. . . cannot abide a man who drinks to excess. Which is why I’m sure you will understand why I could not accept Lord Wescott’s offer.
—from Eloise Bridgerton to her brother Benedict, upon refusing her second proposal of marriage
“No!” gushed Sophie Bridgerton, Benedict’s petite and almost ethereal- looking wife. “They didn’t!”
“They did,” Eloise said grimly, as she sat back in her lawn chair and sipped a cup of lemonade. “And then they all got drunk!”
“Fiends,” Sophie muttered, leading Eloise to realize that what she’d really been sick of the night before was that horribly chummish and collegial manner of men. Clearly, all she’d needed was one sensible female with whom she might disparage the lot of them.
Sophie scowled. “Don’t tell me they were talking about that poor Lucy woman again.”
Eloise gasped. “You know about her?”
“Everyone knows about her. Heaven knows, one can’t miss her if you pass in the street.”
Eloise stopped, thought, tried to imagine. She couldn’t.
“Truth be told,” Sophie said, whispering under her breath even though there wasn’t a soul nearby who might hear, “I feel sorry for the woman. All that unwanted attention, and, well, it can’t be good for her back.”
Eloise tried to stifle her laugh, but a little snort made it through. “Posy once even asked her about it!”
Eloise’s mouth fell open. Posy was Sophie’s stepsister, who had lived for several years with the Bridgertons before marrying the rather jolly vicar who lived just five miles from Benedict and Sophie. She was also, quite
honestly, the friendliest person of Eloise’s acquaintance, and if anyone was going to befriend a married serving wench with large bosoms, it would have been her.
“She’s in Hugh’s parish,” Sophie explained, referring to Posy’s husband. “So of course they would have met.”
“What did she say?” Eloise asked. “Posy?”
“No. Lucy.”
“Oh. I don’t know.” Sophie pulled a face. “Posy wouldn’t tell me. Can you believe that? I don’t think Posy has kept a secret from me in all her life. She said she couldn’t betray the confidence of a parishioner.”
Eloise thought that rather noble of Posy.
“It doesn’t concern me, of course,” Sophie said, with all the confidence of a woman who knows she is loved. “Benedict would never stray.”
“Of course not,” Eloise said quickly. Benedict and Sophie’s love story was legendary in their family. It had been one of the reasons Eloise had refused so many proposals of marriage. She’d wanted that kind of love and passion and drama. She’d wanted more than, “I have three homes, sixteen horses, and forty-two hounds,” which is what one of her suitors had informed her when he asked for her hand.
“But,” Sophie continued, “I don’t think it’s so much to ask that he manage to keep his mouth closed when she walks by.”
Eloise was about to offer her firm and vehement agreement when she saw Sir Phillip walking across the lawn in her direction.
“Is that him?” Sophie asked, smiling. Eloise nodded.
“He’s very handsome.”
“Yes, I suppose,” Eloise said slowly.
“You suppose?” Sophie snorted with impatience. “Don’t play coy with me, Eloise Bridgerton. I was once your lady’s maid, and I know you better than anyone ought.”
Eloise forbore to point out that Sophie had been her lady’s maid for all of two weeks before she and Benedict had come to their senses and decided to marry. “Very well,” she allowed, “he’s quite handsome, if you like the rough, rural sort.”
“Which you do,” Sophie said pertly.
To her complete mortification, Eloise felt herself blush. “Perhaps,” she muttered.
“And,” Sophie said approvingly, “he brought flowers.” “He’s a botanist,” Eloise said.
“That doesn’t make the gesture any less sweet.” “No, just easier.”
“Eloise,” Sophie said disapprovingly, “stop this right now.” “Stop what?”
“Trying to cut the poor man down before he even has a chance.”
“That’s not what I was doing at all,” Eloise protested, but she knew she was lying the moment the words left her lips. She hated that her family was trying to run her life, no matter how well intentioned they were, and it had left her feeling sullen and uncooperative.
“Well, I think the flowers are very sweet,” Sophie declared firmly. “I don’t care if he had eight thousand different varieties available to him. He still thought to bring them.”
Eloise nodded, hating herself. She wanted to feel better, wanted to be all smiles and cheer and optimism, but she just couldn’t manage it.
“Benedict didn’t give me all the details,” Sophie continued, ignoring Eloise’s distress. “You know how men are. They never tell you what you want to know.”
“What do you want to know?”
Sophie looked over at Sir Phillip, gauging how long she’d have before he reached their side. “Well, for one thing, is it true you’d not met him before you ran off?”
“Not face-to-face, no,” Eloise admitted. It all sounded so stupid when she recounted the tale. Who would have thought that she, a Bridgerton, would run away to a man she’d never met?
“Well,” Sophie said, her voice matter-of-fact, “if it all works out in the end, what a romantic tale it will be.”
Eloise swallowed uncomfortably. It was still too soon to know if it would “all work out in the end.” She rather suspected—no, in truth she was quite certain—that she’d find herself married to Sir Phillip, but who knew what sort of marriage it would be? She didn’t love him, not yet, anyway, and he didn’t love her, and she’d thought that would be all right, but now
that she was here in Wiltshire, trying not to notice how Benedict looked at Sophie, she was wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake.
And did she really want to wed a man who was looking primarily for a mother for his children?
If one didn’t have love, was it better, then, to be alone?
Unfortunately, the only way to answer these questions was to marry Sir Phillip and see how it went. And if it didn’t go well . . .
She’d be stuck.
The easiest way out of marriage was death, and frankly, that wasn’t something Eloise cared to contemplate.
“Miss Bridgerton.”
Phillip was standing in front of her, holding out a bouquet of white orchids. “I brought these for you.”
She smiled at him, heartened by the slightly nervous, giddy feeling that arose within her at his appearance. “Thank you,” she murmured, taking them and smelling the blooms. “They’re lovely.”
“Wherever did you find orchids?” Sophie asked. “They’re exquisite.” “I grew them,” he answered. “I keep a greenhouse.”
“Yes, of course,” Sophie said. “Eloise mentioned that you are a botanist. I do like to garden myself, although I must say that most of the time I haven’t the least idea what I’m doing. Our caretakers here consider me the bane of their existence, I’m sure.”
Eloise cleared her throat, aware that she had not yet made introductions. “Sir Phillip,” she said, motioning to her sister-in-law, “this is Benedict’s wife Sophie.”
He bowed over her hand, murmuring, “Mrs. Bridgerton.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Sophie said in her most friendly manner. “And please, do use my Christian name. I’m told you already do so with Eloise, and furthermore, it sounds as if you are practically a member of the family already.”
Eloise flushed.
“Oh!” Sophie exclaimed, instantly embarrassed. “I did not mean that in relation to you, Eloise. I would never assume—Oh, dear. What I meant to say was that I meant it because the men . . .” Her cheeks turned a deep red as she looked down at her hands. “Well,” she mumbled, “I’d heard there was a great deal of wine.”
Phillip cleared his throat. “A detail I’d prefer not to remember.”
“The fact that you remember at all is remarkable,” Eloise said sweetly.
He looked over at her, his expression clearly indicating that he had not been taken in by her sugary tone. “You’re too kind.”
“Does your head ache?” she asked. He winced. “Like the devil.”
She should have been concerned. She should have been kind, especially since he’d gone to the trouble of bringing her rare orchids. But she couldn’t help feeling it was no more than he deserved, so she said (quietly, but still said it), “Good.”
“Eloise!” Sophie said disapprovingly.
“How is Benedict feeling?” Eloise asked her sweetly.
Sophie sighed. “He’s been a bear all morning, and Gregory hasn’t even risen from bed.”
“I seemed to have fared well by comparison, then,” Phillip said. “Except for Colin,” Eloise told him. “He never feels the aftereffects of
alcohol. And of course Anthony drank little last night.” “Lucky man.”
“Would you care for something to drink, Sir Phillip?” Sophie asked, adjusting her bonnet so that it better shaded her eyes. “Of the benign, nonintoxicating variety, of course, given the circumstances. I would be happy to have someone bring you a glass of lemonade.”
“That would be most appreciated. Thank you.” He watched as she rose and walked up the slight incline to the house, then sat in her place across from Eloise.
“It is good to see you this morning,” he said, clearing his throat. He was never the most talkative of men, and he was clearly making no exceptions this morning, despite the rather extraordinary circumstances that had led to this moment.
“And you,” she murmured.
He shifted in his seat. It was too small for him; most chairs were. “I must apologize for my behavior last night,” he said stiffly.
She looked over at him, staring into his dark eyes for just a moment before her gaze slid down to a patch of grass beside him. He seemed sincere; he probably was. She didn’t know him well—certainly not well enough to marry, although it seemed that point was now moot—but he
didn’t seem the sort to make false apologies. Still, she wasn’t quite ready to fall all over him with gratitude, so when she answered, she did so in a sparing fashion. “I have brothers,” she said. “I am used to it.”
“Perhaps, but I am not. I assure you I do not make a habit of overimbibing.”
She nodded, accepting his apology. “I have been thinking,” he said.
“As have I.”
He cleared his throat, then tugged at his cravat, as if it had suddenly grown too tight. “We will, of course, have to marry.”
It was nothing more than she knew, but there was something awful in the way he said it. Maybe it was the lack of emotion in his voice, as if she were a problem he had to solve. Or maybe it was the way he said it so matter-of-factly, as if she had no choice (which, in truth, she did not, but she didn’t care to be reminded of that).
Whatever it was, it made her feel strange, and itchy, as if she needed to jump out of her skin.
She had spent her adult life making her own choices, had considered herself the luckiest of females because her family had allowed her to do so. Maybe that was why it now felt so unbearable to be forced onto a path before she was ready.
Or maybe it was unbearable because she was the one who had set this entire farce into motion. She was furious with herself, and it was making her snippy with everyone.
“I’ll do my best to make you happy,” he said gruffly. “And the children need a mother.”
She smiled weakly. She’d wanted her marriage to be about more than just children.
“I’m sure you’ll be a great help,” he said.
“A great help,” she echoed, hating the way it sounded. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
She nodded, mostly because she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, she might scream.
“Good,” he said. “Then it’s all settled.”
It’s all settled. For the rest of her life, that would be her grand proposal of marriage. It’s all settled. And the worst part of it was—she had no right
to complain. She was the one who’d run off without giving Phillip enough time to arrange for a chaperone. She was the one who’d been so eager to make her own destiny. She was the one who’d acted without thinking, and now all she had to show for it was—
It’s all settled.
She swallowed. “Wonderful.”
He looked at her, blinking in confusion. “Aren’t you happy?” “Of course,” she said hollowly.
“You don’t sound happy.” “I’m happy,” she snapped.
Phillip muttered something under his breath. “What did you say?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“You said something.”
He gave her an impatient look. “If I’d meant for you to hear it, I would have said it out loud.”
She sucked in her breath. “Then you shouldn’t have said it at all.” “Some things,” Phillip muttered, “are impossible to keep inside.” “What did you say?” she demanded.
Phillip raked his hand through his hair. “Eloise—” “Did you insult me?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Since it appears we are to be wed,” she bit off, “yes.”
“I don’t recall my exact words,” Phillip shot back, “but I believe I may have uttered the words women and lack of sense in the same breath.”
He shouldn’t have said it. He knew he shouldn’t have said it; it would have been rude under any circumstances, and it was especially wrong right now. But she had pushed and pushed and pushed and wouldn’t back down. It was like she’d sliced a needle under his skin, and then decided to jab just for the fun of it.
And besides, why was she in such a terrible mood, anyway? All he’d done was state the facts. They would have to marry, and frankly, she should have been glad that if she’d been compromised, at least it had been with a man who was willing to do the right thing and wed her.
He didn’t expect gratitude. Hell, this was as much his fault as it was hers; he was the one who’d issued the initial invitation, after all. But was it
too much to expect a smile and a pleasant mood?
“I’m glad we had this conversation,” Eloise said quite suddenly. “This has been good.”
He looked up, instantly suspicious. “I beg your pardon.”
“Very beneficial,” she said. “One should always understand one’s spouse before one marries, and—”
He groaned. This was not going to end well.
“And,” she added sharply, glaring at his groan, “it is certainly provident that I now know how you feel about my gender.”
He was the sort who usually walked away from conflict, but really, this was too much. “If I recall correctly,” he shot back, “I never did tell you exactly what I thought of women.”
“I inferred it,” she retorted. “The phrase ‘lack of sense’ pointed me in the correct direction.”
“Did it?” he drawled. “Well, I’m thinking differently now.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided I don’t have difficulties with women in general, after all. It’s you I find insufferable.”
She drew back, clearly affronted.
“Has no one called you insufferable before?” He found that difficult to believe.
“No one who wasn’t related to me,” she grumbled.
“You must live in a very polite society.” He squirmed in his seat again; really, did no one make chairs for large men anymore? “Either that,” he muttered, “or you’ve simply terrified everyone into bending to your every whim.”
She flushed, and he couldn’t tell if it was because she was embarrassed by his spot-on assessment of her personality or just because she was angry beyond words.
Probably both.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered.
He turned to her in surprise. “I beg your pardon?” He couldn’t have heard correctly.
“I said I’m sorry,” she repeated, making it clear that she was not going to say the words a third time, so he’d better be listening well.
“Oh,” he said, too stunned to say much of anything else. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Her tone was less than gracious, but she seemed to be trying hard, nonetheless.
For a moment he said nothing. Then he had to ask. “What for?”
She looked up, obviously irritated that that hadn’t been the end of it. “Did you have to ask?” she grumbled.
“Well, yes.”
“I am sorry,” she ground out, “because I am in a horrid mood and have been behaving badly. And if you ask how I have been behaving badly, I swear I will get up and walk away and you will never see me again, because I assure you, this apology is difficult enough without my having to explain it further.”
Phillip decided he couldn’t possibly hope for more. “Thank you,” he said softly. He held his tongue for a minute, quite possibly the longest minute of his life, then he decided he might as well just go ahead and say it. “If it makes you feel any better,” he told her, “I had decided we would suit before your brothers arrived. I was already planning to ask you to be my wife. Properly, with a ring and whatever else it is I’m supposed to do. I don’t know. It’s been a long while since I’ve proposed marriage to anyone,
and last time wasn’t under normal circumstances in any case.”
She looked up at him, surprise in her eyes . . . and perhaps a little bit of gratitude as well.
“I’m sorry that your brothers came along and made it all happen faster than you are ready for,” he added, “but I’m not sorry that it’s happening.”
“You’re not?” she whispered. “Really?”
“I’ll give you as long as you need,” he said, “within reason, of course. But I cannot—” He glanced up the hill; Anthony and Colin were ambling down toward them, followed by a footman carrying a tray of food. “I cannot speak for your brothers. I daresay they won’t care to wait as long you might prefer. And quite frankly, if you were my sister, I’d have marched you to a church last night.”
She looked up the hill at her brothers; they were still at least a half a minute away. She opened her mouth, then closed it in obvious thought. Finally, after several seconds, during which he could practically see the wheels of her mind churning and turning, she blurted out, “Why did you decide we would suit?”
“I beg your pardon?” It was a stalling tactic, of course. He hadn’t expected such a direct question.
Although heaven knew why not. This was Eloise, after all.
“Why did you decide we would suit?” she repeated, her voice pointed and undeniable.
But of course that would be how she would ask it. There was nothing subtle or deniable about Eloise Bridgerton. She would never skirt around an issue when she could just walk right in and stick her nose directly into the heart of the matter.
“I . . . ah . . .” He coughed, cleared his throat.
“You don’t know,” she stated, sounding disappointed.
“Of course I know,” he protested. No man liked to be told he didn’t know his own mind.
“No, you don’t. If you did, you wouldn’t be sitting there choking on air.”
“Good God, woman, do you have a charitable bone in your body? A man needs time to formulate an answer.”
“Ah,” came Colin Bridgerton’s ever-genial voice. “Here’s the happy couple.”
Phillip had never been so glad to see another human being in all his life. “Good morning,” he said to the two Bridgerton men, inordinately pleased to have escaped Eloise’s interrogation.
“Hungry?” Colin inquired as he sat in the chair next to Phillip. “I took the liberty of having the kitchen prepare breakfast alfresco.”
Phillip looked over at the footman and wondered if he ought to offer to help. The poor man looked nearly ready to collapse under the weight of the food.
“How are you this morning?” Anthony asked as he sat down on the cushioned bench next to Eloise.
“Fine,” she replied. “Hungry?”
“No.”
“Cheerful?” “Not for you.”
Anthony turned to Phillip. “She’s usually more conversational.”
Phillip wondered if Eloise would hit him. It wouldn’t be more than he deserved.
The tray of food came down on the table with a loud clatter, followed by the footman’s abject apology for being so clumsy, followed by Anthony’s assurance that it was no trouble at all, that Hercules himself could not carry enough food to suit Colin.
The two Bridgerton brothers served themselves, then Anthony turned to Eloise and Phillip and said, “The two of you certainly seem well suited this morning.”
Eloise looked at him with open hostility. “When did you reach that conclusion?”
“It only took a moment,” he said with a shrug. He looked at Phillip. “It was the bickering, actually. All the best couples do it.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” Phillip murmured.
“My wife and I often have similar conversations before she comes around to my way of thinking,” Anthony said affably.
Eloise shot him a peevish expression.
“Of course, my wife might offer a different interpretation,” he added with a shrug. “I allow her to think that I’m coming ’round to her way of thinking.” He turned back to Phillip and smiled. “It’s easier that way.”
Phillip stole a glance at Eloise. She appeared to be working very hard to hold her tongue.
“When did you arrive?” Anthony asked him. “Just a few minutes ago,” he replied.
“Yes,” Eloise said. “He proposed marriage, I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear.”
Phillip coughed with surprise at her sudden announcement. “I beg your pardon?”
Eloise turned to Anthony. “He said, ‘We’ll have to marry.’”
“Well, he’s right,” Anthony replied, settling a level stare directly on her face. “You do have to marry. And my compliments to him for not beating around the bush about it. I’d think you of all people would appreciate direct conversation.”
“Scone, anyone?” Colin asked. “No? More for me, then.”
Anthony turned to Phillip and said, “She’s just a bit irritated because she hates being ordered about. She’ll be fine in a few days.”
“I’m fine right now,” Eloise ground out.
“Yes,” Anthony murmured, “you look fine.”
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Eloise asked. Through her teeth. “An interesting question,” her brother replied. “One might say that I
ought to be in London, with my wife and children. In fact, if I did have somewhere else to be, I imagine that would be it. But strangely enough, I seem to be here. In Wiltshire. Where, when I woke in my comfortable bed in London three days ago, I would never have guessed I would be.” He smiled blandly. “Any other questions?”
She was quiet at that.
Anthony handed an envelope to Eloise. “This arrived for you.”
She looked down, and Phillip could see that she instantly recognized the handwriting.
“It’s from Mother,” Anthony said, even though it was clear she already knew that.
“Do you want to read it?” Phillip asked. She shook her head. “Not now.”
Which meant, he realized, not in front of her brothers. And then suddenly he knew what he had to do.
“Lord Bridgerton,” he said to Anthony, standing up, “might I request a moment alone with your sister?”
“You just had a moment alone with her,” Colin said between bites of bacon.
Phillip ignored him. “My lord?”
“Of course,” Anthony said, “if she’s agreeable.”
Phillip grabbed Eloise’s hand and yanked her to her feet. “She’s agreeable,” he said.
“Mmmm,” Colin remarked. “She looks very agreeable.”
Phillip decided then and there that all the Bridgertons ought to be fitted with muzzles. “Come with me,” he said to Eloise, before she had a chance to argue.
Which of course she would, since she was Eloise, and she would never smile politely and follow when an argument was a possibility.
“Where are we going?” she gasped, once he had pulled her away from her family and was striding across the lawn, unmindful of how she had to run to keep up.
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
He stopped so quickly that she crashed into him. It was rather nice, actually. He could feel every last bit of her, from her breasts to her thighs, although she recovered all too quickly and stepped away before he could savor the moment.
“I’ve never been here before,” he said, explaining it to her as if she were a small child. “I’d have to be a bloody clairvoyant to know where I’m going.”
“Oh,” she said. “Well then, lead the way.”
He pulled her back to the house, making his way to a side door. “Where does this go?” he asked.
“Inside,” she replied.
He gave her a sarcastic look.
“Through Sophie’s writing room to the hall,” Eloise expounded. “Is Sophie in her writing room?”
“I doubt it. Didn’t she go to fetch you lemonade?”
“Good.” He pulled the door open, muttering a quick thanks that it was unlocked, and poked his head inside. The room was empty, but the door to the hall was open, so he strode across and pulled it shut. When he turned back around, Eloise was still standing in the open doorway to the outside, watching him with a blend of curiosity and amusement.
“Shut the door,” he ordered.
Her brows rose. “I beg your pardon?”
“Shut it.” It wasn’t a tone of voice he used often, but after a year of floating along, of feeling lost amid the currents of his life, he was finally taking control.
And he knew exactly what he wanted.
“Shut the door, Eloise,” he said in a low voice, moving slowly across the room toward her.
Her eyes widened. “Phillip?” she whispered. “I—” “Don’t talk,” he said. “Just shut the door.”
But she was frozen in place, staring at him as if she didn’t know him. Which, in truth, she didn’t. Hell, he wasn’t so sure he knew himself any longer.
“Phillip, you—”
He reached behind her and shut the door for her, turning the lock with a loud and ominous click.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You were worried,” he said, “that we might not suit.” Her lips parted.
He stepped forward. “I think it’s time I showed you that we do.”
