The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,88
was shot through with silver, so he was likely old enough to have sired that many.
“Is it acceptable for a humble gentleman to request a dance with a queen?” he asked her.
Violet almost refused. She hardly ever danced in public. It wasn’t that she objected to it, or that she thought it unseemly. Edmund had been gone for more than a dozen years. She still mourned him, but she was not in mourning. He would not have wanted that. She wore bright colors, and she maintained a busy social schedule, but still, she rarely danced. She just didn’t want to.
But then he smiled, and something about it reminded her of the way Edmund had smiled—that eternally boyish, ever-so-knowing tilt of the lips. It had always made her heart flip, and while this gentleman’s smile didn’t quite do that, it woke something inside of her. Something a little bit devilish, a little carefree.
Something young.
“I would be delighted,” she said, placing her hand in his.
“Is Mother dancing?” Eloise whispered to Francesca.
“More to the point,” Francesca returned, “who is she dancing with?”
Eloise craned her neck, not bothering to hide her interest. “I have no idea.”
“Ask Penelope,” Francesca suggested. “She always seems to know who everyone is.”
Eloise twisted again, this time searching the other side of the room. “Where is Penelope?”
“Where is Benedict?” Colin asked, ambling over to his sisters’ sides.
“I don’t know,” Eloise replied. “Where is Penelope?”
He shrugged. “Last I saw her, she was hiding behind a potted plant. You’d think with that leprechaun costume she’d camouflage better.”
“Colin!” Eloise smacked his arm. “Go ask her to dance.”
“I already did!” He blinked. “Is that Mother dancing?”
“That’s why we were looking for Penelope,” Francesca said.
Colin just stared at her, his lips parted.
“It made sense when we said it,” Francesca said with a wave. “Do you know who she’s dancing with?”
Colin shook his head. “I hate masquerades. Whose idea was this, anyway?”
“Hyacinth,” Eloise said grimly.
“Hyacinth?” Colin echoed.
Francesca’s eyes narrowed. “She’s like a puppet master,” she growled.
“God save us all when she’s grown,” Colin said.
No one had to say it, but their faces showed their collective Amen.
“Who is that dancing with Mother?” Colin asked.
“We don’t know,” Eloise replied. “That’s why we were looking for Penelope. She always seems to know these things.”
“She does?”
Eloise scowled at him. “Do you notice anything?”
“Quite a lot, actually,” he said affably. “Just not generally what you want me to notice.”
“We are going to stand here,” Eloise announced, “until the dance is finished. And then we shall question her.”
“Question whom?”
They all looked up. Anthony, their eldest brother, had arrived.
“Mother is dancing,” Francesca said, not that that technically answered his question.
“With whom?” Anthony asked.
“We don’t know,” Colin told him.
“And you plan to interrogate her about it?”
“That was Eloise’s plan,” Colin replied.
“I didn’t hear you arguing with me,” Eloise shot back.
Anthony’s brows came together. “I should think it is the gentleman who warrants an interrogation.”
“Has it ever occurred to you,” Colin asked of none of them in particular, “that as a woman of fifty-two years, she is perfectly capable of choosing her own dance partners?”
“No,” Anthony replied, his sharp syllable slicing across Francesca’s: “She’s our mother.”
“Actually, she’s only fifty-one,” Eloise said. At Francesca’s sour glare, she added, “Well, she is.”
Colin gave one baffled look at his sisters before turning to Anthony. “Have you seen Benedict?”
Anthony shrugged. “He was dancing earlier.”
“With someone I don’t know,” Eloise said with rising intensity. And volume.
All three of her siblings turned to her.
“None of you find it curious,” she demanded, “that both Mother and Benedict are dancing with mysterious strangers?”
“Not really, no,” Colin murmured. There was a pause as they all continued to watch their mother make her elegant steps on the dance floor, and then he added, “It occurs to me that this might be why she never dances.”
Anthony quirked an imperious brow.
“We’ve stood here for the past several minutes and done nothing but speculate about her behavior,” Colin pointed out.
Silence, and then, from Eloise, “So?”
“She’s our mother,” Francesca said.
“You don’t think she deserves her privacy? No, don’t answer that,” Colin decided. “I’m going to look for Benedict.”
“You don’t think he deserves his privacy?” Eloise countered.
“No,” Colin replied. “But at any rate, he’s safe enough. If Benedict doesn’t want to be found, I won’t find him.” With wry salute he wandered off toward the refreshments, although it was really quite obvious that Benedict wasn’t anywhere near the biscuits.
“Here she comes,” Francesca hissed, and true enough, the dance had ended, and Violet was walking back to the perimeter of the