The Bridgertons Happily Ever After by Julia Quinn Page A

“I’m trying to concentrate.”
    Kate danced in a little closer.
    “Get away from me, woman.”
    “I just want to see ,” she said. “I’ve hardly had the chance to see anything this game, being so far behind the entire time.”
    He narrowed his eyes. “I might be responsible for the mud, and please note my emphasis on the word might , which does not imply any sort of confirmation on my part.”
    He paused, quite pointedly ignoring the rest of the gathering, all of whom were gaping at him.
    “However,” he continued, “I fail to see how your position in last place is my responsibility.”
    “The mud made my hands slippery,” she ground out. “I could not properly grip the mallet.”
    Off to the side, Colin winced. “Weak, I’m afraid, Kate. I’ll have to grant this point to Anthony, much as it pains me.”
    “Fine,” she said, after tossing Colin a withering glare. “It’s no one’s fault but my own. However.”
    And then she said nothing.
    “Er, however what?” Edwina finally inquired.
    Kate could have been a queen with her scepter as she stood there, all covered with mud. “However,” she continued regally, “I don’t have to like it. And this being Pall Mall, and we being Bridgertons, I don’t have to play fair.”
    Anthony shook his head and bent back down to make his aim.
    “She has a point this time,” Colin said, irritating sod that he was. “Good sportsmanship has never been valued highly in this game.”
    “Be quiet,” Anthony grunted.
    “In fact,” Colin continued, “one could make the argument that—”
    “I said be quiet.”
    “—the opposite is true, and that bad sportsmanship—”
    “Shut up , Colin.”
    “—is in fact to be lauded, and—”
    Anthony decided to give up and take a swing. At this rate they’d be standing there until Michaelmas. Colin was never to going stop talking, not when he thought he had a chance of irritating his brother.
    Anthony forced himself to hear nothing but the wind. Or at least he tried.
    He aimed.
    He drew back.
    Crack!
    Not too hard, not too hard.
    The ball rolled forward, unfortunately not quite far enough. He was not going to make it through the last wicket on his next try. At least not without intervention divine enough to send his ball around a fist-sized stone.
    “Colin, you’re next,” Daphne said, but he was already dashing back to his ball. He gave it a haphazard tap, then yelled out, “Kate!”
    She stepped forward, blinking as she assessed the lay of the land. Her ball was about a foot away from his. The stone, however, was on the other side, meaning that if she attempted to sabotage him, she couldn’t send him very far—surely the stone would stop the ball.
    “An interesting dilemma,” Anthony murmured.
    Kate circled around the balls. “It would be a romantic gesture,” she mused, “if I allowed you to win.”
    “Oh, it’s not a question of your allowing ,” he taunted.
    “Wrong answer,” she said, and she aimed.
    Anthony narrowed his eyes. What was she doing?
    Kate hit the ball with a fair bit of force, aiming not squarely at his ball but at the left side. Her ball slammed into his, sending it spiraling off to the right. Because of the angle, she couldn’t send it as far as she might have with a direct shot, but she did manage to get it right to the top of the hill.
    Right to the top.
    Right to the top.
    And then down it.
    Kate let out a whoop of delight that would not have been out of place on a battlefield.
    “You’ll pay,” Anthony said.
    She was too busy jumping up and down to pay him any attention.
    “Who do you suppose will win now?” Penelope asked.
    “Do you know,” Anthony said quietly, “I don’t care.” And then he walked over to the green ball and took aim.
    “Hold up, it’s not your turn!” Edwina called out.
    “And it’s not your ball,” Penelope added.
    “Is that so?” he murmured, and then let fly, smashing his mallet into Kate’s ball and sending it hurtling across the