Chapter 65


    Sunday’s bash at Bridgerton House is sure to be the event of the season. The entire family will gather,


    along with a hundred or so of their clo


    sest friends, to celebrate the dowager vis countess’s birthday.


    It is considered crass to mention ady’s age, and so This Author will not reveal which birthday Lady


    Bridgerton is celebrating.


    But have no fear . . . This Author knows!


    LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 9 APRIL 1824


    “Stop! Stop!”


    Sophie shrieked withughter as she ran down the stone steps that led to the garden behind Bridgerton


    House. After three children and seven years of marriage, Benedict could still make her smile, still make


    herugh . . . and he still chased her around the house any chance he could get.


    “Where are the children?” she gasped, once he’d caught her at the base of the steps.


    “Francesca is watching them.”


    “And your mother?”


    He grinned. “I daresay Francesca is watching her, too.”


    “Anyone could stumble upon us out here,” she said, looking this way and that.


    His smile turned wicked. “Maybe,” he said, catching hold of her green-velvet skirt and reeling her in,


    “we should adjourn to the private terrace.”


    The words were oh-so-familiar, and it was only a second before she was transported back nine years to


    the masquerade ball. “The private terrace, you say?” she asked, amusement dancing in her eyes. “And


    how, pray tell, would you know of a private terrace?”


    His lips brushed against hers. “I have my ways,” he murmured.


    “And I,” she returned, smiling slyly, “have my secrets.”


    He drew back. “Oh? And will you share?”


    “We five,” she said with a nod, “are about to be six.”


    He looked at her face, then looked at her belly. “Are you sure?”


    “As sure as I wasst time.”


    He took her hand and raised it to lips. “This one will be a girl.”


    “That’s what you saidst time.”


    “I know, but—”


    “And the time before.”


    “All the more reason for the odds to favor me this time.”


    She shook her head. “I’m d you’re not a gambler.”


    He smiled at that. “Let’s not tell anyone yet.”


    “I think a few people already suspect,” Sophie admitted.


    “I want to see how long it takes that Whistledown woman to figure it out,” Benedict said.


    “Are you serious?”


    “The sted woman knew about Charles, and she knew about Alexander, and she knew about


    William.”


    Sophie smiled as she let him pull her into the shadows. “Do you realize that I have been mentioned in


    Whistledown two hundred and thirty-two times?”


    That stopped him cold. “You’ve been counting?”


    “Two hundred and thirty-three if you include the time after the masquerade.”


    “I can’t believe you’ve been counting.”


    She gave him a nonchnt shrug. “It’s exciting to be mentioned.”


    Benedict thought it was a bloody nuisance to be mentioned, but he wasn’t about to spoil her delight, so


    instead he just said, “At least she always writes nice things about you. If she didn’t, I might have to hunt


    her down and run her out of the country.”


    Sophie couldn’t help but smile. “Oh, please. I hardly think you could discover her identity when no one


    else in the ton has managed it.”


    He raised one arrogant brow. “That doesn’t sound like wifely devotion and confidence to me.”


    She pretended to examine her glove. “You needn’t expend the energy. She’s obviously very good at


    what she does.”


    “Well, she won’t know about Violet,” Benedict vowed. “At least not until it’s obvious to the world.”


    “Violet?” Sophie asked softly.


    “It’s time my mother had a grandchild named after her, don’t you think?”


    Sophie leaned against him, letting her cheek rest against the crisp linen of his shirt. “I think Violet is a


    lovely name,” she murmured, nestling deeper into the shelter of his arms. “I just hope it’s a girl.


    Because if it’s a boy, he’s never going to forgive us . . .”


    Later that night, in a town house in the very best part of London, a woman picked up her quill and


    Text ? 2024 N?velDrama.Org.


    wrote:


    Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers


    12 April 1824


    Ah, Gentle Reader, This Author has learned that the Bridgerton grandchildren will soon number eleven


    . . .


    But when she tried to write more, all she could do was close her eyes and sigh. She’d been doing this


    for so very long now. Could it have possibly been eleven years already?


    Maybe it was time to move on. She was tired of writing about everyone else. It was time to live her own


    life.


    And so Lady Whistledown set down her quill and walked to her window, pushing aside her sage green


    curtains and looking out into the inky night.


    “Time for something new,” she whispered. “Time to finally be me.”


    Dear Reader,


    Have you ever wondered what happened to your favorite characters after you closed the final page?


    Wanted just a little bit more of a favorite novel? I have, and if the questions from my readers are any


    indication, I’m not the only one. So after countless requests from Bridgerton fans, I decided to try


    something a little different, and I wrote a “2nd Epilogue” for each of the novels. These are the stories


    thate after the stories.


    At first, the Bridgerton 2nd Epilogues were avable exclusively online;ter they were published


    (along with a nove about Violet Bridgerton) in a collection called The Bridgertons: Happily Ever After.


    Now, for the first time, each 2nd Epilogue is being included with the novel it follows. I hope you enjoy


    Benedict and Sophie as they continue their journey.


    Warmly,


    Julia Quinn


    An Offer From a Gentleman: The 2nd Epilogue


    At five and twenty, Miss Posy Reiling was considered nearly a spinster. There were those who might


    have considered her past the cutoff from young miss to hopeless ape leader; three and twenty was


    often cited as the unkind chronological border. But Posy was, as Lady Bridgerton (her unofficial


    guardian) often remarked, a unique case.


    In debutante years, Lady Bridgerton insisted, Posy was only twenty, maybe twenty-one.


    Eloise Bridgerton, the eldest unmarried daughter of the house, put it a little more bluntly: Posy’s first


    few years out in society had been worthless and should not be counted against her.


    Eloise’s youngest sister, Hyacinth, never one to be verbally outdone, simply stated that Posy’s years


    between the ages of seventeen and twenty-two had been “utter rot.”


    It was at this point that Lady Bridgerton had sighed, poured herself a stiff drink, and sunk into a chair.


    Eloise, whose mouth was as sharp as Hyacinth’s (though thankfully tempered by some discretion), had


    remarked that they had best get Hyacinth married off quickly or their mother was going to be an


    alcoholic. Lady Bridgerton had not appreciated thement, although she privately thought it might be


    true.


    Hyacinth was like that.


    But this is a story about Posy. And as Hyacinth has a tendency to take over anything in which she is


    involved . . . please do forget about her for the remainder of the tale.


    The truth was, Posy’s first few years on the Marriage Mart had been utter rot. It was true that she’d


    made her debut at a proper age of seventeen. And, indeed, she was the stepdaughter of thete Earl


    of Penwood, who had so prudently made arrangements for her dowry before his untimely death several


    years prior.


    She was perfectly pleasant to look at, if perhaps a little plump, she had all of her teeth, and it had been


    remarked upon more than once that she had umonly kind eyes.


    Anyone assessing her on paper would not understand why she’d gone so long without even a single


    proposal.


    But anyone assessing her on paper might not have known about Posy’s mother, Araminta


    Gunningworth, the dowager Countess of Penwood.


    Araminta was splendidly beautiful, even more so than Posy’s elder sister, Rosamund, who had been


    blessed with


    fair hair, a rosebud mouth, and eyes of cerulean blue.


    Araminta was ambitious, too, and enormously proud of her ascension from the gentry to the


    aristocracy. She’d gone from Miss Wincheslea to Mrs. Reiling to Lady Penwood, although to hear her


    speak of it, her mouth had been dripping silver spoons since the day of her birth.


    But Araminta had failed in one regard; she had not been able to provide the earl with an heir. Which


    meant that despite the Lady before her name, she did not wield a terriblyrge amount of power. Nor


    did she have ess to the type of fortune she felt was her due.


    And so she pinned her hopes on Rosamund. Rosamund, she was sure, would make a splendid match.


    Rosamund was achingly beautiful. Rosamund could sing and y the pianoforte, and if she wasn’t


    talented with a needle, then she knew exactly how to poke Posy, who was. And since Posy did not


    enjoy repeated needle-sized skin punctures, it was Rosamund’s embroidery that always looked


    exquisite.


    Posy’s, on the other hand, generally went unfinished.


    And since money was not as plentiful as Araminta would have her peers believe, shevished what


    they had on Rosamund’s wardrobe, and Rosamund’s lessons, and Rosamund’s everything.


    She wasn’t about to let Posy look embarrassingly shabby, but really, there was no point in spending


    more than she had to on her. You couldn’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse, and you certainly couldn’t


    turn a Posy into a Rosamund.


    But.


    (And this is a ratherrge but.)


    Things didn’t turn out so well for Araminta. It’s a terribly long story, and one probably deserving of a


    book of its own, but suffice it to say that Araminta cheated another young girl of her inheritance, one


    Sophia Beckett, who happened to be the earl’s illegitimate daughter. She would have got away with it


    with Benedict Bridgerton, second son in the aforementioned (and extremely well-connected) Bridgerton


    family.


    This would not have been enough to seal Araminta’s fate, except that Benedict decided he loved


    Sophie back. Quite madly. And while he might have overlooked embezzlement, he certainly could not


    do the same for having Sophie hauled off to jail (on mostly fraudulent charges).


    Things were looking grim for dear Sophie, even with intervention on the part of Benedict and his


    mother, the also aforementioned Lady Bridgerton. But then who should show up to save the day but


    Posy?


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