The Bridgertons Happily Ever After - By Julia Quinn Page 0,89
room.
“Mother,” Anthony said sternly, the moment she reached her children.
“Anthony,” she said with a smile, “I haven’t seen you all evening. How is Kate? I’m so sorry she wasn’t feeling up to attending.”
“Who were you dancing with?” Anthony demanded.
Violet blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Who were you dancing with?” Eloise repeated.
“Honestly?” Violet said with a faint smile. “I don’t know.”
Anthony crossed his arms. “How is that possible?”
“It’s a masquerade ball,” Violet said with some amusement. “Secret identities and all that.”
“Are you going to dance with him again?” Eloise asked.
“Probably not,” Violet said, glancing out over the crowd. “Have you seen Benedict? He was supposed to dance with Penelope Featherington.”
“Don’t try to change the subject,” Eloise said.
Violet turned to her, and this time her eyes held a light gleam of reproof. “Was there a subject?”
“We are merely looking out for your best interests,” Anthony said, after clearing his throat several times.
“I’m sure you are,” Violet murmured, and no one dared to comment on the delicate undertone of condescension in her voice.
“It’s just that you so rarely dance,” Francesca explained.
“Rarely,” Violet said lightly. “Not never.”
And then Francesca voiced what they had all been wondering: “Do you like him?”
“The man with whom I just danced? I don’t even know his name.”
“But—”
“He had a very nice smile,” Violet cut in, “and he asked me to dance.”
“And?”
Violet shrugged. “And that’s all. He talked a great deal about his collection of wooden ducks. I doubt our paths will cross again.” She nodded at her children. “If you will excuse me . . .”
Anthony, Eloise, and Francesca watched her walk away. After a long beat of silence, Anthony said, “Well.”
“Well,” Francesca concurred.
They looked expectantly at Eloise, who scowled back at them and finally exclaimed, “No, that did not go well.”
There was another long unfilled silence, and then Eloise asked, “Do you think she will ever remarry?”
“I don’t know,” Anthony said.
Eloise cleared her throat. “And how do we feel about that?”
Francesca looked at her with obvious disdain. “You’re speaking about yourself in the plural now?”
“No. I honestly want to know how we feel about it. Because I don’t know how I do.”
“I think . . .” Anthony began. But several seconds went by before he slowly said, “I think we think that she can make her own decisions.”
None of them noticed Violet standing behind them, hidden by a large decorative fern, smiling.
Aubrey Hall, Kent
Years later
There weren’t very many advantages to growing older, but this, Violet thought with a happy sigh as she watched several of her younger grandchildren frolicking on the lawn, had to be one of them.
Seventy-five. Who would have ever thought she’d reach such an age? Her children had asked her what she wanted; it was a huge milestone, they said, she should have grand party to celebrate.
“Just family,” had been Violet’s reply. It would still be very grand. She had eight children, thirty-three grandchildren, and five great-grandchildren. Any family gathering would be grand!
“What are you thinking, Mama?” Daphne asked, coming to sit next to her on one of the comfortable chaises Kate and Anthony had recently purchased for Aubrey Hall.
“Mostly how happy I am.”
Daphne smiled wryly. “You always say that.”
Violet gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I always am.”
“Really?” Daphne didn’t sound as if she quite believed her.
“When I’m with all of you.”
Daphne followed her gaze, and together they watched the children. Violet wasn’t sure how many were out there. She’d lost count when they had started playing a game that involved a tennis ball, four shuttlecocks, and a log. It must have been fun, because she would have sworn she saw three boys drop from trees to take part.
“I think that’s all of them,” she said.
Daphne blinked, then asked, “On the lawn? I don’t think so. Mary’s inside, I’m certain of that. I saw her with Jane and—”
“No, I mean I think I’m done with grandchildren.” She turned toward Daphne and smiled. “I don’t think my children are going to give me any more.”
“Well, I’m certainly not,” Daphne said, with an expression that clearly said, Perish the thought! “And Lucy cannot. The doctor made her promise. And . . .” She paused, and Violet enjoyed simply watching her face. It was so entertaining to watch her children think. No one ever told you that when you became a parent, how much fun it was to watch them do the quietest things.
Sleeping and thinking. She could watch her progeny do those forever. Even now, when seven of the eight had passed the age of forty.