The Viscount Who Loved Me (30 page)

Daphne shaded her eyes with her hand and scanned the area for a devilish wicket location. When she spied one—sitting right atop a tree root—she marched away, leaving Kate no choice but to follow.

“Four brothers,” Daphne said, shoving the wicket into the ground, “provide quite a marvelous education.”

“The things you must have learned,” Kate said, quite impressed. “Can you give a man a black eye? Knock him to the ground?”

Daphne grinned wickedly. “Ask my husband.”

“Ask me what?” the duke called out from where he and Colin were placing a wicket on a tree root on the opposite side of the tree.

“Nothing,” the duchess called out innocently. “I’ve also learned,” she whispered to Kate, “when it’s best just to keep one’s mouth shut. Men are much easier to manage once you understand a few basic facts about their nature.”

“Which are?” Kate prompted.

Daphne leaned forward and whispered behind her cupped hand, “They’re not as smart as we are, they’re not as intuitive as we are, and they certainly don’t need to know about fifty percent of what we do.” She looked around. “He didn’t hear that, did he?”

Simon stepped out from behind the tree. “Every word.”

Kate choked on a laugh as Daphne jumped a foot. “But it’s true,” Daphne said archly.

Simon crossed his arms. “I’ll let you think so.” He turned to Kate. “I’ve learned a thing or two about women over the years.”

“Really?” Kate asked, fascinated.

He nodded and leaned in, as if imparting a grave state secret. “They’re much easier to manage if one allows them to believe that they are smarter and more intuitive than men. And,” he added with a superior glance at his wife, “our lives are much more peaceful if we pretend that we’re only aware of about fifty percent of what they do.”

Colin approached, swinging a mallet in a low arc. “Are they having a spat?” he asked Kate.

“A discussion,” Daphne corrected.

“God save me from such discussions,” Colin muttered. “Let’s choose colors.”

Kate followed him back to the Pall Mall set, her fingers drumming against her thigh. “Do you have the time?” she asked him.

Colin pulled out his pocket watch. “A bit after half three, why?”

“I just thought that Edwina and the viscount would be down by now, that’s all,” she said, trying not to look too concerned.

Colin shrugged. “They should be.” Then, completely oblivious to her distress, he motioned to the Pall Mall set. “Here. You’re the guest. You choose first. What color do you want?”

Without giving it much thought, Kate reached in and grabbed a mallet. It was only when it was in her hand that she realized it was black.

“The mallet of death,” Colin said approvingly. “I knew she’d make a fine player.”

“Leave the pink one for Anthony,” Daphne said, reaching for the green mallet.

The duke pulled the orange mallet out of the set, turning to Kate as he said, “You are my witness that I had nothing to do with Bridgerton’s pink mallet, yes?”

Kate smiled wickedly. “I noticed that
you
didn’t choose the pink mallet.”

“Of course not,” he returned, his grin even more devious
than hers. “My wife had already chosen it for him. I could not gainsay her, now, could I?”

“Yellow for me,” Colin said, “and blue for Miss Edwina, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Kate replied. “Edwina loves blue.”

The foursome stared down at the two mallets left: pink and purple.

“He’s not going to like either one,” Daphne said.

Colin nodded. “But he’ll like pink even less.” And with that, he picked up the purple mallet and tossed it into the shed, then reached down and sent the purple ball in after it.

“I say,” the duke said, “where
is
Anthony?”

“That’s a very good question,” Kate muttered, tapping her hand against her thigh.

“I suppose you’ll want to know what time it is,” Colin said slyly.

Kate flushed. She’d already asked him to check his pocket watch twice. “I’m fine, thank you,” she answered, lacking a witty retort.

“Very well. It’s just that I’ve learned that once you start moving your hand like that—”

Kate’s hand froze.

“—you’re usually about ready to ask me what time it is.”

“You’ve learned quite a lot about me in the past hour,” Kate said dryly.

He grinned. “I’m an observant fellow.”

“Obviously,” she muttered.

“But in case you wanted to know, it’s a quarter of an hour before four.”

“They’re past due,” Kate said.

Colin leaned forward and whispered, “I highly doubt that my brother is ravishing your sister.”

Kate lurched back. “Mr. Bridgerton!”

“What are you two talking about?” Daphne asked.

Colin grinned. “Miss Sheffield is worried that Anthony is compromising the other Miss Sheffield.”

“Colin!” Daphne exclaimed. “That isn’t the least bit funny.”

“And certainly not true,” Kate protested. Well, almost not true. She didn’t think the viscount was compromising Edwina, but he was probably doing his very best to charm her silly. And
that
was dangerous in and of itself.

Kate pondered the mallet in her hand and tried to figure out how she might bring it down upon the viscount’s head and make it look like an accident.

The mallet of death, indeed.

Anthony checked the clock on the mantel in his study. Almost half three. They were going to be late.

He grinned. Oh, well, nothing to do about it.

Normally he was a stickler for punctuality, but when tardiness resulted in the torture of Kate Sheffield, he didn’t much mind a late arrival.

And Kate Sheffield was surely writhing in agony by now, horrified at the thought of her precious younger sister in his evil clutches.

Anthony looked down at his evil clutches—hands, he reminded himself, hands—and grinned anew. He hadn’t had this much fun in ages, and all he was doing was loitering about his office, picturing Kate Sheffield with her jaw clenched together, steam pouring from her ears.

It was a highly entertaining image.

Not, of course, that this was even his fault. He would have left right on time if he hadn’t had to wait for Edwina. She’d sent word down with the maid that she would join him in ten minutes. That was twenty minutes ago. He couldn’t help it if she was late.

Anthony had a sudden image of the rest of his life—waiting for Edwina. Was she the sort who was chronically late? That might grow vexing after a while.

As if on cue, he heard the patter of footsteps in the hall, and when he looked up, Edwina’s exquisite form was framed by the doorway.

She was, he thought dispassionately, a vision. Utterly lovely in every way. Her face was perfection, her posture the epitome of grace, and her eyes were the most radiant shade of blue, so vivid that one could not help but be surprised by their hue every time she blinked.

Anthony waited for some sort of reaction to rise up within him. Surely no man could be immune to her beauty.

Nothing. Not even the slightest urge to kiss her. It almost seemed a crime against nature.

But maybe this was a good thing. After all, he didn’t want a wife with whom he’d fall in love. Desire would have been nice, but desire could be dangerous. Desire certainly had a greater chance of sliding into love than did disinterest.

“I’m terribly sorry I’m late, my lord,” Edwina said prettily.

“It was no trouble whatsoever,” he replied, feeling a bit brightened by his recent set of rationalizations. She’d still work just fine as a bride. No need to look elsewhere. “But we should be on our way. The others will have the course set up already.”

He took her arm and they strolled out of the house. He remarked on the weather. She remarked on the weather. He remarked on the previous day’s weather. She agreed with whatever he’d said (he couldn’t even remember, one minute later).

After exhausting all possible weather-related topics, they fell into silence, and then finally, after a full three minutes of neither of them having anything to say, Edwina blurted out, “What did you study at university?”

Anthony looked at her oddly. He couldn’t remember ever being asked such a question by a young lady. “Oh, the usual,” he replied.

“But what,” she ground out, looking most uncharacteristically impatient, “is the usual?”

“History, mostly. A bit of literature.”

“Oh.” She pondered that for a moment. “I love to read.”

“Do you?” He eyed her with renewed interest. He wouldn’t have taken her for a bluestocking. “What do you like to read?”

She seemed to relax as she answered the question. “Novels if I’m feeling fanciful. Philosophy if I’m in the mood for self-improvement.”

“Philosophy, eh?” Anthony queried. “Never could stomach the stuff myself.”

Edwina let out one of her charmingly musical laughs. “Kate is the same way. She is forever telling me that she knows perfectly well how to live her life and doesn’t need a dead man to give her instructions.”

Anthony thought about his experiences reading Aristotle, Bentham, and Descartes at university. Then he thought about his experiences
avoiding
reading Aristotle, Bentham, and Descartes at university. “I think,” he murmured, “that I would have to agree with your sister.”

Edwina grinned. “
You,
agree with Kate? I feel I should find a notebook and record the moment. Surely this must be a first.”

He gave her a sideways, assessing sort of glance. “You’re more impertinent than you let on, aren’t you?”

“Not half as much as Kate.”

“
That
was never in doubt.”

He heard Edwina let out a little giggle, and when he looked over at her, she appeared to be trying her hardest to maintain a straight face. They rounded the final corner to the field, and as they came over the rise, they saw the rest of the Pall Mall party waiting for them, idly swinging their mallets to and fro as they waited.

“Oh, bloody hell,” Anthony swore, completely forgetting that he was in the company of the woman he planned to make his wife. “She’s got the mallet of death.”

What is the order of the Bridgerton books?

Julia Quinn:
Book 1:
The Duke and I

Book 2:
The Viscount Who Loved Me

Book 3:
An Offer From A Gentleman

Book 4:
Romancing Mr. Bridgerton

Book 5:
To Sir Phillip, With Love

Book 6: When He Was Wicked (coming summer 2004)

Will you write books for all eight Bridgerton siblings?

Julia Quinn:
Yes.

Will you write books about their children?

Julia Quinn:
I don’t know.

Why was there no mention of Lady Whistledown in
To Sir Phillip, With Love
? I thought for sure there would be a scene where Eloise learned the truth!

Julia Quinn:
Because Lady Whistledown had nothing to do with the plot for
To Sir Phillip, With Love
. The introduction of Lady Whistledown and “the big secret” would have been irrelevant, not to mention confusing for readers who have not read the previous Bridgerton books.

I do like to refer to items from previous books (Anthony’s fear of bees, for example, or Colin’s ravenous appetite), but only when they make sense within the framework of the story I’m currently telling. While the Bridgerton books are a loosely connected series, each title, first and foremost, must stand on its own as an individual novel.

I did think about this, however, while I was writing the novel, so my answer is: Colin didn’t tell Eloise because he was so furious with her for running off. Keeping her (a woman who likes to know everything!) out of the loop would be, to him, the perfect revenge.

Will you ever write a story for Violet Bridgerton?

Julia Quinn:
The answer, I think, is no. Her love for Edmund was so strong and deep that I have difficulty imagining her ever remarrying. I have received requests to write their story, but I wonder if it would be too bittersweet, since so many readers would already know that he would die young.

What about Francesca Bridgerton? She was a widow in
Romancing Mr. Bridgerton
. What happened to her?

Julia Quinn:
I’m still figuring that out. Look for her story (in which she finds love with her second husband) in summer 2004.

Who will get a story after Francesca?

Julia Quinn:
Hyacinth.

Will you ever write a story for Violet Bridgerton?

Julia Quinn:
The answer, I think, is no. Her love for Edmund was so strong and deep that I have difficulty imagining her ever remarrying. I have received requests to write their story, but I wonder if it would be too bittersweet, since so many readers would already know that he would die young.

What happened to Posy Reiling (from
An Offer from A Gentleman
)?

Julia Quinn:
Posy married a vicar and now lives a few miles away from Benedict and Sophie in Wiltshire. Check out
To Sir Phillip, With Love
for a little update on her.

In
Romancing Mr. Bridgerton
, you thank Lisa Kleypas and Stephanie Laurens for the gracious use of their characters. Which characters were those?

Julia Quinn:
I thought it would be fun to pay a little homage to my friends and colleagues, so in chapter one of
Romancing Mr. Bridgerton
, Penelope is reading a book called
Mathilda
by S.R. Fielding. This book played a big role in
Dreaming of You
by Lisa Kleypas (S.R. is actually Sara, the heroine). And in the
Lady Whistledown
column opening chapter nine, I mention Michael Anstruther-Wetherby, who is the brother of Honoria Anstruther-Wetherby, heroine of
Devil’s Bride
, the first book of Stephanie Laurens’s Cynster series. (I think he’s supposed to get his own book one of these days.)

Copyright © 2004 by Julia Quinn