by Julia Quinn
“Don’t you presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Katharine Grace Sheffield,” Mary said sharply, stiffening her spine until she’d straightened to her full height—which was still a full head shorter than Kate. “I am still your mother. Well, your stepmother. And that counts for something.”
Kate immediately felt like a worm. Mary was all she’d ever known as a mother, and she’d never, not even once, made Kate feel any less her daughter than Edwina was. She’d tucked Kate into bed at night, told her stories, kissed her, hugged her, helped her through the awkward years between childhood and adulthood. The only thing she had not done was ask Kate to call her “Mother.”
“It counts,” Kate said in a quiet voice, letting her gaze fall shamefully down to her feet. “It counts for a lot. And you are my mother. In every way that matters.”
Mary stared at her for a long moment, then started to blink rather furiously. “Oh, dear,” she choked out, reaching into her reticule for a handkerchief. “Now you’ve gone and turned me into a watering pot.”
“I’m sorry,” Kate murmured. “Oh, here, turn around so no one sees you. There you are.”
Mary pulled out a white square of linen and dabbed at her eyes, the exact same blue as Edwina’s. “I do love you, Kate. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course!” Kate exclaimed, shocked that Mary would even ask. “And you know . . . you know that I . . .”
“I know.” Mary patted her arm. “Of course I know. It’s just that when you agree to be mother to a child you haven’t borne, your responsibility is twice as great. You must work even harder to ensure that child’s happiness and welfare.”
“Oh, Mary, I do love you. And I love Edwina.”
At the mention of Edwina’s name, they both turned and looked out across the ballroom at her, dancing prettily with the viscount. As usual, Edwina was a vision of petite loveliness. Her blond hair was swept atop her head, a few stray curls left to frame her face, and her form was the epitome of grace as she moved through the steps of the dance.
The viscount, Kate noted with irritation, was blindingly handsome. Dressed in stark black and white, he eschewed the garish colors that had become popular among the more foppish members of the ton. He was tall, stood straight and proud, and had thick chestnut hair that tended to fall forward over his brow.
He was, on the surface at least, everything man was meant to be.
“They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Mary murmured.
Kate bit her tongue. She actually bit her tongue.
“He’s a trifle tall for her, but I don’t see that as an insurmountable obstacle, do you?”
Kate clasped her hands together and let her nails bite into her skin. It said a great deal about the strength of her grip that she could feel them all the way through her kid gloves.
Mary smiled. A rather sly smile, Kate thought. She gave her stepmother a suspicious look.
“He dances well, don’t you think?” Mary asked.
“He is not going to marry Edwina!” Kate burst out.
Mary’s smile slid straight into a grin. “I was wondering how long you’d manage to hold your silence.”
“Far longer than was my natural inclination,” Kate retorted, practically biting each word.
“Yes, that much was clear.”
“Mary, you know he is not the sort of man we want for Edwina.”
Mary cocked her head slightly to the side and raised her brows. “I believe the question ought to be whether he is the sort of man Edwina wants for Edwina.”
“He’s not that, either!” Kate replied heatedly. “Just this afternoon she told me that she wanted to marry a scholar. A scholar!” She jerked her head toward the dark-haired cretin dancing with her sister. “Does he look like a scholar to you?”
“No, but then again, you don’t look particularly like an accomplished watercolorist, and yet I know that you are.” Mary smirked a bit, which needled Kate to no end, and waited for her reply.
“I’ll allow,” Kate said through clenched teeth, “that one ought not judge a person merely on his outer appearance, but surely you must agree. From all that we have heard of him, he does not seem the sort to spend his afternoons bent over musty books in a library.”
“Perhaps not,” Mary mused, “but I had a lovely chat with his mother earlier this evening.”
“His mother?” Kate fought to follow the conversation. “What has that to do with anything?”
Mary shrugged. “I find it difficult to believe that such a gracious and intelligent lady could have raised anything but the finest of gentlemen, regardless of his reputation.”
“But Mary—”
“When you are a mother,” she said loftily, “you will understand what I mean.”
“But—”
“Have I told you,” Mary said, the purposeful tone of her voice indicating that she’d meant to interrupt, “how lovely you look in that green gauze? I’m so glad we chose it.”
Kate looked dumbly down at her dress, wondering why on earth Mary had changed the subject so suddenly.
“The color suits you well. Lady Whistledown shall not be calling you a singed blade of grass in Friday’s column!”
Kate stared at Mary in dismay. Perhaps her stepmother had become overheated. It was crowded in the ballroom, and the air had grown thick.
Then she felt Mary’s finger jabbing her directly below her left shoulder blade, and she knew something else was afoot entirely.
“Mr. Bridgerton!” Mary suddenly exclaimed, sounding as gleeful as a young girl.
Horrified, Kate jerked her head up to see a startlingly handsome man approach them. A startlingly handsome man who looked startlingly like the viscount currently dancing with her sister.
She swallowed. It was either that or let her jaw hang open.
“Mr. Bridgerton!” Mary said again. “How nice to see you. This is my daughter Katharine.”
He took her limp, gloved hand and brushed an airy kiss across her knuckles. So airy, in fact, that Kate rather suspected he hadn’t kissed her at all.
“Miss Sheffield,” he murmured.
“Kate,” Mary continued, “this is Mr. Colin Bridgerton. I met him earlier this evening while I was talking with his mother, Lady Bridgerton.” She turned to Colin and beamed. “Such a lovely lady.”
He grinned back. “We think so.”
Mary tittered. Tittered! Kate thought she might gag.
“Kate,” Mary said again, “Mr. Bridgerton is brother to the viscount. Who is dancing with Edwina,” she added unnecessarily.
“I gathered,” Kate replied.
Colin Bridgerton shot her a sideways glance, and she knew instantly that he had not missed the vague sarcasm in her tone.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sheffield,” he said politely. “I do hope you will favor me with one of your dances this evening.”
“I—Of course.” She cleared her throat. “I would be honored.”
“Kate,” Mary said, nudging her softly, “show him your dance card.”
“Oh! Yes, of course.” Kate fumbled for her dance card, which was tied prettily to her wrist with a green ribbon. That she had to fumble for anything actually tied to her body was a bit alarming, but Kate decided to blame her lack of composure on the sudden and unexpected appearance of a heretofore unknown Bridgerton brother.
That, and the unfortunate fact that even under the best of circumstances she was never the most graceful girl in the room.
Colin filled his name in for one of the dances later that evening, then asked if she might like to walk with him to the lemonade table.
“Go, go,” Mary said, before Kate could reply. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine without you.”
“I can bring you back a glass,” Kate offered, trying to figure out if it was possible to glare at her stepmother without Mr. Bridgerton noticing.
“Not necessary. I really should get back to my position with all the other chaperones and mamas.” Mary whipp
ed her head around frantically until she spied a familiar face. “Oh, look, there is Mrs. Featherington. I must be off. Portia! Portia!”
Kate watched her stepmother’s rapidly retreating form for a moment before turning back to Mr. Bridgerton. “I think,” she said dryly, “that she doesn’t want any lemonade.”
A sparkle of humor glinted in his emerald green eyes. “Either that or she’s planning to run all the way to Spain to pick the lemons herself.”
Despite herself, Kate laughed. She didn’t want to like Mr. Colin Bridgerton. She didn’t much want to like any Bridgerton after all she’d read about the viscount in the newspaper. But she allowed that it probably wasn’t fair to judge a man based on his brother’s misdeeds, so she forced herself to relax a bit.
“And are you thirsty,” she asked, “or were you merely being polite?”
“I am always polite,” he said with a wicked grin, “but I am thirsty as well.”
Kate took one look at that grin, lethally combined with those devastating green eyes, and nearly groaned. “You are a rake as well,” she said with a sigh.
Colin choked—on what, she did not know, but he choked nonetheless. “I beg your pardon?”
Kate’s face flushed as she realized with horror that she’d spoken aloud. “No, it is I who should beg your pardon. Please forgive me. That was unforgivably rude.”
“No, no,” he said quickly, looking terribly interested and not a little bit amused, “do continue.”
Kate swallowed. There was really no way to get out of it now. “I was merely—” She cleared her throat. “If I might be frank . . .”
He nodded, his sly grin telling her that he could not imagine her being anything but frank.
Kate cleared her throat yet again. Really, this was getting ridiculous. She was starting to sound as if she’d swallowed a toad. “It had occurred to me that you might be rather like your brother, that is all.”
“My brother?”
“The viscount,” she said, thinking it must be obvious.
“I have three brothers,” he explained.
“Oh.” Now she felt stupid. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” he said with great feeling. “Most of the time they’re a dreadful nuisance.”
Kate had to cough to cover up her small gasp of surprise.
“But at least you were not comparing me to Gregory,” he said with a dramatic sigh of relief. He shot her a cheeky, sideways look. “He’s thirteen.”
Kate caught the smile in his eyes and realized he’d been bamming her all along. This was not a man who wished his brothers off to perdition. “You’re rather devoted to your family, aren’t you?” she asked.
His eyes, which had been laughing throughout the conversation, turned dead serious without even a blink. “Utterly.”
“As am I,” Kate said pointedly.
“And that means?”
“It means,” she said, knowing she should hold her tongue but speaking anyway, “that I will not allow anyone to break my sister’s heart.”
Colin remained silent for a moment, slowly turning his head to watch his brother and Edwina, who were just then finishing up their dance. “I see,” he murmured.
“Do you?”
“Oh, indeed.” They arrived at the lemonade table, and he reached out and took two glasses, handing one to her. She’d already had three glasses of lemonade that evening, a fact of which she was sure Mary had been aware before she’d insisted Kate have some more. But it was hot in the ballroom—it was always hot in ballrooms—and she was thirsty again.
Colin took a leisurely sip, watching her over the rim of his glass, then said, “My brother has it in his mind to settle down this year.”
Two could play at this game, Kate thought. She took a sip of her lemonade—slowly—before speaking. “Is that so?”
“I would certainly be in a position to know.”
“He is reputed to be quite a rake.”
Colin looked at her assessingly. “That is true.”
“It is difficult to imagine so notorious a rogue settling down with one woman and finding happiness in marriage.”
“You seem to have given such a scenario a great deal of thought, Miss Sheffield.”
She leveled a frank stare directly at his face. “Your brother is not the first man of questionable character to court my sister, Mr. Bridgerton. And I assure you, I do not take my sister’s happiness lightly.”
“Surely any girl would find happiness in marriage to a wealthy and titled gentleman. Isn’t that what a season in London is all about?”
“Perhaps,” Kate allowed, “but I’m afraid that line of thinking does not address the true problem at hand.”
“Which is?”
“Which is that a husband can break a heart with far greater intensity than a mere suitor.” She smiled—a small, knowing sort of smile—then added, “Don’t you think?”
“Having never been married, I am certainly not in a position to speculate.”
“Shame, shame, Mr. Bridgerton. That was the worst sort of evasion.”
“Was it? I rather thought it might be the best. I am clearly losing my touch.”
“That, I fear, will never be a worry.” Kate finished the rest of her lemonade. It was a small glass; Lady Hartside, their hostess, was notoriously stingy.
“You are far too generous,” he said.
She smiled, a real smile this time. “I am rarely accused of that, Mr. Bridgerton.”
He laughed. Right out loud in the middle of the ballroom. Kate realized with discomfort that they were suddenly the object of numerous curious stares.
“You,” he said, still sounding most heartily amused, “must meet my brother.”
“The viscount?” she asked with disbelief.
“Well, you might enjoy Gregory’s company as well,” he allowed, “but as I said, he is only thirteen and likely to put a frog on your chair.”
“And the viscount?”
“Is not likely to put a frog on your chair,” he said with an utterly straight face.
How Kate managed not to laugh she would never know. Keeping her lips completely straight and serious, she replied, “I see. He has a great deal to recommend him, then.”
Colin grinned. “He’s not such a bad sort.”
“I am much relieved. I shall begin planning the wedding breakfast immediately.”
Colin’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t mean—You shouldn’t—That is to say, such a move would be premature—”
Kate took pity on him and said, “I was joking.”
His face flushed slightly. “Of course.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make my farewell.”
He raised a brow. “Not leaving so early, are you, Miss Sheffield?”
“Not at all.” But she wasn’t about to tell him she had to go relieve herself. Four glasses of lemonade tended to do that to a body. “I promised a friend I would meet her for a moment.”
“It has been a pleasure.” He executed a smart bow. “May I see you to your destination?”
“No, thank you. I shall be quite all right on my own.” And with a smile over her shoulder, she made her retreat from the ballroom.
Colin Bridgerton watched her go with a thoughtful expression, then made his way to his older brother, who was leaning against a wall, arms crossed in an almost belligerent manner.
“Anthony!” he called out, slapping his brother on the back. “How was your dance with the lovely Miss Sheffield?”
“She’ll do,” was Anthony’s terse reply. They both knew what that meant.
“Really?” Colin’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “You should meet the sister, then.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Her sister,” Colin repeated, starting to laugh. “You simply must meet her sister.”
Twenty minutes later, Anthony was confident he’d gotten the whole story on Edwina Sheffield from Colin. And it seemed that the road to Edwina’s heart and hand in marriage lay
squarely through her sister.
Edwina Sheffield apparently would not marry without the approval of her older sister. According to Colin, this was common knowledge, and had been for at least a week, ever since Edwina had made an announcement to this effect at the annual Smythe-Smith musicale. The Bridgerton brothers had all missed this momentous statement, as they avoided Smythe-Smith musicales like the plague (as did anyone with any affection for Bach, Mozart, or music in any form.)
Edwina’s older sister, one Katharine Sheffield, more commonly known as Kate, was also making her debut this year, even though she was reputed to be at least one and twenty. Such timing led Anthony to believe that the Sheffields must be among the less wealthy ranks of the ton, a fact which suited him nicely. He had no need of a bride with a great dowry, and a bride without one might have more need of him.
Anthony believed in using all of his advantages.
Unlike Edwina, the elder Miss Sheffield had not immediately taken the ton by storm. According to Colin, she was generally well liked, but she lacked Edwina’s dazzling beauty. She was tall where Edwina was tiny, and dark where Edwina was fair. She also lacked Edwina’s dazzling grace. Again, according to Colin (who, though recently arrived in London for the season, was a veritable font of knowledge and gossip), more than one gentleman had reported sore feet after a dance with Katharine Sheffield.
The entire situation seemed a bit absurd to Anthony. After all, who had ever heard of a girl requiring her sister’s approval for a husband? A father, yes, a brother, or even a mother, but a sister? It was unfathomable. And furthermore, it seemed odd that Edwina would look to Katharine for guidance when Katharine clearly did not know what she was about in matters of the ton.
But Anthony didn’t particularly feel like searching out another suitable candidate to court, so he conveniently decided this simply meant that family was important to Edwina. And since family was all-important to him, this was one more indication that she would make an excellent choice as a wife.
So now it appeared that all he had to do was charm the sister. And how difficult could that be?
