Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,255

silly, but in truth, his words made her want to yank him right back into bed. She had a feeling he wouldn’t resist—he never did—but she put a hold on her desire, since he had, after all, got himself completely dressed, and she rather thought he’d done so for a reason.

“I brought you a muffin,” he said, holding out a plate.

Eloise thanked him and took his proffered dish. While she was munching away (and wishing he’d thought to bring something to drink as well), he said, “I thought we might go on an outing today.”

“You and I?”

“Actually,” he said, “I thought the four of us might go.”

Eloise froze, her teeth lodged in the muffin, and looked at him. This was, she realized, the first time he’d suggested such a thing. The first time, to her knowledge, at least, that he’d reached out to his children rather than setting them aside, hoping that someone else would see to them.

“I think that’s a fine idea,” she said softly.

“Good,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll leave you to your morning routine and inform that poor housemaid you bullied into acting as their nurse that we will be taking them for the day.”

“I’m sure she’ll be relieved,” Eloise said. Mary hadn’t really wanted to take the position as nursemaid, even on a temporary basis. None of the servants had; they all knew the twins too well. And poor long-haired Mary vividly recalled having to burn the bedsheets after they’d been unable to remove the last governess’s glued-on hair.

But there was nothing else to be done, and Eloise had extracted a promise from both children that they would treat Mary with the respect due to, say, the queen, and so far they had been living up to their word. Eloise even had her fingers crossed that Mary might relent and agree to the position on a permanent basis. It did pay better than cleaning, after all.

Eloise looked over at the door and was surprised to see Phillip standing quite still, frowning. “What is wrong?” she asked.

He blinked, then looked in her direction, his brows still pulled down in thought. “I’m not sure what to do.”

“I believe the doorknob will turn in either direction,” she teased.

He shot her a look, then said, “There are no fairs or events occurring in the village. What should we do with them?”

“Anything,” Eloise said, smiling at him with all the love in her heart. “Or nothing at all. It doesn’t matter, really. All they want is you, Phillip. All they want is you.”

Two hours later Phillip and Oliver were standing outside the Larkin’s Fine Tailor and Dressmaker in the village of Tetbury, waiting somewhat impatiently while Eloise and Amanda completed their purchases inside.

“Did we have to go shopping?” Oliver groaned, as if he’d been asked to wear pigtails and a frock.

Phillip shrugged. “It is what your mother wished to do.”

“Next time, it’s the men’s turn to pick,” Oliver grumbled. “If I’d known having a mother would mean this . . .”

Phillip had to force himself not to laugh. “Men must make sacrifices for the women we love,” he said in serious tones, patting his son on the shoulder. “It’s the way of the world, I’m afraid.”

Oliver let out a long-suffering sigh, as if he’d been making such sacrifices on a daily basis.

Phillip looked through the window. Eloise and Amanda showed no signs of wrapping up their business. “But as pertains to the issue of shopping, and who gets to decide upon the next joint activity,” he said, “I agree wholeheartedly.”

Just then, Eloise poked her head outside. “Oliver?” she asked. “Would you care to come in?”

“No,” Oliver replied, shaking his head emphatically.

Eloise pursed her lips. “Allow me to rephrase,” she said. “Oliver, I would like you to come in.”

Oliver looked up to his father, his eyes pleading.

“I’m afraid you must do as she says,” Phillip said.

“So many sacrifices,” Oliver grumbled, shaking his head as he hauled himself up the steps.

Phillip coughed to cover a laugh.

“Are you coming, too?” Oliver asked.

Hell, no, Phillip almost said, but managed to catch himself in time to change it to, “I need to remain outside to watch the carriage.”

Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “Why does the carriage need watching?”

“Er, strain on the wheels,” Phillip mumbled. “All our packages, you know.”

He was unable to hear what Eloise said under her breath, but the tone was not complimentary.

“Run along, Oliver,” he said, patting his son on the back. “Your mother needs you.”

“And you, too,” Eloise said sweetly, just to