An Offer From a Gentleman (Bridgertons 3)

“What do you say, Nicholas?” Sophie asked, addressing the last remaining holdout.

“It could be fun,” he said slowly, terrifying Sophie with the devilish gleam in his eye.

“Excellent,” she said, trying to keep the wariness out of her voice.

“But you must be the blind man,” he added.

Sophie opened her mouth to protest, but at that moment, the other three children started jumping up and down and squealing with delight. Then her fate was sealed when Hyacinth turned to her with a sly smile and said, “Oh, you must.”

Sophie knew that protest was useless, so she let out a long-suffering sigh—exaggerated, just to delight the children—and turned around so that Hyacinth could fasten a scarf over her eyes.

“Can you see?” Nicholas demanded.

“No,” Sophie lied.

He turned to Hyacinth with a grimace. “She can see.”

How could he tell?

“Add a second scarf,” he said. “This one is too sheer.”

“The indignity,” Sophie muttered, but nonetheless, she leaned down slightly so that Hyacinth could tie another scarf over her eyes.

“She’s blind now!” John hooted.

Sophie gave them all a sickly-sweet smile.

“All right now,” Nicholas said, clearly in charge. “You wait ten seconds so that we can take our places.”

Sophie nodded, then tried not to wince as she heard the sounds of a mad scramble around the room. “Try not to break anything!” she yelled, as if that would make any difference to an overexcited six-year-old.

“Are you ready?” she asked.

No response. That meant yes.

“Blind Man!” she called out.

“Bluff!” came five voices in unison.

Sophie frowned in concentration. One of the girls was definitely behind the sofa. She took a few baby steps to the right.

“Blind Man!”

“Bluff!” Followed, of course, by a few titters and chuckles.

“Blind M— OW!”

More hoots and squeals of laughter. Sophie grunted as she rubbed her bruised shin.

“Blind Man!” she called, with considerably less enthusiasm.

“Bluff!”

“Bluff!”

“BLUFF!”

“BLUFF!”

“BLUFF!”

“You are all mine, Alice,” she muttered under her breath, deciding to go for the smallest and presumably weakest of the bunch. “All mine.”

Benedict had nearly made a clean escape. After his mother had left the sitting room, he’d downed a much-needed glass of brandy and headed out toward the door, only to be caught by Eloise, who informed him that he absolutely couldn’t leave yet, that Mother was trying very hard to assemble all of her children in one place because Daphne had an important announcement to make.

“With child again?” Benedict asked.

“Act surprised. You weren’t supposed to know.”

“I’m not going to act anything. I’m leaving.”

She made a desperate leap forward and somehow managed to grab his sleeve. “You can’t.”

Benedict let out a long breath and tried to pry her fingers off of his arm, but she had his shirt in a death grip. “I am going to pick up one foot,” he said in slow, tedious tones, “and step forward. Then I will pick up the next foot—”

“You promised Hyacinth you would help her with her arithmetic,” Eloise blurted out. “She hasn’t seen hide nor hair of you in two weeks.”

“It’s not as if she has a school to flunk out of,” Benedict muttered.

“Benedict, that is a terrible thing to say!” Eloise exclaimed.

“I know,” he groaned, hoping to stave off a lecture.

“Just because we of the female gender are not allowed to study at places like Eton and Cambridge doesn’t mean our educations are any less precious,” Eloise ranted, completely ignoring her brother’s weak “I know.”

“Furthermore—” she carried on.

Benedict sagged against the wall.

“—I am of the opinion that the reason we are not allowed access is that if we were, we would trounce you men in all subjects!”

“I’m sure you’re right,” he sighed.

“Don’t patronize me.”

“Believe me, Eloise, the last thing I would dream of doing is patronizing you.”

She eyed him suspiciously before crossing her arms and saying, “Well, don’t disappoint Hyacinth.”

“I won’t,” he said wearily.

“I believe she’s in the nursery.”

Benedict gave her a distracted nod, turning toward the stairs.

But as he trudged on up, he didn’t see Eloise turn toward his mother, who was peeking out of the music room, and give her a big wink and a smile.

The nursery was located on the second floor. Benedict didn’t often come up that high; most of his siblings’ bedrooms were on the first floor. Only Gregory and Hyacinth still lived adjacent to the nursery, and with Gregory off at Eton most of the year and Hyacinth usually terrorizing someone in some other section of the house, Benedict simply didn’t have much reason to visit.

It didn’t escape him that aside from the nursery, the second floor was home to bedrooms for the higher servants. Including the lady’s maids.

Sophie.

She was probably off in some corner somewhere with her mending—certainly not in the nursery, which was the domain of nurses and nannies. A lady’s maid would have no reason to—

“Heeheeheehahaha!”

Benedict raised his brows. That was most definitely the sound of childish laughter, not something likely to come out of fourteen-year-old Hyacinth’s mouth.

Oh, right. His Wentworth cousins were visiting. His mother had mentioned something about that. Well, that would be a bonus. He hadn’t seen them in a few months, and they were nice enough children, if a little high-spirited.

As he approached the nursery door, the laughter increased, with a few squeals thrown in for good measure. The sounds brought a smile to Benedict’s face, and he turned when he reached the open doorway, and then—

He saw her.

Her.

Not Sophie.

Her.

And yet it was Sophie.

She was blindfolded, smiling as she groped her hands toward the giggling children. He could see only the bottom half of her face, and that’s when he knew.

There was only one other woman in the world for whom he’d seen only the bottom half of her face.

The smile was the same. The gamine little point at the end of her chin was the same. It was all the same.

She was the woman in silver, the woman from the masquerade ball.

It suddenly made sense. Only twice in his life had he felt this inexplicable, almost mystical attraction to a woman. He’d thought it remarkable, to have found two, when in his heart he’d always believed there was only one perfect woman out there for him.

His heart had been right. There was only one.

He’d searched for her for months. He’d pined for her even longer. And here she’d been right under his nose.

And she hadn’t told him.

Did she understand what she’d put him through? How many hours he’d lain awake, feeling that he was betraying the lady in silver—the woman he’d dreamed of marrying—all because he was falling in love with a housemaid?

Dear God, it bordered on the absurd. He’d finally decided to let the lady in silver go. He was going to ask Sophie to marry him, social consequences be damned.

And they were one and the same.

A strange roaring filled his head, as if two enormous seashells had been clapped to his ears, whistling, whirring, humming; and the air suddenly smelled a bit acrid and everything looked a little bit red, and—

Benedict could not take his eyes off of her.

“Is something wrong?” Sophie asked. All the children had gone silent, staring at Benedict with open mouths and large, large eyes.

“Hyacinth,” he bit off, “will you please evacuate the room?”

“But—”

“Now!” he roared.

“Nicholas, Elizabeth, John, Alice, come along now,” Hyacinth said quickly, her voice cracking. “There are biscuits in the kitchen, and I know that . . .”

But Benedict didn’t hear the rest. Hyacinth had managed to clear the room out in record time and her voice was disappearing down the hall as she ushered the children away.

“Benedict?” Sophie was saying, fumbling with the knot at the back of her head. “Benedict?”

He shut the door. The click was so loud she jumped. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

He said nothing, just watched her as she tore at the scarf. He liked it that she was helpless. He didn’t feel terribly kind and charitable at the moment.