The Other Miss Bridgerton

Andrew .

She didn’t feel her glass of sherry slip through her fingers, didn’t even know she’d dropped it until Billie, standing next to her, cried out, “Oh!” and caught it, splashing them both from face to hem.

But before she could say anything, even think anything other than his name, Billie deftly spun her around and started moving them both toward another door Poppy hadn’t realized was literally right behind them.

“We’ll get you cleaned up,” Billie was saying. “Oh my goodness, it’s in your eyelashes!”

“Billie!” someone called from across the room. “What are you—”

Billie swiped her sleeve across her face and poked her head back out into the drawing room. “Please do go in to dinner, we will follow presently. No no, I insist.”

And then she turned back to survey Poppy briefly before summoning a maid for some water and a rag. “We’ll get this righted in just a moment and everything will be back as it was.”

Back as it was .

Poppy almost started to laugh.

Chapter 23

Five minutes later, Andrew was seated in his usual spot at the table in his family’s formal dining room. He wasn’t sure he had ever been quite so happy to be home . . . Or so eager to leave.

It had been glorious to wash in an actual full-sized bathtub, and he was very much looking forward to a proper meal, but his head—and his heart—were already one foot on the road toward Poppy.

“George!” his mother exclaimed. “We are waiting for your wife. She said she would be here presently.”

Andrew looked across the table with a bit of a smirk. His older brother had a half-eaten dinner roll in his hand.

“You’re as hungry as I am,” George said to him. “You just haven’t the guts to go ahead with it.”

“And defy her ?” Andrew returned, with a tip of his head toward their mother. “Never.”

“It’s why he’s my favorite,” Lady Manston said to the table at large. “For this evening, at least.”

“Feel free to demote me tomorrow,” Andrew said cheerfully. He was quite sure she would, once she realized he’d left home again, but there was no need to inform her of his plans just yet.

George took a sip of his wine. “Billie could be three minutes or thirty. She told us not to wait.”

Lady Manston did not look convinced, but any further objection was cut off at the pass by Lord Manston, who picked up his roll and said, “I’m starving. I say we eat. Billie will understand.”

And thus the soup was served.

Oyster bisque. Andrew’s favorite. He barely resisted the urge to pick up the bowl and slurp the whole thing down.

“This is delicious,” Lady Bridgerton said to Lady Manston. “Is it a new recipe?”

“I don’t think so. It might have a touch more salt, but other than that . . .”

Andrew paid no attention as he savored each spoonful. After the last drop, he actually closed his eyes in appreciation and sighed.

“Sorry to be delayed,” he heard Billie call out. “I’m so glad you did not wait.”

Andrew heard all of the chairs move as the gentlemen stood. He opened his eyes, glancing down to catch his napkin as he too rose to his feet. A lady had entered the room, after all.

And then time seemed to slow. Billie swished into the room, saying something over her shoulder to another woman, who was looking down, fiddling with something on her dress.

And yet as she moved, as the light hit her hair . . .

As she breathed . . .

He knew.

It was Poppy.

It made no sense, but then— Of course it made sense. These were her cousins. And if Poppy had also been put on a boat to Kent instead of Dorset . . .

But it made no difference why . . . she was here .

He had half a mind to leap over the table just to get to her faster.

But she had not seen him yet.

Or he didn’t think she had. She seemed to be examining a floral arrangement in the far corner of the room.

She certainly wasn’t looking anywhere near the table.

Even as she walked to the table, she wasn’t looking anywhere near it.

She knew he was there .

Andrew was suddenly filled with crashing, warring emotions—relief, elation, and that gravest fear of all men: female fury.

He stared at her like a starving man, a huge, stupid smile battling the requisite bland countenance required by manners.

He had a feeling the huge, stupid smile was winning.

But she wasn’t going to be able to avoid him all night. There were only two empty seats at the table: one to his left, and one directly across. And he was fairly certain Billie planned to take the one across.

“Poppy and I decided the sherry was so tasty we ought to incorporate it into our wardrobe.” She swept her hand across her mid-section as if to say, Just like so .

“Will I be forgiven if I do not follow suit?” Georgiana teased, and everyone laughed at that.

Except Poppy, who was staring ferociously at a spot on the wall behind Billie.

And Andrew, who could not stop staring at Poppy.

And Nicholas, who Andrew suddenly realized was also watching Poppy with rather a lot of interest.

That was going to have to be nipped in the bud. It would not do for his brother to be ogling his wife.

Because, oh yes , he was going to marry this woman. This amazing, brave, clever, and beautiful woman was going to be his wife.

Though first she’d need to look at him.

Actually, first she’d need to be formally introduced to him.

“Poppy,” Billie said, stopping by Nicholas’s chair, “may I present George’s youngest brother, Mr. Nicholas Rokesby? He is recently graduated from Cambridge. Nicholas, this is Miss Poppy Bridgerton of Somerset. My cousin.”

Nicholas took Poppy’s hand and brushed his lips across the back.

Andrew gritted his teeth. Turn to me, damn it. To me .

“And this,” Billie said, “is yet another of George’s brothers, Captain Andrew Rokesby. He returned only just today from a voyage at sea. To . . .” Billie’s brow furrowed. “Spain?”

“Portugal,” Andrew said, never taking his eyes from Poppy’s face.

“Portugal. Yes, of course. It must be lovely there this time of year.”

“It is,” Andrew said.

Finally, Poppy looked up.

“Miss Bridgerton,” he murmured. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and held it longer than propriety allowed.

Her breathing was shallow; he could see it. But he could not tell what was in her eyes.

Anger?

Yearning?

Both?

“Captain,” she said quietly.

“Andrew,” he insisted as he released her hand.

“Andrew,” she said, unable to rip her gaze from his.

“Andrew!” his mother exclaimed.

Because it was far too soon for him to ask a lady to use his given name. They all knew that.

“Do allow Miss Bridgerton to take her seat,” his mother added. Her tone was studiously mild, signaling clearly that she had many questions.

He didn’t care. Poppy had just sat down right next to him. The world had become a very bright place indeed.

“You almost missed the soup, Miss Bridgerton,” Nicholas said.

“I—” Her voice cracked. She was clearly flustered. Andrew lost the battle to suppress his grin. But then he looked up and saw Lady Bridgerton looking very intently at Poppy, and his mother looking even more intently at him.

Oh yes, there would be questions.

“It’s very good,” Nicholas said, sending an awkward glance around the table. He clearly did not know what to make of the strange atmosphere. “Oyster bisque.”

A bowl was set down before Poppy. She stared at it as if looking away might cause her ruin.

“I love the soup,” he said to her.

He saw her swallow. Still, she stared down at her bowl.

He fixed his gaze on her face, willing her to look up as he said, “I really, truly love it.”

“Andrew,” admonished Billie, sitting across from him, “she hasn’t even had the chance to try it.”

Poppy didn’t move. He could see the tension in her shoulders. Everyone was watching her by now, and he knew he shouldn’t have put her at the center of attention, but he did not know what else to do.