The Viscount Who Loved Me (3 page)

But no one else could understand the depth of the bond he’d felt with his father. And no one could possibly understand the way Anthony felt it in his bones, how he simply knew that he could not live longer than his father had done. Edmund had been everything to him. He’d always aspired to be as great a man as his father, knowing that
that was unlikely, yet trying all the same. To actually achieve more than Edmund had—in any way—that was nothing short of impossible.

Anthony’s father was, quite simply, the greatest man he’d ever known, possibly the greatest man who’d ever lived. To think that he might be more than that seemed conceited in the extreme.

Something had happened to him the night his father had died, when he’d remained in his parents’ bedroom with the body, just sitting there for hours, watching his father and trying desperately to remember every moment they’d shared. It would be so easy to forget the little things—how Edmund would squeeze Anthony’s upper arm when he needed encouragement. Or how he could recite from memory Balthazar’s entire “Sigh No More” song from
Much Ado About Nothing,
not because he thought it particularly meaningful but just because he liked it.

And when Anthony finally emerged from the room, the first streaks of dawn pinking the sky, he somehow knew that his days were numbered, and numbered in the same way Edmund’s had been.

“Spit it out,” Benedict said, breaking into his thoughts once again. “I won’t offer you a penny for your thoughts, since I know they can’t possibly be worth that much, but what are you thinking about?”

Anthony suddenly sat up straighter, determined to force his attention back to the matter at hand. After all, he had a bride to choose, and that was surely serious business. “Who is considered the diamond of this season?” he asked.

His brothers paused for a moment to think on this, and then Colin said, “Edwina Sheffield. Surely you’ve seen her. Rather petite, with blond hair and blue eyes. You can usually spot her by the sheeplike crowd of lovesick suitors following her about.”

Anthony ignored his brother’s attempts at sarcastic humor. “Has she a brain?”

Colin blinked, as if the question of a woman with a brain were one that had never occurred to him. “Yes, I rather think she does. I once heard her discussing mythology with Middlethorpe, and it sounded as if she had the right of it.”

“Good,” Anthony said, letting his glass of scotch hit the table with a thunk. “Then I’ll marry her.”

“Y
ou certainly took your time getting here,” Colin remarked as soon as Anthony and Edwina reached the group. “Here, we’re ready to go. Edwina, you’re blue.” He handed her a mallet. “Anthony, you’re pink.”

“I’m pink and
she
”—he jabbed a finger toward Kate—“gets to have the mallet of death?”

“I gave her first pick,” Colin said. “She is our guest, after all.”

“Anthony is usually black,” Daphne explained. “In fact, he gave the mallet its name.”

“You shouldn’t have to be pink,” Edwina said to Anthony. “It doesn’t suit you at all. Here”—she held out her mallet—“why don’t we trade?”

“Don’t be silly,” Colin interjected. “We specifically decided that you must be blue. To match your eyes.”

Kate thought she heard Anthony groan.

“I will be pink,” Anthony announced, grabbing the offending mallet rather forcefully from Colin’s hand, “and I will still win. Let’s begin, shall we?”

As soon as the necessary introductions were made between the duke and duchess and Edwina, they all plopped their wooden balls down near the starting point and prepared to play.

“Shall we play youngest to oldest?” Colin suggested, with a gallant bow in Edwina’s direction.

She shook her head. “I should rather go last, so that I might have a chance to observe the play of those more experienced than I.”

“A wise woman,” Colin murmured. “Then we shall play oldest to youngest. Anthony, I believe you’re the most ancient among us.”

“Sorry, brother dear, but Hastings has a few months on me.”

“Why,” Edwina whispered in Kate’s ear, “do I get the feeling I am intruding upon a family spat?”

“I think the Bridgertons take Pall Mall very seriously,” Kate whispered back. The three Bridgerton siblings had assumed bulldog faces, and they all appeared rather single-mindedly determined to win.

“Eh eh eh!” Colin scolded, waving a finger at them. “No collusion allowed.”

“We wouldn’t even begin to know where to collude,” Kate commented, “as no one has seen fit to even explain to us the rules of play.”

“Just follow along,” Daphne said briskly. “You’ll figure it out as you go.”

“I think,” Kate whispered to Edwina, “that the object is to sink your opponents’ balls into the lake.”

“Really?”

“No. But I think that’s how the Bridgertons see it.”

“You’re still whispering!” Colin called out without
sparing a glance in their direction. Then, to the duke, he barked, “Hastings, hit the bloody ball. We haven’t all day.”

“Colin,” Daphne cut in, “don’t curse. There are ladies present.”

“You don’t count.”

“There are two ladies present who are not me,” she ground out.

Colin blinked, then turned to the Sheffield sisters. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Kate replied, utterly fascinated. Edwina just shook her head.

“Good.” Colin turned back to the duke. “Hastings, get moving.”

The duke nudged his ball a bit forward from the rest of the pile. “You do realize,” he said to no one in particular, “that I have never played Pall Mall before?”

“Just give the ball a good whack in that direction, darling,” Daphne said, pointing to the first wicket.

“Isn’t that the last wicket?” Anthony asked.

“It’s the first.”

“It
ought
to be the last.”

Daphne’s jaw jutted out. “I set up the course, and it’s the first.”

“I think this might get bloody,” Edwina whispered to Kate.

The duke turned to Anthony and flashed him a false smile. “I believe I’ll take Daphne’s word for it.”

“She did set up the course,” Kate cut in.

Anthony, Colin, Simon, and Daphne all looked at her in shock, as if they couldn’t quite believe she’d had the nerve to enter the conversation.

“Well, she did,” Kate said.

Daphne looped her arm through hers. “I do believe I adore you, Kate Sheffield,” she announced.

“God help me,” Anthony muttered.

The duke drew back his mallet, let fly, and soon the orange ball was hurtling along the lawn.

“Well done, Simon!” Daphne cried out.

Colin turned and looked at his sister with disdain. “One never cheers one’s opponents in Pall Mall,” he said archly.

“He’s never played before,” she said. “He’s not likely to win.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Daphne turned to Kate and Edwina and explained, “Bad sportsmanship is a requirement in Bridgerton Pall Mall, I’m afraid.”

“I’d gathered,” Kate said dryly.

“My turn,” Anthony barked. He gave the pink ball a disdainful glance, then gave it a good whack. It sailed splendidly over the grass, only to slam into a tree and drop like a stone to the ground.

“Brilliant!” Colin exclaimed, getting ready to take his turn.

Anthony muttered a few things under his breath, none of which were suitable for gentle ears.

Colin sent the yellow ball toward the first wicket, then stepped aside to let Kate try her hand.

“Might I have a practice swing?” she inquired.

“No.” It was a rather loud no, coming, as it did, from three mouths.

“Very well,” she grumbled. “Stand back, all of you. I won’t be held responsible if I injure anyone on the first try.” She drew back on her mallet with all her might and slammed it into the ball. It sailed through the air in a rather impressive arc, then smacked into the same tree that had foiled Anthony and plopped on the ground right next to his ball.

“Oh, dear,” Daphne said, setting her aim by drawing back on her mallet a few times without actually hitting the ball.

“Why ‘oh, dear’?” Kate asked worriedly, not reassured by the duchess’s faintly pitying smile.

“You’ll see.” Daphne took her turn, then marched off in the direction of her ball.

Kate looked over at Anthony. He looked very, very pleased with the current state of affairs.

“What are you going to do to me?” she asked.

He leaned forward devilishly. “What am I
not
going to do to you might be a more appropriate question.”

“I believe it’s my turn,” Edwina said, stepping up to the starting point. She gave her ball an anemic hit, then groaned when it traveled only a third as far as the rest.

“Put a bit more muscle into it next time,” Anthony said before stalking over to his ball.

“Right,” Edwina muttered at his back. “I never would have figured that out.”

“Hastings!” Anthony yelled. “It’s your turn.”

While the duke tapped his ball toward the next wicket, Anthony leaned against the tree with crossed arms, his ridiculous pink mallet hanging from one hand, and waited for Kate.

“Oh, Miss Sheffield,” he finally called out. “Play of the game dictates that one follow one’s ball!”

He watched her tromp over to his side. “There,” she grumbled. “Now what?”

“You really ought to treat me with more respect,” he said, offering her a slow, sly smile.

“After you tarried with Edwina?” she shot back. “What I ought to do is have you drawn and quartered.”

“Such a bloodthirsty wench,” he mused. “You’ll do well at Pall Mall…eventually.”

He watched, utterly entertained, as her face grew red, then white. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“For the love of God, Anthony,” Colin yelled. “Take your bloody turn.”

Anthony looked down to where the wooden balls sat
kissing on the grass, hers black, his appallingly pink. “Right,” he murmured. “Wouldn’t want to keep dear, sweet Colin waiting.” And with that, he put his foot atop his ball, drew back his mallet—

“What are you doing?” Kate shrieked.

—and let fly. His ball remained firmly in place under his boot. Hers went sailing down the hill for what seemed like miles.

“You fiend,” she growled.

“All’s fair in love and war,” he quipped.

“I am going to
kill
you.”

“You can try,” he taunted, “but you’ll have to catch up with me first.”

Kate pondered the mallet of death, then pondered his foot.

“Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

“It’s so very, very tempting,” she growled.

He leaned forward menacingly. “We have witnesses.”

“And that is the only thing saving your life right now.”

He merely smiled. “I believe your ball is down the hill, Miss Sheffield. I’m sure we’ll see you in a half hour or so, when you catch up.”

Just then Daphne marched by, following her ball, which had sailed unnoticed past their feet. “That was why I said ‘oh, dear,’ ” she said—rather unnecessarily, in Kate’s opinion.

“You’ll pay for this,” Kate hissed at Anthony.

His smirk said more than words ever could.

And then she marched down the hill, letting out a loud and extremely unladylike curse when she realized her ball was lodged under a hedge.

Half an hour later Kate was still two wickets behind the next-to-last player. Anthony was winning, which irked her to no end. The only saving grace was that she was so far behind she couldn’t see his gloating face.

Then as she was twiddling her thumbs and waiting for her turn (there was precious little else to do while waiting for her turn, as no other players were remotely near her), she heard Anthony let out an aggrieved shout.

This immediately got her attention.

Beaming with anticipation at his possible demise, she looked eagerly about until she saw the pink ball hurtling along the grass, straight at her.

“Urp!” Kate gurgled, jumping up and darting quickly to the side before she lost a toe.

Looking back up, she saw Colin leaping into the air, his mallet swinging wildly above him, as he cried out exultantly, “Woo-hoo!”

Anthony looked as if he might disembowel his brother on the spot.

Kate would have done a little victory dance herself—if she couldn’t win, the next best thing was knowing that
he
wouldn’t—except now it seemed that he’d be stuck back with her for a few turns. And while her solitude wasn’t terribly entertaining, it was better than having to make conversation with
him
.

Still, it was difficult not to look just a little bit smug when he came tromping over toward her, scowling as if a thundercloud had just lodged itself in his brain.

“Bad luck there, my lord,” Kate murmured.

He glared at her.

She sighed—just for effect, of course. “I’m sure you’ll still manage to place second or third.”

He leaned forward menacingly and made a sound suspiciously like a growl.

“Miss Sheffield!” came Colin’s impatient holler from up the hill. “It’s your turn!”

“So it is,” Kate said, analyzing her possible shots. She could aim for the next wicket or she could attempt to sabotage Anthony even further. Unfortunately, his ball wasn’t touching hers, so she couldn’t attempt the foot-on-the-ball
maneuver he’d used on her earlier in the game. Which was probably for the best. With her luck, she’d end up missing the ball entirely and instead breaking her foot.

“Decisions, decisions,” she murmured.

Anthony crossed his arms. “The only way you’re going to ruin my game is to ruin yours as well.”

“True,” she acceded. If she wanted to send him into oblivion, she’d have to send herself there as well, since she’d have to hit hers with all she was worth just to get his to move. And since she couldn’t hold hers in place, heaven only knew where she’d end up.

“But,” she said, looking up at him and smiling innocently, “I really have no chance of winning the game, anyway.”

“You could come in second or third,” he tried.

She shook her head. “Unlikely, don’t you think? I’m so far behind as it is, and we are nearing the end of play.”

“You don’t want to do this, Miss Sheffield,” he warned.

“Oh,” she said with great feeling, “I
do
. I really, really do.” And then, with quite the most evil grin her lips had ever formed, she drew back her mallet and smacked her ball with every ounce of every single emotion within her. It knocked into his with stunning force, sending it hurtling even farther down the hill.

Farther…

Farther…

Right into the lake.

Openmouthed with delight, Kate just stared for a moment as the pink ball sank into the lake. Then something rose up within her, some strange and primitive emotion, and before she knew what she was about, she was jumping about like a crazy woman, yelling, “Yes! Yes! I win!”

“You don’t win,” Anthony snapped.

“Oh, it
feels
like I’ve won,” she reveled.

Colin and Daphne, who had come dashing down the hill, skidded to a halt before them. “Well done, Miss
Sheffield!” Colin exclaimed. “I knew you were worthy of the mallet of death.”

“Brilliant,” Daphne agreed. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Anthony, of course, had no choice but to cross his arms and scowl mightily.

Colin gave her a congenial pat on the back. “Are you certain you’re not a Bridgerton in disguise? You have truly lived up to the spirit of the game.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Kate said graciously. “If you hadn’t hit his ball down the hill…”

“I had been hoping you would pick up the reins of his destruction,” Colin said.

The duke finally approached, Edwina at his side. “A rather stunning conclusion to the game,” he commented.

“It’s not over yet,” Daphne said.

Her husband gave her a faintly amused glance. “To continue the play now seems rather anticlimactic, don’t you think?”

Surprisingly, even Colin agreed. “I certainly can’t imagine anything topping it.”

Kate beamed.

The duke glanced up at the sky. “Furthermore, it’s starting to cloud over. I want to get Daphne in before it starts to rain. Delicate condition and all, you know.”