What might be so extravagantly engraved upon the mallet? Only Lady Bridgerton knows . . .
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 1821
THE VISCOUNT WHO LOVED ME
Kate stood with her shoulders straight and tall, couldn’t sit still if her life depended upon it, and walked as if she were in a race—and why not, she always wondered, if one was going somewhere, what could possibly be the point in not getting there quickly?
* * *
“I am Edwina’s older sister. I have always had to be strong for her. Whereas she has only had to be strong for herself.”
* * *
Kate caught the smile in his eyes and realized Colin had been bamming her all along. This was not a man who wished his brothers off to perdition. “You’re rather devoted to your family, aren’t you?” she asked.
His eyes, which had been laughing throughout the conversation, turned dead serious without even a blink. “Utterly.”
“As am I,” Kate said pointedly.
“And that means?”
“It means,” she said, knowing she should hold her tongue but speaking anyway, “that I will not allow anyone to break my sister’s heart.”
VISCOUNT BRIDGERTON was also seen dancing with Miss Katharine Sheffield, elder sister to the fair Edwina. This can only mean one thing, as it has not escaped the notice of This Author that the elder Miss Sheffield has been in much demand on the dance floor ever since the younger Miss Sheffield made her bizarre and unprecedented announcement at the Smythe-Smith musicale last week.
Whoever heard of a girl needing her sister’s permission to choose a husband?
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
22 APRIL 1814
THE DEED is done! Miss Sheffield is now Katharine, Viscountess Bridgerton.
This Author extends the very best of wishes to the happy couple. Sensible and honorable people are surely scarce among the ton, and it’s certainly gratifying to see two of this rare breed joined in marriage.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
16 MAY 1814
* * *
It was inconceivable to Anthony that Kate Sheffield, for all her wit and intelligence, could not be jealous of her sister. And even if there was nothing she could have done to prevent this mishap, surely she must be taking a bit of pleasure in the fact that she was dry and comfortable while Edwina looked like a drowned rat. An attractive rat, to be sure, but certainly a drowned one.
But Kate clearly wasn’t done with the conversation. “Aside from the fact,” she scorned, “that I would never ever do anything to harm Edwina, how do you propose I managed this amazing feat?” She clapped her free hand to her cheek in an expression of mock discovery. “Oh, yes, I know the secret language of the corgis. I ordered the dog to yank the lead from my hand and then, since I have the second sight, I knew that Edwina was standing right here by The Serpentine so then I said to the dog—through our powerful mind-to-mind connection, since he was much too far away to hear my voice at this point—to change his direction, head for Edwina, and topple her into the lake.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t become you, Miss Sheffield.”
“Nothing becomes you, Lord Bridgerton.”
* * *
No one had ever brought her flowers before, and she hadn’t known until that very moment how badly she’d wanted someone to do so.
* * *
Suddenly it was too hard to be in his presence, too painful to know that he would belong to someone else.
* * *
“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.”
IT HAS come to This Author’s attention that Miss Katharine Sheffield took offense at the labeling of her beloved pet, “an unnamed dog of indeterminate breed.”
This Author is, to be sure, prostrate with shame at this grievous and egregious error and begs of you, Dear Reader, to accept this abject apology and pay attention to the first ever correction in the history of this column.
Miss Katharine Sheffield’s dog is a corgi. It is called Newton, although it is difficult to imagine that England’s great inventor and physicist would have appreciated being immortalized in the form of a short, fat canine with poor manners.
LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS
17 APRIL 1814
Kate didn’t believe for one second that reformed rakes made the best husbands. She wasn’t even sure that a rake could be properly reformed in the first place.
THE VISCOUNT WHO LOVED ME
* * *
Anthony looked down to where the wooden balls sat kissing on the grass, hers black, his appallingly pink. . . . He put his foot atop his ball, drew back his mallet—
“What are you doing?” Kate shrieked.
—and let fly. His ball remained firmly in place under his boot. Hers went sailing down the hill for what seemed like miles.
“You fiend,” she growled.
“All’s fair in love and war,” he quipped.
“I am going to kill you.”
“You can try,” he taunted, “but you’ll have to catch up with me first.”
Kate pondered the mallet of death, then pondered his foot.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.
“It’s so very, very tempting,” she growled.
He leaned forward menacingly. “We have witnesses.”
“And that is the only thing saving your life right now.”
“You don’t want to do this, Miss Sheffield,” Anthony warned.
“Oh,” she said with great feeling, “I do. I really, really do.” And then, with quite the most evil grin her lips had ever formed, she drew back her mallet and smacked her ball with every ounce of every single emotion within her. It knocked into his with stunning force, sending it hurtling even further down the hill.
Further . . .
Further . . .
Right into the lake.
Openmouthed with delight, Kate just stared for a moment as the pink ball sank into the lake. Then, something rose up within her, some strange and primitive emotion, and before she knew what she was about, she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!”
“You don’t win,” Anthony snapped.
“Oh, it feels like I’ve won,” she reveled.
* * *
“Do you miss a parent you never knew?” Anthony whispered.