Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,264

sagged against the wall, laughing. “Oh, thank you,” he said, with great feeling. “Thank you. Thank you.”

I was not sure if I should feign ignorance. I could hardly acknowledge the sentiment without insulting his cousins, which I did not wish to do. As I have mentioned, I do not dislike the Brougham sisters, even if I found them a bit ridiculous that afternoon.

“Tell me you can ride,” he said.

“Of course.”

He motioned to the house. “None of them can.”

“That’s not true,” I replied, puzzled. I knew I had seen them on horseback at some point.

“They can sit in a saddle,” he said, his eyes flashing with what could only be a dare, “but they cannot ride.”

“I see,” I murmured. I considered my options and said, “I can.”

He looked at me, one corner of his mouth tilted up. His eyes were a rather nice shade of green, mossy with little brown flecks. And again, I got that odd sense of being in accord.

I hope I am not being immodest when I say that there are a few things I do quite well. I can shoot with a pistol (although not with a rifle, and not as well as my mother, who is freakishly good). I can add up sums twice as quickly as Oliver, provided I have pen and paper. I can fish, and I can swim, and above all, I can ride.

“Come with me,” I said, motioning toward the stables.

He did, falling into step beside me. “Tell me, Miss Crane,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “with what were you bribed for your presence this afternoon?”

“You think your company was not enough reward?”

“You did not know me,” he pointed out.

“True.” We turned onto the path toward the stables, and I was happy to feel that the breeze was picking up. “As it happens, I was outmaneuvered by my mother.”

“You admit to being outmaneuvered,” he murmured. “Interesting.”

“You don’t know my mother.”

“No,” he assured me, “I am impressed. Most people would not confess to it.”

“As I said, you don’t know my mother.” I turned to him and smiled. “She is one of eight siblings. Besting her in any sort of devious matter is nothing short of a triumph.”

We reached the stables, but I paused before entering. “And what about you, Mr. Farraday?” I asked. “With what were you bribed for your presence this afternoon?”

“I, too, was thwarted,” he said. “I was told I’d escape my cousins.”

I let out a snort of laughter at that. Inappropriate, yes, but unavoidable.

“They attacked just as I was departing,” he told me grimly.

“They are a fierce lot,” I said, utterly deadpan.

“I was outnumbered.”

“I thought they didn’t like you,” I said.

“So did I.” He planted his hands on his hips. “It was the only reason I consented to the visit.”

“What exactly did you do to them when you were children?” I asked.

“The better question would be—what did they do to me?”

I knew better than to claim that he held the upper hand because of his gender. Four girls could easily trounce one boy. I had gone up against Oliver countless times as a child, and although he would never admit it, I bested him more often than not.

“Frogs?” I asked, thinking of my own childhood pranks.

“That was me,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Dead fish?”

He didn’t speak, but his expression was clearly one of guilt.

“Which one?” I asked, trying to imagine Dulcie’s horror.

“All of them.”

I sucked in my breath. “At the same time?”

He nodded.

I was impressed. I suppose most ladies would not find such things attractive, but I have always had an unusual sense of humor. “Have you ever done a flour ghosting?” I asked.

His eyebrows rose, and he actually leaned forward. “Tell me more.”

And so I told him about my mother, and how Oliver and I had tried to scare her off before she’d married my father. We’d been utter beasts. Truly. Not just mischievous children, but utter and complete blights on the face of humanity. It’s a wonder my father hadn’t shipped us off to a workhouse. The most memorable of our stunts was when we’d rigged a bucket of flour above her door so that it would dust her when she stepped out into the hall.

Except that we’d filled the bucket quite high, so it was more of a coating than a dusting, and in fact more of a deluge than anything else.

We also hadn’t counted on the bucket hitting her on the head.

When I said that my current mother’s entry into our lives had saved us all,