“She wandered over to the enclosed range, a rather modern-looking contraption that Cook had purchased earlier in the year. “Do you know how to work this?” she asked.“No idea. You?”Daphne shook her head. “None.” She reached forward and gingerly touched the surface of the stove top. “It's not hot.”“Not even a little bit?”She shook her head. “It's rather cold, actually.”Brother and sister were silent for a few seconds.“You know,” Anthony finally said, “cold milk might be quite refreshing.”“I was just thinking that very thing!”

“First of all, this goes no further than this room.""Agreed," she said quickly.Anthony looked pointedly at Simon."Of course," he replied."Mother would be devastated if she learned the truth.""Actually," Simon murmured, "I rather think your mother would applaud our ingenuity, but since you have quite obviously known her longer, I bow to your discretion."Anthony shot him a frosty look. "Second, under no circumstances are the two of you to be alone together. Ever.""Well, that should be easy," Daphne said, "as we wouldn't be allowed to be alone if we were courting in truth, anyway."Simon recalled their brief interlude in the hall at Lady Danbury's house, and found it a pity that he wasn't to be allowed any more private time with Daphne, but he recognized a brick wall when he saw one, especially when said wall happened to be named Anthony Bridgerton. So he just nodded and murmured his assent."Third—" "There is a third?" Daphne asked.            "There would be thirty if I could think of them," Anthony growled.                                        "Very well," she acceded, looking most aggrieved. "If you must.”

“The youngest one,” she interrupted. “The youngest son, I mean. The one who is unmarried.”“I know who he is.”“Very well, then. What is wrong with him?” At that she cocked her head to the side and waited expectantly.He thought for a moment. “Nothing.”“You—wait.” She blinked. “Nothing?”He shook his head, then shifted his weight a little; his good foot was beginning to fall asleep. “Nothing comes immediately to mind.” It was true. She could do a good deal worse than Gregory Bridgerton.“Really?” she asked suspiciously. “You find nothing at all objectionable about him.”Marcus pretended to think about this a bit longer. Clearly he was supposed to be playing a role here, probably that of the villain. Or if not that, then the grumpy old man. “I suppose he’s a bit young,” he said.”

“Daphne Bridgerton, I don't—""—like my tone, I know." Daphne grinned. "But you love me."Violet smiled warmly and wrapped an arm around Daphne's shoulder. "Heaven help me, I do."Daphne gave her mother a quick peck on the cheek. "It's the curse of motherhood. You're required to love us even when we vex you."Violet just sighed. "I hope that someday you have children—""—just like me, I know." Daphne smiled nostalgically and rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Her mother could be overly inquisitive, and her father had been more interested in hounds and hunting than he'd been in society affairs, but theirs had been a warm marriage, filled with love, laughter, and children. "I could do a great deal worse than follow your example, Mother," she murmured.”

“But that’s not what I’m trying to tell you,” Violet said, her eyes taking on a slightly determined expression. “What I’m trying to say is that when you were born, and they put you into my arms—it’s strange, because for some reason I was so convinced you would look just like your father. I thought for certain I would look down and see his face, and it would be some sort of sign from heaven.”Hyacinth’s breath caught as she watched her, and she wondered why her mother had never told her this story. And why she’d never asked.“But you didn’t,” Violet continued. “You looked rather like me. And then—oh my, I remember this as if it were yesterday—you looked into my eyes, and you blinked. Twice.”“Twice?” Hyacinth echoed, wondering why this was important.“Twice.” Violet looked at her, her lips curving into a funny little smile. “I only remember it because you looked so deliberate. It was the strangest thing. You gave me a look as if to say, ‘I know exactly what I’m doing.’ ”A little burst of air rushed past Hyacinth’s lips, and she realized it was a laugh. A small one, the kind that takes a body by surprise.“And then you let out a wail,” Violet said, shaking her head. “My heavens, I thought you were going to shake the paint right off the walls. And I smiled. It was the first time since your father died that I smiled.”Violet took a breath, then reached for her tea. Hyacinth watched as her mother composed herself, wanting desperately to ask her to continue, but somehow knowing the moment called for silence.For a full minute Hyacinth waited, and then finally her mother said, softly, “And from that moment on, you were so dear to me. I love all my children, but you…” She looked up, her eyes catching Hyacinth’s. “You saved me.”Something squeezed in Hyacinth’s chest. She couldn’t quite move, couldn’t quite breathe. She could only watch her mother’s face, listen to her words, and be so very, very grateful that she’d been lucky enough to be her child.“In some ways I was a little too protective of you,” Violet said, her lips forming the tiniest of smiles, “and at the same time too lenient. You were so exuberant, so completely sure of who you were and how you fit into the world around you. You were a force of nature, and I didn’t want to clip your wings.”“Thank you,” Hyacinth whispered, but the words were so soft, she wasn’t even sure she’d said them aloud.”

“Tea?” Daniel asked, signaling to the innkeeper.“Please. Or anything that is hot.” She pulled off her gloves, pausing to frown at a little hole that was growing at the tip of her right forefinger. That wouldn’t do. She needed all the dignity she could muster in that finger.Heaven knew she shook it at the girls often enough.”

“By the following morning, Anthony was drunk. By afternoon, he was hungover.His head was pounding, his ears were ringing, and his brothers, who had been surprised to discover himin such a state attheir club, were talking far too loudly.Anthony put his hands over his ears and groaned.Everyone was talking far too loudly.“Kate boot you out of the house?” Colin asked, grabbing a walnut from a large pewter dish in the middletheir table andsplitting it open with a viciously loud crack.Anthony lifted his head just far enough to glare at him.Benedict watched his brother with raised brows and the vaguest hint of a smirk. “She definitely bootedhim out,” he said to Colin. “Hand me one of those walnuts, will you?”Colin tossed one across the table. “Do you want the crackers as well?”Benedict shook his head and grinned as he held up a fat, leather-bound book. “Much more satisfying tosmash them.”“Don’t,” Anthony bit out, his hand shooting out to grab the book, “even think about it.”“Ears a bit sensitive this afternoon, are they?”If Anthony had had a pistol, he would have shot them both, hang the noise.“If I might offer you a piece of advice?” Colin said, munching on his walnut.“You might not,” Anthony replied. He looked up. Colin was chewing with his mouth open. As this hadbeen strictly forbidden while growing up in their household, Anthony could only deduce that Colin wasdisplaying such poor manners only to make more noise. “Close your damned mouth,” he muttered.Colin swallowed, smacked his lips, and took a sip of his tea to wash it all down. “Whatever you did,apologize for it. I know you, and I’m getting to know Kate, and knowing what I know—”“What the hell is he talking about?” Anthony grumbled.“I think,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair, “that he’s telling you you’re an ass.”“Just so!” Colin exclaimed.Anthony just shook his head wearily. “It’s more complicated than you think.”“It always is,” Benedict said, with sincerity so false it almost managed to sound sincere.“When you two idiots find women gullible enough to actually marry you,” Anthony snapped, “then youmay presume tooffer me advice. But until then ...shut up.”Colin looked at Benedict. “Think he’s angry?”Benedict quirked a brow. “That or drunk.”Colin shook his head. “No, not drunk. Not anymore, at least. He’s clearly hungover.”“Which would explain,” Benedict said with a philosophical nod, “why he’s so angry.”Anthony spread one hand over his face and pressed hard against his temples with his thumb and middlefinger. “God above,”he muttered. ‘‘What would it take to get you two to leave me alone?”“Go home, Anthony,” Benedict said, his voice surprisingly gentle.”