It was very troubling.

After lunch and a tour through the greenhouse, the quintet broke into two groups. Benedict had brought along an artist's pad, so he and Sophie remained near the house, chattering contentedly as he sketched the exterior. Anthony, Eloise, and Phillip decided to take a walk around the grounds, but Anthony very discreetly allowed Eloise and Phillip to tarry a good many yards behind, affording the affianced couple the opportunity to speak with some privacy.

"What did you say to the children?" Phillip immediately asked.

"I don't know," Eloise said quite honestly. "I just tried to act like my mother." She shrugged. "It seemed to work."

He thought about that. "It must be nice to have parents one can emulate."

She looked at him curiously. "Didn't you?"

He shook his head. "No."

She hoped he would say more, gave him time, even, but he did not speak. Finally, she decided to press the matter and asked, "Was it your mother or your father?"

"What do you mean?"

"Which of your parents was so difficult?"

He looked at her for a long moment, his dark eyes inscrutable as his brows ever-so-slightly came together. Then he said, "My mother died at my birth."

She nodded. "I see."

"I doubt you do," he said in a tight, hollow voice, "but I appreciate your trying."

They walked along, keeping their pace slow, not wanting to come within earshot of Anthony, even though neither broke the silence for several minutes. Finally, as they turned along the path toward the back side of the house, Eloise uttered the question she'd been dying to ask all daya"

"Why did you take me into Sophie's study yesterday?"

He spluttered and stumbled. "I should think that would be obvious," he mumbled, his cheeks turning pink.

"Well, yes," Eloise said, blushing as she realized exactly what it was she had asked. "But surely you didn't think that was going to happen."

"A man can always hope," he muttered.

"You don't mean that!"

"Of course I do. But," he added, looking rather like he couldn't believe he was having this conversation, "as it happens, no, it never crossed my mind that matters would get quite so out of hand." He gave her a sly, sideways sort of look. "I'm not sorry, however, that they did."

She felt her cheeks turn hot. "You still haven't answered my question."

"I haven't?"

"No." She knew she was being persistent to the point of unseemliness, but as matters went, this seemed an important one to press. "Why did you take me in there?"

He stared at her for a full ten seconds, presumably to ascertain if she was daft, then shot a quick look at Anthony to make sure he was out of earshot before answering, "Well, if you must know, yes, I did intend to kiss you. You were yapping on about the marriage and asking me all sorts of ridiculous questions." He planted his hands on his hips and shrugged. "It seemed a good way to prove once and for all that we are well suited."

She decided to let his description of her as a yapping female pass. "But passion is surely not enough to sustain a marriage,"

she persisted.

"It's certainly a good start," he muttered. "May we talk of something else?"

"No. What I'm trying to saya""

He snorted and rolled his eyes. "You are always trying to say something."

"It's what makes me charming," she said peevishly.

He looked at her with exaggerated patience. "Eloise. We are well suited and will enjoy a perfectly pleasant and amiable marriage. I don't know what else to say or do to prove it."

"But you don't love me," she said, her voice soft.

That seemed to knock the wind out of him, and he just stopped and stared at her for the longest moment. "Why do you say things like that?" he asked.

She shrugged helplessly. "Because it's important."

For a moment he did nothing but stare. "Hasn't it ever occurred to you that every thought and feeling doesn't need to be given voice?"

"Yes," she said, a lifetime of regrets wrapped into that single syllable. "All the time." She looked away, discomforted by the odd, hollow sensation rumbling in her throat. "I can't seem to help myself, though."

He shook his head, obviously perplexed, which didn't surprise her. Half the time she perplexed herself. Why had she forced the issue? Why couldn't she ever be subtle, coy? 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.

But she could. She had this feeling that if she gave it enough time, she could love this man. And maybe she'd just wanted him to say the same.

"Did you love Marina?" she asked, the words crossing her lips before she'd even had a chance to ponder the wisdom of asking. She winced. There she went again, asking questions that were far too personal.

It was a wonder he hadn't thrown up his arms and run screaming in the opposite direction already.

He didn't answer for the longest moment. They just stood there, watching one another, trying to ignore Anthony, who was studiously examining a tree some thirty yards away. Finally, in a low voice, Phillip said, "No."

Eloise didn't feel elated; she didn't feel sorrow. She didn't feel anything at all at his pronouncement, which surprised her. But s he did let out a long breath, one she hadn't realized she'd been holding. And she did feel rather glad that she now knew.

She hated the not knowing. About anything.

And so she really shouldn't have been surprised when she whispered, "Why did you marry her?"

A rather blank expression washed over his eyes, and finally he just shrugged and said, "I don't know. It seemed like the right thing to do."

She nodded. It all made so much sense. It was exactly the sort of thing he would do. Phillip was always doing the right thing, the honorable thing, apologizing for his transgressions, shouldering everyone's burdens ...

Honoring his brother's promises.

And then she had one more question. "Did you..." she whispered, almost losing her nerve. "Did you feel passion for her?"

She knew she shouldn't ask, but after that afternoon, she had to know. The answer didn't mattera"or at least she told herself it didn't.

But she had to know.

"No." He turned away, began to walk, his long stride forcing her to jump to attention and follow. But then, just when she'd gathered enough speed to catch up, he stopped, causing her to stumble and put her hands out against his arm just to keep her balance.

"I have a question for you," he said, his voice abrupt.

"Of course," she murmured, surprised by his sudden change of demeanor. Still, it was only fair. She'd practically interrogated the poor man.

"Why did you leave London?" he asked.

She blinked in surprise. She hadn't been expecting something with such an easy answer. "To meet you, of course."

"Balderdash."

Her mouth fell open at his palpable disdain.

"That's why you came," he said, "not why you left."

It hadn't occurred to her until that very minute that there was a difference, but he was right. He'd had nothing to do with why she'd left London. He'd just provided an easy means of escape, a way to leave without feeling she was running away.

He'd given her something to run to, which was so much easier to justify than running from.

"Did you have a lover?" he asked, his voice low.

"No!" she answered, loud enough so that Anthony actually turned around, forcing her to smile and wave at him, assuring him that all was well. "Just a bee," she called out.

Anthony's eyes widened, and he started to stride in their direction.

"It's gone now!" Eloise called quickly, shooing him away. "Nothing about it!" She turned to Phillip and explained, "He's rather morbidly afraid of bees." She grimaced. "I forgot. I should have said it was a mouse."

Phillip looked over at Anthony, curiosity on his face. Eloise wasn't surprised; it was difficult to imagine that a man such as her brother was afraid of bees, but it did make sense, seeing as how their father had died after being stung by one.

"You didn't answer my question."

Damn. She'd thought she'd got him off the subject. "How could you even ask it?" she asked.

Phillip shrugged. "How could I not? You ran away from home, not bothering to tell your family where you were goinga""

"I left a note," she interrupted.

"Yes, of course, the note."

Her mouth fell open. "Don't you believe me?"

He nodded. "I do, actually. You're much too organized and officious to leave without making sure all of your loose ends were tied up."

"It's not my fault it got shuffled into Mother's invitations," she muttered.

"The note is not the issue," he stated, crossing his arms.

Crossing his arms? She clenched her teeth together. It made her feel a child, and there was nothing she could do or say about it, because she had a feeling that whatever he was about to say concerning her recent behavior, he was right.

Much as it pained her to admit it.

"The fact of the matter," he continued, "is that you fled London like a criminal in the middle of the night. It simply occurred to me that something might have happened to ... ah... stain your reputation." At her peevish expression, he added, "It's not an unreasonable conclusion to reach."

He was right, of course. Not about her reputationa" that was still as pure and clean as snow. But it did look odd, and frankly, it was a wonder he hadn't inquired after it already.

"If you had a lover," he said quietly, "it won't change my intentions."

"It's not that at all," she said quickly, mostly just to make him stop talking about it. "It was ..." Her voice trailed off, and she sighed. "It was ..."

And then she told him everything. All about the marriage proposals she'd received, and the ones Penelope hadn't, and the plans they'd jokingly made to grow old and spinsterish together. And she told him how guilty she'd felt when Penelope and Colin had married, and she couldn't stop thinking about herself and how alone she was.

She told him all that and more. She told him what was in her mind and what was in her heart, and she told him things she'd never told another soul. And it occurred to her that for a woman who opened her mouth every other second, there was an awful lot inside of her that she'd never shared.

And then, when she was done (and, in truth, she didn't even realize she'd finished; she just kind of ran out of energy and dwindled off into silence), he reached out and took her hand.

"It's all right," he said.

And it was, she realized. It actually was.

CHAPTER 14.

... I grant that Mr.Wilsons face does have a certain amphibious quality, but I do wish you would learn to be a bit more circumspect in your speech.

While I would never consider him an acceptable candidate for marriage, he is certainly not a toad, and it ill-behooved me to have my younger sister call him thus, and in his presence.

a"from Eloise Bridgerton to her sister Hyacinth, upon refusing her fourth offer of marriage Four days later, they were married. Phillip had no idea how Anthony Bridgerton had managed it, but he'd procured a special license, allowing them to be wed without banns and on a Monday, which, Eloise assured him, was no worse than Tuesday or Wednesday, just that it wasn't Saturday, as was proper.

Eloise's entire family, minus her widowed sister in Scotland, who hadn't had time to make the journey, had trooped out to the country for the wedding. Normally, the ceremony would have taken place in Kent, at the Bridgerton family seat, or at the very least in London, where the family attended church regularly at St.George's in Hanover Square, but such arrangements were not possible on such a hastened schedule, and this wasn't an ordinary sort of wedding in any case. Benedict and Sophie had offered their home for the reception, but Eloise had felt that the twins would be more comfortable at Romney Hall, so they'd held the ceremony at the parish church down the lane, followed by a small, intimate reception on the lawn outside Phillip's greenhouse.

Later in the day, just as the sun was beginning to dip in the sky, Eloise found herself in her new bedchamber with her mother, who was busying herself by pretending to tuck away items in Eloise's hastily gathered trousseau. It all, of course, had been taken care of by Eloise's lady's maid (brought up from London with the family) earlier that morning, but Eloise didn't comment upon her mother's idle busy-work. It seemed like Violet Bridgerton simply needed something to do while she talked.

Eloise, of all people, understood that need perfectly.

"I should complain that I'm being denied my proper moment of glory as the mother of the bride," Violet said to her daughter as she folded her lacy veil and placed it gently on top of a bureau, "but in truth I'm just happy to see you a bride."

Eloise smiled gently at her mother. "You'd quite despaired of it, hadn't you?"

"Quite." But then she cocked her head to the side and added, "Actually, no. I always thought you might surprise us in the end.