Romancing Mister Bridgerton Read Online Free PDF Page B

end.”
    â€œTenacity can be a very good thing,” Eloise reminded her, “at the proper time.”
    â€œRight,” Penelope returned with a sarcastic smile, “and at the improper time, it’s an absolute nightmare.”
    Eloise laughed. “Cheer up, friend. At least she let you rid yourself of all those yellow frocks.”
    Penelope looked down at her morning dress, which was, if she did say so herself, a rather flattering shade of blue. “She stopped choosing my clothing once she finally realized I was officially on the shelf. A girl with no marriage prospects isn’t worth the time and energy it takes her to offer fashion advice. She hasn’t accompanied me to the modiste in over a year! Bliss!”
    Eloise smiled at her friend, whose complexion turned the loveliest peaches and cream whenever she wore cooler hues. “It was apparent to all, the moment you were allowed to choose your own clothing. Even Lady Whistledown commented upon it!”
    â€œI hid that column from Mother,” Penelope admitted. “I didn’t want her feelings to be hurt.”
    Eloise blinked a few times before saying, “That was very kind of you, Penelope.”
    â€œI have my moments of charity and grace.”
    â€œOne would think,” Eloise said with a snort, “that a vital component of charity and grace is the ability not to draw attention to one’s possession of them.”
    Penelope pursed her lips as she pushed Eloise toward the door. “Don’t you need to go home?”
    â€œI’m leaving! I’m leaving!”
    And she left.
    Â 
    It was, Colin Bridgerton decided as he took a sip of some truly excellent brandy, rather nice to be back in England.
    It was quite strange, actually, how he loved returning home just as much as he did the departure. In another few months—six at the most—he’d be itching to leave again, but for now, England in April was positively brilliant.
    â€œIt’s good, isn’t it?”
    Colin looked up. His brother Anthony was leaning against the front of his massive mahogany desk, motioning to him with his own glass of brandy.
    Colin nodded. “Hadn’t realized how much I missed it until I returned. Ouzo has its charms, but this”—he lifted his glass—“is heaven.”
    Anthony smiled wryly. “And how long do you plan to remain this time?”
    Colin wandered over to the window and pretended to look out. His eldest brother made little attempt to disguise his impatience with Colin’s wanderlust. In truth, Colin really couldn’t blame him. Occasionally, it was difficult to get letters home; he supposed that his family often had to wait a month or even two for word of his welfare. But while he knew that he would not relish being in their shoes—never knowing if a loved one was dead or alive, constantly waiting for the knock of the messenger at the front door—that just wasn’t enough to keep his feet firmly planted in England.
    Every now and then, he simply had to get away . There was no other way to describe it.
    Away from the ton, who thought him a charming rogue and nothing else, away from England, which encouraged younger sons to enter the military or the clergy, neither of which suited his temperament. Even away from his family, who loved him unconditionally but had no clue that what he really wanted, deep down inside, was something to do.
    His brother Anthony held the viscountcy, and with that came myriad responsibilities. He ran estates, managed the family’s finances, and saw to the welfare of countless tenants and servants. Benedict, his elder by four years, had gained renown as an artist. He’d started with pencil and paper, but at the urging of his wife had moved on to oils. One of his landscapes now hung in the National Gallery.
    Anthony would be forever remembered in family trees as the seventh Viscount Bridgerton. Benedict would live through his