didnât have room for a conscience.
She took the shoe clips.
And then, several hours later when Posy came (against her motherâs wishes) and let her out, she packed up all of her belongings and left.
Much to her surprise, she didnât look back.
Chapter 6
It has now been three years since any of the Bridgerton siblings have wed, and Lady Bridgerton has been heard to declare on several occasions that she is nearing her witâs end. Benedict has not taken a bride (and it is the opinion of This Author that as he has attained the age of thirty, he is far past due), and neither has Colin, although he may be forgiven his tardiness, since he is, after all, merely six-and-twenty.
The dowager viscountess also has two girls about which she must worry. Eloise is nearly one-and-twenty and although she has received several proposals, she has shown no inclination to marry. Francesca is nearly twenty (the girls quite coincidentally share a birthday), and she, too, seems more interested in the season than she does in marriage.
This Author feels that Lady Bridgerton does not need to worry. It is inconceivable that any of the Bridgertons might not eventually make an acceptable match, and besides, her two married children have already given her a total of five grandchildren, and surely that is her heartâs desire.
L ADY W HISTLEDOWNâS S OCIETY P APERS , 30 A PRIL 1817
A lcohol and cheroots. Card games and lots of hired women. It was just the sort of party Benedict Bridgerton would have enjoyed immensely when he was fresh out of university.
Now he was just bored.
He wasnât even certain why heâd agreed to attend. More boredom, he supposed. The London season of 1817 had thus far been a repeat of the previous year, and he hadnât found 1816 terribly scintillating to begin with. To do the whole thing over again was beyond banal.
He didnât even really know his host, one Phillip Cavender. It was one of those friend of a friend of a friend situations, and now Benedict was fervently wishing heâd remained in London. Heâd just gotten over a blistering head cold, and he should have used that as an excuse to cry off, but his friendâwhom he hadnât even seen in the past four hoursâhad prodded and cajoled, and finally Benedict had given in.
Now he heartily regretted it.
He walked down the main hall of Cavenderâs parentsâ home. Through the doorway to his left he could see a high-stakes card game in process. One of the players was sweating profusely. âStupid idiot,â Benedict muttered. The poor bloke was probably just a breath away from losing his ancestral home.
The door to his right was closed, but he could hear the sound of feminine giggling, followed by masculine laughter, followed by some rather unattractive grunting and squealing.
This was madness. He didnât want to be here. He hated card games where the stakes were higher than the participants could afford, and heâd never had any interest in copulating in such a public manner. He had no idea what had happened to the friend who had brought him here, and he didnât much like any of the other guests.
âIâm leaving,â he declared, even though there was no one in the hall to hear him. He had a small piece of property notso very far away, just an hourâs ride, really. It wasnât much more than a cottage, but it was his, and right now it sounded like heaven.
But good manners dictated that he find his host and inform him of his departure, even if Mr. Cavender was so sotted that he wouldnât remember the conversation the next day.
After about ten minutes of fruitless searching, however, Benedict was beginning to wish that his mother had not been so adamant in her quest to instill good manners in all of her children. It would have been a great deal easier just to leave and be done with it. âThree more minutes,â he grumbled. âIf I donât find the bloody
She took the shoe clips.
And then, several hours later when Posy came (against her motherâs wishes) and let her out, she packed up all of her belongings and left.
Much to her surprise, she didnât look back.
Chapter 6
It has now been three years since any of the Bridgerton siblings have wed, and Lady Bridgerton has been heard to declare on several occasions that she is nearing her witâs end. Benedict has not taken a bride (and it is the opinion of This Author that as he has attained the age of thirty, he is far past due), and neither has Colin, although he may be forgiven his tardiness, since he is, after all, merely six-and-twenty.
The dowager viscountess also has two girls about which she must worry. Eloise is nearly one-and-twenty and although she has received several proposals, she has shown no inclination to marry. Francesca is nearly twenty (the girls quite coincidentally share a birthday), and she, too, seems more interested in the season than she does in marriage.
This Author feels that Lady Bridgerton does not need to worry. It is inconceivable that any of the Bridgertons might not eventually make an acceptable match, and besides, her two married children have already given her a total of five grandchildren, and surely that is her heartâs desire.
L ADY W HISTLEDOWNâS S OCIETY P APERS , 30 A PRIL 1817
A lcohol and cheroots. Card games and lots of hired women. It was just the sort of party Benedict Bridgerton would have enjoyed immensely when he was fresh out of university.
Now he was just bored.
He wasnât even certain why heâd agreed to attend. More boredom, he supposed. The London season of 1817 had thus far been a repeat of the previous year, and he hadnât found 1816 terribly scintillating to begin with. To do the whole thing over again was beyond banal.
He didnât even really know his host, one Phillip Cavender. It was one of those friend of a friend of a friend situations, and now Benedict was fervently wishing heâd remained in London. Heâd just gotten over a blistering head cold, and he should have used that as an excuse to cry off, but his friendâwhom he hadnât even seen in the past four hoursâhad prodded and cajoled, and finally Benedict had given in.
Now he heartily regretted it.
He walked down the main hall of Cavenderâs parentsâ home. Through the doorway to his left he could see a high-stakes card game in process. One of the players was sweating profusely. âStupid idiot,â Benedict muttered. The poor bloke was probably just a breath away from losing his ancestral home.
The door to his right was closed, but he could hear the sound of feminine giggling, followed by masculine laughter, followed by some rather unattractive grunting and squealing.
This was madness. He didnât want to be here. He hated card games where the stakes were higher than the participants could afford, and heâd never had any interest in copulating in such a public manner. He had no idea what had happened to the friend who had brought him here, and he didnât much like any of the other guests.
âIâm leaving,â he declared, even though there was no one in the hall to hear him. He had a small piece of property notso very far away, just an hourâs ride, really. It wasnât much more than a cottage, but it was his, and right now it sounded like heaven.
But good manners dictated that he find his host and inform him of his departure, even if Mr. Cavender was so sotted that he wouldnât remember the conversation the next day.
After about ten minutes of fruitless searching, however, Benedict was beginning to wish that his mother had not been so adamant in her quest to instill good manners in all of her children. It would have been a great deal easier just to leave and be done with it. âThree more minutes,â he grumbled. âIf I donât find the bloody
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