To Sir Phillip, With Love (Bridgertons, #5)

by Julia Quinn

No, she didn’t need someone perfect. She just needed someone perfect for her.

He looked at her assessingly, his eyes searching hers until she squirmed in her seat. “You are not what I expected, Miss Bridgerton.” “Under the circumstances, I would not think it inappropriate for you to use my given name,” she said, “and you are not what I expected, either.” He sat back in his seat, looking at her with the vaguest hint of a smile. “And what did you expect?” “What did you expect?” Eloise countered. He gave her a look that told her he’d noticed she’d avoided his question, then said, quite bluntly, “I didn’t expect you to be so pretty.”

And as they ate, moving through the courses of the supper as they chatted about nothing in particular, it occurred to Phillip that perhaps marriage wasn’t supposed to be so hard. With Marina he’d always felt like he was tiptoeing around the house, always fearful that she was going to descend into one of her bouts with melancholia, always disappointed when she seemed to withdraw from life, and indeed, almost disappear. But maybe marriage was supposed to be easier than that. Maybe it was supposed to be like this. Companionable. Comfortable.

But nothing was ever as simple as one wanted it to be, and Eloise, in the single day she’d been in residence, had managed to turn his life upside down. He’d never expected to want her, at least not with the intensity he felt every time he stole a glance at her. And when he’d seen her on the floor—why was it that his first thought had been terror? Terror for her well-being, and, if he was honest, terror that the twins might have convinced her to leave.

Men. The day they learned to admit to a mistake was the day they became women.

Anthony nodded, digesting that fact, and the fact that she knew it. “If you tell me that he’s a cruel man, that he will beat you, that he will insult you and demean you, I will not force your hand. But before you speak, I want you to consider my words. You are a Bridgerton. I don’t care who you marry or what your name becomes when you stand up before a priest and say your vows. You will always be a Bridgerton, and we behave with honor and honesty, not because it is expected of us, but because that is what we are.”

“You happen to life, Eloise,” Anthony said. “You’ve always made your own decisions, always been in control. It might not always feel that way, but it’s true.”

Her mother had once told her that she could catch more flies with honey than a sledgehammer, but Eloise never could learn to keep her thoughts to herself.

She had practically asked Sir Phillip if he loved her, and his silence was as much of an answer as no would have been. Her heart twisted. She hadn’t really thought he would contradict her, but her disappointment was proof that some tiny part of her had been hoping that he’d drop to his knees and cry out that he did love her, that he cherished her, and was in fact quite certain that he would die without her. Which was all nothing but rot, and she didn’t know why she’d even wished for it, when she didn’t love him, either.

Violet gazed at her with a wise expression. “My children never disappoint me,” she said softly. “They merely . . . astonish me. I believe I like it that way.”

“I always loved that about you,” Violet said. “I always loved everything about you, of course, but for some reason I always found your impatience especially charming. It was never because you wanted more, it was because you wanted everything.”

“You’ve never been satisfied with second-best, and that’s good, Eloise. I’m glad you never married any of those men who proposed in London. None of them would have made you happy. Content, maybe, but not happy.”

Even Violet’s letter—the one she’d written and asked Anthony to give to her at Romney Hall—it was exactly right, precisely what Eloise had needed to hear. Violet could have scolded, she could have hurled accusations; she would have been perfectly within her rights to do either—or more. But all she’d written was, “I hope you are well. Please remember that you are my daughter and you will always be my daughter. I love you.”

Marrying Eloise was, quite simply, the best thing he could have done. Hell, he’d even go so far as to say it was the best thing he’d ever done. He was, for the first time in recent memory, happy.

But he hadn’t been happy. Not in the way he was now, waking up each day with the feeling that the world was indeed a wonderful place and that it would still be a wonderful place when he went to bed that night and still yet again when he got up the following morning.

“I love you,” he said to them, hoarsely, with great emotion. “You know that, don’t you?” They nodded, their eyes bright. “I will always love you,” he whispered, crouching down until they were all of a level. He drew them close, savoring their warmth. “I will always love you.”

STOPPP I'M CRYING NOW ;(

And she thought to herself—Was this what she’d been waiting for her entire life? Not the passion, not the gasps of pleasure she felt when he joined her in bed, but this. This sense of comfort, of easy companionship, of sitting next to someone in a carriage and knowing with every fiber of your being that it was where you belonged.

And oh, how she wanted him to feel the same way. He needed her. Of that she was quite sure. He needed her maybe even more than she needed him, but that wasn’t it. She loved being needed, being wanted, being indispensable, even, but there was more to her feelings. She loved the way he smiled, slightly lopsided, a little boyish, and with a little lilt of surprise, as if he couldn’t quite believe in his own happiness. She loved the way he looked at her, as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world, when she knew, quite patently, that she was not. She loved the way he actually listened to what she had to say, and the way he didn’t allow her to cow him. She even loved the way he told her she talked too much, because he almost always did it with a smile, and because, of course, it was true. And she loved the way he still listened to her, even after he told her she talked too much. She loved the way he loved his children. She loved his honor, his honesty, and his sly sense of humor. And she loved the way she fit into his life, and the way he fit into hers. It was comfortable. It was right. And this, she finally realized, was where she belonged.

He turned around, stepped toward her, his eyes alight with a fire that humbled her. “Until you’ve lived through all that,” he said, “don’t you ever complain about what we have. Because to me . . . to me . . .” He choked on the words, but he barely paused before he continued. “This—us—is heaven. And I can’t bear to hear you say otherwise.”

“I am happy,” she whispered, covering his hands with her own. “More than I ever dreamed possible. And I am proud to be your wife.”

“I’m so lucky,” he said, and his hands moved, sliding down her rib cage, over her belly, and then around to her backside. “I think I’ve waited my entire life for you.” “I know I’ve been waiting for you,” Eloise said.

She loved him. It was that simple. She loved him, and he loved her, and if there was anything more, anything else important in her world, it just didn’t matter. Not right there, not right then. “I love you,” he whispered, finally rolling off of her and allowing her lungs to fill with air. I love you. It was all she needed.

days are filled with endless amusements. I shop and attend luncheons and pay calls (and have calls paid upon me). In the evenings I usually attend a ball or musicale, or perhaps a smaller party. Sometimes I remain at home with my own company and read a book. Truly, it is a full and lively existence; I have no cause for complaint. What more, I often ask, could a lady want?

“Anything,” Eloise said, smiling at him with all the love in her heart. “Or nothing at all. It doesn’t matter, really. All they want is you, Phillip. All they want is you.”

His arms came around her, and as she laid her cheek against his chest, his chin came down to rest gently on her head. “Today,” he said softly, “the twins told me it was the best day ever. And I realized they were right.” Eloise nodded, beyond words. “But then,” he continued, “I realized they were wrong.” She looked up at him, question in her eyes. “I couldn’t choose a day,” he confessed. “Any day with you, Eloise. Any day with you.” He touched her chin, brought his lips to hers. “Any week,” he murmured, “any month, any hour.” He kissed her then, softly, but with all the love in his soul. “Any moment,” he whispered, “as long as I’m with you.”

Laugh. Laugh out loud, and laugh often. And when circumstances call for silence, turn your laugh into a smile.