“I know.” Edwina let out a little sigh. “But the truth is—and you know this even if I am not supposed to let on in public—I’m really rather bookish. I’d much rather spend my day in a library than gadding about in Hyde Park. I think I should enjoy life with a man who enjoyed scholarly pursuits as well.”
“Right. Hmmm…” Kate’s mind worked frantically. Edwina wasn’t likely to find a scholar back in Somerset, either. “You know, Edwina, it might be difficult to find you a true scholar outside the university towns. You might have to settle for a man who likes to read and learn as you do.”
“That would be all right,” Edwina said happily. “I’d be quite content with an amateur scholar.”
Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Surely they could find someone in London who liked to read.
“And do you know what?” Edwina added. “You truly cannot tell a book by its cover. All sorts of people are amateur scholars. Why, even that Viscount Bridgerton Lady Whistledown keeps talking about might be a scholar at heart.”
“Bite your tongue, Edwina. You are not to have anything to do with Viscount Bridgerton. Everyone knows he is the worst sort of rake. In fact, he’s the worst rake, period. In all London. In the entire country!”
“I know, I was just using him as an example. Besides, he’s not likely to choose a bride this year, anyway. Lady Whistledown said so, and you yourself said that she is almost always right.”
Kate patted her sister on the arm. “Don’t worry. We will find you a suitable husband. But not—not not not not not Viscount Bridgerton!”
At that very moment, the subject of their discussion was relaxing at White’s with two of his three younger brothers, enjoying a late afternoon drink.
Anthony Bridgerton leaned back in his leather chair, regarded his scotch with a thoughtful expression as he swirled it about, and then announced, “I’m thinking about getting married.”
Benedict Bridgerton, who had been indulging in a habit his mother detested—tipping his chair drunkenly on the back two legs—fell over.
Colin Bridgerton started to choke.
Luckily for Colin, Benedict regained his seat with enough time to smack him soundly on the back, sending a green olive sailing across the table.
It narrowly missed Anthony’s ear.
Anthony let the indignity pass without comment. He was all too aware that his sudden declaration had come as a bit of a surprise.
Well, perhaps more than a bit. “Complete,” “total,” and “utter” were words that came to mind.
Anthony knew that he did not fit the image of a man who had settling down on his mind. He’d spent the last decade as the worst sort of rake, taking pleasure where he may. For as he well knew, life was short and certainly meant to be enjoyed. Oh, he’d had a certain code of honor. He never dallied with well-bred young women. Anyone who might have any right to demand marriage was strictly off-limits.
With four younger sisters of his own, Anthony had a healthy degree of respect for the good reputations of gently bred women. He’d already nearly fought a duel for one of his sisters, all over a slight to her honor. And as for the other three…he freely admitted that he broke out in a cold sweat at the mere thought of their getting involved with a man who bore a reputation like his.
No, he certainly wasn’t about to despoil some other gentleman’s younger sister.
But as for the other sort of women—the widows and actresses who knew what they wanted and what they were getting into—he’d enjoyed their company and enjoyed it well. Since the day he left Oxford and headed west to London, he’d not been without a mistress.
Sometimes, he thought wryly, he’d not been without two.
He’d ridden in nearly every horse race society had to offer, he’d boxed at Gentleman Jackson’s, and he’d won more card games than he could count. （He’d lost a few, too, but he disregarded those.） He’d spent the decade of his twenties in a mindful pursuit of pleasure, tempered only by his overwhelming sense of responsibility to his family.
Edmund Bridgerton’s death had been both sudden and unexpected; he’d not had a chance to make any final requests of his eldest son before he perished. But if he had, Anthony was certain that he would have asked him to care for his mother and siblings with the same diligence and affection Edmund had displayed.
And so in between Anthony’s rounds of parties and horse races, he’d sent his brothers to Eton and Oxford, gone to a mind-numbing number of piano recitals given by his sisters （no easy feat; three out of four of them were tone deaf）， and kept a close and watchful eye on the family finances. With seven brothers and sisters, he saw it as his duty to make sure there was enough money to secure all of their futures.