Weren’t weddings meant to be held on Saturday mornings? Could they manage it by this Saturday? It was only two days away, but if they could get that special license ...
Phillip caught Oliver by the collar as he tried to race out the door. “No,” he said firmly. “You will wait here for Miss Bridgerton. And you will do so quietly, without incident, and with a smile on your face.”
Oliver made at least some attempt to settle down at the mention of Eloise’s name, but his “smile” (performed obediently at his father’s order) was a ghastly stretch of the lips that left Phillip feeling like he’d just had an audience with an anemic gorgon.
“That wasn’t a smile,” Amanda immediately said.
“It was, too.”
“No. Your lips didn’t even curve up....”
Phillip sighed as he attempted to block his ears from the inside out. He’d talk to Anthony Bridgerton about the special license this afternoon. It seemed like the sort of thing the viscount would know about.
Saturday couldn’t come soon enough. He could turn the twins over to Eloise during the day, and ...
He smiled to himself. She could turn herself over tohimat night.
“Why are you smiling?” Amanda demanded.
“I’m not smiling,” Phillip said, feeling himself begin to—dearGod—blush.
“Youaresmiling,” she accused. “And now your cheeks are turning pink.”
“Don’t be silly,” he muttered.
“I’m not silly,” she insisted. “Oliver, look at Father. Don’t his cheeks look pink?”
“One more word about my cheeks,” Phillip threatened, “and I’m going to ...”
Hell, he’d been about to sayhorsewhip,but they all knew he would never do that.
“... do something,” he finished, in a lame attempt at a threat.
Amazingly, it worked, and they held still and silent for a moment. Then Amanda swung her legs from her perch on the sofa and knocked over a footstool.
Phillip looked at the clock.
“Oops,” she said, jumping down and then bending over to right it. “Oliver!” she howled.
Phillip tore his eyes away from the minute hand, which was, inexplicably, not even to the eight. Amanda was sprawled on the floor, glaring at her brother.
“He pushed me,” Amanda said.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did—”
“Oliver,” Phillip cut in. “Someone pushed her, and I’m fairly certain it was not I.”
Oliver chewed on his lower lip, having forgotten to consider the fact that his culpability would be quite obvious. “Maybe she fell over on her own,” he suggested.
Phillip just stared at him, hoping that the ferocious expression would be enough to nipthatidea in the bud.
“Very well,” Oliver admitted. “I pushed her. I’m sorry.”
Phillip blinked with surprise. Maybe he was getting better at fatherhood. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard an unsolicited apology.
