Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,246

good one, I think.”

He looked at her with an odd expression, and then he shook his head. “No,” he said gravely, “I’m not. But I hope to be.”

She cocked her head. “Phillip?”

“You were right,” he said, his mouth tightening into a grim line. “About their nurse. I didn’t want anything to be wrong, and so I paid no attention, but you were right. She was beating them.”

“What?”

“With a book,” he continued, his voice almost dispassionate, as if he’d already used up all of his emotions. “I walked in and she was beating Amanda with a book. She had already finished with Oliver.”

“Oh, no,” Eloise said, as tears—of sorrow and anger—filled her eyes. “I never dreamed. I didn’t like her, of course. And she’d rapped them on the knuckles, but . . . I’ve been rapped on the knuckles. Everyone has been rapped on the knuckles.” She slumped in her seat, guilt weighing her shoulders down. “I should have realized. I should have seen.”

Phillip snorted. “You’ve barely been in residence a fortnight. I’ve been living with that bloody woman for months. If I didn’t see, why should you have done?”

Eloise had nothing to say to this, nothing at least that would not make her already guilt-ridden husband feel worse. “I assume you dismissed her,” she finally said.

He nodded. “I told the children you would help to find a replacement.”

“Of course,” she said quickly.

“And I—” He stopped, cleared his throat, and looked out the window before continuing. “I—”

“What is it, Phillip?” she asked softly.

He didn’t turn back to her when he said, “I’m going to be a better father. I’ve pushed them away for too long. I was so afraid of becoming my father, of being like him, that I—”

“Phillip,” Eloise murmured, laying her hand on his, “you’re not like your father. You could never be.”

“No,” he said, his voice hollow, “but I thought I could. I got a whip once. I went to the stables and I grabbed the whip.” His head fell into his hands. “I was so angry. So bloody angry.”

“But you didn’t use it,” she whispered, knowing that her words were true. They had to be.

He shook his head. “But I wanted to.”

“But you didn’t,” she said again, keeping her voice as firm as she was able.

“I was so angry,” he said again, and she wasn’t even sure he’d heard her, so lost was he in his own memory. But then he turned to her, and his eyes pierced hers. “Do you understand what it is to be terrified by your own anger?”

She shook her head.

“I’m not a small man, Eloise,” he said. “I could hurt someone.”

“So could I,” she replied. And then, at his dry look, she added, “Well, maybe not you, but I’m certainly big enough to hurt a child.”

“You would never do that,” he grunted, turning away.

“Neither would you,” she repeated.

He was silent.

And then, suddenly, she understood. “Phillip,” she said softly, “you said you were angry, but . . . with whom were you angry?”

He looked at her uncomprehendingly. “They glued their governess’s hair to the sheets, Eloise.”

“I know,” she said, with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I’m quite certain I would have wanted to throttle them both, had I been present. But that’s not what I asked.” She waited for him to make some sort of response. When he did not, she added, “Were you angry with them because of the glue, or were you angry with yourself, because you didn’t know how to make them mind?”

He didn’t say anything but they both knew the answer.

Eloise reached out and touched his hand. “You’re nothing like your father, Phillip,” she repeated. “Nothing.”

“I know that now,” Phillip said softly. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to tear that bloody Nurse Edwards from limb to limb.”

“I can imagine,” Eloise said, snorting as she settled back in her seat.

Phillip felt his lips twitch. He had no idea why, but there was something almost funny in his wife’s tone, something comforting, even. Somehow they had found humor in a situation where there ought not to be any. And it felt good.

“She deserved nothing less,” Eloise added with a shrug. And then she turned and looked at him. “But you didn’t touch her, did you?”

He shook his head. “No. And if I managed to keep my temper with her, then I’m damn well not ever going to lose it with my children.”

“Of course not,” Eloise said, as if it had never been an issue. She patted his