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.”
Chapter 10
The country house party is a very dangerous event. Married persons often find themselves enjoying the company of one other than one’s spouse, and unmarried persons often return to town as rather hastily engaged persons.
Indeed, the most surprising betrothals are announced on the heels of these spells of rustication.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 2 MAY 1814
“You certainly took your time getting here,” Colin remarked as soon as Anthony and Edwina reached the group. “Here, we’re ready to go. Edwina, you’re blue.” He handed her a mallet. “Anthony, you’re pink.”
“I’m pink and she”—he jabbed a finger toward Kate—“gets to have the mallet of death?”
“I gave her first pick,” Colin said. “She is our guest, after all.”
“Anthony is usually black,” Daphne explained. “In fact, he gave the mallet its name.”
“You shouldn’t have to be pink,” Edwina said to Anthony. “It doesn’t suit you at all. Here”—she held out her mallet—“why don’t we trade?”
“Don’t be silly,” Colin interjected. “We specifically decided that you must be blue. To match your eyes.”
Kate thought she heard Anthony groan.
“I will be pink,” Anthony announced, grabbing the offending mallet rather forcefully from Colin’s hand, “and I will still win. Let’s begin, shall we?”
As soon as the necessary introductions were made between the duke and duchess and Edwina, they all plopped their wooden balls down near the starting point and prepared to play.
“Shall we play youngest to oldest?” Colin suggested, with a gallant bow in Edwina’s direction.
She shook her head. “I should rather go last, so that I might have a chance to observe the play of those more experienced than I.”
“A wise woman,” Colin murmured. “Then we shall play oldest to youngest. Anthony, I believe you’re the most ancient among us.”
“Sorry, brother dear, but H
astings has a few months on me.”
“Why,” Edwina whispered in Kate’s ear, “do I get the feeling I am intruding upon a family spat?”
“I think the Bridgertons take Pall Mall very seriously,” Kate whispered back. The three Bridgerton siblings had assumed bulldog faces, and they all appeared rather single-mindedly determined to win.
“Eh eh eh!” Colin scolded, waving a finger at them. “No collusion allowed.”
“We wouldn’t even begin to know where to collude,” Kate commented, “as no one has seen fit to even explain to us the rules of play.”
“Just follow along,” Daphne said briskly. “You’ll figure it out as you go.”
“I think,” Kate whispered to Edwina, “that the object is to sink your opponents’ balls into the lake.”
“Really?”
“No. But I think that’s how the Bridgertons see it.”
“You’re still whispering!” Colin called out without sparing a glance in their direction. Then, to the duke, he barked, “Hastings, hit the bloody ball. We haven’t all day.”
“Colin,” Daphne cut in, “don’t curse. There are ladies present.”
“You don’t count.”
“There are two ladies present who are not me,” she ground out.
Colin blinked, then turned to the Sheffield sisters. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” Kate replied, utterly fascinated. Edwina just shook her head.
“Good.” Colin turned back to the duke. “Hastings, get moving.”
The duke nudged his ball a bit forward from the rest of the pile. “You do realize,” he said to no one in particular, “that I have never played Pall Mall before?”
“Just give the ball a good whack in that direction, darling,” Daphne said, pointing to the first wicket.
“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.”