by Julia Quinn
The image made Anthony grin. The child on the shoulders might be a boy or a girl; Edmund had never discriminated between his children when it came to horseplay. But no matter who held the coveted spot at the top of the world, they would surely be chased after by a nurse, insisting that they stop this nonsense at once, and that a child’s place was in the nursery and certainly not on her father’s shoulders.
“Oh, Father,” Anthony whispered, looking up at the portrait of Edmund that hung over the fireplace, “how on earth will I ever live up to your achievements?”
And surely that had to have been Edmund Bridgerton’s greatest achievement—presiding over a family filled with love and laughter and everything that was so often absent from aristocratic life.
Anthony turned away from his father’s portrait and crossed over to the window, watching the coaches pull up the drive. The afternoon had brought a steady stream of arrivals, and every conveyance seemed to carry yet another fresh-faced young lady, her eyes alight with happiness at having been gifted with an invitation to the Bridgerton house party.
Lady Bridgerton didn’t often elect to fill her country home with guests. When she did, it was always the event of the season.
Although, truth be told, none of the Bridgertons spent much time at Aubrey Hall any longer. Anthony suspected that his mother suffered the same malady he did—memories of Edmund around every corner. The younger children had few memories of the place, having been raised primarily in London. They certainly didn’t recall the long hikes across fields, or the fishing, or the treehouse.
Hyacinth, who was now just eleven, had never even been held in her father’s arms. Anthony had tried to fill the gap as best as he could, but he knew he was a very pale comparison.
With a weary sigh, Anthony leaned heavily against the window frame, trying to decide whether or not he wanted to pour himself a drink. He was staring out over the lawn, his eyes focusing on absolutely nothing, when a carriage decidedly shabbier than the rest rolled down the drive. Not that there was anything shoddy about it; it was obviously well made and sturdy. But it lacked the gilded crests that graced the other carriages, and it seemed to bump along a tiny bit more than the rest, as if it weren’t quite well sprung enough for comfort.
This would be the Sheffields, Anthony realized. Everyone else on the guest list was in possession of a respectable fortune. Only the Sheffields would have had to hire a carriage for the season.
Sure enough, when one of the Bridgerton footmen, dressed in stylish powder-blue livery, leaped forward to open the door, out stepped Edwina Sheffield, looking a veritable vision in a pale yellow traveling dress and matching bonnet. Anthony was not close enough to see her face clearly, but it was easy enough to imagine. Her cheeks would be soft and pink, and her exquisite eyes would mirror the cloudless sky.
The next to emerge was Mrs. Sheffield. It was only when she took her place next to Edwina that he realized how closely they resembled one another. Both were charmingly graceful and petite, and as they spoke, he could see that they held themselves in the same manner. The tilt of the head was identical, as were their posture and stance.
Edwina would not outgrow her beauty. This would clearly be a good attribute in a wife, although—Anthony threw a rueful glance at his father’s portrait—he wasn’t likely to be around to watch her age.
Finally, Kate stepped down.
And Anthony realized he’d been holding his breath.
She didn’t move like the two other Sheffield women. They had been dainty, leaning on the footman, putting their hands in his with a graceful arch of the wrist.
Kate, on the other hand, practically hopped right down. She took the footman’s proffered arm, but she certainly didn’t appear to need his assistance. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she stood tall and lifted her face to gaze at the facade of Aubrey Hall. Everything about her was direct and straightforward, and Anthony had no doubt that if he were close enough to gaze into her eyes, he would find them utterly forthright.
Once she saw him, however, they would fill with disdain, and perhaps a touch of hatred as well.
Which was really all he deserved. A gentleman did not treat a lady as he had Kate Sheffield and expect her continued good favor.
Kate turned to her mother and sister and said something, causing Edwina to laugh and Mary to smile indulgently. Anthony realized he hadn’t had much opportunity to watch the three of them interact before. They were a true family, comfortable in each other’s presence, and there was a warmth one sensed in their faces when they conversed. It was especially fascinating since he knew that Mary and Kate were not blood relatives.
There were some bonds, he was coming to realize, that were stronger than those of blood. These were not bonds he had room for in his life.
Which was why, when he married, the face behind the veil would have to be Edwina Sheffield’s.
Kate had expected to be impressed by Aubrey Hall. She had not expected to be enchanted.
The house was smaller than she’d expected. Oh, it was still far, far larger than anything she’d ever had the honor to call home, but the country manor was not a hulking behemoth rising out of the landscape like a misplaced medieval castle.
Rather, Aubrey Hall seemed almost cozy. It seemed a bizarre word to use to describe a house with surely fifty rooms, but its fanciful turrets and crenellations almost made it seem like something out of a fairy story, especially with the late afternoon sun giving the yellow stone an almost reddish glow. There was nothing austere or imposing about Aubrey Hall, and Kate liked it immediately.
“Isn’t it lovely?” Edwina whispered.
Kate nodded. “Lovely enough to make a week spent in the company of that awful man almost bearable.”
Edwina laughed and Mary scolded, but even Mary could not resist an indulgent smile. But she did say, casting an eye to the footman, who had gone around the back of the coach to unload their luggage, “You should not say such things, Kate. One never knows who is listening, and it is unbecoming to speak thusly about our host.”
“Have no fear, he didn’t hear me,” Kate replied. “And besides, I thought Lady Bridgerton was our hostess. She did issue the invitation.”
“The viscount owns the house,” Mary returned.
“Very well,” Kate acceded, motioning to Aubrey Hall with a dramatic wave of her arm. “The moment I enter those hallowed halls, I shall be nothing but sweetness and light.”
Edwina snorted. “That will certainly be a sight to behold.”
Mary shot Kate a knowing look. “‘Sweetness and light’ applies to the gardens as well,” she said.
Kate just smiled. “Truly, Mary, I shall be on my best behavior. I promise.”
“Just do your best to avoid the viscount.”
“I will,” Kate promised. As long as he does his best to avoid Edwina.
A footman appeared at their side, his arm sweeping toward the hall in a splendid arc. “If you will step inside,” he said, “Lady Bridgerton is eager to greet her guests.”
The three Sheffields immediately turned and made their way to the front door. As they mounted the shallow steps, however, Edwina turned to Kate with a mischievous grin and whispered, “Sweetness and light begins here, sister mine.”
“If we weren’t in public,” Kate returned, her voice equally hushed, “I might have to hit you.”
Lady Bridgerton was in the main hall when they stepped inside, and Kate could see the ribboned hems of walking dresses disappearing up the stairs as the previous carriage’s occupants made their way to their rooms.
“Mrs. Sheffield!” Lady Bridgerton called out, crossing over toward them. “How lovely to see you. And Miss Sheffield,” she added, turning to Kate, “I am so glad you were able to join us.”
“It was kind of you to invite us,” Kate replied. “And it is truly a pleasure to escape the city for a week.”
Lady Bridgerton smiled. “You are a country girl at heart, then?”
“I’m afraid so. London
is exciting, and always worth a visit, but I do prefer the green fields and fresh air of the countryside.”
“My son is much the same way,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Oh, he spends his time in the city, but a mother knows the truth.”
“The viscount?” Kate asked doubtfully. He seemed such the consummate rake, and everyone knew a rake’s natural habitat was the city.
“Yes, Anthony. We lived here almost exclusively when he was a child. We went to London during the season, of course, since I do love to attend parties and balls, but never for more than a few weeks. It was only after my husband passed away that we moved our primary residence to town.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Kate murmured.
The viscountess turned to her with a wistful expression in her blue eyes. “That is very sweet of you. He has been gone for many years, but I do still miss him each and every day.”
Kate felt a lump forming in her throat. She remembered how well Mary and her father had loved each other, and she knew that she was in the presence of another woman who had experienced true love. And suddenly she felt so very sad. Because Mary had lost her husband and the viscountess had lost hers as well, and . . .
And maybe most of all because she would probably never know the bliss of true love herself.
“But we’re becoming so maudlin,” Lady Bridgerton suddenly said, smiling a little too brightly as she turned back to Mary, “and here I haven’t even met your other daughter.”
“Have you not?” Mary asked, her brow furrowing. “I suppose that must be true. Edwina was not able to attend your musicale.”
“I have, of course, seen you from afar,” Lady Bridgerton said to Edwina, bestowing upon her a dazzling smile.
Mary made the introductions, and Kate could not help but notice the appraising manner in which Lady Bridgerton regarded Edwina. There could be no doubt about it. She’d decided Edwina would make an excellent addition to her family.
After a few more moments of chitchat, Lady Bridgerton offered them tea while their bags were being delivered to their rooms, but they declined, as Mary was tired and wanted to lie down.
“As you wish,” Lady Bridgerton said, signaling to a housemaid. “I shall have Rose show you to your rooms. Dinner is at eight. Is there anything else I may do for you before you retire?”
Mary and Edwina both shook their heads no, and Kate started to follow suit, but at the last minute she blurted out, “Actually, if I might ask you a question.”
Lady Bridgerton smiled warmly. “Of course.”
“I noticed when we arrived that you have extensive flower gardens. Might I explore them?”
“Then you are a gardener as well?” Lady Bridgerton inquired.
“Not a very good one,” Kate admitted, “but I do admire the hand of an expert.”
The viscountess blushed. “I should be honored if you explored the gardens. They are my pride and joy. I don’t have much a hand in them now, but when Edmund was al—” She stopped and cleared her throat. “That is to say, when I spent more time here, I was always up to my elbows in dirt. It used to drive my mother positively mad.”
“And the gardener, too, I imagine,” Kate said.
Lady Bridgerton’s smile erupted into laughter. “Oh, indeed! He was a terrible sort. Always saying that the only thing women knew about flowers was how to accept them as a gift. But he had the greenest thumb you could ever imagine, so I learned to put up with him.”
“And he learned to put up with you?”
Lady Bridgerton smiled wickedly. “No, he never did, actually. But I didn’t let that stop me.”
Kate grinned, instinctively warming to the older woman.
“But don’t let me keep you any longer,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Let Rose take you up and get you settled in. And Miss Sheffield,” she said to Kate, “if you like, I should be happy to give you a tour of the gardens later in the week. I’m afraid I’m too busy greeting guests right now, but I would be delighted to make time for you at a later date.”
“I would like that, thank you,” Kate said, and then she and Mary and Edwina followed the maid up the stairs.
Anthony emerged from his position behind his ever-so-slightly ajar door and strode down the hall toward his mother. “Was that the Sheffields I saw you greeting?” he asked, even though he knew very well it was. But his offices were too far down the hall for him to have heard anything the quartet of women had actually said, so he decided that a brief interrogation was in order.
“Indeed it was,” Violet replied. “Such a lovely family, don’t you think?”
Anthony just grunted.
“I’m so glad I invited them.”
Anthony said nothing, although he considered grunting again.
“They were a last-minute addition to the guest list.”
“I didn’t realize,” he murmured.
Violet nodded. “I had to scrounge up three more gentlemen from the village to even the numbers.”
“So we may expect the vicar at supper this eve?”
“And his brother, who is visiting for a spell, and his son.”
“Isn’t young John only sixteen?”
Violet shrugged. “I was desperate.”
Anthony pondered this. His mother was indeed desperate to have the Sheffields join the house party if it meant inviting a spotty-faced sixteen-year-old to supper. Not that she wouldn’t have invited him for a family meal; when not formally entertaining, the Bridgertons broke with accepted standards and had all the children eat in the dining room, regardless of age. Indeed, the first time Anthony had gone to visit a friend, he’d been shocked that he was expected to take his meals in the nursery.
But still, a house party was a house party, and even Violet Bridgerton did not allow children at the table.
“I understand you’ve made the acquaintance of both Sheffield girls,” Violet said.
Anthony nodded.
“I find them both delightful myself,” she continued. “They haven’t much in the way of fortune, but I’ve always maintained that when choosing a spouse, fortune is not as important as character, provided, of course, that one isn’t in desperate straits.”
“Which I,” Anthony drawled, “as I am sure you are about to point out, am not.”
Violet sniffed and shot him a haughty look. “I should not be so quick to mock me, my son. I merely point out the truth. You should be down on your hands and knees thanking your maker every day that you don’t have to marry an heiress. Most men don’t have the luxury of free will when it comes to marriage, you know.”
Anthony just smiled. “I should be thanking my maker? Or my mother?”
“You are a beast.”
He clucked her gently under the chin. “A beast you raised.”
“And it wasn’t an easy task,” she muttered. “I can assure you of that.”
He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her cheek. “Have fun greeting your guests, Mother.”
She scowled at him, but her heart clearly wasn’t in it. “Where are you going?” she asked as he started to move away.
“For a walk.”
“Really?”
He turned around, a bit bewildered over her interest. “Yes, really. Is there a problem with that?”
“Not at all,” she replied. “Just that you haven’t taken a walk—for the simple sake of taking a walk—in ages.”
“I haven’t been in the country in ages,” he commented.
“True,” she conceded. “In that case, you should really head out to the flower gardens. The early species are just beginning to bloom, and it’s simply spectacular. Like nothing you can ever see in London.”
Anthony nodded. “I shall see you for supper.”
Violet beamed and waved him off, watching as he disappeared back into his offices, which wrapped around the corner of Aubrey Hall and had French doors leading out to the side lawn.
Her eldest son’s interest in the Sheffields was most intriguing. Now, if she could only figure out which Sheffie
ld he was interested in. . . .
About a quarter of an hour later, Anthony was out strolling through his mother’s flower gardens, enjoying the contradiction of the warm sun and the cool breeze, when he heard the light sound of a second set of footsteps on a nearby path. This piqued his curiosity. The guests were all settling in their rooms, and it was the gardener’s day off. Frankly, he’d been anticipating solitude.
He turned toward the direction of the footfall, moving silently until he reached the end of his path. He looked to the right, then to the left, and then he saw . . .
Her.
Why, he wondered, was he surprised?
Kate Sheffield, dressed in a pale lavender frock, blending in charmingly with the irises and grape hyacinths. She was standing beside a decorative wooden arch, which, later in the year, would be covered with climbing pink and white roses.
He watched her for a moment as she trailed her fingers along some fuzzy plant he could never remember the name of, then bent down to sniff at a Dutch tulip.
“They don’t have a scent,” he called out, slowly making his way toward her.
She straightened immediately, her entire body reacting before she’d turned to see him. He could tell she’d recognized his voice, which left him feeling rather oddly satisfied.
As he approached her side, he motioned to the brilliant red bloom and said, “They’re lovely and somewhat rare in an English garden, but alas, with no perfume.”
She waited longer to reply than he would have expected, then she said, “I’ve never seen a tulip before.”
Something about that made him smile. “Never?”
“Well, not in the ground,” she explained. “Edwina has received many bouquets, and the bulb flowers are quite the rage this time of year. But I’ve never actually seen one growing.”
“They are my mother’s favorite,” Anthony said, reaching down and plucking one. “That and hyacinths, of course.”
She smiled curiously. “Of course?” she echoed.
“My youngest sister is named Hyacinth,” he said, handing her the flower. “Or didn’t you know that?”
