Eloise spent the entire day in the garden, lounging on an exceedingly comfortable chaise that she was quite convinced had been imported from Italy, since it was her experience that neither the English nor the French had any clue as to how to fashion comfortable furniture.

Not that she normally spent a great deal of time pondering the construction of chairs and sofas, but stuck outside by herself in the Romney Hall garden, it wasn’t as if she had anything else to ponder.

No, not a thing. Not a single thing to think about other than the comfortable chaise beneath her, and maybe the fact that Sir Phillip was an ill-mannered beast for leaving her alone for the entire day after his two little monsters—whose existence, she added into her thoughts with a mental flourish, he had never seen fit to reveal in his correspondence—had given her a blackened eye.

It was a perfect day, with a blue sky and a light breeze, and Eloise didn’t have a single thing in the world to think about.

She had never been so bored in her life.

It wasn’t in her nature to sit still and watch the clouds float by. She would much rather be out doing something—taking a walk, inspecting a hedgerow, anything other than just sitting like a lump on the chaise, staring aimlessly at the horizon.

Or if she had to sit here, at least she could have done so in the company of another person. She supposed the clouds might have been more interesting if she weren’t quite so alone, if someone were here to whom she might say, Goodness, but that one looks rather like a rabbit, don’t you think?

But no, she’d been left quite on her own. Sir Phillip was off in his greenhouse—she could see it from here, even see him moving about from time to time—and while she really wanted to get up and join him, if for no other reason than the fact that his plants had to be more interesting than the blasted clouds, she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of seeking him out.

Not after he’d rejected her so abruptly this afternoon. Good heavens, the man had practically fled from her company. It had been the oddest thing. She’d thought they were dealing with each other rather well, and then he’d grown quite abrupt, making up some sort of excuse about how he needed to work and fleeing the room as if she were plagued.

Odious man.

She picked up the book she’d selected from the library and held it resolutely in front of her face. She was going to read the blasted thing this time if it killed her.

Of course, that was what she’d told herself the last four times she’d picked it up. She never managed to get past a single sentence—a paragraph if she was really disciplined—before her mind wandered and the text on the page grew unfocused and, it went without saying, unread.

Served her right, she supposed, for being so irritated with Sir Phillip that she hadn’t paid any attention in the library and she’d snatched up the first book she’d seen.

The Botany of Ferns? What had she been thinking?

Even worse, if he saw her with it, he’d surely think she’d chosen it because she wanted to learn more about his interests.

Eloise blinked with surprise when she realized that she had reached the end of her page. She didn’t recall a single sentence, and in fact wondered if perhaps her eyes had only slid along the words without actually reading the letters.

This was ridiculous. She thrust the book aside and stood up, taking a few steps to test out the tenderness of her hip. Allowing herself a satisfied smile when she realized that the pain wasn’t bad at all, and in fact couldn’t even be called anything beyond mild discomfort, she walked all the way to the riotous mass of rosebushes off to the north, leaning forward to sniff the buds. They were still tightly closed—it was early in the season, after all—but maybe they’d have a scent, and—

“What the devil are you doing?”

Eloise just managed to avoid falling into the rosebush as she turned around. “Sir Phillip,” she said, as if that weren’t completely obvious.

He looked irate. “You’re supposed to be sitting down.”

“I was sitting down.”

“You were supposed to stay sitting down.”

She decided the truth would make an excellent explanation. “I was bored.”

He glanced over at the chaise in the distance. “Didn’t you get a book from the library?”

She shrugged. “I finished it.”

He quirked a brow in patent disbelief.

She returned his expression with an arch look of her own.

“Well, you need to sit down,” he said gruffly.

“I’m perfectly fine.” She patted her hip gently. “It hardly hurts at all now.”

He stared at her for some time, his expression irritable, as if he wanted to say something but didn’t know what. He must have left the greenhouse in a hurry, because he was quite filthy, with dirt along his arms, under every fingernail, and streaked quite liberally on his shirt. He looked a fright, at least by the standards Eloise had grown used to in London, but there was something almost appealing about him, something rather primitive and elemental as he stood there scowling at her.

“I can’t work if I have to worry about you,” he grumbled.

“Then don’t work,” she replied, thinking the solution quite obvious.

“I’m in the middle of something,” he muttered, sounding, in Eloise’s opinion, at least, rather like a sullen child.

“Then I’ll accompany you,” she said, brushing past him on the way to the greenhouse. Really, how did he expect them to decide if they would suit if they didn’t spend any time together?

He reached out to grab her, then remembered that his hand was covered with dirt. “Miss Bridgerton,” he said sharply, “you can’t—”

“Couldn’t you use the help?” she interrupted.

“No,” he said, and in such a tone that she really couldn’t continue the argument along those lines.

“Sir Phillip,” she ground out, completely losing patience with him, “may I ask you a question?”

Visibly startled by her sudden turn of conversation, he just nodded—once, curtly, the way men liked to do when they were annoyed and wanted to pretend they were in charge.

“Are you the same man you were last night?”

He looked at her as if she were a lunatic. “I beg your pardon.”

“The man I spent the evening with last night,” she said, just barely resisting the urge to cross her arms as she spoke, “the one with whom I shared a meal and then toured the house and greenhouse, actually spoke to me, and in fact, seemed to enjoy my company, astonishing as it might seem.”

He did nothing but stare at her for several seconds, then muttered, “I enjoy your company.”

“Then why,” she asked, “have I been sitting alone in the garden for three hours?”

“It hasn’t been three hours.”

“It doesn’t matter how long—”

“It’s been forty-five minutes,” he said.

“Be that as it may—”

“Be that as it is.”

“Well,” she declared, mostly because she suspected he might have been correct, which put her in something of an awkward position, and well, seemed all she could say without embarrassing herself further.

“Miss Bridgerton,” he said, his clipped voice a reminder that just the night before he’d been calling her Eloise.

And kissing her. “As you might have guessed,” he continued sharply, “this morning’s episode with my children has left me in a foul mood. I thought merely to spare you my company, such as it is.”

“I see,” she said, rather impressed with the supercilious edge to her voice.

“Good.”

Except that she was quite certain she did see. That he was lying, to be precise. Oh, his children had put him in a foul mood, that much was true, but there was something else at work as well.

“I will leave you to your work, then,” she said, motioning to the greenhouse with a gesture that was meant to seem as if she were waving him away.

He eyed her suspiciously. “And what do you plan to do?”

“I suppose I shall write some letters and then go for a walk,” she replied.

“You will not go for a walk,” he growled.

Almost, Eloise thought, as if he actually cared about her.

“Sir Phillip,” she replied, “I assure you that I am perfectly fine. I’m quite certain I look a great deal worse than I feel.”

“You had better look worse than you feel,” he muttered.

Eloise scowled at him. It was a blackened eye, after all, and thus only a temporary blight on her appearance, but truly, he didn’t need to remind her that she looked a fright.

“I shall remain out of your way,” she told him, “which is all that really matters, correct?”

A vein began to twitch in his temple. Eloise took great pleasure in that.

“Go,” she said. And when he didn’t, she turned and began to walk through a gate to another segment of the garden.

“Stop this instant,” Sir Phillip ordered, closing the distance between them with a single step. “You may not go for a walk.”

Eloise wanted to ask him if he intended to tie her down, but she held her tongue, fearing that he might actually approve of the suggestion.

“Sir Phillip,” she said, “I fail to see how— Oh!”

Grumbling something about foolish women (and using another adjective which Eloise considered considerably less complimentary), Sir Phillip scooped her into his arms and strode over to the chaise, where he dumped her quite unceremoniously back onto the cushion.

“Stay there,” he ordered.

She sputtered, trying to find her voice after his unbelievable display of arrogance. “You can’t—”

“Good God, woman, you could try the patience of a saint.”

She glared at him.

“What,” he asked with weary impatience, “would it take to keep you from moving from this spot?”

“I can’t think of a thing,” she answered, quite honestly.

“Fine,” he said, his chin jutting out in a furiously stubborn manner. “Hike the entire countryside. Swim to France.”

“From Gloucestershire?” she asked, her lips twitching.

“If anyone could figure out a way to do it,” he said, “it would be you. Good day, Miss Bridgerton.”

And then he stalked off, leaving Eloise exactly where she’d been ten minutes earlier. Sitting on the chaise, so surprised by his sudden departure that she quite forgot that she’d meant to get up and leave.

If Phillip hadn’t already been convinced that he had made an ass of himself earlier that day, Eloise’s short missive informing him that she intended to take supper in her room that evening made it quite clear.

Considering she’d spent the afternoon complaining that she had no company, her decision to pass the evening by herself was a pointed insult, indeed.

He ate alone, in silence, as he had for so many months. Years, really, since Marina had rarely left her room to dine when she’d been alive. One would have thought he’d have grown used to it, but now he was restless and uncomfortable, ever aware of the servants, who all knew that Miss Bridgerton had rejected his company.

He grumbled to himself as he chewed his beefsteak. He knew that one was supposed to ignore the servants and go about daily life as if they didn’t exist, or if they did, as if they were an entirely different species altogether. And while he had to admit he didn’t have much interest in their lives outside of Romney Hall, the fact remained that they had interest in his, and he rather detested being the subject of gossip.

Which he surely would be tonight, as they gathered for supper in the alcove off the kitchen.

He took a vicious bite of his roll. He hoped they had to eat that damned fish from Amanda’s bed.

He made his way through the salad and the poultry and the pudding, even though the soup and the meat had proven quite enough. But there was always the chance that Eloise would change her mind and join him for supper. It didn’t seem likely, given her stubborn streak, but if she decided to bend her will, he wanted to be present when it happened.

When it became apparent that this was nothing but wishful thinking on his part, he considered going up to her, but even out here in the country, that was quite inappropriate, and besides, he doubted she wanted to see him.

Well, that wasn’t quite true. He rather thought that she did want to see him, but she wanted him humbled and apologetic. And even if he didn’t utter a single word resembling either I’m or sorry, his very appearance would be tantamount to eating crow.

Which wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, considering that he’d already decided he’d be willing to wrap himself around her feet and beg her piteously to marry him if she would only consent to stay and mother his children. This, even though he had botched it up completely this afternoon—and morning, really, if one were to be honest about it.

But wanting to woo a woman didn’t mean one actually knew how to go about it.

His brother had been the one born with all the charm and flair, always knowing what to say and how to act. George would never have even noticed that the servants were eyeing him as if they were going to gossip about him ten minutes later, and in truth, the point was moot, because all that the servants had ever had to say was along the lines of, “That Master George is such a rascal.” All said with a smile and a blush, of course.

Phillip, on the other hand, had been quieter, more thoughtful, and certainly less suited to the role of father and lord of the manor. He’d always planned to leave Romney Hall and never look back, at least while his father was still alive. George was to marry Marina and have a half dozen perfect children, and Phillip would be the gruff and slightly eccentric uncle who lived over in Cambridge, spending all his time in his greenhouse, conducting experiments that no one else understood or in truth even cared about.

That was how it was supposed to be, but it had all changed on a battlefield in Belgium.

England had won the war, but that had been little comfort to Phillip when his father had dragged him back to Gloucestershire, determined to mold him into a proper heir.

Determined to change him into George, who had always been his favorite.

And then his father had died. Right there, right in front of Phillip, his heart gave out in a screaming rage, surely exaggerated by the fact that his son was now too large to be hauled over his knee and beaten with a paddle.

And Phillip became Sir Phillip, with all the rights and responsibilities of a baronet.

Rights and responsibilities he had never, ever wanted.

He loved his children, loved them more than life itself, so he supposed he was glad for the way it had all turned out, but he still felt as if he were failing. Romney Hall was doing well—Phillip had introduced several new agricultural techniques he’d learned at university, and the fields were turning a profit for the first time since... well, Phillip didn’t know since when. They certainly hadn’t earned any money while his father had been alive.

But the fields were only fields. His children were human beings, flesh and blood, and every day he grew more convinced that he was failing them. Every day seemed to bring worse trouble (which terrified him; he couldn’t imagine what could possibly be worse than Miss Lockhart’s glued hair or Eloise’s blackened eye) and he had no idea what to do. Whenever he tried to talk to them, he seemed to say the wrong thing. Or do the wrong thing. Or not do anything, all because he was so scared that he’d lose his temper.

Except for that one time. Supper last night with Eloise and Amanda. For the first time in recent memory, he’d handled his daughter exactly right. Something about Eloise’s presence had calmed him, lent him a clarity of thought he usually lacked when it came to his children. He was able to see the humor in the situation, where he usually saw nothing but his own frustration.

Which was all the more reason he needed to make sure Eloise stayed and married him. And all the more reason he wasn’t going to go to her tonight and try to make amends.

He didn’t mind eating crow. Hell, he would have eaten an entire flock if that was what it took.

He just didn’t want to muck up the situation any worse than it already was.

Eloise rose quite early the following morning, which wasn’t surprising, since she’d crawled into bed at only half eight the night before. She’d regretted her self-imposed exile almost the moment after she’d sent the note down to Sir Phillip informing him of her decision to take supper in her room.

She’d been thoroughly annoyed with him earlier in the day, and she’d allowed her irritation to rule her thinking. The truth was, she hated eating by herself, hated sitting alone at a table with nothing to do but stare at her food and guess how many bites it might take to finish one’s potatoes. Even Sir Phillip in his most obstinate and uncommunicative of moods would have been better than nothing.

Besides, she still wasn’t convinced that they wouldn’t suit, and dining apart wasn’t going to offer her any further insight into his personality and temperament.

He could be a bear—and a grumpy one, at that—but when he smiled... Eloise suddenly understood what all those young ladies were talking about when they’d waxed rhapsodic over her brother Colin’s smile (which Eloise found rather ordinary; it was Colin, after all.)

But when Sir Phillip smiled, he was transformed. His dark eyes assumed a devilish twinkle, full of humor and mischief, as if he knew something she didn’t. But that wasn’t what sent her heart fluttering. Eloise was a Bridgerton, after all. She’d seen plenty of devilish twinkles and prided herself on being quite immune to them.

When Sir Phillip looked at her and smiled, there was an air of shyness to it, as if he weren’t quite used to smiling at women. And she was left with the feeling that he was a man who, if all the pieces of their puzzle fell together in just the right way, might someday come to treasure her. Even if he never loved her, he would value her and not take her for granted.

And it was for that reason that Eloise was not yet prepared to pack her bags and leave, despite his rather gruff behavior of the previous day.

Stomach growling, she made her way down to the breakfast room, only to be informed that Sir Phillip had already come and gone. Eloise tried not to be discouraged. It didn’t mean he was trying to avoid her; it was entirely possible, after all, that he had assumed she was not an early riser and had elected not to wait for her.

But when she peeked into his greenhouse and found it empty, she declared herself stymied and went looking for other company.

Oliver and Amanda owed her an afternoon, didn’t they? Eloise marched resolutely up the stairs. There was no reason they couldn’t make it a morning, instead.

“You want to go swimming?”

Oliver was looking at her as if she were mad.

“I do,” Eloise replied with a nod. “Don’t you?”

“No,” he said.

“I do,” Amanda piped up, sticking her tongue out at her brother when he shot her a ferocious glare. “I love to swim, and so does Oliver. He’s just too cross with you to admit it.”

“I don’t think they should go,” replied their nursemaid, a rather stern-looking woman of indeterminate years.

“Nonsense,” Eloise said breezily, disliking the woman immediately. She looked the sort to tug on ears and rap hands. “It is unseasonably warm and a bit of exercise will be quite healthful.”

“Nevertheless—” the nursemaid said, her testy voice demonstrating her irritation at having her authority challenged.

“I shall give them lessons while we go about it,” Eloise continued, using the tone of voice her mother used when it was clear she would brook no argument. “They are currently without a governess, aren’t they?”

“Indeed,” the nurse said, “the two little monsters glued—”

“Whatever the reason for her departure,” Eloise interrupted, quite certain she didn’t want to know what they had done to their last governess, “I’m sure it has been a monstrous burden upon you to assume both roles these last few weeks.”

“Months,” the nursemaid bit off.

“Even worse,” Eloise agreed. “One would think you deserve a free morning, wouldn’t one?”

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a brief trip into town....”

“Then it’s settled.” Eloise glanced down at the children and allowed herself a small moment of self-congratulation. They were staring at her in awe. “Off you go,” she said to the nurse, bustling her out the door. “Enjoy your morning.”

She shut the door behind the still-bewildered nurse and turned to face the children.

“You are very clever,” Amanda said breathlessly.

Even Oliver couldn’t help but nod his agreement.

“I hate Nurse Edwards,” Amanda said.

“Of course you don’t,” Eloise said, but her heart wasn’t into the statement; she hadn’t much liked Nurse Edwards, either.

“Yes, we do,” Oliver said. “She’s horrid.”

Amanda nodded. “I wish we could have Nurse Millsby back, but she had to leave to care for her mother. She’s sick,” she explained.

“Her mother,” Oliver said, “not Nurse Millsby.”

“How long has Nurse Edwards been here?” Eloise asked.

“Five months,” Amanda said glumly. “Five very long months.”

“Well, I’m sure she’s not as bad as all that,” Eloise said, intending to say more, but closing her mouth when Oliver interrupted with—

“Oh, she is.”

Eloise wasn’t about to disparage another adult, especially one who was meant to have some authority over them, so instead she decided to sidestep the issue by saying, “It doesn’t matter this morning, does it, because you have me instead.”

Amanda reached out shyly and took her hand. “I like you,” she said.

“I like you, too,” Eloise replied, surprised by the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Oliver said nothing. Eloise wasn’t insulted. It took some people longer to warm up to a person than others. Besides, these children had a right to be wary. Their mother had left them, after all. Granted, it was through death, but they were young; all they would know was that they had loved her and she was gone.

Eloise remembered well the months following the death of her father. She had clung to her mother at every opportunity, telling herself that if she just kept her nearby (or even better, holding her hand), then her mother couldn’t leave, either.

Was it any wonder that these children resented their new nursemaid? They had probably been cared for by Nurse Millsby since birth. Losing her so soon after Marina’s death must have been doubly difficult.

“I’m sorry we blackened your eye,” Amanda said.

Eloise squeezed her hand. “It looks much worse than it actually is.”

“It looks dreadful,” Oliver admitted, his little face beginning to show signs of remorse.

“Yes, it does,” Eloise agreed, “but it’s starting to grow on me. I think I look rather like a soldier who’s been to battle—and won!”

“You don’t look like you’ve won,” Oliver said, one corner of his mouth twisting in a dubious expression.

“Nonsense. Of course I do. Anyone who actually comes home from battle wins.”

“Does that mean Uncle George lost?” Amanda asked.

“You father’s brother?”

Amanda nodded. “He died before we were born.”

Eloise wondered if they knew that their mother was originally to have married him. Probably not. “Your uncle was a hero,” she said with quiet respect.

“But not Father,” Oliver said.

“Your father couldn’t go to war because he had too many responsibilities here,” Eloise explained. “But this is a very serious conversation for such a fine morning, don’t you think? We should be out swimming and having a grand time.”

The twins quickly caught her enthusiasm, and in no time they were changed into their bathing costumes and headed across the fields to the lake.

“We must practice our arithmetic!” Eloise called out as they skipped ahead.

And much to her surprise, they actually did. Who would have known that sixes and eights could be so much fun?