"Husband?" Penelope repeated breathlessly, smiling widely now. So she was married to the tall man! "Oh, yes," she sighed. She liked that much better than being his sister.

"Quite a doting one he is. Seems to spend more time in this chair than anyone. Ain't never caught him anywhere else. Wish me own would follow suit. Last time I had a cold, he was down the tavern, toasting me good health, he claimed." She laughed.

"I confess, I don't remember much about myself or... or anyone. But I felt I knew him very well." She couldn't put her finger on it at the time, but seeing him had set her all aflutter, as if she should be nervous, yet there was also a sort of warmth there as well. "I mean, everyone is so familiar, but him..."

"Well, o' course they are. They're your in-laws. Ever so much nicer than me own, let me tell you." She tutted. "Poor dearie. Doctor Dorset did fear you might have a bit o' trouble rememberin' and the like. Said you got that knock right on your hippo... Oh, some fancy word. I can't remember. But I have seen it m'self, in one battle or another. Most seem to remember, bit by bit, and are right as rain, after a time."

She swallowed hard. "And what of those that don't?"

Mrs. Harris sighed. "Well, let's not dwell on that. You're just fortunate to have so many willin' to help you through no matter what." She pulled the covers away and scooped her from the bed.

"Goodness!" Penelope gripped her neck in a panic. "Surely, I'm too heavy for—"

"Now, don't you worry about that. I was a battle nurse, me. I've carried about men twice your size. You're just a little slip of thing to me. Now, let's get you a proper bath."

She hadn't looked at herself much, but she didn't feel like a little slip of a thing. But Mrs. Harris was awfully strong. Her husband looked strong as well. She'd noted his arms. His sleeves had only been rolled to the elbows, but even above that, he seemed barely contained. She hadn't wanted to dwell on them when she'd thought him her brother, but now it was quite a different matter.

Still, she put it from her head as Mrs. Harris assisted her in bathing. It did feel a bit strange and part of her wanted to send the woman from the room and insist she could see to herself, but she wasn't so certain that was true.

Besides, it was rather nice, the warm water, the fire, even the fussing. She wasn't sure why, but she felt that, even if she barely remembered her life before, this sort of care was something rare for her. It was nice to be clucked over and called "luv" and "dearie" and "duck."

By the time she was seated by the fire, Mrs. Harris gently combing through her hair to help it dry, she felt so very safe and warm. Even the... in-laws, she supposed, they all seemed to care so very much. She couldn't wait to know them all more precisely so she could thank them properly for looking after her.

"There we are." Mrs. Harris said when she'd settled her back in bed, freshly washed and dressed and brushed. "How do we feel now, luv?"

"I feel marvelous," she said, sighing, though that might be the lemonade with laudanum she'd been slowly sipping. Mrs. Harris said it had its uses, but not to have too much. It would give her awful nightmares. It did make her head feel a bit less achy. It made the rest of her feel sort of... floaty, every movement like a little swim.

She still felt a bit weak and she'd had to hold onto the woman's arm to make use of the chamber pot, but considering she'd been unable to sit up on her own an hour before, she felt strong indeed.

"I wouldn't go dancin' a jig just yet," Mrs. Harris warned. "But a bit more rest and some food... and who knows?"

Penelope was certainly not looking forward to any more rest, but she was quite eager to eat something — or at least her belly was. It had been loudly complaining since she'd woke. Mrs. Harris wanted her to wait a bit on that, but promised she might have some breakfast if the water and lemonade she'd sipped so far could be kept from reappearing.

"Do you feel well enough for me to let some of those nosy Bridgertons in soon? I swear I can hear half of them grumblin' out in the hall. That husband of yours is the loudest, o' course."

Penelope giggled. That was another thing that made her feel marvelous. That handsome, tall and, apparently, wonderfully caring husband of hers. Mrs. Harris had told her all about him — the way he insisted upon seeing to her needs, the way he spent so much time in that chair that he slept in it more often than not, the way he ate more in one sitting than most persons consumed all day. Apparently, that last was something Mrs. Harris had heard in the kitchens, but even that was rather charming to her.

"I do feel well. Couldn't he... er... Couldn't they come in now? I'm certain I look presentable enough." Truly, she had no idea how she looked. She had seen there was a mirror in the armoire when the maids were gathering her fresh nightclothes, but she hadn't wanted to bother Mrs. Harris to drag her over to look at herself in it. The poor woman had already been carrying her about enough.

"I suppose it won't hurt to let a few of them in. But, mind you, don't tire yourself out. I shouldn't like to come back tomorrow to find you worse off."

"I promise you won't," Penelope said eagerly.

"Are you certain you won't need me tonight?"

"Oh, I think I shall be fine until morning. I am in my nightclothes already, after all. Not that I haven't enjoyed your company." She'd learned so much, just from what Mrs. Harris knew of the family.

Though she didn't know as much as others in the village, she'd said they were the Bridgertons, and a very loving family, with eight children all named in the order of the alphabet, though she couldn't recall all of the names, a sweet mother, a father who had sadly passed some time ago, and more money than a royal duke, she'd added with a chuckle.

"Not sure what you came from before," she'd said with a wink, "but you married well."

She supposed she had. She felt quite eager to see her husband again, which must be the mark of a good marriage.

When the door opened, he rushed over the threshold before anyone else, taking the chair at her side again. The girl, El, followed, crowding in over his shoulder. Was she an Elizabeth or an Eleanor? Neither seemed quite right. She was prepared to end her suspense and ask, but the girl was looking quite cross...

"Really, Colin, it's not very gentlemanly of you to push past a lady in such a manner."

"And are you suddenly so concerned with being treated as a lady?" he countered before leaning over to grasp Penelope's hand. "Do you feel any better, Pen?"

She felt as if she might melt right back into the pillows at the way he stared at her, catching his breath when she squeezed his hand back. "Very much so. Thank you for your patience."

"Don't thank him too much," El said with a scowl. "He's been insufferable. You'd think Mrs. Harris was in here torturing you, the way he carries on."

Mrs. Harris laughed. "Didn't I tell you?" She squeezed the girl's shoulder. "You bid them send for me if I'm needed." She moved to Penelope again. "I'll advise the kitchen on your meal and hope to see you rosy-cheeked in the morning."

"I think she looks rosy-cheeked already," Colin said softly as the woman left.

Penelope met his eyes again, taking his hand in both of hers. "I hear you've been very attentive."

"Well, it's the least I can do," he said, his eyes dropping to their hands.

"Still, it's very sweet. I'd wager they aren't all like that. Mrs. Harris certainly says not."

He shook his head. "And who are they?"

"Hus—"

"Can't we come in, too?" a voice whined from the doorway. "It's my job to read to Penelope after breakfast and I'm very late. Didn't Mr. Dorset say we must have a routine?" It was the tall little girl. She strode in with a book clutched to her chest, smiling at Penelope. "We'd got halfway through Grimm's Kinder- und Hausmärchen, you know. But we can start over as I doubt you heard most of—"

"And listen to you hemming and hawing your way through it?" It was the boy now. "It takes you ages to read even one—"

"And how well do you translate German? You can't even master Latin, which is much easier than—"

"It is not!"

"Gregory, Hyacinth!" It was the other girl with the reddish hair now, out of breath and gesturing from the doorway. "Mama said we were to be allowed only two at a time. You will exhaust her. Come along and wait your—"

"No, I don't mind," Penelope said eagerly, sitting up a bit, mostly to show she could. "I feel so much better now." She hated to release Colin's hand, but she did so, gesturing to the girl. "So you are Hyacinth?"

The girl nodded. "Yes. And that's Francesca." She shrugged at the older girl behind her. "She's come to play the harp sometimes to help you rest. She's not very good at it."

Francesca looked aghast. "Hy!"

"I don't mean she's bad. I only mean to say she's best at pianoforte but we couldn't think how to lug that up here. I've been reading to you three times a day. I think it's half the reason you've come out of your slumber like Briar Rose. Only it was a kiss that woke—"

"You nitwit! We aren't supposed to just tell her things," the boy cut in. "Doctor Dorset said—"

"That's Gregory," Hyacinth groaned. "He thinks he's the most important because the Doctor let him help with the bandages once."

"It was more than once," he muttered. "At least I didn't swoon."

"I hadn't had breakfast that day!" She whirled on him now. "And he didn't say we couldn't tell her anything, you dolt. He said not to bombard her and confuse her!"

"Perhaps he should have added not fighting in front of her." It was the mother now. Not her mother, she now knew. "I'm certain that's not good for her either, my dears."

Both quieted, staring at the floor, droning, "Yes, Mama," and, "Sorry, Mama."

"Really, I'm happy for the company." She nodded to Hyacinth. "You seem to know an awful lot," she said, at which the girl preened, then stuck her tongue out at her brother. "I shall probably ask you so very many things."

"It might be best if you don't ask," the mother said now, sighing, "at least not very many things."

"Oh. I'm sorry. I only thought—"

"Don't be sorry at all, Darling," she said gently, approaching her. Colin and El both stepped back to allow her to sit by the bed without being asked. She was obviously the sort who commanded a lot of respect without even trying, her mother-in-law. "The doctor seems to think, with an injury such as yours, new information should not be fed to you, and that it would be best for you to let things come to you naturally, on their own."

"Oh... Then I am sorry it's not coming very quickly."

"I beg you, do not be sorry, not for anything." She laughed slightly and caressed her cheek. "It's enough for us that you are well. Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, thank you. Mrs. Harris was most helpful and so very... informative." Her eyes widened. "Is that not right, that she was? I asked her questions, but I didn't know yet that I shouldn't—"

"Do not trouble yourself. It is only natural that you should be curious. We simply also want to be careful that you do not become overwhelmed or upset. So you must let us know if you feel... overcome and we shall be sure to leave you to contemplate things."

Penelope nodded. She had some vague idea that mothers-in-law weren't meant to be very nice. Or was that stepmothers? Really, even the word mother didn't conjure the sweetest images. Either way, her mother-in-law was lovely. "You are so very kind," she marveled.

"Are we allowed in now?" It was the other man now, the smiling one with the wavy hair, also coming in the door. "She must be feeling better if she can survive Frannie chatting her ear off. You must watch out for her, Penelope."

That was the red-haired girl, she remembered, Francesca. And she pinched his arm. "You are not half as amusing as you think you are."

Soon enough, more people were appearing. The scowling gentleman made a return, along with his pretty wife. "Is everyone in here now?" he demanded. "Surely, Dorset did not approve— Agh!"

The toddler ran in now, actually darting between the man's legs, bound for the boy and girl — or Gregory and Hyacinth, she amended. He seemed to be attempting to climb between the two of them. "I want swings!"

Never had she seen so many people in one room... or so she thought. She really couldn't say for sure. But she didn't mind it.

The woman with the lighter auburn hair – really, more of a strawberry blonde – followed soon after, trying to pry him away. "Auggie! You're an unholy terror. I told you could have swings outside, not in the house and certainly not in this very room!"

"I want swings," he repeated.

Gregory and Hyacinth looked at each other and shrugged before they each took an arm, lifting the little boy between them and swinging him back and forth, to his delight.

"Really, you two must stop indulging him," the woman said, rubbing at her temples now.

The other tall, dark and handsome man was close behind her. Not that all the gentlemen present weren't handsome, but this man was nearly as handsome as her husband!

"Did he end up here, too?" he groaned. "That boy has hidden legs, I swear!"

"Are we back to having the whole house in here?" El threw up her hands. "I thought Colin or I might have a few minutes before the lot of you pushed in — not counting you, Mother, but the rest of you can—"

"No, I like it!" Penelope pushed herself up — or she started to. Several hands got to her first, all fussing with her pillows, her limbs, and even her hair.

"You shouldn't tax yourself!"

"Are you certain you shouldn't like to sleep more?"

"Pen, if you need some time, they can all—"

"What in the devil is going on?" That last was the doctor, striding in and glaring at the rest of them.

They all seemed rather chastened, quieting and staring at their feet.

"Please don't be upset with them," Penelope said quickly. "I... I wanted to see everyone again. And properly this time. You see, I'd got it wrong before."

The Doctor — or Mr. Dorset, she reminded herself, approached the bed. Everyone, even the mother, moved to give him the chair, though Colin only took one grudging step back, still resting a hand on the back of it.

"And how do you feel now?" Mr. Dorset inquired softly.

"Very refreshed," she assured him. "Mrs. Harris was wonderful."

"Yes, she is very efficient," he said absently, "if one can bear the constant talk." His fingers were widening her eyes again, then he squeezed at the sides of her neck. "Any pain in your throat? I know you might be quite dry, only having what we can feed you by spoon."

"We? I have been feeding her diligently," Colin grumbled.

"As have I," El supplied, pushing an elbow into his side.

"You must have been doing well," Penelope said, wishing they wouldn't quarrel. "It doesn't hurt much. Though I would like more water and, perhaps... something to eat?"

"Good God, Pen!" Her husband exclaimed. "You must be starved! When did she last have even broth? I shall have the kitchens send up—"

"Mrs. Harris shall advise the kitchens on what she can eat and when," Doctor Dorset said, concentrating on her. "Becoming nauseated will only worsen your headache, so we must take care."

Colin looked awfully annoyed at that, but held his tongue. He also seemed discomfited when the doctor began squeezing his way down her limbs and, once again, asking if she felt his hands, and then if there was any discomfort.

She didn't mind it, though she did blush, strangely gratified that her husband was quite obviously the jealous sort. "I've no pain apart from my head." Really, even that felt fleeting and fuzzy now.

Dorset drew back, smiling slightly. "I needed to be certain. But there is no tendon or nerve damage then. That is very encouraging. I think your body shall recover quite nicely." His smile dropped then. "But there are... other concerns." He frowned, peering at her closely. "Are you feeling alert? I did instruct Mrs. Harris to give you a small measure of laudanum for your comfort. If you are too tired to hear what I have to—"

"No, please." She did still feel quite languid, but she certainly didn't want to sleep if she could help it. "I feel very... at ease. But not so much that I'd like to be alone again."

She glanced over everyone, still crowded in the room. They were all dressed now – though she supposed Colin and El were still in their wrinkled clothing. But they all seemed so alert and eager for her to be better. She didn't want to disappoint them.

She turned to Doctor Dorset. "Whatever you wish to tell me, I'd like to hear it."

He took a deep breath. "I have done some studies. Not enough to prepare me to properly treat... Well, that's neither here nor there. What I mean to say is that I am no expert on maladies of the mind. But I have read enough to know that your injury here," he said, gently tapping at the tender spot, "involved your hippocampus."

"But isn't that a... a sea horse?"

He laughed. "In myths, yes."

She sat up straighter, strangely excited. "They pulled Neptune's chariot." She stilled, shaking her head. "How do I know that and not—"

"That is a part of your memory that is not anecdotal. It's something you learned and put away in the larger part of your brain that, right now, is working harder than the rest. You likely know such things better than you know your own life at the moment."

"She quoted Jonathan Swift, too," Colin supplied eagerly. "Or she... Well, she recognized a quote."

Dorset nodded. "I imagine your mind is likely grasping at things it knows quite hungrily, rather than dwelling on what it does not, compensating for your damaged hippocampus." He leaned in, smiling again. "Incidentally, they call that part of your brain the hippocampus because scientists say it resembles a fish."

"How fascinating!"

"Isn't it, though?"

Colin growled above them, "Aren't you going to tell her what you told us? Or are we to talk about the hippopotamus endlessly?"

"The hippocampus," Dorset corrected, his eyes still on her. "You see, studies have shown that memory loss is very likely to happen with injuries to that part of the brain, but they are not always permanent. In many cases, they have been recovered. Soldiers at war have spent days, weeks, even months unable to recall many things about their lives, but quite a lot of them recover once the pressure and swelling has eased, however long that takes." He patted her cheek. "I have high hopes that that will be the case with you."

"How nice," Penelope said. "So do I."

"But it's best not to tell you things outright, do you see? You should come into your memories on your own."

"Even if I get it wrong?" She'd got it wrong before — embarrassingly wrong, really.

"Yes, I think we should correct some things," Colin grumbled, "especially—"

"Even then," the doctor cut in. "I think it's best not to contradict her." He pressed lightly at her wound again. "It's best for your mind to find its own way, in its own time, than be led. Do you understand?"

"I suppose so. Is it like leading a horse to water, but not forcing it to drink?"

"That's a platitude," the doctor said with a smile. "Likely stored in the rest of what I suspect is that very large brain of yours."

"Yes, well... Let's not crowd her." Colin nudged Mr. Dorset's shoulder. "Didn't you say she must not be bombarded with details?"

Mr. Dorset rolled his eyes, then gave her a wan smile before standing. "Yes, it might be best if we leave you to your rest."

"What?" Penelope reached out a hand, but it dropped to her lap. "But I don't want to rest."

"You will soon, whether you wish to or not," her mother-in-law said softly. "Your eyes are drooping as it is. I think you've had enough excitement for one morning."

"But wait! Don't leave just yet. I had it wrong before. I know that now. I thought you were all my family."

"We are," the woman said tenderly. "Of course we are, apart from... blood."

"Aye, legally, I suppose. But still, I'd like to know you all," she pleaded, "your names, at least. Surely, there's no harm in that. I even know some." She turned to the girl. "You are El. At least, I heard that. I've been trying to work out if it's short for Eleanor or Elizabeth, but that doesn't sound quite right."

El glanced at the doctor before nodding. "I'm Eloise, but you call me El. So does everyone."

She beamed. "Are we very good friends? I thought you must be my sister at first, the way I... felt for you. I can't explain it." It was tender, a bit like the way she'd felt for her husband, on first glance, but in a different way.

"Well... we..." Eloise stared at her a moment, then turned to Mr. Dorset, who nodded, before answering with a sad sort of smile, "We have always been the very best of friends, Pen."

"I knew it! And Francesca and Gregory and Hyacinth are your brother and sisters and... oh!" Penelope pushed herself up higher against the pillows. "E,F,G,H... Mrs. Harris said you were all named alphabetically. So the rest of you..."

"Mrs. Harris probably said too much," Colin muttered.

"Not like she knew," Eloise countered. "She wasn't in the breakfast meeting."

The doctor sighed. "You know, perhaps this is not—"

"No, please tell me who's the A,B, and D," Penelope begged.

"Well... I suppose," the doctor hedged, "if it's only some names–"

"Oh, what harm is there in some names?" The scowling man stepped forward. "I'm Anthony and this is my wife, Kate."

Here, Kate let out a sob. "Oh, Penelope. I'm so very sorry. This is all my fault—"

"No," the scowling man, or Anthony, cut in. "No, it is not. It's only the babe making you feel this way."

"But it was I who invited—"

"Oh, Didi!" The wide-eyed girl sighed. "I wish you would stop blaming yourself. I've never seen you cry so much."

"Yes, please don't!" Penelope agreed eagerly. "I'm sure no one is to blame!"

"Indeed. Thank you, Penelope," Anthony, no longer scowling, said briskly.

"And a baby!" Penelope gasped. "How nice for you!"

"It is. Thank you." Anthony said, moving on. "Kate's sister Edwina and her mother Mary are there, you see."

"Mother?" Penelope gasped. "I thought you were surely all sisters."

Mary laughed. "Now I know you've bumped your head, but I am far too old to be—"

"Do stop, Mama!" The wide-eyed girl — or Edwina — said. "She is quite right." Edwina stepped forward, favoring Penelope with a kind smile. "People mistake her for my sister all the time."

"Flattery, nothing more," Mary said on a laugh.

"Kate is my sister and she does have a babe on the way, with Anthony," Edwina went on, "who forgot to mention he is Viscount Bridgerton. They met when... Well, it's actually quite a funny story, but—"

"Please no extraneous detail," the doctor said.

"Oh!" Edwina's hand flew to her mouth. "I am sorry."

Hyacinth piped up, "Yes. You must forgive us. We are all very new to... mind maladies."

"You're not," Gregory snorted, earning him a slap in the back of his head from the grinning man.

"Just as well we save that particular story," he said, still with a smile. "That tale might take several days to tell properly." He gestured to the scowling man... Anthony. "So, he is the A of it all and I am the B... Benedict, that is. Most call me Ben."

"Oh! And I am called Pen!" Penelope said, rather delighted. "We've rhyming names."

"That we do. I think you and I should gad about more often." He laughed. "I can hear them now... 'Here comes Ben and Pen! Everyone be on their worst behavior now!'"

Penelope giggled.

Colin was the scowling one now. "Here, I thought we weren't supposed to include extraneous details."

"Surely that doesn't include jokes," Ben said. "We've had little enough cause for levity these last days." He inclined his head to Penelope. "We really have been so very worried."

"Indeed!" The strawberry blonde said. "But we shall surely have the merriest Christmas now. Shan't we, Auggie?"

The squirming child in her arms didn't seem to agree, muttering about wanting swings.

"This is my boy, Auggie — or August — and my husband, Simon," she said, gesturing to the unreasonably handsome man, who quickly took the child.

"She neglected to mention she's Daphne," Simon supplied. "We've another child, Belinda," he said, "but she is sleeping now. But do not be too afraid. I assure you she is much better behaved than this little hellion."

"If only because she cannot hold up her head as yet," her mother-in-law said fondly before bending to Penelope again. "Now, please do not feel you must remember all of this later." She turned to the others. "Surely we are tiring poor Penelope—"

There were several groans of "Mama!" from half the room.

"Oh, not just yet!" Penelope sighed. "You are all so very merry. Is it only because it is Christmas or is it like this all the year?"

The older woman laughed slightly. "Well, I confess we do have a certain merry way about us. But it is not always conducive to a good rest, as I'm sure Mr. Dorset will agree."

"But wait! I've not learned your name yet. I mean... I know who you are, obviously, but not what to call you, unless you prefer I call you... Mama?" Did mothers-in-law like that sort of thing?

"Oh, Darling. I certainly wouldn't mind it, but... I am Violet. Some might call me Lady B... Violet is enough," she finished, moving nearer to the bed and squeezing her hand. "But we have forgotten one letter of the alphabet, haven't we?" Her eyes slid to the man still squeezing the back of the chair.

"Oh, I'm certain I know who that is by now." Penelope met his eyes, quite sure hers were hazy, with the little motes dancing in them. It made it seem as if he were surrounded by little points of light. How fitting. "Finally got it all right and correct. He's Colin," she said, his name more of a languid sigh.

He moved around the chair, taking his seat again, gripping her hand in both of his. "Yes, Pen. That is correct."

"I'm glad I got one thing right today," she said on a yawn.

"You're doing wonderfully, Pen." He was beaming. "I'm surprised you remember me at all."

"Well, I'm sure your name has been said, too," Eloise supplied with a scoff.

Penelope tilted her gaze to Colin again. "Still, I'd know you anywhere." She felt as if she was floating as his thumb stroked her palm. "You've been wonderful, I hear, by my side constantly, never forsaking me."

Eloise let out a huff.

"Yes. Yes, that is correct," he said quickly over her, swallowing hard and nodding. "I never would, Pen."

She giggled. "Isn't it silly that I thought you were my brother?"

"Very silly." He said, with an awkward little laugh. "I wanted so badly to correct you, but I... Well, I'm glad you know better now."

"So am I. I didn't like that nearly so much as this," she said on a sigh that quickly turned into a yawn.

"This?" he echoed.

"I'm so happy you are who you are to me."

His smile turned downward. "God, I've... I've hardly known myself this week, who I am to you. But if you are happy to see me, then... Well, that's all I can ask."

"Why shouldn't I be happy to see you? My husband," she finished softly.

His eyes widened a moment, his hands tightening around hers, before he straightened, clearing his throat. "Yes. Yes, that is correct, Pen."

She closed her eyes, a lullaby of rising voices singing her to sleep as she drifted away, his hands still cradling hers.