An Offer From a Gentleman (Bridgertons 3)

“Oh. Well, I could come back later, I suppose.”

“Of course not,” Lady Bridgerton said. “Please sit down and have some tea.”

Sophie watched as the young woman took a seat on the sofa next to Francesca. Penelope was no sophisticated beauty, but she was rather fetching in her own, uncomplicated way. Her hair was a brownish red, and her cheeks were lightly dusted with freckles. Her complexion was a touch sallow, although Sophie had a suspicion that that had more to do with her unattractive yellow frock than anything else.

Come to think of it, she rather thought that she’d read something in Lady Whistledown’s column about Penelope’s awful clothes. Pity the poor girl couldn’t talk her mother into letting her wear blue.

But as Sophie surreptitiously studied Penelope, she became aware that Penelope was not-so-surreptitiously studying her.

“Have we met?” Penelope suddenly asked.

Sophie was suddenly gripped by an awful, premonition-like feeling. Or maybe it was déjà vu. “I don’t think so,” she said quickly.

Penelope’s gaze didn’t waver from her face. “Are you certain?”

“I—I don’t see how we could have done.”

Penelope let out a little breath and shook her head, as if clearing cobwebs from her mind. “I’m sure you’re correct. But there is something terribly familiar about you.”

“Sophie is our new lady’s maid,” Hyacinth said, as if that would explain anything. “She usually joins us for tea when we’re only family.”

Sophie watched Penelope as she murmured something in response, and then suddenly it hit her. She had seen Penelope before! It had been at the masquerade, probably no more than ten seconds before she’d met Benedict.

She’d just made her entrance, and the young men who had quickly surrounded her had still been making their way to her side. Penelope had been standing right there, dressed in some rather strange green costume with a funny hat. For some reason she hadn’t been wearing a mask. Sophie had stared at her for a moment, trying to figure out what her costume was meant to be, when a young gentleman had bumped into Penelope, nearly knocking her to the floor.

Sophie had reached out and helped her up, and had just managed to say something like, “There you are,” when several more gentlemen had rushed in, separating the two women.

Then Benedict had arrived, and Sophie had had eyes for no one but him. Penelope—and the abominable way she had been treated by the young gentlemen at the masquerade—had been forgotten until this very moment.

And clearly the event had remained buried at the back of Penelope’s mind as well.

“I’m sure I must be mistaken,” Penelope said as she accepted a cup of tea from Francesca. “It’s not your looks, precisely, but rather the way you hold yourself, if that makes any sense.”

Sophie decided that a smooth intervention was necessary and so she pasted on her best conversational smile, and said, “I shall take that as a compliment, since I am sure that the ladies of your acquaintance are gracious and kind indeed.”

The minute she shut her mouth, however, she realized that that had been overkill. Francesca was looking at her as if she’d sprouted horns, and the corners of Lady Bridgerton’s mouth were twitching as she said, “Why, Sophie, I vow that is the longest sentence you have uttered in a fortnight.”

Sophie lifted her teacup to her face and mumbled, “I haven’t been feeling well.”

“Oh!” Hyacinth suddenly blurted out. “I hope you are not feeling too sickly, because I was hoping you could help me this evening.”

“Of course,” Sophie said, eager for an excuse to turn away from Penelope, who was still studying her as if she were a human puzzle. “What is it you need?”

“I have promised to entertain my cousins this eve.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Lady Bridgerton said, setting her saucer down on the table. “I’d nearly forgotten.”

Hyacinth nodded. “Could you help? There are four of them, and I’m sure to be overrun.”

“Of course,” Sophie said. “How old are they?”

Hyacinth shrugged.

“Between the ages of six and ten,” Lady Bridgerton said with a dissaproving expression. “You should know that, Hyacinth.”

Sophie said to Hyacinth, “Fetch me when they arrive. I love children and would be happy to help.”

“Excellent,” Hyacinth said, clasping her hands together. “They are so young and active. They would have worn me out.”

“Hyacinth,” Francesca said, “you’re hardly old and decrepit.”

“When was the last time you spent two hours with four children under the age of ten?”

“Stop,” Sophie said, laughing for the first time in two weeks. “I’ll help. No one will be worn-out. And you should come, too, Francesca. We’ll have a lovely time, I’m sure.”

“Are you—” Penelope started to say something, then cut herself off. “Never mind.”

But when Sophie looked over at her, she was still staring at her face with a most perplexed expression. Penelope opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again, saying, “I know I know you.”

“I’m sure she’s right,” Eloise said with a jaunty grin. “Penelope never forgets a face.”

Sophie blanched.

“Are you quite all right?” Lady Bridgerton asked, leaning forward. “You don’t look well.”

“I think something didn’t agree with me,” Sophie hastily lied, clutching her stomach for effect. “Perhaps the milk was off.”

“Oh, dear,” Daphne said with a concerned frown as she looked down at her baby. “I gave some to Caroline.”

“It tasted fine to me,” Hyacinth said.

“It might have been something from this morning,” Sophie said, not wanting Daphne to worry. “But all the same, I think I had better lie down.” She stood and took a step toward the door. “If that is agreeable to you, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I hope you feel better soon.”

“I’m sure I will,” Sophie said, quite truthfully. She’d feel better just as soon as she left Penelope Featherington’s line of vision.

“I’ll come get you when my cousins arrive,” Hyacinth called out.

“If you’re feeling better,” Lady Bridgerton added.

Sophie nodded and hurried out of the room, but as she left, she caught sight of Penelope Featherington watching her with a most intent expression, leaving Sophie filled with a horrible sense of dread.

Benedict had been in a bad mood for two weeks. And, he thought as he trudged down the pavement toward his mother’s house, his bad mood was about to get worse. He’d been avoiding coming here because he didn’t want to see Sophie; he didn’t want to see his mother, who was sure to sense his bad mood and question him about it; he didn’t want to see Eloise, who was sure to sense his mother’s interest and try to interrogate him; he didn’t want to see—

Hell, he didn’t want to see anyone. And considering the way he’d been snapping off the heads of his servants (verbally, to be sure, although occasionally quite literally in his dreams) the rest of the world would do well if they didn’t care to see him, either.

But, as luck would have it, right as he placed his foot on the first step, he heard someone call out his name, and when he turned around, both of his adult brothers were walking toward him along the pavement.

Benedict groaned. No one knew him better than Anthony and Colin, and they weren’t likely to le

t a little thing like a broken heart go unnoticed or unmentioned.

“Haven’t seen you in an age,” Anthony said. “Where have you been?”

“Here and there,” Benedict said evasively. “Mostly at home.” He turned to Colin. “Where have you been?”

“Wales.”

“Wales? Why?”

Colin shrugged. “I felt like it. Never been there before.”

“Most people require a slightly more compelling reason to take off in the middle of the season,” Benedict said.

“Not I.”

Benedict stared at him. Anthony stared at him.

“Oh, very well,” Colin said with a scowl. “I needed to get away. Mother has started in on me with this bloody marriage thing.”

“‘Bloody marriage thing’?” Anthony asked with an amused smile. “I assure you, the deflowering of one’s wife is not quite so gory.”

Benedict kept his expression scrupulously impassive. He’d found a small spot of blood on his sofa after he’d made love to Sophie. He’d thrown a pillow over it, hoping that by the time any of the servants noticed, they’d have forgotten that he’d had a woman over. He liked to think that none of the staff had been listening at doors or gossiping, but Sophie herself had once told him that servants generally knew everything that went on in a household, and he tended to think that she was right.

But if he had indeed blushed—and his cheeks did feel a touch warm—neither of his brothers saw it, because they didn’t say anything, and if there was anything in life as certain as, say, the sun rising in the east, it was that a Bridgerton never passed up the opportunity to tease and torment another Bridgerton.

“She’s been talking about Penelope Featherington nonstop,” Colin said with a scowl. “I tell you, I’ve known the girl since we were both in short pants. Er, since I was in short pants, at least. She was in . . .” He scowled some more, because both his brothers were laughing at him. “She was in whatever it is that young girls wear.”