Julia Quinn - When He Was Wicked With 2nd Epilogue (Bridgertons)

“The quality of the water, do you think?”

He smiled stealthily. “The quality of the woman pouring.”

She laughed. “You, my lord, need a wife. Immediately.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?”

“Because in your present state, you are clearly a danger to unmarried women everywhere.”

He couldn’t resist one last flirtation. “I hope you are including yourself in those ranks, Violet.”

And then a voice from the door: “Are you flirting with my mother ?”

It was Francesca, of course, impeccably turned out in a lavender morning dress adorned with a rather intricate stretch of Belgian lace. She looked as if she were very much trying to be stern with him.

And not entirely succeeding.

Michael allowed his lips to curve into a mysterious smile as he watched the two ladies take their seats. “I have traveled the world over, Francesca, and can say without qualification that there are few women with whom I’d rather flirt than your mother.”

“I am inviting you to supper right now,” Violet announced, “and I will not accept no for an answer.”

Michael chuckled. “I’d be honored.”

Across from him, Francesca murmured, “You are incorrigible.”

He just flashed her a lanky grin. This was good, he decided. The morning was proceeding exactly as he’d hoped, with he and Francesca falling into their old roles and habits. He was once again the reckless charmer and she was pretending to scold him, and all was as it had been back before John had died.

He’d been surprised last night. He hadn’t expected to see her. And he hadn’t been able to make sure that his public persona was firmly in place.

And it wasn’t as if it all was an act. He’d always been a bit reckless, and he probably was an irredeemable flirt. His mother certainly liked to say that he’d been charming the ladies since the age of four.

It was just that when he was with Francesca it was vitally important that that aspect of his personality remained at the forefront, so that she never suspected what lay underneath.

“What are your plans now that you are returned?” Violet asked.

Michael turned to her with what he knew had to be a blank expression. “I’m not certain, actually,” he said, ashamed to admit to himself that that was true. “I imagine it will take me some time to understand just what exactly is expected of me in my new role.”

“I’m sure Francesca can be of help in that quarter,” Violet said.

“Only if she wishes it,” Michael said quietly.

“Of course,” Francesca said, moving slightly to the side when a maid came in with a tea tray. “I will assist you in any way you need.”

“That was rather quick,” Michael murmured.

“I’m mad for tea,” Violet explained. “Drink it all day long. The maids keep water to near boiling on the stove at all times now.”

“Will you have some?” Francesca asked, since she had taken charge of pouring.

“Yes, thank you,” Michael replied.

“No one knows Kilmartin as Francesca does,” Violet said, with all the pride of a mother hen. “She will prove invaluable to you.”

“I am quite sure that you are correct,” Michael said, accepting a cup from Francesca. She had remembered how he took it—milk, no sugar. For some reason this pleased him immensely. “She has been the countess for six years, and for four of them, she has had to be the earl as well.” At Francesca’s startled glance, he added, “In every way but in name. Oh, come now, Francesca, you must realize that it is true.”

“I—”

“ And ,” he added, “that it is a compliment. I owe you a greater debt than I could ever repay. I could not have stayed away so long had I not known that the earldom was in such capable hands.”

Francesca actually blushed, which surprised him. In all the years he’d known her, he could count on one hand the times he had seen her cheeks go pink.

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “It was no difficulty, I assure you.”

“Perhaps, but it is appreciated all the same.” He lifted his teacup to his lips, allowing the ladies to direct the conversation from there.

Which they did. Violet asked him about his time in India, and before he knew it he was telling them of palaces and princesses, caravans and curries. He left out the marauders and malaria, deciding they weren’t quite the thing for a drawing-room conversation.

After a while he realized that he was enjoying himself immensely. Maybe, he thought, reflecting on the moment as Violet said something about an Indian-themed ball she’d attended the year before, just maybe he’d made the right decision.

It might actually be good to be home.

A n hour later, Francesca found herself on Michael’s arm, strolling through Hyde Park. The sun had broken through the clouds, and when she had declared that she could not resist the fine weather, Michael had had no choice but to offer to accompany her for a walk.

“It’s rather like old times,” she said, tilting her face up toward the sun. She’d most likely end up with a ghastly tan, or at the very least freckles, but she supposed she’d always look like pale porcelain next to Michael, whose skin marked him immediately as a recent returnee from the tropics.

“Walking, you mean?” he asked. “Or your expertly maneuvering me into accompanying you?”

She tried to maintain a straight face. “Both, of course. You used to take me out a great deal. Whenever John was busy.”

“So I did.”

They walked on in silence for a few moments, and then he said, “I was a bit surprised to find you gone this morning.”

“I hope you understand why I had to leave,” she said. “I didn’t want to, of course; returning to my mother’s home makes me feel as if I’m stepping right back into childhood.” She felt her lips pinching together in distaste. “I adore her, of course, but I’ve grown rather used to maintaining my own household.”

“Would you like me to take up residence elsewhere?”

“No, of course not,” she said quickly. “You are the earl. Kilmartin House belongs to you. Besides, Helen and Janet are only a week behind me; they should arrive soon, and then I will be able to move back in.”

“Chin up, Francesca. I’m sure you will endure.”

She shot him a sideways glance. “It is nothing that you—or any man, for that matter—will understand, but I much prefer my status as a married woman to that of a debutante. When I’m at Number Five, with both Eloise and Hyacinth in residence, I feel as if I’m back in my first season, with all the attendant rules and regulations.”

“Not all of them,” he pointed out. “If that were true, you’d not be allowed out with me right now.”

“True,” she acceded. “Especially with you, I imagine.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

She laughed. “Oh, come now, Michael. Did you really think that your reputation would find itself whitewashed just because you left the country for four years?”

“Francesca—”

“You’re a legend .”

He looked aghast.

“It’s true,” she said, wondering why he was so surprised. “Goodness, women are still talking about you.”

“Not to you, I hope,” he muttered.

“Oh, to me above all others.” She grinned wickedly. “They all want to know when you plan to return. And it’s sure to be worse once word gets out that you’re back. I must say, it’s rather an odd role—confidante to London’s most notorious rake.”

“Confidante, eh?”

“What else would you call it?”

“No, no, confidante is a perfectly appropriate word. It’s just that if you think I’ve confided everything in you . . .”