… you will never know how unfortunate you are, dearest Penelope, to have sisters only. Brothers are ever so much more fun.
—from Eloise Bridgerton to Penelope Featherington,
following a midnight ride in Hyde Park with her three older brothers
“Here are your choices,” Anthony said, sitting behind Phillip’s desk as if he owned the place. “You can marry him in one week, or you can marry him in two.”
Eloise’s mouth fell open into a horrified oval. “Anthony!”
“Did you expect me to suggest an alternative?” he asked mildly. “I suppose we might stretch it to three, given a sufficiently compelling reason.”
She hated when he spoke like that, as if he were reasonable and wise, and she were nothing more than a recalcitrant child. It was far better when he ranted and raved. Then, at least, she could pretend he was mad in the head and she was a poor, beleaguered innocent.
“I don’t see why you would object,” he continued. “Didn’t you come here with the intention to marry him?”
“No! I came here with the intention to find out if he was suitable for marriage.”
“And is he?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s only been two days.”
“And yet,” Anthony said, idly examining his fingernails in the dim candlelight, “that’s still more than enough time to ruin your reputation.”
“Does anyone know I was gone?” she quickly asked. “Outside the family, that is.”
“Not yet,” he admitted, “but someone will find out. Someone always finds out.”
“There was supposed to be a chaperone,” Eloise said sullenly.
“Was there?” he asked, his voice perfectly conversational, as if he were asking if there was supposed to have been lamb for dinner, or maybe a hunting expedition arranged for his entertainment.
“She’s coming soon.”
“Hmmm. Too bad for her I arrived first.” “Too bad for everyone,” Eloise muttered.
“What was that?” he asked, but again he used that awful voice, the one that made it clear he’d heard every word.
“Anthony,” Eloise said, and his name came out like a plea, even though she had no idea what it was she was pleading for.
He turned to her, his dark eyes blazing, the force of his stare so violent that it was only then that she realized she ought to have been grateful he’d been pretending to examine his fingernails.
She took a step back. Anyone would have when faced with Anthony Bridgerton in such a fury.
But when he spoke, his voice was even and controlled. “You’ve made yourself a rather messy little bed here,” he said, his cadence slow and precise. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to lie in it.”
“You would have me marry a man I don’t know?” she whispered.
“Is that even the truth?” Anthony responded. “Because you seemed to know him very well indeed in the dining room. You certainly leapt to his defense at every conceivable opportunity.”
Anthony was talking her into a corner, and it was driving her mad. “It’s not enough for marriage,” she insisted. “At least not yet.”
But Anthony wasn’t the sort to let up. “If not now, then when? One week? Two?”
“Stop!” she burst out, wanting to throw her hands over her ears. “I can’t think.”
“You don’t think,” he corrected. “If you’d taken one moment to think, to use that tiny portion of your brain reserved for common sense, you would never have run off.”
She crossed her arms, looking away. She had no argument, and it was killing her.
“What are you going to do, Eloise?” Anthony asked.
“I don’t know,” she muttered, hating how stupid she sounded.
“Well,” he said, still continuing in that awful, reasonable voice, “that puts us in a bit of a bind, doesn’t it?”
“Can’t you just say it?” she asked, her fists clenching against her rib cage. “Do you have to end everything with a question?”
He smiled humorlessly. “And here I thought you’d appreciate my soliciting your opinion.”
“You’re being condescending and you know it.”
He leaned forward, thunder in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how much effort it requires to keep my temper in check?”
Eloise thought it best not to hazard a guess.
“You ran off in the middle of the night,” he said, rising to his feet, “without a word, without even a note—”
“I left a note!” she burst out.
He looked at her with patent disbelief.
“I did!” she insisted. “I left it on the side table in the front hall. Right next to the Chinese vase.”
“And this mysterious note said . . .”
“It said not to worry, that I was fine and would contact you all within a month.”
“Ah,” Anthony said mockingly. “That would have set my mind at ease.” “I don’t know why you didn’t get it,” Eloise muttered. “It probably got
mixed up with a pile of invitations.”
“For all we knew,” Anthony continued, taking a step toward her, “you’d been kidnapped.”
Eloise paled. She’d never even considered that her family might think such a thing. It had never occurred to her that her note might go astray.
“Do you know what Mother did?” Anthony asked, his voice deathly serious. “After nearly collapsing with worry?”
Eloise shook her head, dreading the answer.
“She went to the bank,” Anthony continued. “Do you know why?” “Could you just tell me?” Eloise asked wearily. She hated the questions.
“She went there,” he said, walking toward her in a terrifying manner, “to make sure that all her funds were in the proper order so that she could withdraw them should she need to ransom you!”
Eloise shrank back at the fury in her older brother’s voice. I left a note, she wanted to say again, but she knew it would come out the wrong way. She’d been wrong, and she’d been foolish, and she didn’t want to compound her stupidity by trying to excuse it.
“Penelope was the one who finally figured out what you’d done,” Anthony said. “We asked her to search your room, since she’s probably spent more time there than any of the rest of us.”
Eloise nodded. Penelope had been her closest friend—still was, in fact, even though she’d married Colin. They’d spent countless hours up in her room, talking about anything and everything. Phillip’s letters were the only secret Eloise had ever kept from her.
“Where did she find the letter?” Eloise asked. Not that it mattered, but she couldn’t help her curiosity.
“It had fallen behind your desk.” Anthony crossed his arms. “Along with a pressed flower.”
Somehow that seemed fitting. “He’s a botanist,” she whispered. “I beg your pardon?”
“A botanist,” she said, more loudly this time. “Sir Phillip. He took a first at Cambridge. He would have been an academic if his brother hadn’t died at Waterloo.”
Anthony nodded, digesting that fact, and the fact that she knew it. “If you tell me that he’s a cruel man, that he will beat you, that he will insult you and demean you, I will not force your hand. But before you speak, I want you to consider my words. You are a Bridgerton. I don’t care who you marry or what your name becomes when you stand up before a priest and say your vows. You will always be a Bridgerton, and we behave with honor and honesty, not because it is expected of us, but because that is what we are.”
Eloise nodded, swallowing as she fought the tears that were stinging in her eyes.
“So I will ask you right now,” he said. “Is there any reason you cannot marry Sir Phillip Crane?”
“No,” she whispered. She didn’t even hesitate. She wasn’t ready for this, wasn’t yet ready for the marriage, but she wouldn’t sully the truth by hesitating on her answer.
“I thought not.”
She stood still, almost deflated, not certain what to do or say next. She turned, aware that Anthony had to know she was crying, but not wanting him to see her tears, nonetheless. “I’ll marry him,” she said, choking on the words. “It’s just that I—I’d wanted—”
He held silent for a moment, respecting her distress, but then, when she did not continue, he asked, “What did you want, Eloise?”
“I’d hoped for a love match,” she said, so softly she barely heard herself.
“I see,” he said, his hearing superb as always. “You should have thought of that before you ran off, shouldn’t you?”
She hated him in that moment. “You have a love match. You should understand.”
“I,” he said, the tone of his voice indicating that he did not appreciate her trying to make the conversation about him, “married my wife after we were caught in a compromising position by the biggest bloody gossip in England.”
Eloise let out a long breath, feeling stupid. It had been so many years since Anthony had married. She’d forgotten the circumstances.
“I didn’t love my wife when I married her,” he continued, “or,” he added, his voice growing a bit softer, more gruff and nostalgic, “if I did, I did not yet realize it.”
Eloise nodded. “You were very lucky,” she said, wishing she knew if she could be that lucky with Phillip.
And then Anthony surprised her, because he didn’t scold, and he didn’t reprimand. All he said was, “I know.”
“I felt lost,” she whispered. “When Penelope and Colin married . . .” She sank into a chair, letting her head drop into her hands. “I’m a terrible person. I must be a terrible person, horrible and shallow, because when they married, all I could think about was myself.”
Anthony sighed, and he crouched beside her. “You’re not a terrible person, Eloise. You know that.”
She looked up at him, wondering when it was that this man, her brother, had become so wise. If he’d yelled one more word, spent one more minute speaking to her in that mocking voice, she would have broke. She would have broke, or she would have hardened, but either way, something between them would have been ruined.
But here he was, Anthony of all people, who was arrogant and proud and every inch the arch nobleman he’d been born to be, kneeling at her side, placing his hand on hers, and speaking with a kindness that nearly broke her heart.
“I was happy for them,” she said. “I am happy for them.” “I know you are.”
“I should have felt nothing but joy.” “If you had, you wouldn’t be human.”
“Penelope became my sister,” she said. “I should have been happy.” “Didn’t you say that you were?”
She nodded. “I am. I am. I know that I am. I’m not just saying it.” He smiled benignly and waited for her to continue.
“It’s just that I suddenly felt so lonely, and so old.” She looked up at him, wondering if he could possibly understand. “I never thought I would be left behind.”
He chuckled. “Eloise Bridgerton, I don’t think anyone would ever make the mistake of leaving you behind.”
She felt her lips curve into a wobbly smile, marveling that her brother of all people could actually say the exact right thing. “I suppose I never really thought I’d always be a spinster,” she said. “Or, if I was, then at least that Penelope would always be one, too. It wasn’t very kind of me, and I don’t even think I really thought about it much, but—”
“But that’s just how it was,” he said, doing her the kindness of finishing the sentiment. “I don’t think even Penelope ever thought she’d marry. And to be honest, I doubt Colin did, either. Love can rather creep up on a person, you know.”
She nodded, wondering if it could creep up on her. Probably not. She was the sort of person who would need it whacked over the head.
“I’m glad they’re married,” Eloise said. “I know you are. I am, too.”
“Sir Phillip,” she said, motioning toward the door, even though he was actually down the hall and around two corners in the dining room. “We had been corresponding for over a year. And then he mentioned marriage. And he did it in such a sensible manner. He didn’t propose, he just inquired if I might like to visit, to see if we would suit. I told myself he was mad, that I couldn’t even consider such an offer. Who would marry someone she didn’t know?” She let out a shaky little laugh. “And then Colin and Penelope announced their engagement. It was as if my entire world flipped sideways. And that was when I started thinking about it. Every time I looked at my desk, at the drawer where I kept his letters, it was as if they were burning a hole right through the wood.”
Anthony said nothing, just squeezed her hand, as if he understood.
“I had to do something,” she said. “I couldn’t just sit and wait for life to happen to me any longer.”
A chuckle burst from her brother’s throat. “Eloise,” he said, “that is the last thing I would ever worry about on your behalf.”
“Anth—”
“No, let me finish,” he said. “You’re one of the special ones, Eloise. Life never happens to you. Trust me on this. I’ve watched you grow up, had to be your father at times when I wanted only to be your brother.”
Her lips parted as something squeezed around her heart. He was right. He had been a father to her. It was a role neither of them had wanted for him, but he had done it for years, without complaint.
And this time she squeezed his hand, not because she loved him, but because it was only now that she realized how very much she did.
“You happen to life, Eloise,” Anthony said. “You’ve always made your own decisions, always been in control. It might not always feel that way, but it’s true.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, shaking her head as she said, “Well, I was trying to make my own decisions when I came here. It seemed a good plan.”
“And maybe,” Anthony said quietly, “you’ll find that it was indeed a good plan. Sir Phillip seems an honorable sort.”
Eloise couldn’t hide her peevish expression. “You were able to deduce this while you had your hands wrapped around his throat?”
He shot her a superior look. “You’d be surprised what men can deduce about one another while fighting.”
“You call that fighting? It was four against one!” He shrugged. “I never said it was fair fighting.” “You’re incorrigible.”
“An interesting adjective considering your recent activities.” Eloise felt herself flush.
“Very well,” Anthony said, his brisk tone signaling a change of topic. “Here is what we are going to do.”
And Eloise knew that whatever he said, it was what she’d be doing. His voice was that resolute.
“You will pack your bags immediately,” Anthony said, “and we will all travel to My Cottage and remain there for a week.”
Eloise nodded. My Cottage was the rather odd name of Benedict’s home, situated not too far from Romney Hall in Wiltshire. He lived there with his wife Sophie and their three sons. It wasn’t a particularly large home, but it was comfortable, and there was certainly enough room for a few extra Bridgertons.
“Your Sir Phillip may come visit each day,” Anthony continued, and Eloise understood his words perfectly to mean, Your Sir Phillip will come visit each day.
She nodded again.
“If, at the end of the week, I determine that he is good enough to marry my sister, you will do so. Immediately.”
“You’re certain you can judge the measure of a man’s character in one week?”
“It rarely takes longer,” Anthony stated. “And if I’m unsure, we’ll merely wait another sennight.”
“Sir Phillip might not care to marry me,” Eloise felt compelled to point out.
Anthony leveled a hard stare at her face. “He hasn’t that option.” Eloise gulped.
One of Anthony’s brows rose into an arrogant arch. “Do we understand each other?”
She nodded. His plan seemed reasonable—more reasonable, in fact, than most older brothers would have allowed—and if something went
horribly wrong, if she decided that she couldn’t possibly marry Sir Phillip Crane, well then, she had a week to figure out how to get out of it. A lot could happen in a week.
Just look at the last one.
“Shall we return to the dining room?” Anthony queried. “I imagine you’re hungry, and if we tarry much longer, Colin is sure to have eaten our host out of house and home.”
Eloise nodded. “Either that, or they’ve all killed him by now.”
Anthony paused to consider that. “It would save me the expense of a wedding.”
“Anthony!”
“It’s a joke, Eloise,” he said, giving his head a weary shake. “Come along, now. Let’s make sure your Sir Phillip still resides among the ranks of the living.”
“And then,” Benedict was saying as Anthony and Eloise reentered the dining room, “the tavern wench arrived and she had the biggest—”
“Benedict!” Eloise exclaimed.
Benedict looked over at his sister with a supremely guilty expression, yanked back his hands, which were demonstrating the size of what was clearly an impossibly endowed female, and muttered, “Sorry.”
“You’re married,” Eloise scolded. “But not blind,” Colin said with a grin. “You’re married, too!” she accused. “But not blind,” he said again.
“Eloise,” Gregory said with what was quite possibly the most annoying use of condescension she’d ever had cause to hear, “there are some things that are impossible not to see. Especially,” he added, “when you’re a man.”
“It’s true,” admitted Anthony. “I saw it myself.”
Eloise gasped as she looked from brother to brother, looking for some sane spot in this cesspool of madness. Her eyes fell on Phillip, who, by the looks of him, not to mention his slightly inebriated state, had formed a lifelong bond with her brothers during the short time she’d been closeted away with Anthony.
“Sir Phillip?” she asked, waiting for him to say something acceptable.
But he just offered her a loopy grin. “I know who they’re talking about,” he said. “Been to that inn any number of times. Lucy’s quite famous in these parts.”
“Even I’ve heard of her,” Benedict said, with a knowing nod. “I’m only an hour away on horseback. Less, if you push hard.”
Gregory leaned toward Phillip, his blue eyes gleaming with interest as he asked, “So, did you? Ever?”
“Gregory!” Eloise practically yelled. This was really too much. Her brothers should never have been talking about such things in front of her, but even more, the last thing she wanted to know was whether Sir Phillip had tupped a tavern wench with bosoms the size of soup tureens.
But Phillip just shook his head. “She’s married,” he said. “As was I.” Anthony turned to Eloise and whispered in her ear, “He’ll do.”
“I’m glad you have such high standards for your beloved sister,” she muttered.
“I told you,” Anthony remarked, “I’ve seen Lucy. This is a man with restraint.”
She planted her hands on her hips and looked her older brother squarely in the eye. “Were you tempted?”
“Of course not! Kate would slit my throat.”
“I’m not talking about what Kate would do to you if you strayed, although I’m of the opinion that she would not start at your throat—”
Anthony winced. He knew it was true. “—I want to know if you were tempted.”
“No,” he admitted, shaking his head. “But don’t tell anyone. I used to be considered something of a rake, after all. Wouldn’t want people to think I was completely tamed.”
“You’re appalling.”
He grinned. “And yet, my wife still loves me to distraction, which is all that really matters, isn’t it?”
Eloise supposed he was right. She sighed. “What are we going to do about them?” She motioned to the quartet of men sitting around the dining room table, which was littered with empty dishes. Phillip, Benedict, and Gregory were sitting back and relaxing, looking quite sated. Colin was still eating.
Anthony shrugged. “I don’t know what you want to do, but I’m going to join them.”
Eloise just stood in the doorway, watching as he sat down and poured himself a glass of wine. The conversation had thankfully moved on from Lucy and her tremendous bosoms, and now they were talking about boxing. Or at least that’s what she assumed they were talking about. Phillip was demonstrating some sort of hand maneuver to Gregory.
Then he punched him in the face.
“So sorry,” Phillip said, patting Gregory on the back. But Eloise noticed that the right corner of his mouth was curving ever so slightly into a smile. “Won’t hurt for long, I’m sure. My chin’s feeling better already.”
Gregory grunted something that was clearly meant to mean that it didn’t hurt, but he rubbed his chin nonetheless.
“Sir Phillip?” Eloise said loudly. “Might I have a word?”
“Of course,” he said, standing up immediately, although in all truth, all of the men should have been standing, since she’d never vacated her position in the doorway.
Phillip walked to her side. “Is something amiss?”
“I was worried they were going to kill you,” she hissed.
“Oh.” He smiled, that lopsided, three-glasses-of-wine sort of smile. “They didn’t.”
“I see that,” she ground out. “What happened?”
He looked back over at the table. Anthony was eating the meager scraps that Colin had left behind (almost certainly only because he hadn’t realized they were there), and Benedict was tipping back in his chair, trying to balance it on two legs. Gregory was humming to himself, his eyes closed as he smiled beatifically, presumably thinking of Lucy, or, more likely, certain large and squishy parts of Lucy.
Phillip turned back to her and shrugged.
“When,” Eloise said with exaggerated patience, “did you all become the best of friends?”
“Oh,” he said, nodding. “Funny thing, actually. I asked them to break my legs.”
Eloise just stared at him. As long as she lived, she’d never understand men. She had four brothers, and quite frankly should have understood them
better than most women, and maybe it had taken all of her twenty-eight years to come to this realization, but men were, quite simply, freaks.
Phillip shrugged again. “It seemed to break the ice.” “Clearly.”
She stared at him, and he stared at her, and all the while she could see Anthony staring at them both, and then suddenly Phillip seemed to sober.
“We’ll have to marry,” he said. “I know.”
“They really will break my legs if I don’t.”
“That’s not all they would do,” she grumbled, “but even so, a lady might like to think she’s been chosen for a reason other than osteopathic health.”
He blinked at her in surprise.
“I’m not stupid,” she muttered. “I’ve studied Latin.”
“Right,” he said slowly, in that way men do when they are trying to cover up the fact that they’re not sure what to say.
“Or at least,” she tried desperately, searching for something that might be even loosely interpreted as a compliment, “if not a reason other, then perhaps a reason in addition.”
“Right,” he said, nodding, but still not saying anything more. Her eyes narrowed. “How much wine have you drunk?” “Only three.” He stopped, considered that. “Maybe four.”
“Glasses or bottles?”
He didn’t seem to know the answer to that.
Eloise looked over at the table. There were four bottles of wine littered among the remains of supper. Three were empty.
“I wasn’t gone that long,” she said.
He shrugged. “It was either drink with them or let them break my legs.
It seemed a fairly straightforward decision.”
“Anthony!” she called out. She’d had enough of Phillip. She’d had enough of them all, of everything, of men, of marriage, of broken legs and empty wine bottles. But most of all, she’d had enough of herself, of feeling so out of control, so helpless against the tides of her life.
“I want to go,” she said.
Anthony nodded and grunted, still chewing the solitary piece of chicken that Colin had missed.
“Now, Anthony.”
And he must have heard the crack in her voice, the hollow note that choked on the syllables, because he stood immediately and said, “Of course.”
Eloise had never been so glad to see the inside of a carriage in all her life.
