Read Online The Bridgertons Happily Ever After by Julia Quinn - Free Book Online Page B

time,” she added, a little waspishly.
    He gave her a wave. “Think nothing of it.”
    “Are you listening to me?” she asked, her eyes narrowing.
    “Every word,” he assured her, actually lowering the paper enough to see her above the top edge. He hadn’t actually seen her eyes narrow, but he knew her well enough to hear it in her voice.
    “We need to find a husband for Posy.”
    He considered that. “Perhaps she doesn’t want one.”
    “Of course she wants one!”
    “I have been told,” Benedict opined, “that every woman wants a husband, but in my experience, this is not precisely true.”
    Sophie just stared at him, which he did not find surprising. It was a fairly lengthy statement, coming from a man with a newspaper.
    “Consider Eloise,” he said. He shook his head, which was his usual inclination while thinking of his sister. “How many men has she refused now?”
    “At least three,” Sophie said, “but that’s not the point.”
    “What is the point, then?”
    “ Posy .”
    “Right,” he said slowly.
    Sophie leaned forward, her eyes taking on an odd mix of bewilderment and determination. “I don’t know why the gentlemen don’t see how wonderful she is.”
    “She’s an acquired taste,” Benedict said, momentarily forgetting that he wasn’t supposed to offer a real opinion.
    “ What? ”
    “ You said she’s not for everyone.”
    “But you’re not supposed to—” She slumped a bit in her seat. “Never mind.”
    “What were you going to say?”
    “Nothing.”
    “ Sophie ,” he prodded.
    “Just that you weren’t supposed to agree with me,” she muttered. “But even I can recognize how ridiculous that is.”
    It was a splendid thing, Benedict had long since realized, to have a sensible wife.
    Sophie didn’t speak for some time, and Benedict would have resumed his perusal of the newspaper, except that it was too interesting watching her face. She’d chew on her lip, then let out a weary sigh, then straighten a bit, as if she’d got a good thought, then frown.
    Really, he could have watched her all afternoon.
    “Can you think of anyone?” she suddenly asked.
    “For Posy?”
    She gave him a look. A whom-else-might-I-be-speaking-of look.
    He let out a breath. He should have anticipated the question, but he’d begun to think of the painting he was working on his studio. It was a portrait of Sophie, the fourth he’d done in their three years of marriage. He was beginning to think that he’d not got her mouth quite right. It wasn’t the lips so much as the corners of her mouth. A good portraitist needed to understand the muscles of the human body, even those on the face, and—
    “Benedict!”
    “What about Mr. Folsom?” he said quickly.
    “The solicitor?”
    He nodded.
    “He looks shifty.”
    She was right, he realized, now that he thought on it. “Sir Reginald?”
    Sophie gave him another look, visibly disappointed with his selection. “He’s fat .”
    “So is—”
    “She is not ,” Sophie cut in. “She is pleasantly plump.”
    “I was going to say that so is Mr. Folsom,” Benedict said, feeling the need to defend himself, “but that you had chosen to comment upon his shiftiness.”
    “Oh.”
    He allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
    “Shiftiness is far worse than excess weight,” she mumbled.
    “I could not agree more,” Benedict said. “What about Mr. Woodson?”
    “Who?”
    “The new vicar. The one you said—”
    “—has a brilliant smile!” Sophie finished excitedly. “Oh, Benedict, that’s perfect! Oh, I love you love you love you!” At that, she practically leapt across the low table between them and into his arms.
    “Well, I love you, too,” he said, and he congratulated himself on having had the foresight to shut the door to the drawing room earlier.
    The newspaper flew over his shoulder, and all was right with the world.
     
    The season drew to a close a few weeks later, and so Posy decided to accept Sophie’s invitation for an