An Offer From a Gentleman (Bridgertons 3)

“I don’t think Eloise wants to marry,” Benedict said.

“Quiet your mouth,” Lady Bridgerton said.

“Such a statement is sacrilege around here,” Benedict said to Sophie.

“Don’t listen to him,” Lady Bridgerton said, walking toward the stairs. “Here, come with me, Miss Beckett. What did you say your given name was?”

“Sophia. Sophie.”

“Come with me, Sophie. I’ll introduce you to the girls. And,” she added, her nose crinkling with distaste, “we’ll find you something new to wear. I cannot have one of our maids dressed so shabbily. A person would think we didn’t pay you a fair wage.”

It had never been Sophie’s experience that members of the ton were concerned about paying their servants fairly, and she was touched by Lady Bridgerton’s generosity.

“You,” Lady Bridgerton said to Benedict. “Wait for me downstairs. We have much to discuss, you and I.”

“I’m quaking in my boots,” he deadpanned.

“Between him and his brother, I don’t know which one of them will kill me first,” Lady Bridgerton muttered.

“Which brother?” Sophie asked.

“Either. Both. All three. Scoundrels, the lot of them.”

But they were scoundrels she clearly loved. Sophie could hear it in the way she spoke, see it in her eyes when they lit with joy upon seeing her son.

And it made Sophie lonely and wistful and jealous. How different her life might have been had her mother lived through childbirth. They might have been unrespectable, Mrs. Beckett a mistress and Sophie a bastard, but Sophie liked to think that her mother would have loved her.

Which was more than she received from any other adult, her father included.

“Come along, Sophie,” Lady Bridgerton said briskly.

Sophie followed her up the stairs, wondering why, if she were merely about to begin a new job, she felt as if she were entering a new family.

Itfelt . . . nice.

And it had been a long, long while since her life had felt nice.

Chapter 14

Rosamund Reiling swears that she saw Benedict Bridgerton back in London. This Author is inclined to believe the veracity of the account; Miss Reiling can spot an unmarried bachelor at fifty paces.

Unfortunately for Miss Reiling, she can’t seem to land one.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 12 MAY 1817

Benedict had barely taken two steps toward the sitting room when his sister Eloise came dashing down the hall. Like all the Bridgertons, she had thick, chestnut hair and a wide smile. Unlike Benedict, however, her eyes were a clear, crisp gray, a shade quite unlike that possessed by any of her brothers and sisters.

“Benedict!” she called out, throwing her arms rather exuberantly around him. “Where have you been? Mother has been grumbling all week, wondering where you’d gone off to.”

“Funny, when I spoke to Mother, not two minutes ago, her grumbles were about you, wondering when you were finally planning to marry.”

Eloise pulled a face. “When I meet someone worth marrying, that’s when. I do wish someone new would move to town. I feel as though I meet the same hundred or so people over and over again.”

“You do meet the same hundred or so people over and over again.”

“Exactly my point,” she said. “There are no secrets left in London. I already know everything about everyone.”

“Really?” Benedict asked, with no small measure of sarcasm.

“Mock me all you want,” she said, jabbing her finger toward him in a manner he was sure his mother would deem unladylike, “but I am not exaggerating.”

“Not even a little bit?” he grinned.

She scowled at him. “Where were you this past week?”

He walked into the sitting room and plopped down on a sofa. He probably should have waited for her to sit, but she was just his sister, after all, and he’d never felt the need to stand on ceremony when they were alone. “Went to the Cavender party,” he said, propping his feet up on a low table. “It was abominable.”

“Mother will kill you if she catches you with your feet up,” Eloise said, sitting down in a chair that was kitty-corner to him. “And why was the party so dreadful?”

“The company.” He looked at his feet and decided to leave them where they were. “A more boring bunch of lazy louts, I’ve never met.”

“As long as you don’t mince words.”

Benedict raised a brow at her sarcasm. “You are hereby forbidden from marrying anyone who was in attendance.”

“An order I shall probably have no difficulty obeying.” She tapped her hands against the arms of her chair. Benedict had to smile; Eloise had always been a bundle of nervous energy.

“But,” she said, looking up with narrowed eyes, “that doesn’t explain where you were all week.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly nosy?”

“Oh, all the time. Where were you?”

“And persistent, too.”

“It’s the only way to be. Where were you?”

“Have I mentioned I’m considering investing in a company that manufactures human-sized muzzles?”

She threw a pillow at him. “Where were you?”

“As it happens,” he said, gently tossing the pillow back in her direction, “the answer isn’t the least bit interesting. I was at My Cottage, recuperating from a nasty cold.”

“I thought you’d already recuperated.”

He regarded her with an expression that was an unlikely cross between amazement and distaste. “How do you know that?”

“I know everything. You should know that by now.” She grinned. “Colds can be so nasty. Did you have a setback?”

He nodded. “After driving in the rain.”

“Well, that wasn’t very smart of you.”

“Is there any reason,” he asked, glancing about the room as if he were directing his question at someone other than Eloise, “why I am allowing myself to be insulted by my ninnyhammer of a younger sister?”

“Probably because I do it so well.” She kicked at his foot, trying to knock it off the table. “Mother will be here at any second, I’m sure.”

“No, she won’t,” he returned. “She’s busy.”

“Doing what?”

He waved his hand toward the ceiling. “Orienting the new maid.”

She sat up straight. “We have a new maid? Nobody told me about it.”

“Heavens,” he drawled, “something has happened and Eloise doesn’t know about it.”

She leaned back in her chair, then kicked his foot again. “Housemaid? Lady’s maid? Scullery?”

“Why do you care?”

“It’s always good to know what’s what.”

“Lady’s maid, I believe.”

Eloise took all of one half second to digest that. “And how do you know?”

Benedict figured he might as well tell her the truth. The Lord knew, she’d know the whole story by sundown, even if he didn’t. “Because I brought her here.”

“The maid?”

“No, Mother. Of course the maid.”

“Since when do you trouble yourself with the hiring of servants?”

“Since this particular young lady nearly saved my life by nursing me while I was ill.”

Eloise’s mouth fell open. “You were that ill?”

Might as well let her believe he’d been at death’s door. A little pity and concern might work to his advantage next time he needed to wheedle her into something. “I have felt better,” he said mildly. “Where are you going?”

She’d already risen to her feet. “To go find Mother and meet the new maid. She’s probably going to wait on Francesca and me, now that Marie is gone.”

“You lost your maid?”

Eloise scowled. “She left us for that odious Lady Penwood.”

Benedict had to grin at her description. He remembered his one meeting with Lady Penwood quite well; he, too, had found her odious.

/> “Lady Penwood is notorious for mistreating her servants. She’s gone through three lady’s maids this year. Stole Mrs. Featherington’s right out from under her nose, but the poor girl only lasted a fortnight.”

Benedict listened patiently to his sister’s tirade, amazed that he was even interested. And yet for some strange reason, he was.

“Marie will come crawling back in a week, asking us to take her back on, you mark my words,” Eloise said.