To Sir Phillip, With Love

Men. The day they learned to admit to a mistake was the day they became women.

If one didn't have love, was it better, then, to be alone?

He shook his head in wonder. "You are magnificent." "I keep telling everyone that," she said with a nonchalant shrug, "But you seem to be the only one to believe me.

There is so much I hope to teach you, little one. I hope that I may do so by example, but I feel the need to put the words to paper as well. It is a quirk of mine, one which I expect you will recognize and find amusing by the time you read this letter. Be strong. Be diligent. Be conscientious. There is never anything to be gained by taking the easy road. (Unless, of course, the road is an easy one to begin with. Roads sometimes are. If that should be the case, do not forge a new, more difficult one. Only martyrs go out looking for trouble.) Love your siblings. You have two already, and God willing, there will be more. Love them well, for they are your blood, and when you are unsure, or times are difficult, they will be the ones to stand by your side. Laugh. Laugh out loud, and laugh often. And when circumstances call for silence, turn your laugh into a smile. Don't settle. Know what you want and reach for it. And if you don't know what you want, be patient. The answers will come to you in time, and you may find that your heart s desire has been right under your nose all the while. And remember, always remember that you have a mother and a father who love each other and love you. I feel you growing restless. Your father is making strange gasping sounds and will surely lose his temper altogether if I do not move from my escritoire to my bed. Welcome to the world, little one. We are all so delighted to make your acquaintance.

I had to do something," she said. "I couldn't just sit and wait for life to happen to me any longer.

. . . I do not tell you often enough, dear Mother, how very grateful I am that I am yours. It is a rare parent who would offer a child such latitude and understanding. It is an even rarer one who calls a daughter friend. I do love you, dear Mama.

Phillip looked to Eloise. "Perhaps introductions are in order?" "Oh," Eloise said, gulping. "Yes, of course. These are my brothers." "I'd gathered," he said, his voice as dry as dust. She shot him an apologetic look, which, Phillip thought, was really the least she could do after nearly getting him tortured and killed, then turned to her brothers and motioned to each in turn, saying, "Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Gregory. These three," she added, motioning to A, B, and C, "are my elders. This one"—she waved dismissively at Gregory—"is an infant.

Until you've lived through all that," he said, "don't you ever complain about what we have. Because to me... to me..." He choked on the words, but he barely paused before he continued. "This - us - is heaven. I can't bear to hear you say otherwise.

A lot could happen in a week. Just look at the last one.

You’re very impatient,” Violet said, facing the door. “You always have been.” “I know,” Eloise said, wondering if this was a scolding, and if so, why was her mother choosing to do it now? “I always loved that about you,” Violet said. “I always loved everything about you, of course, but for some reason I always found your impatience especially charming. It was never because you wanted more, it was because you wanted everything.” Eloise wasn’t so sure that sounded like such a good trait. “You wanted everything for everyone, and you wanted to know it all and learn it all, and . . .” For a moment Eloise thought her mother might be done, but then Violet turned around and added, “You’ve never been satisfied with second-best, and that’s good, Eloise. I’m glad you never married any of those men who proposed in London. None of them would have made you happy. Content, maybe, but not happy.” Eloise felt her eyes widen with surprise. “But don’t let your impatience become all that you are,” Violet said softly. “Because it isn’t, you know. There’s a great deal more to you, but I think sometimes you forget that.” She smiled, the gentle, wise smile of a mother saying goodbye to her daughter.

It was nearly impossible to keep anything a secret, especially from her sisters, the youngest of whom—Hyacinth—could probably have won the war against Napoleon in half the time if His Majesty had only thought to draft her into the espionage service.

This was killing her. She had to break the silence. This was not natural. It was too awful. People were meant to talk.

She looked up at him, wondering when it was that this man, her brother, had become so wise. If he'd yelled one more word, spent one more minute speaking to her in that mocking voice, she would have broke. She would have broke, or she would have hardened, but either way, something between them would have been ruined. But here he was, Anthony of all people, who was arrogant and proud and every inch the arch nobleman he'd been born to be, kneeling at her side, placing his hand on hers, and speaking with a kindness that nearly broke her heart.

Love your siblings. Love them well, for they are your blood, and when you are unsure,or times are difficult, they will be the ones to stand by your side.

Are you certain you'll be happy?" she asked. Eloise smiled ruefully. "It's a little late to wonder, don't you think?" "It might be too late to do anything about it, but it's never too late to wonder.

Neither one of you is going to kill, maim, attack, or even hug the other for at least thirty minutes.

Shall we return to the dining room?" Anthony queried. "I imagine you're hungry, and if we tarry much longer, Colin is sure to have eaten our host out of house and home." Eloise nodded. "Either that, or they've all killed him by now." Anthony paused to consider that. "It would save me the expense of a wedding." "Anthony!" "It's a joke, Eloise," he said, giving his head a weary shake. "Come along, now. Let's make sure your Sir Phillip still resides among the ranks of the living.

Were you tempted?" "Of course not! Kate would slit my throat." "I'm not talking about what Kate would do to you if you strayed, although I'm of the opinion that she would not start at your throat.

I never thought I would be left behind." He chuckled. "Eloise Bridgerton, I don't think anyone wouldever make the mistake of leaving you behind.

Phillip muttered something under his breath. "What did you say?" she asked. "Nothing." "You said something." He gave her an impatient look. "If I'd meant for you to hear it, I would have said it out loud." She sucked in her breath. "Then you shouldn't have said it at all." "Some things," Phillip muttered, "are impossible to keep inside." "What did yousay?" she demanded. Phillip raked his hand through his hair. "Eloise—" "Did you insult me?" "Do you really want to know?" "Since it appears we are to be wed," she bit off, "yes." "I don't recall my exact words," Phillip shot back, "but I believe I may have uttered the wordswomen andlack of sense in the same breath.

Be strong. Be diligent. Be conscientious. There is never anything to be gained by taking the easy road.

Don’t settle. Know what you want and reach for it. And if you don’t know what you want, be patient. The answers will come to you in time, and you may find that your heart’s desire has been right under your nose all the while. And

when he found her, upstairs in the hall outside her bedchamber, her hair had gone white. As, it seemed, had the rest of her. Bloody hell. 'Oliver!' he bellowed. 'Amanda!' 'Oh, they're long gone,' Eloisa bit off. She looked up at him with fuming eyes. Fuming eyes which, he couldn't help but note, were the only part of her not covered with a remarkably thick coating of flour. Well, good for her for closing them in time. He'd always admired quick reflexes in a woman. 'Miss Bridgerton,' he said, his hand moving forward to help her, then retracting as he realized there *was* no helping her. 'I cannot begin to express-' '*Don't* apologize for them,' she snapped ... He took a self-preservational step back. 'I gather the twins paid you a visit,' he said. 'Oh, yes,' she replied, with no small measure of sarcasm. 'And then scampered away. The little cowards themselves are nowhere to be found.' 'Well, they wouldn't be far,' he mused ... 'They'd want to see the results, of course ... I don't suppose you heard any laughter when the flour came down? Cackling, perhaps?' ... 'It was difficult,' she said, so tightly he wondered if her jaw might snap, 'to hear anything but the sound of the bucket hitting my head.

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.

Eloise?' Phillip asked, his brows shooting up when they both heard someone bellow her name. She felt the blood drain from her body. Positively felt it, *knew* it had happened, even though she couldn't see it pooling about her feet. There was no way she could survive a moment such as this, no way she could make it through without killing someone, preferably someone to whom she was quite closely related.

Do you have any idea how mortifying this is?' Her brothers stared at her, quite rightly, in Phillip's opinion, as if she'd gone mad. 'You lost the right,' Anthony bit off, 'to feel mortified, embarrassed, chagrined, or in fact any emotion other than blindingly stupid when you ran off without a word.

Laugh. Laugh out loud, and laugh often. And when circumstances call for silence, turn your laugh into a smile. Don

Don't tell me you've been harboring secret fantasies about the farm laborers.' 'Of course not,' she said, 'although...' There was no way he was going to let those words trail off into oblivion. 'Although?' he prompted. She looked a bit sheepish. 'Well, they do look terribly...*elemental*...out there in the sun, toiling away.' He smiled. Slowly, like a man about to feast upon his dream come true.