Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,217

play with bad sports.” She directed the last two words quite vehemently toward her brothers.

“That’s the point,” Benedict said.

“They do this every time,” Eloise said to Phillip. “They shoot badly until I decide the match isn’t worth it, and then they all have fun.”

“Be quiet,” Phillip told her, lips twitching. “I’m aiming.”

“Oh.” She shut her mouth with alacrity, watching with interest as he focused on the target.

Phillip took his shot, allowing himself a slow, satisfied smile as the target was brought forward.

“Perfect!” Eloise exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh, Phillip, that was wonderful!”

Anthony muttered something under his breath that he probably ought not to have said in his sister’s presence, then added, directing his words to Phillip, “You are going to marry her, aren’t you? Because frankly, if you get her off of our hands and allow her to shoot with you so that she doesn’t pester us, I’ll gladly double her dowry.”

Phillip was quite certain at that point that he’d wed her for nothing, but he just grinned and said, “It’s a deal.”

Chapter 13

. . . and as I’m sure you can imagine, they were all possessed of a most foul temper. Is it my fault I am so superior? I think not. No more, I suppose, than it is their fault they were born men and thus without the barest hint of common sense or innate good manners.

—from Eloise Bridgerton

to Penelope Featherington,

after trouncing six men (three not

related to her) in a shooting match

The following day Eloise traveled to Romney Hall for lunch, along with Anthony, Benedict, and Sophie. Colin and Gregory had declared that the rest of the family had the situation well enough in hand and decided to return to London, Colin back to his new wife, and Gregory back to whatever it was the young unmarried men of the ton did to fill their daily lives.

Eloise was happy to see them go; she loved her brothers, but truly, the four of them at once was more than any woman ought to be expected to bear.

She was feeling optimistic as she stepped down from the carriage; the previous day had gone far better than she could ever have hoped. Even if Phillip hadn’t taken her into Sophie’s office to prove to her that they “would suit” (Eloise could now think of those words only as if they were in quotations), the day would have been a success. Phillip had more than held his own against the collective force of the Bridgerton brothers, which had left her feeling quite pleased and more than a little proud.

Funny how it hadn’t occurred to her until then that she could never marry a man who couldn’t square off with each and any of her brothers and emerge unscathed.

And in Phillip’s case, he’d taken on all four at once. Most impressive.

Eloise still had reservations about the marriage, of course. How could she not? She and Phillip had developed a sense of mutual respect and hopefully even affection, but they were not in love, and Eloise had no way of knowing if they ever would be.

Still, she was convinced that she was doing the right thing by marrying him. She had little choice in the matter, of course; it was either marry Phillip or face complete ruin and a life alone. But even so, she thought he would make a fine husband. He was honest and honorable, and if he was at times too quiet, at least he seemed to have a sense of humor, which Eloise felt was essential for any prospective spouse.

And when he kissed her . . .

Well, it was quite obvious that he knew exactly how to turn her knees to butter.

And the rest of her as well.

Eloise was, of course, a pragmatic. She always had been, and she knew that passion was not enough to sustain a marriage.

But, she thought with a wicked smile, surely it couldn’t hurt.

Phillip checked the clock on the mantel for about the fifteenth time in as many minutes. The Bridgertons were due to arrive at half noon, and it was already thirty-five past the hour. Not that five minutes was anything to worry about when one had to travel over country roads, but still, it was deuced hard to keep Oliver and Amanda neat and tidy and, above all, well behaved as they waited with him in the drawing room.

“I hate this jacket,” Oliver said, tugging on his little coat.

“It’s too small,” Amanda told him.

“I know,” he replied, with clear disdain. “If it