An Offer from a Gentleman with 2nd Epilogue Read Online Free PDF Page B

best they stopped at eight.
    L ADY W HISTLEDOWN’S S OCIETY P APERS , 2 J UNE 1815
    B enedict Bridgerton was the second of eight children, but sometimes it felt more like a hundred.
    This ball his mother had insisted upon hosting was supposed to be a masquerade, and Benedict had dutifully donned a black demi-mask, but everyone knew who he was. Or rather, they all almost knew.
    â€œA Bridgerton!” they would exclaim, clapping their hands together with glee.
    â€œYou must be a Bridgerton!”
    â€œA Bridgerton! I can spot a Bridgerton anywhere.”
    Benedict was a Bridgerton, and while there was no family to which he’d rather belong, he sometimes wished he were considered a little less a Bridgerton and a little more himself.
    Just then, a woman of somewhat indeterminate age dressed as a shepherdess sauntered over. “A Bridgerton!” she trilled. “I’d recognize that chestnut hair anywhere. Which are you? No, don’t say. Let me guess. You’re not the viscount, because I just saw him. You must be Number Two or Number Three.”
    Benedict eyed her coolly.
    â€œWhich one? Number Two or Number Three?”
    â€œTwo,” he bit off.
    She clapped her hands together. “That’s what I thought! Oh, I must find Portia. I told her you were Number Two—”
    Benedict, he nearly growled.
    â€œâ€”but she said, no, he’s the younger one, but I—”
    Benedict suddenly had to get away. It was either that or kill the twittering ninnyhammer, and with so many witnesses, he didn’t think he could get away with it. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said smoothly. “I see someone with whom I must speak.”
    It was a lie, but he didn’t much care. With a curt nod toward the overage shepherdess, he made a beeline toward the ballroom’s side door, eager to escape the throng and sneak into his brother’s study, where he might find some blessed peace and quiet and perhaps a glass of fine brandy.
    â€œBenedict!”
    Damn. He’d nearly made a clean escape. He looked up to see his mother hurrying toward him. She was dressed in some sort of Elizabethan costume. He supposed she was meant to be a character in one of Shakespeare’s plays, but for the life of him, he had no idea which.
    â€œWhat can I do for you, Mother?” he asked. “And don’t say ‘Dance with Hermione Smythe-Smith.’ Last time I did that I nearly lost three toes in the process.”
    â€œI wasn’t going to ask anything of the sort,” Violet replied. “I was going to ask you to dance with Prudence Featherington.”
    â€œHave mercy, Mother,” he moaned. “She’s even worse.”
    â€œI’m not asking you to marry the chit,” she said. “Just dance with her.”
    Benedict fought a groan. Prudence Featherington, while essentially a nice person, had a brain the size of a pea and a laugh so grating he’d seen grown men flee with their hands over their ears. “I’ll tell you what,” he wheedled. “I’ll dance with Penelope Featherington if you keep Prudence at bay.”
    â€œThat’ll do,” his mother said with a satisfied nod, leaving Benedict with the sinking sensation that she’d wanted him to dance with Penelope all along.
    â€œShe’s over there by the lemonade table,” Violet said, “dressed as a leprechaun, poor thing. The color is good for her, but someone really must take her mother in hand next time they venture out to the dressmaker. A more unfortunate costume, I can’t imagine.”
    â€œYou obviously haven’t seen the mermaid,” Benedict murmured.
    She swatted him lightly on the arm. “No poking fun at the guests.”
    â€œBut they make it so easy.”
    She shot him a look of warning before saying, “I’m off to find your sister.”
    â€œWhich one?”
    â€œOne of the ones who isn’t married,”