The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,18
I allowed you to win.”
“Oh, it’s not a question of your allowing,” he taunted.
“Wrong answer,” she said, and she aimed.
Anthony narrowed his eyes. What was she doing?
Kate hit the ball with a fair bit of force, aiming not squarely at his ball but at the left side. Her ball slammed into his, sending it spiraling off to the right. Because of the angle, she couldn’t send it as far as she might have with a direct shot, but she did manage to get it right to the top of the hill.
Right to the top.
Right to the top.
And then down it.
Kate let out a whoop of delight that would not have been out of place on a battlefield.
“You’ll pay,” Anthony said.
She was too busy jumping up and down to pay him any attention.
“Who do you suppose will win now?” Penelope asked.
“Do you know,” Anthony said quietly, “I don’t care.” And then he walked over to the green ball and took aim.
“Hold up, it’s not your turn!” Edwina called out.
“And it’s not your ball,” Penelope added.
“Is that so?” he murmured, and then let fly, smashing his mallet into Kate’s ball and sending it hurtling across the lawn, down the shallower slope, and into the lake.
Kate let out a huff of outrage. “That wasn’t very sporting of you!”
He gave her a maddening grin. “All’s fair and all that, wife.”
“You will fish it out,” she retorted.
“You’re the one who needs a bath.”
Daphne let out a chuckle, and then said, “I think it must be my turn. Shall we continue?”
She departed, Simon, Edwina, and Penelope in her wake.
“Colin!” Daphne barked.
“Oh, very well,” he grumbled, and he trailed along after.
Kate looked up at her husband, her lips beginning to twitch. “Well,” she said, scratching at a spot on her ear that was particularly caked with mud, “I suppose that’s the end of the match for us.”
“I’d say.”
“Brilliant job this year.”
“You as well,” he added, smiling down at her. “The puddle was inspired.”
“I thought so,” she said, with no modesty whatsoever. “And, well, about the mud . . .”
“It was not quite on purpose,” he murmured.
“I should have done the same,” she allowed.
“Yes, I know.”
“I am filthy,” she said, looking down at herself.
“The lake’s right there,” he said.
“It’s so cold.”
“A bath, then?”
She smiled seductively. “You’ll join me?”
“But of course.”
He held out his arm and together they began to stroll back toward the house.
“Should we have told them we forfeit?” Kate asked.
“No.”
“Colin’s going to try to steal the black mallet, you know.”
He looked at her with interest. “You think he’ll attempt to remove it from Aubrey Hall?”
“Wouldn’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he replied, with great emphasis. “We shall have to join forces.”
“Oh, indeed.”
They walked on a few more yards, and then Kate said, “But once we have it back . . .”
He looked at her in horror. “Oh, then it’s every man for himself. You didn’t think—”
“No,” she said hastily. “Absolutely not.”
“Then we are agreed,” Anthony said, with some relief. Really, where would the fun be if he couldn’t trounce Kate?
They walked on a few seconds more, and then Kate said, “I’m going to win next year.”
“I know you think you will.”
“No, I will. I have ideas. Strategies.”
Anthony laughed, then leaned down to kiss her, mud and all. “I have ideas, too,” he said with a smile. “And many, many strategies.”
She licked her lips. “We’re not talking about Pall Mall any longer, are we?”
He shook his head.
She wrapped her arms around him, her hands pulling his head back down to hers. And then, in the moment before his lips took hers, he heard her sigh—
“Good.”
An Offer From a Gentleman
An Offer From a Gentleman is my homage to Cinderella, but it soon became apparent that the story had one too many wicked stepsisters. Where Rosamund was malicious and unkind, Posy had a heart of gold, and when the story reached its climax, she was the one who risked everything to save the day. It seems only fair that she, too, would get her happy ending . . .
An Offer From a Gentleman:
The 2nd Epilogue
At five and twenty, Miss Posy Reiling was considered nearly a spinster. There were those who might have considered her past the cutoff from young miss to hopeless ape leader; three and twenty was often cited as the unkind chronological border. But Posy was, as Lady Bridgerton (her unofficial guardian) often remarked, a unique case.
In debutante years, Lady Bridgerton insisted, Posy was only twenty, maybe twenty-one.
Eloise Bridgerton, the eldest unmarried daughter of the house, put it a little more