, tears spilling down his cheeks as he turned to Penelope. “Mama, Papa, are you… are you separating? Is that why you’re acting so strange? Are you going to give us away now?”

His sobs echoed in the room, shattering the tense silence. Penelope, overcome with emotion, knelt to Thomas’s level, her hands trembling as she cupped his tear-streaked face.

“No, no, my darling,” she said, her voice thick with urgency and tenderness. “We would never give you away. Never.”

Colin, visibly shaken, crouched beside her and placed a steadying hand on Thomas’s small shoulder. “Thomas, listen to me,” he said, his voice firm yet soft. “Whatever confusion there is tonight, one thing will never change—we are here for you. Always.”

Agatha stepped forward, her lip trembling yet her gaze resolute. “Then why do you not remember us? Why does everyone act as though we do not belong here?”

The room fell silent again, the weight of the children’s words pressing heavily on all present. Violet exchanged a meaningful glance with Anthony, her usually composed features marked with unease.

“What in heaven’s name is going on?” Eloise whispered, breaking the stillness.

The tension in the drawing room was palpable, the confusion of the adults mirrored in the tearful eyes of the children. Violet, ever the matriarch, took a calming breath and stepped forward, her hands clasped before her.

“My dear Agatha,” she said gently, kneeling to bring herself to the child’s eye level. “I assure you, no one here doubts that you and Thomas are most precious. But your presence has… surprised us greatly. Perhaps you might share with us how you came to be here this evening?”

Agatha considered the question, her small face scrunching with thought. “We came as we always do, Granny. We were at home with Mama and Papa, packing for our visit to Uncle Benedict’s house. And then, suddenly, we were here.”

“At the ball?” Gregory asked, leaning forward in his chair with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Yes,” Agatha confirmed. “Mama was looking so beautiful in her gown, and Papa was smiling at her as he always does. But then that strange man was kneeling before her, and everything became so… odd.”

Thomas sniffled, rubbing his eyes with his small fists. “It’s like everyone forgot us,” he murmured. “And now Mama and Papa are acting different, too.”

Penelope exchanged a bewildered glance with Colin, her cheeks flushed with confusion. “Agatha, Thomas,” she began hesitantly, “you mentioned that we’ve been married for seven years?”

“Of course,” Agatha replied, as though the question were absurd. “You were wed in 1813. We’ve seen the painting in the drawing room countless times.”

At this, Benedict perked up, his artist’s eye intrigued. “A painting, you say? And who commissioned it?”

“You did, Uncle Benedict,” Agatha said matter-of-factly. “You painted it yourself. Mama says it’s her favorite, even though Papa complains that his cravat looks crooked.”

Colin let out a soft, incredulous laugh despite himself. “That does sound like me.”

Eloise raised her hand abruptly, as if halting a tutor mid-lecture. “Wait just one moment. Are you suggesting—” She glanced at the children, then at Penelope and Colin. “That you… traveled through time?”

“Time?” Agatha asked, her nose wrinkling in confusion. “What do you mean, Aunt Eloise? Time doesn’t change where we belong.”

“She may have a point,” Hyacinth chimed in, her tone light but her eyes alight with interest. “Perhaps they are not so much out of time as we are simply… out of place.”

“That is hardly helpful,” Anthony interjected, his voice sharp. “What matters is determining what has caused this—and how to resolve it.”

“Resolve it?” Thomas clung tighter to Penelope, his tearful gaze turning panicked. “You mean… send us away?”

“No!” Penelope exclaimed, her voice breaking. “No, my darling, that’s not what anyone means.” She wrapped her arms around Thomas, her trembling voice filled with a fierce protectiveness that silenced the room.

“Well, Agatha—may I call you Aggie?” Penelope asked softly, her voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

Aggie giggled, a sound so sweet and innocent it momentarily eased the tension in the room. “Mama, that’s the nickname you and Papa gave me! Of course you may call me Aggie.”

“Oh, I see,” Penelope said, a gentle smile curving her lips despite her confusion. “Well, my dear, the reason we’re all so bewildered is that, in this time, Colin and I are not yet married. It is only the year 1813.”

Aggie’s brows furrowed, her little face the picture of thoughtful contemplation. “1813? But, Mama, that’s impossible. I told you—we’re from 1821. You and Papa have been married for years!”

Penelope glanced at Colin, who stood beside her with his arms crossed, a contemplative expression shadowing his usually cheerful countenance. She turned back to Aggie and spoke gently but firmly. “If you truly hail from 1821, then it seems you and Thomas are our children from the future. Yet, I confess, we cannot fathom how you came to be here.”

Aggie tilted her head, her curls bouncing with the motion. “Hmm, Mama, perhaps it was magic? Or a dream?”

“A dream shared by so many?” Colin murmured, more to himself than anyone else. His gaze softened as it rested on Aggie, his voice dropping to a tone that carried both wonder and protectiveness. “If you are indeed from the future, little one, then you must know—you and your brother are already greatly loved, regardless of how or when you came to us.”

Thomas, who had been sniffling against Penelope’s skirts, peeked up at Colin with wide, teary eyes. “Truly, Papa?”

“Truly,” Colin said with a reassuring smile, kneeling to Thomas’s level and gently brushing a stray curl from the boy’s forehead. “Now dry those tears, my lad. We shall solve this mystery together, as a family.”

Penelope’s heart swelled at the tenderness in Colin’s voice, a flicker of warmth amidst the chaos. Turning back to Aggie, she asked, “Do you recall anything unusual before you arrived here? Anything that might explain what happened?”

Aggie tapped her chin, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. “Well, Mama, I remember we were packing for our visit to Uncle Benedict’s and Auntie Sophie’s house. Then there was a funny sort of light, and… here we are.”

“A light?” Penelope repeated, exchanging a glance with Colin. “Curious.”

“Very curious,” Colin agreed, rising to his feet and placing a steadying hand on Penelope’s arm. “But perhaps we ought to heed my mother’s advice for now and allow the children to rest. Answers may come with the dawn.”

Penelope nodded, though her mind raced with questions. She reached for Aggie’s hand, her touch firm yet gentle. “Come, my darling. Let us find you and Thomas a comfortable place to sleep.”

The Morning After

The sun streamed through the large windows of the Bridgerton residence, casting a warm golden glow across the breakfast room. Violet Bridgerton sat at the head of the table, her teacup poised mid-air as she studied the two children who had seemingly appeared from nowhere. The rest of the family, Colin and Penelope included, gathered around with varying degrees of curiosity and bewilderment.

Aggie sat primly in her chair, a picture of youthful poise, while Thomas busily stacked pieces of toast into an elaborate tower. Penelope and Colin exchanged a glance, their shared bewilderment tempered by an unspoken resolve to protect the children who claimed to be their own.

“Now, Aggie, my dear,” Violet began kindly, though her tone held a note of maternal authority, “you mentioned last evening that you and Thomas are from 1821. Can you recall anything more about how you came to be here?”

Aggie chewed thoughtfully on a bite of fruit before answering. “Well, Granny, there was a bright light—like the sun but smaller—and a funny noise. Then, all of a sudden, we were standing in the ballroom.”

“A bright light and a noise?” Benedict repeated, his brow furrowing. “Sounds rather like something out of a novel.”

“Perhaps a novel written by you, Penelope,” Eloise teased with a smirk, though her eyes darted between Colin and Penelope, searching for any clue as to how this mystery might unfold.

Penelope flushed but held her composure. “If only I had the imagination for such a tale, Eloise. Alas, real life has far surpassed fiction in this instance.”

Thomas, who had been quietly observing the adults, suddenly piped up. “Mama, Papa, are we going back to 1821 soon? I miss my toys and my cousin. I also miss Uncle Philip and his plants”

The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Colin and Penelope. Colin leaned forward, addressing his son with gentle firmness. “We shall do all we can to understand how you came to us, Thomas. For now, you are safe, and that is what matters most.”

Penelope’s hand brushed against Colin’s under the table, a fleeting touch that grounded them both. She looked at Thomas, her voice soft but steady. “And until we figure this out, we shall make sure you and Aggie are happy here. You are not alone.”

Benedict leaned forward, his curiosity piqued despite the absurdity of the situation. “So, in this 1821, you say you have many cousins?”

Aggie, perched on the edge of her chair with all the poise of a young lady making her debut, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Uncle Benny! After Mama and Papa married, you wed Auntie Sophie the very next year.”

Benedict’s brows shot up in surprise. “Auntie Sophie? Pray, who might she be?”

Aggie giggled. “Oh, Uncle Benny, you know her well! She is the sweetest, and we all adore her. You met her at a masquerade ball, and then later, you discovered that she’s working for a family. Your love story is quite romantic!”

The room grew quiet, the Bridgertons exchanging glances as Aggie continued with unabashed delight.

“And then Auntie Eloise—” Aggie turned to her aunt, who had been observing the exchange with wide eyes. “You ran away to marry Uncle Philip! Your love story is cute too. You wrote love letters to him, and then one day, you couldn’t bear to be apart any longer, so you left to be with him.”

“Love letters?” Eloise repeated, her voice unusually high. “To whom?”

“To Uncle Philip Crane,” Aggie said matter-of-factly. “You live at Romney Hall with him and my cousins Oliver and Amanda and Penelope. We love visiting them—they have a treehouse and the biggest garden!”

A collective hush fell over the room. Anthony’s jaw tightened as he glanced at Eloise, whose face had turned a vivid shade of pink.

“I… write love letters?” Eloise finally managed, her tone caught between disbelief and indignation.

“Yes! And they are beautiful,” Aggie replied cheerfully. “Uncle Philip says they are treasures, and he keeps them in a special box.”

Penelope’s hand flew to her mouth to stifle a laugh as Colin struggled to maintain a straight face.

“Does anyone else have a love story I should be aware of?” Anthony asked dryly, his patience wearing thin.

“Oh, plenty!” Aggie chirped. “But some are too scandalous to share, even for our family.”

The room erupted into a mix of laughter and groans, Benedict throwing up his hands. “Well, at least we know the Bridgertons remain entertaining, even seven years from now.”

Benedict leaned back, feigning nonchalance, though his voice betrayed intrigue. “Aggie, my dear, you mentioned love stories. Pray, what other tales from the future can you share? I promise to keep it in confidence.”

Aggie tilted her head, considering his request. “Well, Uncle Benny, not everything is a love story. Some are just… interesting.”

“Interesting?” Hyacinth repeated, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You cannot stop there! Do tell!”

Aggie hesitated, glancing at her brother, who gave her an encouraging nod. “Well, there is the matter of Uncle Gregory and his scandalous wedding”

“A scandalous wedding ?” Gregory blurted, his cheeks flushing. “With whom, might I ask?”

“Ah, I should not say.” Aggie bit her lip, her tone mischievous. “But it’s someone who teases you endlessly before you realize how much you like her.”

Gregory groaned, burying his face in his hands, while Hyacinth cackled with glee. “This is delicious!”

Anthony cleared his throat, his tone stern. “Let us return to matters of greater importance. Aggie, you mentioned Eloise running off. Are there any other scandals we should be aware of?”

Aggie’s eyes widened. “Oh, there is one! Uncle Anthony, do you recall the time when you and Aunt Kate—”

“Enough!” Anthony interrupted, his ears turning red. “This conversation has strayed too far.”

But Aggie was undeterred. “Oh, but it was a lovely scandal! Aunt Kate bested you at pall-mall and refused to marry you until you admitted you loved her. Everyone says it was the talk of the ton!”

Kate smirked, folding her arms. “I should like to hear more about this, Aggie.”

Anthony groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is insufferable.”

“And Papa Colin,” Aggie added, turning her gaze to her father. “You were the most romantic of all.

“You are, Papa,” Aggie said earnestly. “That’s why Thomas and I love hearing your story again and again.”

Thomas nodded solemnly. “Mama and Papa’s story is the best. It’s why we want our cousins to find love just as perfect!”

“Mama, Papa, may I ask some questions?” Agatha’s small voice cut through the laughter, her expression one of innocent curiosity. “If you are not yet married this year, does that mean the man from yesterday is the vegetable man?”

Thomas, always quick to follow his sister’s lead, interjected eagerly. “Not vegetable, Aggie, he’s the penguin man!”

Penelope blinked, then stifled a laugh. “Not the vegetable man, darling. His name is Lord Debling.”

“Oh no!” Agatha gasped, her eyes widening in recognition. “So, it is really the year you are to marry! He’s the man Mama was supposed to court before Papa swept her away. Does this mean you will marry him, Mama? If you and Papa do not marry, will we disappear from the future?”

A hush fell over the room as every Bridgerton pair exchanged looks of uncertainty. Penelope’s heart gave a sharp lurch, and she took a deep breath before speaking.

“Sweetheart,” Penelope began gently, kneeling to look Agatha in the eyes. “Lord Debling, he is no one to be concerned about.”

“But Mama,” Thomas asked, his voice filled with innocence yet tinged with worry. “If you don’t marry Papa this year, will we really disappear? Will we not be born?”

Colin’s heart clenched at the question, the weight of it far heavier than he expected. He reached out and gently placed a hand on Thomas’ shoulder. “No, Thomas, that will not happen. You and Aggie are very real, and we will make sure you are always with us. You need not worry.”

“But if things change, how will we be here, Papa?” Agatha pressed, her little brow furrowing as she tried to understand the situation.

Penelope took a moment to collect her thoughts. “It’s a complicated thing, my dear. But the future is not set in stone.”

Agatha nodded slowly, though her young mind struggled to grasp the full scope of the conversation. “So, the penguin man is just a man who’s not meant for Mama?”

“Yes, darling,” Colin said, his voice warm with reassurance. “Mama will choose me, and I chose her. Lord Debling is just a part of the past that won’t be part of our future.”

Thomas tilted his head thoughtfully. “And if we’re here now, then we’ll always be here?”

Colin smiled softly. “Always, Thomas. You and Aggie are here to stay.”

The afternoon to evening passed in a quiet ease, with Hyacinth happily entertaining Agatha and Thomas as they played about the drawing room. The children’s laughter filled the space, offering a brief respite from the weighty thoughts that lingered on everyone’s minds. However, the family remained deep in conversation, pondering what the future might hold.

Benedict broke the silence, his voice measured yet curious. “So, umm, does this mean that you two are truly to be wed, then?”

Penelope looked toward Colin, her expression thoughtful. “I think so. If what they say is true, then it might be... that is what is meant to happen.”

Colin, standing beside her, looked at her with an intensity that seemed to deepen with every passing moment. “It was meant to happen, Penelope,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “I was at that ball to stop your engagement to Lord Debling. Pen, in truth, I love you so very much. I yearn to be in your presence, and if those children—those beautiful souls—are a glimpse of our future, then please, let us make it a reality. Even though they’ve only just arrived, I feel as though they’ve always been with us. As though a part of me has been filled in a way I never knew I needed.”

Penelope’s heart fluttered at his words, and for a brief moment, all the confusion and uncertainty seemed to vanish, replaced by the clarity of his love. She stepped closer to him, her voice soft but steady. “Colin, if those children are our future, then I’ll embrace it with all my heart. I want nothing more than to build that future with you.”

Just as the room seemed to settle into a serene peace, a small, uncertain voice broke through the quiet.

“Mama, Papa,” Agatha’s voice called, her tone laced with curiosity and concern. “I think… I’m hearing that funny sound again. Maybe we’re being called now to the future.”

Colin and Penelope turned toward their daughter, who looked up at them with wide, innocent eyes. Thomas stood beside her, his small brow furrowed, as if trying to understand the strange sensation that had unsettled them both.

Penelope, ever the one to maintain composure, exchanged a glance with Colin, her expression one of both wonder and trepidation. “The sound, darling? What sound do you mean?”

“It’s like a sort of hum,” Agatha explained, her voice soft but insistent. “It feels like the world is moving, and I hear it from inside.” She placed a small hand on her chest, mimicking the sensation with a puzzled look.

Thomas, his voice full of concern, added, “Mama, Papa, do you hear it too? Maybe it’s time we go back to our future now. Is that why everything feels so... strange?”

Penelope’s heart skipped a beat. She exchanged another glance with Colin, her grip tightening on his hand as the unease between them deepened. Could it be? Could the mysterious connection between their present and the future truly be at work?

“I don’t hear anything, love,” Penelope replied softly

"Papa, may we return to our room for now?" Agatha inquired, her voice laced with the innocent expectancy of a child. "Can you sing to us, so we might sleep peacefully?"

"Of course, darling," Colin replied, his voice warm with affection, as Thomas looked up at him with expectant eyes. "You both shall have your song."

The family made their way to the room, where Colin gently tucked the children into their beds. The soft flicker of candlelight cast a tender glow upon the scene as he began to hum a lullaby— a tune that had often filled their home with comfort. Slowly, Agatha's eyelids fluttered, and Thomas, too, seemed to drift into the peaceful slumber that only a mother's or father's lullaby could bring.

Once their children were soundly asleep, Colin and Penelope, weary from the events of the night, settled into bed beside them. The quiet of the room was a balm to their weary souls, and soon, both parents succumbed to the embrace of sleep.

But as the hours passed and the first light of morning began to break through the curtains, a peculiar stillness filled the room. Colin awoke first, his senses alert to the unusual absence of his children. He turned toward Penelope, whose gentle breathing still echoed in the stillness.

"Penelope," he whispered, shaking her lightly, "the children—they are not here."

Penelope stirred, blinking in confusion as she took in the empty beds. "Gone?" she murmured, her voice thick with sleep. "But where could they have gone?"

Colin, now fully awake, looked around the room with growing unease. There was no sign of Agatha or Thomas. How could they have disappeared without a sound? The room, which had only moments ago been filled with the warmth of their children's presence, now felt inexplicably empty.

"Perhaps they have returned to where they belong, to the future," Colin said, his voice heavy with a mix of awe and regret as he glanced around the room.

Penelope sighed softly, her gaze lingering on the empty beds where their children had once slept. "But why does it feel so empty? As though something precious has been taken from me."

Colin stepped closer, his hand gently brushing hers in a quiet show of comfort. "Because, Penelope, I believe those children were always meant for us. They were a glimpse of a future we have yet to live." His eyes softened as he spoke, a quiet conviction settling in his heart. "We will have them, Penelope. I know we will. Somehow, we will bring them back."

Penelope turned toward him, her heart swelling with emotion as she saw the earnestness in his eyes. She could not quite explain it, but in that moment, she, too, believed it. Their family, though not yet whole, was destined to be. And though they could not fathom how or when, they would one day be reunited with the children who had already touched their lives so deeply.

"We will have them," she echoed softly, her voice full of the certainty that only love could bring.

And truly, they did have them. It was in the spring of 1814, when the world seemed to bloom anew, that Penelope gave birth to their first child. A daughter, as radiant as the morning sun, whose laughter filled their home with a joy they had longed for. Her name was Agatha Eloise Bridgerton, a perfect blend of the past and the future, carrying with her the promise of everything Colin and Penelope had hoped for.

As the years passed, their family grew, and Agatha’s mischievous smile and spirited nature reminded them daily of the wonder of fate. She was, in every sense, the child they had seen in the future, the one whose presence they had once felt in their hearts before her birth. And in the quiet moments, when they looked into her blue eyes or heard her call them "Mama" and "Papa," they knew, without a doubt, that their family was complete.

The mystery of how they had come to be was never fully explained, but Penelope and Colin no longer needed to know the answers. They had their Agatha, and with her, they had found the life they were always meant to lead. And as they held her close, both Colin and Penelope silently thanked the stars that had brought them together and given them a future so sweetly shared.