The Other Miss Bridgerton

Andrew’s hands had been on her hips. She had felt the heat of his body, the strength of it.

But she hadn’t understood.

So much. There was so much she hadn’t understood.

And now . . . It was laughable, really. Here she was, lamenting her younger, innocent self as if she were such a lady of experience. She still knew nothing. Almost nothing.

“Well, I’m going to go in,” Georgie said as she rose to her feet. “I want to have enough time to dress for dinner. Are you coming?”

Poppy started to say no; dinner wasn’t for several more hours, and she felt no great need to fuss over her appearance. But Georgie was right—it did look as if it might rain. And as hopeless and numb as she felt right then, she had no wish to catch her death in a downpour.

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

“Wonderful!” Georgie linked her arm through Poppy’s, and they began their stroll back to the house.

Dinner with the neighbors was a good idea, Poppy decided. She didn’t want to go, but what she wanted lately hadn’t seemed to make her feel any better. She’d have to put on a good front, pretend she was happy and cheerful and the same Poppy she’d always been. Maybe if she tried hard enough, she’d start to believe it.

She turned to Georgie as they walked past the gazebo. “Who did you say was coming to dinner?”

Andrew was exhausted.

It had taken almost two weeks for Robert Walpole to extricate him from the house on hill. During that time he’d been mostly ignored, but he had not slept well. Nor had he been given much to eat.

He did not know how long it would take for him to regain his full strength, but recuperation would have to wait.

He needed to find Poppy.

His original plan had been to bypass his home in Kent and head straight to Dorset, where he assumed she had resumed her visit with Elizabeth Armitage. If she’d already gone home, it was an easy journey from there to Somerset.

But the Infinity had been ordered back to England without him, and no one in Lisbon was sailing to Dorset. The quickest journey would be to Margate, which was close enough to Crake House that it would be foolish not to stop there first. He could reach Poppy much faster on a mount from the Rokesby stables than he could in a carriage hired at the port.

And as eager as he was to find her, the notion of a bath and a fresh change of clothing had obvious appeal.

It had started to rain by the time he was dropped off at the end of the drive to Crake, so he was somewhat damp and squishy by the time he let himself in through the front door. He had not a clue who might be home. His mother never stayed in London this far into summer, but she’d been known to gad about the countryside visiting friends. His older brothers were probably home—George lived at Crake with Billie and their three children, and Edward was just a few miles away with his brood.

No one was in the entry when he walked in, so he set his wet hat on a table and took a moment to take in his surroundings. It seemed almost surreal to be here, in his home, after such a tumultuous few weeks. There had been several moments that he’d feared were his last, and even after his rescue, he’d not been able to enjoy any of life’s luxuries. The bandits had not, in fact, turned out to be politically motivated, but they were a part of a larger syndicate, powerful enough that Robert Walpole had advised Andrew to keep his head down until he departed Lisbon.

And never return. Walpole was clear about that. Captain Andrew James might be an important courier for the crown, but he could no longer count on aid and protection on the Iberian Peninsula.

It was time to go home, but more than that, it was time to stay home.

“Andrew!”

He grinned. He’d know that voice anywhere. “Billie,” he said warmly, enveloping his sister-in-law in a hug. She wouldn’t care if he got her wet. “How are you?”

“How am I ? How are you ? We’ve heard neither hide nor hair of you in months.” She gave him a cautioning glance. “Your mother is displeased.”

Andrew winced.

“You should be afraid,” she said.

“You don’t think the joy of my unexpected arrival will soften her temper?”

“For an hour, perhaps. Then she’ll remember your lack of correspondence.”

“There were extenuating circumstances.”

“I’m not the one you need to convince,” Billie said with a shake of her head. “I hope you’re not planning to leave anytime soon.”

“I was going to go tonight—”

“What? ”

“I’d already decided otherwise,” he told her. “I’ll wait until morning. I don’t relish riding in the rain.”

“Would you like my advice?”

“Is there any way I can prevent you from giving it?”

“Of course not.”

“Then I would be delighted.”

She rolled her eyes at his sarcasm. “Don’t tell your mother you were thinking of leaving this evening. In fact, I’d avoid mentioning your morning departure if at all possible.”

“You know it will be the third thing she asks.”

“After ‘How are you?’ and ‘Why haven’t you written?’”

He nodded.

She shrugged. “I wish you luck, then.”

“You are a cruel woman, Billie Rokesby.”

“You would never have escaped before dinner in any case. Nicholas is down from London. Everyone is coming to dine.”

Everyone surely included the Bridgertons. Andrew supposed his delay wasn’t a complete loss. He might be able to get some information about Poppy. Her whereabouts, for example.

Or if she’d been ensnared in a scandal.

He’d have to figure out the best way to get them to talk about her. As far as anyone knew, he did not even know she existed.

“Is everything all right, Andrew?”

He blinked, startled by Billie’s query. She’d placed her hand on his arm and was watching him with an expression of curiosity. Or maybe concern.

“Of course,” he said. “Why?”

“I don’t know. You just seem different, that’s all.”

“Thinner,” he confirmed.

She did not look convinced, but she did not press him further. “Well,” she said briskly, “your mother is at the vicarage. She was up in London for a few days, but she returned yesterday.

“Is Nicholas home?” Andrew asked. It had been far too long since he’d seen his younger brother.

“Not at this precise moment, no. He and George went off for a ride with your father. But they should all be back soon. Dinner is at seven, so they won’t be much longer.”

Speaking of which . . .

“I should clean up before dinner,” Andrew said.

“Go on up to your room,” Billie said. “I’ll see about having a bath drawn.”

“I am not certain I can adequately express how heavenly that sounds.”

“Go,” Billie said with a smile. “I will see you at dinner.”

A good meal, a good sleep , Andrew thought as he headed upstairs. It was exactly what he needed before heading out in the morning for a good woman.

His good woman.

His Poppy.

“Darling, are you sure you’re feeling well enough for dinner?”

Poppy turned to Lady Bridgerton, grateful that the dim lighting in the carriage prevented the older woman from seeing just how wan her smile was. “I’m well, Aunt,” she said. “Just tired.”

“I cannot imagine why. We have done nothing requiring any great exertions recently, have we?”

“Poppy took a walk today,” Georgie said. “A really, really long one.”

Poppy looked at her cousin with surprise. Georgie knew quite well that Poppy had not taken a long walk that day. She’d barely made it to the far end of the garden.

“I did not realize that,” Lady Bridgerton said. “I do hope you were not caught out in the rain.”

“No, I was most fortunate,” Poppy said. It had begun to rain about an hour after she and Georgie returned to Aubrey Hall. Just a sprinkle at first, but it had been growing in intensity ever since. The smack of the drops against the carriage was almost too loud for conversation.