Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,167

“You were the one who initially brought up the topic of marriage. Why couldn’t you simply find yourself a wife among the women here?”

For a moment he did nothing but blink, looking at her as if he couldn’t quite believe she hadn’t figured it out for herself. Finally, he said, “You’ve met my children.”

Eloise nearly choked on the bite of sandwich she’d just started to chew. “I beg your pardon?”

“My children,” he said flatly. “You’ve met them. Twice, I think. You told me so.”

“Yes, but what . . .” She felt her eyes grow wide. “Oh, no, don’t tell me they’ve scared away every prospective wife in the district?”

The look he leveled at her was grim. “Most of the women in the area refuse to even enter the ranks of the prospectives.”

She scoffed. “They’re not that bad.”

“They need a mother,” he said baldly.

She raised her brows. “Surely you can find a more romantic way to convince me to be your wife.”

Phillip sighed wearily, running a hand through his already ruffled hair. “Miss Bridgerton,” he said, then corrected himself with, “Eloise. I’m going to be honest with you, because, to be frank, I have neither the energy nor the patience for fancy romantic words or cleverly constructed stories. I need a wife. My children need a mother. I invited you here to see if you would be willing to assume such a role, and indeed, if you and I would suit.”

“Which one?” she whispered.

He clenched his hands, his knuckles brushing the tablecloth. What was it about women? Did they speak in some sort of code? “Which one . . . what?” he asked, impatience coloring his voice.

“Which one do you want,” she clarified, her voice still soft. “A wife or a mother?”

“Both,” he said. “I should think that was obvious.”

“Which one do you want more?”

Phillip stared at her for a long while, aware that this was an important question, quite possibly one that could signal the end of his unusual courtship. Finally, he just offered her a helpless shrug and said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to separate the two.”

She nodded, her eyes serious. “I see,” she murmured. “I expect you are right.”

Phillip let out a long breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. Somehow—God Himself only knew how—he’d answered correctly. Or at the very least, not incorrectly.

Eloise fidgeted slightly in her seat, then motioned to the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. “Shall we continue with our meal?” she suggested. “You’ve been in your greenhouse all morning. I’m sure you must be quite famished.”

Phillip nodded and took a bite of his food, all of a sudden feeling quite pleased with life. He still wasn’t certain that Miss Bridgerton was going to consent to become Lady Crane, but if she did . . .

Well, he didn’t think he would have any objections.

But wooing her wasn’t going to be as easy as he’d anticipated. It was clear to him that he needed her more than the other way around. He’d been counting on her being a desperate spinster, which was clearly not the case, despite her advanced years. Miss Bridgerton, he suspected, had a number of options in her life, of which he was only one.

But still, something must have compelled her to leave her home and travel all the way out to Gloucestershire. If her life in London was so perfect, why, then, had she left?

But as he watched her across the table, watched her face transform with a mere smile, it occurred to him—he didn’t much care why she’d left.

He just needed to make sure that she stayed.

Chapter 4

. . . so sorry to hear that Caroline is colicky and giving you fits. And of course it is too bad that neither Amelia nor Belinda is amenable to her arrival. But you must look upon the bright side, dear Daphne. It would all have been so much more difficult had you birthed twins.

—from Eloise Bridgerton to her

sister the Duchess of Hastings,

one month after the birth

of Daphne’s third child

Phillip whistled to himself as he walked through the main hall toward the staircase, inordinately pleased with his life. He’d spent the better part of the afternoon in the company of Miss Bridgerton—no, Eloise, he reminded himself—and he was now convinced she’d make an excellent wife. She was quite clearly intelligent, and with all those brothers and sisters (not to mention nephews and nieces) she’d told him about, surely she’d know how to manage Oliver and Amanda.

And, he thought with a