Bridgerton Collection Volume 1 (Bridgertons)
Page 63
Kate smiled wickedly. “He’s already sending you letters?”
Edwina nodded and blushed. “Several per week,” she admitted.
“And what is his area of study?”
“Archaeology. He’s quite brilliant. He has been to Greece. Twice!”
Kate hadn’t thought that her sister—already renowned throughout the land for her beauty—could possibly grow any lovelier, but when Edwina spoke of her Mr. Bagwell, her face shone with a radiance that was nothing short of heart-stopping.
“I cannot wait to meet him,” Kate announced. “We must have an informal dinner party with him as our guest of honor.”
“That would be wonderful.”
“And perhaps the three of us might go for a ride in the park ahead of time so that we might become better acquainted. Now that I am an old married lady, I qualify as a suitable chaperone.” Kate let out a little laugh. “Isn’t that funny?”
A very amused, very male voice sounded from the doorway: “Isn’t what funny?”
“Anthony!” Kate exclaimed, surprised to see her husband in the middle of the day. He always seemed to have appointments and meetings that kept him from their home. “How delightful to see you.”
He smiled slightly as he nodded toward Edwina in greeting. “I found myself with an unexpected block of free time.”
“Would you care to join us for tea?”
“I’ll join you,” he murmured as he crossed the room and picked up a crystal decanter that sat on a mahogany side table, “but I believe I’ll have a brandy instead.”
Kate watched as he poured himself a drink, then swirled it absently in his hand. It was at times like these that she found it so difficult to keep her heart out of her eyes. He was so handsome in the late afternoon. She wasn’t sure why; maybe it was the faint hint of stubble on his cheeks or the fact that his hair was always slightly mussed from whatever it was he did all day. Or maybe it was simply that she didn’t often get to see him this time of day; she’d once read a poem that said the unexpected moment was always sweeter.
As Kate gazed upon her husband, she rather thought that poet might be right.
“So,” Anthony said after taking a sip of his drink, “what have you two ladies been discussing?”
Kate looked to her sister for permission to share her news, and when Edwina nodded, she said, “Edwina has met a gentleman she fancies.”
“Really?” Anthony asked, sounding interested in a strangely paternal sort of manner. He perched on the arm of Kate’s chair, a relaxed, overstuffed piece of furniture that was not at all in fashion but well loved nonetheless in the Bridgerton household for its uncommon comfort. “I should like to meet him,” he added.
“You should?” Edwina echoed, blinking like an owl. “You would?”
“Of course. In fact, I insist upon it.” When neither lady commented, he scowled a bit and added, “I am the head of the family, after all. That’s what we do.”
Edwina’s lips parted with surprise. “I—I hadn’t realized you felt a responsibility toward me.”
Anthony looked at her as if she’d gone momentarily insane. “You’re Kate’s sister,” he said, as if that should explain everything.
Edwina’s blank expression remained fixed on her face for another second, and then it melted into a rather radiant delight. “I have always wondered what it would be like to have a brother,” she said.
“I hope I pass muster,” Anthony grunted, not entirely comfortable with the sudden outpouring of emotion.
She beamed at him. “Brilliantly. I vow I do not understand why Eloise complains so much.”
Kate turned to Anthony and explained, “Edwina and your sister have become fast friends since our marriage.”
“God help us,” he muttered. “And what, may I ask, could Eloise possibly have to complain about?”
Edwina smiled innocently. “Oh, nothing, really. Just that you can, at times, be a touch overprotective.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed.
Kate choked on her tea. She was quite certain that by the time their daughters were of marriageable age, Anthony would have converted to Catholicism just so that he could lock them in a convent with twelve-foot walls!
Anthony glanced at her with narrowed eyes. “What are you laughing about?”
Kate quickly patted her mouth with a napkin, mumbling, “Nothing,” under the folds of the cloth.
“Hmmmph.”
“Eloise says that you were quite the bear when Daphne was being courted by Simon,” Edwina said.
“Oh, did she?”
Edwina nodded. “She says the two of you dueled!”
“Eloise talks too much,” Anthony grumbled.
Edwina nodded happily. “She always knows everything. Everything! Even more than Lady Whistledown.”
Anthony turned to Kate with an expression that was one part beleaguered and one part pure irony. “Remind me to buy a muzzle for my sister,” he said drolly. “And one for your sister as well.”
Edwina let out a musical laugh. “I never dreamed a brother would be as much fun to tease as a sister. I’m so glad you decided to marry him, Kate.”
“I didn’t have much choice in the matter,” Kate said with a dry smile, “but I’m rather pleased with the way things turned out myself.”
Edwina stood, waking up Newton, who had fallen into blissful sleep next to her on the sofa. He let out an affronted whine and toddled to the floor, where he promptly curled up under a table.
Edwina watched the dog and chuckled before saying, “I should be going. No, don’t see me out,” she added when both Kate and Anthony stood to escort her to the front door. “I can make my own way.”
“Nonsense,” Kate said, linking her arm in Edwina’s. “Anthony, I shall be right back.”
“I shall be counting the seconds,” he murmured, and then, as he took another sip of his drink, the two ladies left the room, followed by Newton, who was now barking enthusiastically, presumably guessing that someone was going to take him for a walk.
Once the two sisters were gone, he settled into the comfortable chair so recently vacated by Kate. It was still warm from her body, and he rather fancied that he could smell her scent in the fabric. More soap than lilies this time, he thought with a careful sniff. Perhaps the lilies were a perfume, something she added at night.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d returned home this afternoon; he certainly hadn’t intended to. Contrary to what he’d been telling Kate, his many meetings and responsibilities did not require him to be away from the house all the day long; quite a few of his appointments could easily have been scheduled at home. And while he was indeed a busy man—he’d never subscribed to the indolent lifestyle of so many of the ton—he’d spent many a recent afternoon at White’s, reading the paper and playing cards with his friends.
He’d thought it best. It was important to keep a certain distance from one’s wife. Life—or at least his life—was meant to be compartmentalized, and a wife fit rather neatly in the sections he’d mentally labeled “society affairs” and “bed.”
But when he’d reached White’s that afternoon, there was no one there with whom he felt a particular urge to converse. He’d skimmed through the paper, but there was very little of interest in the most recent edition. And as he sat by the window, trying to enjoy his own company (but finding it pathetically lacking), he’d been struck by the most ridiculous urge to return home and see what Kate was up to.
One afternoon couldn’t hurt. He wasn’t likely to fall in love with his wife for having spent one afternoon in her presence. Not that he thought there was a danger of his falling in love with her at all, he reminded himself sternly. He’d been married nearly a month now and he’d managed to keep his life blessedly free of such entanglements. There was no reason to think that he could not maintain the status quo indefinitely.
Feeling rather satisfied with himself, he took another sip of his brandy, looking up when he heard Kate reenter the room.
Anthony felt his body tighten in response. It was rather ridiculous, actually, how he reacted to her smiles. Happened all the time, and it was a damned nuisance.
Well, most of the time it was a nuisance. He didn’t mind it much when he was able to follow it with a nudge and a trip to the bedroom.
But Kate’s mind was obviously not lodged as firmly in the gutter as his, since she chose to sit in the chair opposite him, even though there was plenty of room in his chair, provided they didn’t mind squeezing next to each other. Even the chair kitty-corner to his would have been better; at least then he could have yanked her up and hauled her onto his lap. If he tried that maneuver where she was seated across the table, he’d have to drag her through the middle of the tea service.
Anthony narrowed his eyes as he assessed the situation, trying to guess exactly how much tea would spill on the rug, and then how much it would cost to replace the rug, and then whether he really cared about such a piddling amount of money, anyway . . .
“Anthony? Are you listening to me?”
He looked up. Kate was resting her arms on her knees as she leaned forward to talk with him. She looked very intent and just a little bit irritated.
“Were you?” she persisted.
He blinked.
“Listening to me?” she ground out.
“Oh.” He grinned. “No.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t bother to scold him any further than that. “I was saying that we should have Edwina and her young man over for dinner one night. To see if we think they suit. I have never before seen her so interested in a gentleman, and I do so want her to be happy.”
Anthony reached for a biscuit. He was hungry, and he’d pretty much given up on the prospect of getting his wife into his lap. On the other hand, if he managed to clear off the cups and saucers, yanking her across the table might not have such messy consequences . . .
He surreptitiously pushed the tray bearing the tea service to the side. “Hmmm?” he grunted, chewing on the biscuit. “Oh, yes, of course. Edwina should be happy.”
Kate eyed him suspiciously. “Are you certain you don’t want some tea with that biscuit? I’m not a great aficionado of brandy, but I would imagine that tea would taste better with shortbread.”
Actually, Anthony thought, the brandy did quite well with shortbread, but it certainly couldn’t hurt to empty out the teapot a bit, just in case he toppled it over. “Capital idea,” he said, grabbing a teacup and thrusting it toward her. “Tea’s just the thing. Can’t imagine why I didn’t think of it earlier.”
“I can’t imagine, either,” she murmured acerbically—if one could murmur in an acerbic manner, and after hearing Kate’s low sarcasm, Anthony rather thought one could.
But he just gave her a jovial smile as he reached out and took his teacup from her outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he said, checking to see that she’d added milk. She had, which didn’t surprise him; she was very good at remembering such details.
“Is it still hot enough?” Kate asked politely.
Anthony drained the cup. “Perfect,” he replied, letting out a satisfied exhale. “Might I trouble you for some more?”
“You seem to be developing quite a taste for tea,” she said dryly.
Anthony eyed the teapot, wondering how much was left and whether he’d be able to finish it off without being attacked by an urgent need to relieve himself. “You should have some more, too,” he suggested. “You look a bit parched.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “Is that so?”
He nodded, then worried he might have laid it on a little too thick. “Just a bit, of course,” he said.
“Of course.”
“Is there enough tea left for me to have another cup?” he asked, as nonchalantly as he could manage.
“If there isn’t, I’m sure I could have Cook brew another pot.”
“Oh, no, I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” he exclaimed, probably a little too loudly. “I’ll just take whatever is left.”
Kate tipped the pot until the last dregs of tea swirled in his cup. She added a dollop of milk, then handed it back to him in silence, although her arched eyebrows spoke volumes.
As he sipped at his tea—his belly was a little too full to gulp it down as quickly as the last cup—Kate cleared her throat and asked, “Do you know Edwina’s young man?”
“I don’t even know who he is.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I must have forgotten to mention his name. It’s Mr. Bagwell. I don’t know his Christian name, but Edwina said he’s a second son, if that’s helpful. She met him at your mother’s party.”
Anthony shook his head. “Never heard of him. He’s probably one of the poor chaps my mother invited to even out the numbers. My mother invited a bloody lot of women. She always does, hoping that one of us might actually fall in love, but then she has to find a pack of unremarkable men to even up the numbers.”
“Unremarkable?” Kate echoed.
“So that the women don’t fall in love with them instead of us,” he replied, his grin rather lopsided.
“She’s rather desperate to marry the lot of you off, isn’t she?”
“All I know,” Anthony said with a shrug, “is that my mother invited so many eligible women last time that she had to go down to the vicar’s and beg his sixteen-year-old son to come up for supper.”
Kate winced. “I think I met him.”
“Yes, he’s painfully shy, poor fellow. The vicar told me he had hives for a week after ending up seated next to Cressida Cowper at supper.”
“Well, that would give anyone hives.”
Anthony grinned. “I knew you had a mean streak in you.”
“I’m not being mean!” Kate protested. But her smile was sly. “It was nothing more than the truth.”
“Don’t defend yourself on my account.” He finished the tea; it was bitterly strong from having sat in the pot for so long, but the milk made it almost palatable. Setting the cup down, he added, “Your mean streak is one of the things I like best about you.”
“Goodness,” she muttered, “I should hate to know what you like least.”
Anthony just waved a dismissive hand in the air. “But getting back to your sister and her Mr. Bugwell—”
“Bagwell.”
“Pity.”
“Anthony!”
He ignored her. “I’ve actually been thinking I ought to provide Edwina with a dowry.”
The irony of the gesture was not lost on him. Back when he’d intended to wed Edwina, he’d planned to provide a dowry for Kate.
He peeked over at Kate to see her reaction.
He hadn’t, of course, made the offer just to gain her good favor, but he wasn’t so noble that he couldn’t admit to himself that he’d been hoping for a little more than the stunned silence she was displaying.
Then he realized she was near tears.
“Kate?” he asked, not certain whether to be delighted or worried.
She wiped her nose rather inelegantly with the back of her hand. “That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me,” she sniffled.
“I actually did it for Edwina,” he mumbled, never comfortable with weepy females. But inside, she was making him feel about eight feet tall.
“Oh, Anthony!” she practically wailed. And then, much to his extreme surprise, she jumped to her feet and leaped across the table and into his arms, the heavy hem of her afternoon dress sweeping three teacups, two saucers, and a spoon onto the floor.
“You are so sweet,” she said, wiping at her eyes as she landed rather solidly in his lap. “The nicest man in London.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” he returned, sliding his arm around her waist. “The most dangerous, perhaps, or handsome—”
“Nicest,” she interrupted firmly, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. “Definitely the nicest.”
“If you
insist,” he murmured, not at all unhappy with the recent turn of events.
“It’s a good thing we finished that tea,” Kate said, eyeing the cups on the floor. “It would have made a dreadful mess.”
“Oh, indeed.” He smiled to himself as he pulled her closer. There was something warm and comfortable about holding Kate. Her legs were dangling over the arm of the chair and her back was resting against the curve of his arm. They fit together nicely, he realized. She was just the right size for a man of his proportions.
There were a lot of things about her that were just right. It was the sort of realization that usually terrified him, but at that moment he was so damned happy just sitting here with her in his lap that he simply refused to think about the future.
“You are so good to me,” she murmured.
Anthony thought of all the times he’d purposely stayed away, all the times he’d left her to her own devices, but he pushed away the guilt. If he was forcing a distance between them, it was for her own good. He didn’t want her to fall in love with him. It would make it that much harder for her when he died.
And if he fell in love with her . . .
He didn’t even want to think about how much harder it would be for him.
“Do we have any plans for this evening?” he whispered in her ear.
She nodded; the motion caused her hair to tickle his cheek. “A ball,” she said. “At Lady Mottram’s.”
Anthony couldn’t resist the soft silkiness of her hair, and he threaded two fingers through it, letting it slide across his hand and wrap around his wrist. “Do you know what I think?” he murmured.
He heard her smile as she asked, “What?”
“I think I’ve never cared that much for Lady Mottram. And do you know what else I think?”
Now he heard her trying not to giggle. “What?”
“I think we should go upstairs.”
“You do?” she asked, clearly feigning ignorance.
“Oh, indeed. This very minute, as a matter of fact.”
She wiggled her bottom, the minx, ascertaining for herself just how quickly he needed to go upstairs. “I see,” she murmured gravely.
He pinched her hip lightly. “I rather thought you felt”