Eloise forbore to point out that Sophie had been her lady’s maid for all of two weeks before she and Benedict had come to their senses and decided to marry. “Very well,” she allowed, “he’s quite handsome, if you like the rough, rural sort.”

“Which you do,” Sophie said pertly.

To her complete mortification, Eloise felt herself blush. “Perhaps,” she muttered.

“And,” Sophie said approvingly, “he brought flowers.”

“He’s a botanist,” Eloise said.

“That doesn’t make the gesture any less sweet.”

“No, just easier.”

“Eloise,” Sophie said disapprovingly, “stop this right now.”

“Stop what?”

“Trying to cut the poor man down before he even has a chance.”

“That’s not what I was doing at all,” Eloise protested, but she knew she was lying the moment the words left her lips. She hated that her family was trying to run her life, no matter how well intentioned they were, and it had left her feeling sullen and uncooperative.

“Well, I think the flowers are very sweet,” Sophie declared firmly. “I don’t care if he had eight thousand different varieties available to him. He still thought to bring them.”

Eloise nodded, hating herself. She wanted to feel better, wanted to be all smiles and cheer and optimism, but she just couldn’t manage it.

“Benedict didn’t give me all the details,” Sophie continued, ignoring Eloise’s distress. “You know how men are. They never tell you what you want to know.”

“What do you want to know?”

Sophie looked over at Sir Phillip, gauging how long she’d have before he reached their side. “Well, for one thing, is it true you’d not met him before you ran off?”

“Not face-to-face, no,” Eloise admitted. It all sounded so stupid when she recounted the tale. Who would have thought that she, a Bridgerton, would run away to a man she’d never met?

“Well,” Sophie said, her voice matter-of-fact, “if it all works out in the end, what a romantic tale it will be.”

Eloise swallowed uncomfortably. It was still too soon to know if it would “all work out in the end.” She rather suspected—no, in truth she was quite certain—that she’d find herself married to Sir Phillip, but who knew what sort of marriage it would be? She didn’t love him, not yet, anyway, and he didn’t love her, and she’d thought that would be all right, but now that she was here in Wiltshire, trying not to notice how Benedict looked at Sophie, she was wondering if she’d made a terrible mistake.

And did she really want to wed a man who was looking primarily for a mother for his children?

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

Unfortunately, the only way to answer these questions was to marry Sir Phillip and see how it went. And if it didn’t go well . . .

She’d be stuck.

The easiest way out of marriage was death, and frankly, that wasn’t something Eloise cared to contemplate.

“Miss Bridgerton.”

Phillip was standing in front of her, holding out a bouquet of white orchids. “I brought these for you.”

She smiled at him, heartened by the slightly nervous, giddy feeling that arose within her at his appearance. “Thank you,” she murmured, taking them and smelling the blooms. “They’re lovely.”

“Wherever did you find orchids?” Sophie asked. “They’re exquisite.”

“I grew them,” he answered. “I keep a greenhouse.”

“Yes, of course,” Sophie said. “Eloise mentioned that you are a botanist. I do like to garden myself, although I must say that most of the time I haven’t the least idea what I’m doing. Our caretakers here consider me the bane of their existence, I’m sure.”

Eloise cleared her throat, aware that she had not yet made introductions. “Sir Phillip,” she said, motioning to her sister-in-law, “this is Benedict’s wife Sophie.”

He bowed over her hand, murmuring, “Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Sophie said in her most friendly manner. “And please, do use my Christian name. I’m told you already do so with Eloise, and furthermore, it sounds as if you are practically a member of the family already.”

Eloise flushed.

“Oh!” Sophie exclaimed, instantly embarrassed. “I did not mean that in relation to you, Eloise. I would never assume— Oh, dear. What I meant to say was that I meant it because the men . . .” Her cheeks turned a deep red as she looked down at her hands. “Well,” she mumbled, “I’d heard there was a great deal of wine.”

Phillip cleared his throat. “A detail I’d prefer not to remember.”

“The fact that you remember at all is remarkable,” Eloise said sweetly.

He looked over at her, his expression clearly indicating that he had not been taken in by her sugary tone. “You’re too kind.”

“Does your head ache?” she asked.

He winced. “Like the devil.”

She should have been concerned. She should have been kind, especially since he’d gone to the trouble of bringing her rare orchids. But she couldn’t help feeling it was no more than he deserved, so she said (quietly, but still said it), “Good.”

“Eloise!” Sophie said disapprovingly.

“How is Benedict feeling?” Eloise asked her sweetly.

Sophie sighed. “He’s been a bear all morning, and Gregory hasn’t even risen from bed.”