Bridgerton Collection, Volume 1 (Bridgertons #1-3)

by Julia Quinn

His mother had always had a particular soft spot for Penelope Featherington, who was on her . . . Benedict frowned. On her third season? It must be her third. And with no marriage prospects in sight.

Ah, well. He might as well do his duty. Penelope was a nice enough girl, with a decent wit and personality. Someday she’d find herself a husband. It wouldn’t be him, of course, and in all honesty it probably would...

Penelope beamed at him, and Benedict was reminded that he actually liked Penelope Featherington. Truly, she wouldn’t be considered so antidotal if she weren’t always lumped together with her unfortunate sisters, who could easily make a grown man wish himself aboard a ship to Australia.

Her beauty came from within. She shimmered. She glowed. She was utterly radiant, and Benedict suddenly realized that it was because she looked so damned happy. Happy to be where she was, happy to be who she was. Happy in a way Benedict could barely remember.

She grinned at him—the sort of grin one expects from an old school chum, not a debutante at a ball.

“Come,” he said. “Dance with me.” She took a step forward, and he knew his life had been changed forever.

“If you flee the party and leave me to that pack of she-devil debutantes, I swear I shall exact revenge to my dying day.”

“A chance I’m willing to take,” her gentleman said.

“Might I request an introduction?” Benedict raised a brow. “You can try your best, but I doubt you’ll meet with success. I haven’t learned her name yet myself.” “You haven’t asked,” Sophie could not help pointing out. “And would you tell me if I did?” “I’d tell you something,” she returned. “But not the truth.” She shook her head. “This isn’t a night for truth.” “My favorite kind of night,” Colin said in a jaunty voice.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Benedict asked. Colin shook his head. “I’m sure Mother would prefer that I be in the ballroom, but it’s not exactly a requirement.” “I require it,” Benedict returned.

“But then again, he’s considerably more ancient,” Colin continued, “so perhaps we should send him to the gallows—er, altar first.” “Do you have a point?” Benedict growled. “None whatsoever,” Colin admitted. “But then again, I rarely do.” Benedict turned to Sophie. “He speaks the truth.”

“So then,” Colin said to Sophie with a grand flourish of his arm, “will you take pity on my poor, long-suffering mother and chase my dear brother up the aisle?” “Well, he hasn’t asked,” Sophie said, trying to join the humor of the moment. “How much have you had to drink?” Benedict grumbled. “Me?” Sophie queried. “Him.”

“Nothing at all,” Colin said jovially, “but I’m thinking quite seriously of remedying that. In fact, it might be the only thing that will make this eve bearable.” “If the procurement of drink removes you from my presence,” Benedict said, “then it will certainly be the only thing that will make ...

Lady Whistledown must never have had a conversation with Benedict Bridgerton beyond the superficial, because she’d never written that he was quite the most perceptive man in London. When he looked into her eyes, Sophie had the oddest sense that he could see straight into her soul.

“About what I’d miss—and what I wouldn’t miss—should my life drastically change.” His eyes grew intense. “And do you expect it to drastically change?” She shook her head and tried to keep the sadness out of her voice when she answered, “No.” His voice grew so quiet it was almost a whisper. “Do you want it to change?” “Yes,” she sighed, before she could stop herself. “Oh, yes.”

He took her hands and brought them to his lips, gently kissing each one in turn. “Then we shall begin right now,” he vowed. “And tomorrow you shall be transformed.” “Tonight I am transformed,” she whispered. “Tomorrow I shall disappear.”

As for the men, if previous masquerade balls are any indication, the portly will dress as Henry VIII, the more fit as Alexander the Great or perhaps the devil, and the bored (the eligible Bridgerton brothers sure to be among these ranks) as themselves—basic black evening kit, with only a demi-mask as a nod to the occasion.

“Well, let’s see. Last month you won some silly horse race in Hyde Park.” “It wasn’t the least bit silly,” he said with a grin, “and I’m a hundred quid richer for it.” She shot him an arch look. “Horse races are almost always silly.” “Spoken just like a woman,” he muttered. “Well—” “Don’t point out the obvious,” he interrupted.

And she wanted one night of fantasy. She looked up. “You’re not going to run, then,” he murmured, his dark eyes flaring with something hot and exciting.

Sophie opened her eyes and looked down. “One, two, three; one, two, three.” Hesitantly, she stepped along with him—right onto his foot. “Oh! I’m sorry!” she blurted out. “My sisters have done far worse,” he assured her. “Don’t give up.”

“I want to meet your parents and pet your damned dog,” he continued, somewhat unsteadily. “Do you understand what I mean?”

But Anthony’s and Daphne’s marriages were splendidly happy because they’d been smart enough to wed the right people, and Benedict was quite certain he had not yet met the right person.

No, he thought, his mind wandering back a few years, that wasn’t entirely true. He’d once met someone . . . The lady in silver.

It had become, in a very strange way, a part of who he was. His name was Benedict Bridgerton, he had seven brothers and sisters, was rather skilled with both a sword and a sketching crayon, and he always kept his eyes open for the one woman who had touched his soul.

It seems that Lady Penwood stole Mrs. Featherington’s lady’s maid right out from under her nose one month ago, promising higher wages and free cast-off clothing. (It should be noted that Mrs. Featherington also gave the poor girl cast-off clothing, but anyone who has ever observed the attire of the Featherington girls would understand why the lady’s maid would not view this as a benefit.)

It seemed that Lady Penwood’s idea of a lady’s maid included duties more accurately ascribed to the scullery maid, upstairs maid, and cook. Someone ought to tell the woman that one girl cannot do the work of three.

“You have women’s clothing here?” she asked doubtfully. “You’re not so fussy that you can’t wear breeches and a shirt for one evening, are you?”

“You need to get into bed,” she said, stumbling under his weight when he decided to lean against her instead of the bedpost. He grinned. “You coming?” She lurched back. “Now I know you’re feverish.”

She looked concerned. For some reason that seemed rather sweet. It had been quite a long time since any woman who wasn’t related to him had been concerned for his welfare.

(and even then, she wasn’t certain what she could possibly do down there that would resurrect him.)

Ha! Just ask Claire Fraser

“Someone get the bloody girl a belt!” Benedict yelled grumpily. It didn’t seem quite fair that everyone got to go out to the hall and watch the sideshow while he was stuck in bed.

Mrs. Crabtree leaned forward and whispered, “I like your Sophie. May we keep her?”

“Next time I see Cavender,” he growled, “I’m going to beat him to a bloody pulp.” If she were a better person, she would have been horrified, but Sophie couldn’t quite prevent a smile at the thought of Benedict further defending her honor. Or of seeing Phillip Cavender with his nose relocated to his forehead.

“Don’t do it,” he warned. “Do what?” “Throw the spoon.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said tightly. He laughed aloud. “Oh, yes you would. You’re dreaming of it right now. You just wouldn’t do it.” Sophie’s hand was gripping the spoon so hard it shook.

“Whatever could you be thinking,” Benedict mused, “to look so adorably ferocious? No, don’t tell me,” he added. “I’m sure it involves my untimely and painful demise.”

Sophie turned around slowly. “Are you this charming with everyone or only me?” “Oh, only you.” He grinned. “I shall have to make sure you take me up on my offer to find you employment with my mother. You do bring out the best in me, Miss Sophie Beckett.” “This is the best?” she asked with obvious disbelief. “I’m afraid so.”

Sophie didn’t even wait to see if her aim had been true. But as she stalked out the door, she heard Benedict explode with laughter. Then she heard him shout out, “Well done, Miss Beckett!” And she realized that for the first time in years, her smile was one of pure, unadulterated joy.

Mr. Crabtree had managed to intercept all of Mrs. Crabtree’s tonics and replace them with Benedict’s best brandy. Benedict dutifully drank every drop, but the last time he looked out the window, it appeared that three of his rosebushes had died, presumably where Mr. Crabtree had dumped the tonic.

Something about her presence brought him peace.

“Oh, dear,” he blurted out. Sophie gave him an odd look. He didn’t blame her. He sounded like a complete idiot.

Hell, he sounded like his mother.

“The things one remembers,” she said, looking exceedingly amused, “are most often things one had forgotten.”

Sophie had seen Mr. Crabtree dump the tonics in the rosebushes; she’d also seen the aftermath. It hadn’t been a pretty sight. How she managed to smile and nod, she’d never know.

On the one hand, it was thrilling to be the one woman who could bring him to his knees, make him dizzy with desire and need. On the other hand, he’d kissed her before. Hadn’t he felt the same exquisite torture then, too? Dear God, was she jealous of herself?

“If you think that’s everything, then you probably wouldn’t understand why I must refuse.”

much to his surprise, he found himself lying faceup on the ground, having been felled by a remarkably quick right hook.

she was quite certain—logic aside—that if she remained in his company one more second, her head would explode.

Benedict didn’t often go out of his way to annoy people (with the notable exception of his siblings), but Sophie Beckett clearly brought out the devil in him.

“I think your son resembles you.” “Do you think?” Lady Bridgerton asked, clasping her hands together with delight. “How lovely. And here I’ve always just considered myself a vessel for the Bridgerton family.” “Mother!” Benedict said.