Bridgerton Collection, Volume 2 - Julia Quinn Page 0,89

you’re my chosen victim, I’m afraid.”

She smiled again, but this time it was a softer expression, tempered by a fair dose of curiosity. “Is something wrong?”

“No, of course not,” he said quickly. “Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know.” She cocked her head to the side. “You seem odd, that’s all.”

“Just tired.”

She nodded knowingly. “Wedding plans, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” he said, jumping on the excuse, although for the life of him, he wasn’t even sure what it was he was trying to hide from her.

“Well, remember that whatever you’re going through,” she said with a peevish twist to her lips, “it’s a thousand times worse for Penelope. It’s always worse for women. Trust me.”

“For weddings or for everything?” he asked mildly.

“Everything,” she said promptly. “I know you men think you’re actually in charge, but—”

“I wouldn’t dream of thinking we’re actually in charge,” Colin said, and not entirely sarcastically.

Her face pinched into a peevish expression. “Women have far more to do than men. Especially with weddings. With all the fittings I’m sure Penelope has had for her wedding gown, she probably feels like a pincushion.”

“I suggested eloping,” Colin said conversationally, “and I think she rather hoped I was serious.”

Daphne chuckled. “I’m so glad you’re marrying her, Colin.”

He nodded, not planning to say anything, and then somehow, he was saying her name. “Daff—”

“Yes?”

He opened his mouth, and then—“Never mind.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” she said. “Now you really have my curiosity piqued.”

He drummed his fingers against the sofa. “Do you suppose the food might arrive soon?”

“Are you even hungry or are you merely trying to change the subject?”

“I’m always hungry.”

She was silent for several seconds. “Colin,” she finally asked, her voice soft and carefully gentle, “what were you going to say?”

He jumped to his feet, too restless to remain still, and began to pace. He stopped, turned to her, looked at her concerned face. “It’s nothing,” he started to say, except it wasn’t nothing, and—

“How does one know?” he blurted out, not even aware that he hadn’t completed his question until she replied, “How does one know what?”

He stopped in front of the window. It looked like it might rain. He’d have to borrow a carriage from Daphne unless he wanted to get soaked on the long walk home. Yet, he didn’t know why he was even thinking about precipitation, because what he really wanted to know was—

“How does one know what, Colin?” Daphne repeated.

He turned around and just let the words break free. “How do you know if it’s love?”

For a moment she just stared at him, her large brown eyes wide with surprise, her lips parted and utterly still.

“Forget I asked,” he muttered.

“No!” she exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “I’m glad you asked. Very glad. I’m just . . . surprised, I must say.”

He closed his eyes, thoroughly disgusted with himself. “I can’t believe I just asked you that.”

“No, Colin, don’t be silly. It’s really rather . . . sweet that you asked. And I can’t even begin to tell you how flattered I am that you would come to me when—”

“Daphne . . .” he said warningly. She had a way of wandering off the topic, and he really wasn’t in the right frame of mind to follow her errant thoughts.

Impulsively, she reached out and hugged him; then, her hands still on his shoulders, she said, “I don’t know.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She gave her head a little shake. “I don’t know how you know it’s love. I think it’s different for everyone.”

“How did you know?”

She chewed on her lower lip for several seconds before replying, “I don’t know.”

“What?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I don’t remember. It’s been so long. I just . . . knew.”

“So what you’re saying,” he said, leaning against the windowsill and crossing his arms, “is that if one doesn’t know one’s in love, then one probably isn’t.”

“Yes,” she said firmly. “No! No, that’s not what I mean at all.”

“Then what do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she said weakly.

He stared at her. “And how long have you been married?” he muttered.

“Colin, don’t tease. I’m trying to be helpful.”

“And I appreciate the attempt, but truly, Daphne, you—”

“I know, I know,” she interrupted. “I’m useless. But listen to me. Do you like Penelope?” Then she gasped in horror. “We are talking about Penelope, aren’t we?”

“Of course we are,” he snapped.

She let out a relieved sigh. “Good, because if we weren’t, then I can assure you I would have had no advice whatsoever.”

“I’ll go,” he said abruptly.

“No, don’t,” she pleaded, placing her hand