The Viscount Who Loved Me: Chapter 2

By eleven o’clock that evening, all of Kate’s fears had been realized.

Anthony Bridgerton had asked Edwina to dance.

Even worse, Edwina had accepted.

Even worse, Mary was gazing at the couple as if she’d like to reserve a church that minute.

“Will you stop that?” Kate hissed, poking her stepmother in the ribs.

“Stop what?”

“Looking at them like that!”

Mary blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re planning the wedding breakfast.”

“Oh.” Mary’s cheeks turned pink. A guilty sort of pink.

“Mary!”

“Well, I might have been,” Mary admitted. “And what’s wrong with that, I might ask? He’d be a superb catch for Edwina.”

“Were you listening this afternoon in the drawing room? It’s bad enough that Edwina has any number of rakes and rogues sniffing about her. You cannot imagine the amount of time it has taken me to sort the good suitors from the bad. But Bridgerton!” Kate shuddered. “He’s quite possibly the worst rake in all London. You cannot want her to marry a man like him.”

“Don’t you presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Katharine Grace Sheffield,” Mary said sharply, stiffening her spine until she’d straightened to her full height—which was still a full head shorter than Kate. “I am still your mother. Well, your stepmother. And that counts for something.”

Kate immediately felt like a worm. Mary was all she’d ever known as a mother, and she’d never, not even once, made Kate feel any less her daughter than Edwina was. She’d tucked Kate into bed at night, told her stories, kissed her, hugged her, helped her through the awkward years between childhood and adulthood. The only thing she had not done was ask Kate to call her “Mother.”

“It counts,” Kate said in a quiet voice, letting her gaze fall shamefully down to her feet. “It counts for a lot. And you are my mother. In every way that matters.”

Mary stared at her for a long moment, then started to blink rather furiously. “Oh, dear,” she choked out, reaching into her reticule for a handkerchief. “Now you’ve gone and turned me into a watering pot.”

“I’m sorry,” Kate murmured. “Oh, here, turn around so no one sees you. There you are.”

Mary pulled out a white square of linen and dabbed at her eyes, the exact same blue as Edwina’s. “I do love you, Kate. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course!” Kate exclaimed, shocked that Mary would even ask. “And you know…you know that I…”

“I know.” Mary patted her arm. “Of course I know. It’s just that when you agree to be mother to a child you haven’t borne, your responsibility is twice as great. You must work even harder to ensure that child’s happiness and welfare.”

“Oh, Mary, I do love you. And I love Edwina.”

At the mention of Edwina’s name, they both turned and looked out across the ballroom at her, dancing prettily with the viscount. As usual, Edwina was a vision of petite loveliness. Her blond hair was swept atop her head, a few stray curls left to frame her face, and her form was the epitome of grace as she moved through the steps of the dance.

The viscount, Kate noted with irritation, was blindingly handsome. Dressed in stark black and white, he eschewed the garish colors that had become popular among the more foppish members of the ton. He was tall, stood straight and proud, and had thick chestnut hair that tended to fall forward over his brow.

He was, on the surface at least, everything man was meant to be.

“They make a handsome couple, don’t they?” Mary murmured.

Kate bit her tongue. She actually bit her tongue.

“He’s a trifle tall for her, but I don’t see that as an insurmountable obstacle, do you?”

Kate clasped her hands together and let her nails bite into her skin. It said a great deal about the strength of her grip that she could feel them all the way through her kid gloves.

Mary smiled. A rather sly smile, Kate thought. She gave her stepmother a suspicious look.

“He dances well, don’t you think?” Mary asked.

“He is not going to marry Edwina!” Kate burst out.

Mary’s smile slid straight into a grin. “I was wondering how long you’d manage to hold your silence.”

“Far longer than was my natural inclination,” Kate retorted, practically biting each word.

“Yes, that much was clear.”

“Mary, you know he is not the sort of man we want for Edwina.”

Mary cocked her head slightly to the side and raised her brows. “I believe the question ought to be whether he is the sort of man Edwina wants for Edwina.”

“He’s not that, either!” Kate replied heatedly. “Just this afternoon she told me that she wanted to marry a scholar. A scholar!” She jerked her head toward the dark-haired cretin dancing with her sister. “Does he look like a scholar to you?”

“No, but then again, you don’t look particularly like an accomplished watercolorist, and yet I know that you are.” Mary smirked a bit, which needled Kate to no end, and waited for her reply.

“I’ll allow,” Kate said through clenched teeth, “that one ought not judge a person merely on his outer appearance, but surely you must agree. From all that we have heard of him, he does not seem the sort to spend his afternoons bent over musty books in a library.”

“Perhaps not,” Mary mused, “but I had a lovely chat with his mother earlier this evening.”

“His mother?” Kate fought to follow the conversation. “What has that to do with anything?”

Mary shrugged. “I find it difficult to believe that such a gracious and intelligent lady could have raised anything but the finest of gentlemen, regardless of his reputation.”

“But Mary—”

“When you are a mother,” she said loftily, “you will understand what I mean.”

“But—”

“Have I told you,” Mary said, the purposeful tone of her voice indicating that she’d meant to interrupt, “how lovely you look in that green gauze? I’m so glad we chose it.”

Kate looked dumbly down at her dress, wondering why on earth Mary had changed the subject so suddenly.

“The color suits you well. Lady Whistledown shall not be calling you a singed blade of grass in Friday’s column!”

Kate stared at Mary in dismay. Perhaps her stepmother had become overheated. It was crowded in the ballroom, and the air had grown thick.

Then she felt Mary’s finger jabbing her directly below her left shoulder blade, and she knew something else was afoot entirely.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” Mary suddenly exclaimed, sounding as gleeful as a young girl.

Horrified, Kate jerked her head up to see a startlingly handsome man approach them. A startlingly handsome man who looked startlingly like the viscount currently dancing with her sister.

She swallowed. It was either that or let her jaw hang open.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” Mary said again. “How nice to see you. This is my daughter Katharine.”

He took her limp, gloved hand and brushed an airy kiss across her knuckles. So airy, in fact, that Kate rather suspected he hadn’t kissed her at all.

“Miss Sheffield,” he murmured.

“Kate,” Mary continued, “this is Mr. Colin Bridgerton. I met him earlier this evening while I was talking with his mother, Lady Bridgerton.” She turned to Colin and beamed. “Such a lovely lady.”

He grinned back. “We think so.”

Mary tittered. Tittered! Kate thought she might gag.

“Kate,” Mary said again, “Mr. Bridgerton is brother to the viscount. Who is dancing with Edwina,” she added unnecessarily.

“I gathered,” Kate replied.

Colin Bridgerton shot her a sideways glance, and she knew instantly that he had not missed the vague sarcasm in her tone.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sheffield,” he said politely. “I do hope you will favor me with one of your dances this evening.”

“I—Of course.” She cleared her throat. “I would be honored.”

“Kate,” Mary said, nudging her softly, “show him your dance card.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Kate fumbled for her dance card, which was tied prettily to her wrist with a green ribbon. That she had to fumble for anything actually tied to her body was a bit alarming, but Kate decided to blame her lack of composure on the sudden and unexpected appearance of a heretofore unknown Bridgerton brother.

That, and the unfortunate fact that even under the best of circumstances she was never the most graceful girl in the room.

Colin filled his name in for one of the dances later that evening, then asked if she might like to walk with him to the lemonade table.

“Go, go,” Mary said, before Kate could reply. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine without you.”

“I can bring you back a glass,” Kate offered, trying to figure out if it was possible to glare at her stepmother without Mr. Bridgerton noticing.

“Not necessary. I really should get back to my position with all the other chaperones and mamas.” Mary whipped her head around frantically until she spied a familiar face. “Oh, look, there is Mrs. Featherington. I must be off. Portia! Portia!”

Kate watched her stepmother’s rapidly retreating form for a moment before turning back to Mr. Bridgerton. “I think,” she said dryly, “that she doesn’t want any lemonade.”

A sparkle of humor glinted in his emerald green eyes. “Either that or she’s planning to run all the way to Spain to pick the lemons herself.”

Despite herself, Kate laughed. She didn’t want to like Mr. Colin Bridgerton. She didn’t much want to like any Bridgerton after all she’d read about the viscount in the newspaper. But she allowed that it probably wasn’t fair to judge a man based on his brother’s misdeeds, so she forced herself to relax a bit.

“And are you thirsty,” she asked, “or were you merely being polite?”

“I am always polite,” he said with a wicked grin, “but I am thirsty as well.”

Kate took one look at that grin, lethally combined with those devastating green eyes, and nearly groaned. “You are a rake as well,” she said with a sigh.

Colin choked—on what, she did not know, but he choked nonetheless. “I beg your pardon?”

Kate’s face flushed as she realized with horror that she’d spoken aloud. “No, it is I who should beg your pardon. Please forgive me. That was unforgivably rude.”

“No, no,” he said quickly, looking terribly interested and not a little bit amused, “do continue.”

Kate swallowed. There was really no way to get out of it now. “I was merely—” She cleared her throat. “If I might be frank…”

He nodded, his sly grin telling her that he could not imagine her being anything but frank.

Kate cleared her throat yet again. Really, this was getting ridiculous. She was starting to sound as if she’d swallowed a toad. “It had occurred to me that you might be rather like your brother, that is all.”

“My brother?”

“The viscount,” she said, thinking it must be obvious.

“I have three brothers,” he explained.

“Oh.” Now she felt stupid. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too,” he said with great feeling. “Most of the time they’re a dreadful nuisance.”

Kate had to cough to cover up her small gasp of surprise.

“But at least you were not comparing me to Gregory,” he said with a dramatic sigh of relief. He shot her a cheeky, sideways look. “He’s thirteen.”

Kate caught the smile in his eyes and realized he’d been bamming her all along. This was not a man who wished his brothers off to perdition. “You’re rather devoted to your family, aren’t you?” she asked.

His eyes, which had been laughing throughout the conversation, turned dead serious without even a blink. “Utterly.”

“As am I,” Kate said pointedly.

“And that means?”

“It means,” she said, knowing she should hold her tongue but speaking anyway, “that I will not allow anyone to break my sister’s heart.”

Colin remained silent for a moment, slowly turning his head to watch his brother and Edwina, who were just then finishing up their dance. “I see,” he murmured.

“Do you?”

“Oh, indeed.” They arrived at the lemonade table, and he reached out and took two glasses, handing one to her. She’d already had three glasses of lemonade that evening, a fact of which she was sure Mary had been aware before she’d insisted Kate have some more. But it was hot in the ballroom—it was always hot in ballrooms—and she was thirsty again.

Colin took a leisurely sip, watching her over the rim of his glass, then said, “My brother has it in his mind to settle down this year.”

Two could play at this game, Kate thought. She took a sip of her lemonade—slowly—before speaking. “Is that so?”

“I would certainly be in a position to know.”

“He is reputed to be quite a rake.”

Colin looked at her assessingly. “That is true.”

“It is difficult to imagine so notorious a rogue settling down with one woman and finding happiness in marriage.”

“You seem to have given such a scenario a great deal of thought, Miss Sheffield.”

She leveled a frank stare directly at his face. “Your brother is not the first man of questionable character to court my sister, Mr. Bridgerton. And I assure you, I do not take my sister’s happiness lightly.”

“Surely any girl would find happiness in marriage to a wealthy and titled gentleman. Isn’t that what a season in London is all about?”

“Perhaps,” Kate allowed, “but I’m afraid that line of thinking does not address the true problem at hand.”

“Which is?”

“Which is that a husband can break a heart with far greater intensity than a mere suitor.” She smiled—a small, knowing sort of smile—then added, “Don’t you think?”

“Having never been married, I am certainly not in a position to speculate.”

“Shame, shame, Mr. Bridgerton. That was the worst sort of evasion.”

“Was it? I rather thought it might be the best. I am clearly losing my touch.”

“That, I fear, will never be a worry.” Kate finished the rest of her lemonade. It was a small glass; Lady Hartside, their hostess, was notoriously stingy.

“You are far too generous,” he said.

She smiled, a real smile this time. “I am rarely accused of that, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He laughed. Right out loud in the middle of the ballroom. Kate realized with discomfort that they were suddenly the object of numerous curious stares.

“You,” he said, still sounding most heartily amused, “must meet my brother.”

“The viscount?” she asked with disbelief.

“Well, you might enjoy Gregory’s company as well,” he allowed, “but as I said, he is only thirteen and likely to put a frog on your chair.”

“And the viscount?”

“Is not likely to put a frog on your chair,” he said with an utterly straight face.

How Kate managed not to laugh she would never know. Keeping her lips completely straight and serious, she replied, “I see. He has a great deal to recommend him, then.”

Colin grinned. “He’s not such a bad sort.”

“I am much relieved. I shall begin planning the wedding breakfast immediately.”

Colin’s mouth fell open. “I didn’t mean—You shouldn’t—That is to say, such a move would be premature—”

Kate took pity on him and said, “I was joking.”

His face flushed slightly. “Of course.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must make my farewell.”

He raised a brow. “Not leaving so early, are you, Miss Sheffield?”

“Not at all.” But she wasn’t about to tell him she had to go relieve herself. Four glasses of lemonade tended to do that to a body. “I promised a friend I would meet her for a moment.”

“It has been a pleasure.” He executed a smart bow. “May I see you to your destination?”

“No, thank you. I shall be quite all right on my own.” And with a smile over her shoulder, she made her retreat from the ballroom.

Colin Bridgerton watched her go with a thoughtful expression, then made his way to his older brother, who was leaning against a wall, arms crossed in an almost belligerent manner.

“Anthony!” he called out, slapping his brother on the back. “How was your dance with the lovely Miss Sheffield?”

“She’ll do,” was Anthony’s terse reply. They both knew what that meant.

“Really?” Colin’s lips twitched ever so slightly. “You should meet the sister, then.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Her sister,” Colin repeated, starting to laugh. “You simply must meet her sister.”

Twenty minutes later, Anthony was confident he’d gotten the whole story on Edwina Sheffield from Colin. And it seemed that the road to Edwina’s heart and hand in marriage lay squarely through her sister.

Edwina Sheffield apparently would not marry without the approval of her older sister. According to Colin, this was common knowledge, and had been for at least a week, ever since Edwina had made an announcement to this effect at the annual Smythe-Smith musicale. The Bridgerton brothers had all missed this momentous statement, as they avoided Smythe-Smith musicales like the plague (as did anyone with any affection for Bach, Mozart, or music in any form.)

Edwina’s older sister, one Katharine Sheffield, more commonly known as Kate, was also making her debut this year, even though she was reputed to be at least one and twenty. Such timing led Anthony to believe that the Sheffields must be among the less wealthy ranks of the ton, a fact which suited him nicely. He had no need of a bride with a great dowry, and a bride without one might have more need of him.

Anthony believed in using all of his advantages.

Unlike Edwina, the elder Miss Sheffield had not immediately taken the ton by storm. According to Colin, she was generally well liked, but she lacked Edwina’s dazzling beauty. She was tall where Edwina was tiny, and dark where Edwina was fair. She also lacked Edwina’s dazzling grace. Again, according to Colin (who, though recently arrived in London for the season, was a veritable font of knowledge and gossip), more than one gentleman had reported sore feet after a dance with Katharine Sheffield.

The entire situation seemed a bit absurd to Anthony. After all, who had ever heard of a girl requiring her sister’s approval for a husband? A father, yes, a brother, or even a mother, but a sister? It was unfathomable. And furthermore, it seemed odd that Edwina would look to Katharine for guidance when Katharine clearly did not know what she was about in matters of the ton.

But Anthony didn’t particularly feel like searching out another suitable candidate to court, so he conveniently decided this simply meant that family was important to Edwina. And since family was all-important to him, this was one more indication that she would make an excellent choice as a wife.

So now it appeared that all he had to do was charm the sister. And how difficult could that be?

“You’ll have no trouble winning her over,” Colin predicted, a confident smile lighting his face. “No trouble at all. A shy, aging spinster? She’s probably never received attentions from such a man as you. She’ll never know what hit her.”

“I don’t want her to fall in love with me,” Anthony retorted. “I just want her to recommend me to her sister.”

“You can’t fail,” Colin said. “You simply can’t fail. Trust me, I spent a few minutes in conversation with her earlier this evening, and she could not say enough about you.”

“Good.” Anthony pushed himself up off the wall and gazed out with an air of determination. “Now, where is she? I need you to introduce us.”

Colin scanned the room for a minute or so, then said, “Ah, there she is. She’s coming this way, as a matter of fact. What a marvelous coincidence.”

Anthony was coming to believe that nothing within five yards of his younger brother was ever a coincidence, but he followed his gaze nonetheless. “Which one is she?”

“In the green,” Colin said, motioning toward her with a barely perceptible nod of his chin.

She was not at all what he’d expected, Anthony realized as he watched her pick her way through the crowds. She was certainly no ape-leading amazon; it was only when compared to Edwina, who barely touched five feet, that she would appear so tall. In fact, Miss Katharine Sheffield was quite pleasant-looking, with thick, medium brown hair and dark eyes. Her skin was pale, her lips pink, and she held herself with an air of confidence he could not help but find attractive.

She would certainly never be considered a diamond of the first water like her sister, but Anthony didn’t see why she shouldn’t be able to find a husband of her own. Perhaps after he married Edwina he’d provide a dowry for her. It seemed the very least a man could do.

Beside him, Colin strode forward, pushing through the crowd. “Miss Sheffield! Miss Sheffield!”

Anthony swept along in Colin’s wake, mentally preparing himself to charm Edwina’s older sister. An underappreciated spinster, was she? He’d have her eating out of his hand in no time.

“Miss Sheffield,” Colin was saying, “what a delight to see you again.”

She looked a bit perplexed, and Anthony didn’t blame her. Colin was making it sound as if they’d bumped into each other accidentally, when they all knew he’d trampled at least a half dozen people to reach her side.

“And it’s lovely to see you again as well, sir,” she replied wryly. “And so unexpectedly soon after our last encounter.”

Anthony smiled to himself. She had a sharper wit than he’d been led to believe.

Colin grinned winningly, and Anthony had the distinct and unsettling impression that his brother was up to something. “I can’t explain why,” Colin said to Miss Sheffield, “but it suddenly seemed imperative that I introduce you to my brother.”

She looked abruptly to Colin’s right and stiffened as her gaze settled on Anthony. In fact, she rather looked as if she’d just swallowed an antidote.

This, Anthony thought, was odd.

“How kind of you,” Miss Sheffield murmured—between her teeth.

“Miss Sheffield,” Colin continued brightly, motioning to Anthony, “my brother Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton. Anthony, Miss Katharine Sheffield. I believe you made the acquaintance of her sister earlier this evening.”

“Indeed,” Anthony said, becoming aware of an overwhelming desire—no, need—to strangle his brother.

Miss Sheffield bobbed a quick, awkward curtsy. “Lord Bridgerton,” she said, “it is an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Colin made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. Or maybe a laugh. Or maybe both.

And Anthony suddenly knew. One look at his brother’s face should have given it all away. This was no shy, retiring, underappreciated spinster. And whatever she had said to Colin earlier that evening, it had contained no compliments about Anthony.

Fratricide was legal in England, wasn’t it? If not, it damn well should have been.

Anthony belatedly realized that Miss Sheffield had held out her hand to him, as was only polite. He took it and brushed a light kiss across her gloved knuckles. “Miss Sheffield,” he murmured unthinkingly, “you are as lovely as your sister.”

If she had seemed uncomfortable before, her bearing now turned downright hostile. And Anthony realized with a mental slap that he’d said exactly the wrong thing. Of course he should not have compared her to her sister. It was the one compliment she could never have believed.

“And you, Lord Bridgerton,” she replied in a tone that could have frozen champagne, “are almost as handsome as your brother.”

Colin snorted again, only this time it sounded as if he were being strangled.

“Are you all right?” Miss Sheffield asked.

“He’s fine,” Anthony barked.

She ignored him, keeping her attention on Colin. “Are you certain?”

Colin nodded furiously. “Tickle in my throat.”

“Or perhaps a guilty conscience?” Anthony suggested.

Colin turned deliberately from his brother to Kate. “I think I might need another glass of lemonade,” he gasped.

“Or maybe,” said Anthony, “something stronger. Hemlock, perhaps?”

Miss Sheffield clapped a hand over her mouth, presumably to stifle a burst of horrified laughter.

“Lemonade will do just fine,” Colin returned smoothly.

“Would you like me to fetch you a glass?” she asked. Anthony noticed that she’d already stepped out with one foot, looking for any excuse to flee.

Colin shook his head. “No, no, I’m quite capable. But I do believe I had reserved this next dance with you, Miss Sheffield.”

“I shall not hold you to it,” she said with a wave of her hand.

“Oh, but I could not live with myself were I to leave you unattended,” he replied.

Anthony could see Miss Sheffield growing worried at the devilish gleam in Colin’s eye. He took a rather uncharitable pleasure in this. His reaction was, he knew, a touch out of proportion. But something about this Miss Katharine Sheffield sparked his temper and made him positively itch to do battle with her.

And win. That much went without saying.

“Anthony,” Colin said, sounding so deucedly innocent and earnest that it was all Anthony could do not to kill him on the spot, “you’re not engaged for this dance, are you?”

Anthony said nothing, just glared at him.

“Good. Then you will dance with Miss Sheffield.”

“I’m sure that’s not necessary,” the woman in question blurted out.

Anthony glared at his brother, then for good measure at Miss Sheffield, who was looking at him as if he’d just despoiled ten virgins in her presence.

“Oh, but it is,” Colin said with great drama, ignoring the optical daggers being hurled across their little threesome. “I could never dream of abandoning a young lady in her hour of need. How”—he shuddered—“ungentlemanly.”

Anthony thought seriously about pursuing some ungentlemanly behavior himself. Perhaps planting his fist in Colin’s face.

“I assure you,” Miss Sheffield said quickly, “that being left to my own devices would be far preferable to dan—”

Enough, Anthony thought savagely, was really enough. His own brother had already played him for a fool; he was not going to stand idly by while he was insulted by Edwina’s sharp-tongued spinster sister. He laid a heavy hand on Miss Sheffield’s arm and said, “Allow me to prevent you from making a grievous mistake, Miss Sheffield.”

She stiffened. How, he did not know; her back was already ramrod straight. “I beg your pardon,” she said.

“I believe,” he said smoothly, “that you were about to say something you would soon regret.”

“No,” she said, sounding deliberately thoughtful, “I don’t think regrets were in my future.”

“They will be,” he said ominously. And then he grabbed her arm and practically dragged her onto the ballroom floor.