The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,43
did, however, look over at Cousin Charles with some sympathy. It could not have been an entertaining drive.
“Charles, dear,” Dulcie was saying, “this is Lady Crane, and Miss Amanda Crane.”
I bobbed a curtsy, wondering if I was going to have to climb into that carriage with all five of them. I hoped not. If it was hot in here, it would be beastly in the carriage.
I cocked my head at that. My mother was correct—his name was not Brougham. Oh dear, did that mean he was related to Mrs. Brougham? I found Mr. Brougham the more sensible of the two.
Mr. Farraday bowed politely, and for the briefest of moments, his eyes caught mine.
I should say at this point that I am not a romantic. Or at least I do not think I am a romantic. If I were, I would have gone to London for that season. I would have spent my days reading poetry and my nights dancing and flirting and making merry.
I certainly do not believe in love at first sight. Even my parents, who are as much in love as anyone I know, tell me that they did not love each other instantly.
But when my eyes met Mr. Farraday’s . . .
As I said, it was not love at first sight, since I do not believe in such things. It was not anything at first sight, really, but there was something . . . a shared recognition . . . a sense of humor. I’m not certain how to describe it.
I suppose, if pressed, that I would say it was a sense of knowing. That somehow I already knew him. Which was of course ridiculous.
But not as ridiculous as his cousins, who were trilling and frilling and fluttering about. Clearly they had decided that Cousin Charles was no longer a beast, and if anyone was going to marry him, it was going to be one of them.
“Mr. Farraday,” I said, and I could feel the corners of my mouth pinching in an attempt to hold back a smile.
“Miss Crane,” he said, wearing much the same expression. He bent over my hand and kissed it, much to the consternation of Dulcie, who was standing right next to me.
Again, I must stress that I am not a romantic. But my insides did a little flip when his lips touched my skin.
“I am afraid that I am dressed for a ride,” I told him, motioning to my riding habit.
“So you are.”
I glanced ruefully at his cousins, who were most assuredly not dressed for any sort of athletic endeavor. “It’s such a lovely day,” I murmured.
“Girls,” my mother said, looking squarely at the Brougham sisters, “why don’t you join me while Amanda and your cousin go for a ride? I did promise your mother that she would show him the area.”
Antonia opened her mouth to protest, but she was no match for Eloise Crane, and indeed she did not make even a sound before my mother added, “Oliver will be down shortly.”
That settled it. They sat, all four of them, in a neat row on the sofa, descending as one, with identically placid smiles on their faces.
I almost felt sorry for Oliver.
“I did not bring my mount,” Mr. Farraday said regretfully.
“That is no matter,” I replied. “We have an excellent stables. I’m certain we can find something suitable.”
And off we went, out the drawing room door, then out of the house, then around the corner to the back lawn, and then—
Mr. Farraday 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