Bridgerton Collection Volume 1 (Bridgertons)

by Julia Quinn

  “Isn’t that the last wicket?” Anthony asked.

  “It’s the first.”

  “It ought to be the last.”

  Daphne’s jaw jutted out. “I set up the course, and it’s the first.”

  “I think this might get bloody,” Edwina whispered to Kate.

  The duke turned to Anthony and flashed him a false smile. “I believe I’ll take Daphne’s word for it.”

  “She did set up the course,” Kate cut in.

  Anthony, Colin, Simon, and Daphne all looked at her in shock, as if they couldn’t quite believe she’d had the nerve to enter the conversation.

  “Well, she did,” Kate said.

  Daphne looped her arm through hers. “I do believe I adore you, Kate Sheffield,” she announced.

  “God help me,” Anthony muttered.

  The duke drew back his mallet, let fly, and soon the orange ball was hurtling along the lawn.

  “Well done, Simon!” Daphne cried out.

  Colin turned and looked at his sister with disdain. “One never cheers one’s opponents in Pall Mall,” he said archly.

  “He’s never played before,” she said. “He’s not likely to win.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  Daphne turned to Kate and Edwina and explained, “Bad sportsmanship is a requirement in Bridgerton Pall Mall, I’m afraid.”

  “I’d gathered,” Kate said dryly.

  “My turn,” Anthony barked. He gave the pink ball a disdainful glance, then gave it a good whack. It sailed splendidly over the grass, only to slam into a tree and drop like a stone to the ground.

  “Brilliant!” Colin exclaimed, getting ready to take his turn.

  Anthony muttered a few things under his breath, none of which were suitable for gentle ears.

  Colin sent the yellow ball toward the first wicket, then stepped aside to let Kate try her hand.

  “Might I have a practice swing?” she inquired.

  “No.” It was a rather loud no, coming, as it did, from three mouths.

  “Very well,” she grumbled. “Stand back, all of you. I won’t be held responsible if I injure anyone on the first try.” She drew back on her mallet with all her might and slammed it into the ball. It sailed through the air in a rather impressive arc, then smacked into the same tree that had foiled Anthony and plopped on the ground right next to his ball.

  “Oh, dear,” Daphne said, setting her aim by drawing back on her mallet a few times without actually hitting the ball.

  “Why ‘oh, dear’?” Kate asked worriedly, not reassured by the duchess’s faintly pitying smile.

  “You’ll see.” Daphne took her turn, then marched off in the direction of her ball.

  Kate looked over at Anthony. He looked very, very pleased with the current state of affairs.

  “What are you going to do to me?” she asked.

  He leaned forward devilishly. “What am I not going to do to you might be a more appropriate question.”

  “I believe it’s my turn,” Edwina said, stepping up to the starting point. She gave her ball an anemic hit, then groaned when it traveled only a third as far as the rest.

  “Put a bit more muscle into it next time,” Anthony said before stalking over to his ball.

  “Right,” Edwina muttered at his back. “I never would have figured that out.”

  “Hastings!” Anthony yelled. “It’s your turn.”

  While the duke tapped his ball toward the next wicket, Anthony leaned against the tree with crossed arms, his ridiculous pink mallet hanging from one hand, and waited for Kate.

  “Oh, Miss Sheffield,” he finally called out. “Play of the game dictates that one follow one’s ball!”

  He watched her tromp over to his side. “There,” she grumbled. “Now what?”

  “You really ought to treat me with more respect,” he said, offering her a slow, sly smile.

  “After you tarried with Edwina?” she shot back. “What I ought to do is have you drawn and quartered.”

  “Such a bloodthirsty wench,” he mused. “You’ll do well at Pall Mall . . . eventually.”

  He watched, utterly entertained, as her face grew red, then white. “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “For the love of God, Anthony,” Colin yelled. “Take your bloody turn.”

  Anthony looked down to where the wooden balls sat kissing on the grass, hers black, his appallingly pink. “Right,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want to keep dear, sweet Colin waiting.” And with that, he put his foot atop his ball, drew back his mallet—

  “What are you doing?” Kate shrieked.

  —and let fly. His ball remained firmly in place under his boot. Hers went sailing down the hill for what seemed like miles.

  “You fiend,” she growled.

  “All’s fair in love and war,” he quipped.

  “I am going to kill you.”

  “You can try,” he taunted, “but you’ll have to catch up with me first.”

  Kate pondered the mallet of death, then pondered his foot.

  “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

  “It’s so very, very tempting,” she growled.

  He leaned forward menacingly. “We have witnesses.”

  “And that is the only thing saving your life right now.”

  He merely smiled. “I believe your ball is down the hill, Miss Sheffield. I’m sure we’ll see you in a half hour or so, when you catch up.”

  Just then Daphne marched by, following her ball, which had sailed unnoticed past their feet. “That was why I said ‘oh, dear,’” she said—rather unnecessarily, in Kate’s opinion.

  “You’ll pay for this,” Kate hissed at Anthony.

  His smirk said more than words ever could.

  And then she marched down the hill, letting out a loud and extremely unladylike curse when she realized her ball was lodged under a hedge.

  Half an hour later Kate was still two wickets behind the next-to-last player. Anthony was winning, which irked her to no end. The only saving grace was that she was so far behind she couldn’t see his gloating face.

  Then as she was twiddling her thumbs and waiting for her turn (there was precious little else to do while waiting for her turn, as no other players were remotely near her), she heard Anthony let out an aggrieved shout.

  This immediately got her attention.

  Beaming with anticipation at his possible demise, she looked eagerly about until she saw the pink ball hurtling along the grass, straight at her.

  “Urp!” Kate gurgled, jumping up and darting quickly to the side before she lost a toe.

  Looking back up, she saw Colin leaping into the air, his mallet swinging wildly above him, as he cried out exultantly, “Woo-hoo!”

  Anthony looked as if he might disembowel his brother on the spot.

  Kate would have done a little victory dance herself—if she couldn’t win, the next best thing was knowing that he wouldn’t—except now it seemed that he’d be stuck back with her for a few turns. And while her solitude wasn’t terribly entertaining, it was better than having to make conversation with him.

  Still, it was difficult not to look just a little bit smug when he came tromping over toward her, scowling as if a thundercloud had just lodged itself in his brain.

  “Bad luck there, my lord,” Kate murmured.

  He glared at her.

  She sighed—just for effect, of course. “I’m sure you’ll still manage to place second or third.”

  He leaned forward menacingly and made a sound suspiciously like a growl.

  “Miss Sheffield!” came Colin’s impatient holler from up the hill. “It’s your turn!”

  “So it is,” Kate said, analyzing her possible shots. She could aim for the next wicket or she could attempt to sabotage Anthony even further. Unfortunately, his ball wasn’t touching hers, so she couldn’t attempt the foot-on-the-ball maneuver he’d used on her earlier in the game. Which was probably for the best. With her luck, she’d end up missing the ball enti
rely and instead breaking her foot.

  “Decisions, decisions,” she murmured.

  Anthony crossed his arms. “The only way you’re going to ruin my game is to ruin yours as well.”

  “True,” she acceded. If she wanted to send him into oblivion, she’d have to send herself there as well, since she’d have to hit hers with all she was worth just to get his to move. And since she couldn’t hold hers in place, heaven only knew where she’d end up.

  “But,” she said, looking up at him and smiling innocently, “I really have no chance of winning the game, anyway.”

  “You could come in second or third,” he tried.

  She shook her head. “Unlikely, don’t you think? I’m so far behind as it is, and we are nearing the end of play.”

  “You don’t want to do this, Miss Sheffield,” he warned.

  “Oh,” she said with great feeling, “I do. I really, really do.” And then, with quite the most evil grin her lips had ever formed, she drew back her mallet and smacked her ball with every ounce of every single emotion within her. It knocked into his with stunning force, sending it hurtling even farther down the hill.

  Farther . . .

  Farther . . .

  Right into the lake.

  Openmouthed with delight, Kate just stared for a moment as the pink ball sank into the lake. Then something rose up within her, some strange and primitive emotion, and before she knew what she was about, she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!”

  “You don’t win,” Anthony snapped.

  “Oh, it feels like I’ve won,” she reveled.

  Colin and Daphne, who had come dashing down the hill, skidded to a halt before them. “Well done, Miss Sheffield!” Colin exclaimed. “I knew you were worthy of the mallet of death.”

  “Brilliant,” Daphne agreed. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  Anthony, of course, had no choice but to cross his arms and scowl mightily.

  Colin gave her a congenial pat on the back. “Are you certain you’re not a Bridgerton in disguise? You have truly lived up to the spirit of the game.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” Kate said graciously. “If you hadn’t hit his ball down the hill . . .”

  “I had been hoping you would pick up the reins of his destruction,” Colin said.

  The duke finally approached, Edwina at his side. “A rather stunning conclusion to the game,” he commented.

  “It’s not over yet,” Daphne said.

  Her husband gave her a faintly amused glance. “To continue the play now seems rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

  Surprisingly, even Colin agreed. “I certainly can’t imagine anything topping it.”

  Kate beamed.

  The duke glanced up at the sky. “Furthermore, it’s starting to cloud over. I want to get Daphne in before it starts to rain. Delicate condition and all, you know.”

  Kate looked in surprise at Daphne, who had started to blush. She didn’t look the least bit pregnant.

  “Very well,” Colin said. “I move we end the game and declare Miss Sheffield the winner.”

  “I was two wickets behind the rest of you,” Kate demurred.

  “Nevertheless,” Colin said, “any true aficionado of Bridgerton Pall Mall understands that sending Anthony into the lake is far more important than actually sending one’s ball through all the wickets. Which makes you our winner, Miss Sheffield.” He looked about, then straight at Anthony. “Does anyone disagree?”

  No one did, although Anthony looked close to violence.

  “Excellent,” Colin said. “In that case, Miss Sheffield is our winner, and Anthony, you are our loser.”

  A strange, muffled sound burst from Kate’s mouth, half laugh and half choke.

  “Well, someone has to lose,” Colin said with a grin. “It’s tradition.”

  “It’s true,” Daphne agreed. “We’re a bloodthirsty lot, but we do like to follow tradition.”

  “You’re all mad in the head is what you are,” the duke said affably. “And on that note, Daphne and I must bid you farewell. I do want to get her inside before it begins to rain. I trust no one will mind if we leave without helping to clear the course?”

  No one minded, of course, and soon the duke and duchess were on their way back to Aubrey Hall.

  Edwina, who had kept silent throughout the exchange (although she had been looking at the various Bridgertons as if they’d recently escaped from an asylum), suddenly cleared her throat. “Do you think we should try to retrieve the ball?” she asked, squinting down the hill toward the lake.

  The rest of the party just stared at the calm waters as if they’d never considered such a bizarre notion.

  “It’s not as if it landed in the middle,” she added. “It just rolled in. It’s probably right by the edge.”

  Colin scratched his head. Anthony continued to glower.

  “Surely you don’t want to lose another ball,” Edwina persisted. When no one had a reply, she threw down her mallet and threw up arms, saying, “Fine! I’ll get the silly old ball.”

  That certainly roused the men from their stupor, and they jumped to help her.

  “Don’t be silly, Miss Sheffield,” Colin said gallantly as he started to walk down the hill, “I’ll get it.”

  “For the love of Christ,” Anthony muttered. “I’ll get the bloody ball.” He strode down the hill, quickly overtaking his brother. For all his ire, he couldn’t really blame Kate for her actions. He would have done the very same thing, although he would have hit the ball with enough force to sink hers in the middle of the lake.

  Still, it was damned humiliating to be bested by a female, especially her.

  He reached the edge of the lake and peered in. The pink ball was so brightly colored that it ought to show through the water, provided it had settled at a shallow enough level.

  “Do you see it?” Colin asked, coming to a halt beside him.

  Anthony shook his head. “It’s a stupid color, anyway. No one ever wanted to be pink.”

  Colin nodded his agreement.

  “Even the purple was better,” Anthony continued, moving a few steps to the right so that he could inspect another stretch of shoreline. He looked up suddenly, glaring at his brother. “What the hell happened to the purple mallet, anyway?”

  Colin shrugged. “I’m sure I have no idea.”

  “And I’m sure,” Anthony muttered, “that it will miraculously reappear in the Pall Mall set tomorrow evening.”

  “You might very well be right,” Colin said brightly, moving a bit past Anthony, keeping his eyes on the water the whole way. “Perhaps even this afternoon, if we’re lucky.”

  “One of these days,” Anthony said matter-of-factly, “I’m going to kill you.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” Colin scanned the water, then suddenly pointed with his index finger. “I say! There it is.”

  Sure enough, the pink ball sat in the shallow water, about two feet out from the edge of the lake. It looked to be only a foot or so deep. Anthony swore under his breath. He was going to have to take off his boots and wade in. It seemed Kate Sheffield was forever forcing him to take off his boots and wade into bodies of water.

  No, he thought wearily, he hadn’t had time to remove his boots when he’d charged into The Serpentine to save Edwina. The leather had been completely ruined. His valet had nearly fainted from the horror of it.

  With a groan he sat on a rock to pull off his footwear. To save Edwina he supposed it was worth a pair of good boots. To save a stupid pink Pall Mall ball—frankly, it didn’t even seem worth getting his feet wet.

  “You seem to have this well in hand,” Colin said, “so I’m going to go help Miss Sheffield pull up the wickets.”

  Anthony just shook his head in resignation and waded in.

  “Is it cold?” came a feminine voice.

  Good God, it was her. He turned around. Kate Sheffield was standing on the shore.

  “I thought y
ou were pulling up wickets,” he said, somewhat testily.

  “That’s Edwina.”

  “Too bloody many Miss Sheffields,” he muttered under his breath. There ought to be a law against letting sisters come out in the same season.

  “I beg your pardon?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

  “I said it’s freezing,” he lied.

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  That got his attention. “No, you’re not,” he finally said.

  “Well, no,” she admitted. “Not for your losing, anyway. But I didn’t intend for you to freeze your toes off.”

  Anthony was suddenly gripped by the most insane desire to see her toes. It was a horrible thought. He had no business lusting after this woman. He didn’t even like her.

  He sighed. That wasn’t true. He supposed he did like her in an odd, paradoxical sort of way. And he thought, strangely enough, she might be beginning to like him in much the same manner.

  “You would have done the same thing if you were me,” she called out.

  He said nothing, just continued his slow wade.

  “You would have!” she insisted.

  He leaned down and scooped up the ball, getting his sleeve wet in the process. Damn. “I know,” he replied.

  “Oh,” she said, sounding surprised, as if she hadn’t expected him to admit it.

  He waded back out, thankful that the ground by the shore was firmly packed, so that dirt didn’t stick to his feet.

  “Here,” she said, holding out what looked like a blanket. “It was in the shed. I stopped by on my way down. I thought you might need something to dry your feet.”

  Anthony opened his mouth, but oddly enough, no sound emerged. Finally, he managed, “Thank you,” and took the blanket from her hands.

  “I’m not such a terrible person, you know,” she said with a smile.

  “Neither am I.”

  “Perhaps,” she allowed, “but you shouldn’t have tarried so long with Edwina. I know you did it just to vex me.”

  He lifted a brow as he sat on the rock so he could dry his feet, dropping the ball onto the ground next to him. “Don’t you think it’s possible that my delay had anything to do with my wanting to spend time with the woman I’m considering making my wife?”

  She colored slightly, but then muttered, “This has to be the most self-centered thing I’ve ever said, but no, I think you just wanted to vex me.”