The Viscount Who Loved Me (Bridgertons, #2)(10)

Mary cocked her head slightly to the side and raised her brows. “I believe the question ought to be whether he is the sort of man Edwina wants for Edwina.”

“He’s not that, either!” Kate replied heatedly. “Just this afternoon she told me that she wanted to marry a scholar. A scholar!” She jerked her head toward the dark-haired cretin dancing with her sister. “Does he look like a scholar to you?”

“No, but then again, you don’t look particularly like an accomplished watercolorist, and yet I know that you are.” Mary smirked a bit, which needled Kate to no end, and waited for her reply.

“I’ll allow,” Kate said through clenched teeth, “that one ought not judge a person merely on his outer appearance, but surely you must agree. From all that we have heard of him, he does not seem the sort to spend his afternoons bent over musty books in a library.”

“Perhaps not,” Mary mused, “but I had a lovely chat with his mother earlier this evening.”

“His mother?” Kate fought to follow the conversation. “What has that to do with anything?”

Mary shrugged. “I find it difficult to believe that such a gracious and intelligent lady could have raised anything but the finest of gentlemen, regardless of his reputation.”

“But Mary—”

“When you are a mother,” she said loftily, “you will understand what I mean.”

“But—”

“Have I told you,” Mary said, the purposeful tone of her voice indicating that she’d meant to interrupt, “how lovely you look in that green gauze? I’m so glad we chose it.”

Kate looked dumbly down at her dress, wondering why on earth Mary had changed the subject so suddenly.

“The color suits you well. Lady Whistledown shall not be calling you a singed blade of grass in Friday’s column!”

Kate stared at Mary in dismay. Perhaps her stepmother had become overheated. It was crowded in the ballroom, and the air had grown thick.

Then she felt Mary’s finger jabbing her directly below her left shoulder blade, and she knew something else was afoot entirely.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” Mary suddenly exclaimed, sounding as gleeful as a young girl.

Horrified, Kate jerked her head up to see a startlingly handsome man approach them. A startlingly handsome man who looked startlingly like the viscount currently dancing with her sister.

She swallowed. It was either that or let her jaw hang open.

“Mr. Bridgerton!” Mary said again. “How nice to see you. This is my daughter Katharine.”

He took her limp, gloved hand and brushed an airy kiss across her knuckles. So airy, in fact, that Kate rather suspected he hadn’t kissed her at all.

“Miss Sheffield,” he murmured.

“Kate,” Mary continued, “this is Mr. Colin Bridgerton. I met him earlier this evening while I was talking with his mother, Lady Bridgerton.” She turned to Colin and beamed. “Such a lovely lady.”

He grinned back. “We think so.”

Mary tittered. Tittered! Kate thought she might gag.

“Kate,” Mary said again, “Mr. Bridgerton is brother to the viscount. Who is dancing with Edwina,” she added unnecessarily.

“I gathered,” Kate replied.

Colin Bridgerton shot her a sideways glance, and she knew instantly that he had not missed the vague sarcasm in her tone.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Sheffield,” he said politely. “I do hope you will favor me with one of your dances this evening.”

“I—Of course.” She cleared her throat. “I would be honored.”

“Kate,” Mary said, nudging her softly, “show him your dance card.”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Kate fumbled for her dance card, which was tied prettily to her wrist with a green ribbon. That she had to fumble for anything actually tied to her body was a bit alarming, but Kate decided to blame her lack of composure on the sudden and unexpected appearance of a heretofore unknown Bridgerton brother.

That, and the unfortunate fact that even under the best of circumstances she was never the most graceful girl in the room.

Colin filled his name in for one of the dances later that evening, then asked if she might like to walk with him to the lemonade table.

“Go, go,” Mary said, before Kate could reply. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine without you.”

“I can bring you back a glass,” Kate offered, trying to figure out if it was possible to glare at her stepmother without Mr. Bridgerton noticing.

“Not necessary. I really should get back to my position with all the other chaperones and mamas.” Mary whipped her head around frantically until she spied a familiar face. “Oh, look, there is Mrs. Featherington. I must be off. Portia! Portia!”

Kate watched her stepmother’s rapidly retreating form for a moment before turning back to Mr. Bridgerton. “I think,” she said dryly, “that she doesn’t want any lemonade.”

A sparkle of humor glinted in his emerald green eyes. “Either that or she’s planning to run all the way to Spain to pick the lemons herself.”

Despite herself, Kate laughed. She didn’t want to like Mr. Colin Bridgerton. She didn’t much want to like any Bridgerton after all she’d read about the viscount in the newspaper. But she allowed that it probably wasn’t fair to judge a man based on his brother’s misdeeds, so she forced herself to relax a bit.