Free An Offer from a Gentleman with 2nd Epilogue by Julia Quinn Page B

suppose,” Benedict said on a groan, “that you will simply answer my question without posing one of your own.”
    She let out a ladylike snort. “You know me far better than that.”
    Benedict just managed to stop himself from rolling his eyes.
    â€œWho,” Violet asked, “does the glove belong to, Benedict?” And then, when he didn’t answer quickly enough for her taste, she added, “You might as well tell me everything. You know I will figure it out on my own soon enough, and it will be far less embarrassing for you if I don’t have to ask any questions.”
    Benedict sighed. He was going to have to tell her everything. Or at least, almost everything. There was little he enjoyed less than sharing such details with his mother—she tended to grab hold of any hope that he might actually marry and cling on to it with the tenacity of a barnacle. But he had little choice. Not if he wanted to find her .
    â€œI met someone last night at the masquerade,” he finally said.
    Violet clapped her hands together with delight. “Really?”
    â€œShe’s the reason I forgot to dance with Penelope.”
    Violet looked nearly ready to die of rapture. “Who? One of Penwood’s daughters?” She frowned. “No, that’s impossible. He had no daughters. But he did have two stepdaughters.” She frowned again. “Although I must say, having met those two girls . . . well . . .”
    â€œWell, what?”
    Violet’s brow wrinkled as she fumbled for polite words. “Well, I simply wouldn’t have guessed you’d be interested in either of them, that’s all. But if you are ,” she added, her face brightening considerably, “then I shall surely invite the dowager countess over for tea. It’s the very least I can do.”
    Benedict started to say something, then stopped when he saw that his mother was frowning yet again. “What now?” he asked.
    â€œOh, nothing,” Violet said. “Just that . . . well . . .”
    â€œSpit it out, Mother.”
    She smiled weakly. “Just that I don’t particularly like the dowager countess. I’ve always found her rather cold and ambitious.”
    â€œSome would say you’re ambitious as well, Mother,” Benedict pointed out.
    Violet pulled a face. “Of course I have great ambition that my children marry well and happily, but I am not the sort who’d marry her daughter off to a seventy-year-old man just because he was a duke!”
    â€œDid the dowager countess do that?” Benedict couldn’t recall any seventy-year-old dukes making recent trips to the altar.
    â€œNo,” Violet admitted, “but she would. Whereas I—”
    Benedict bit back a smile as his mother pointed to herself with great flourish.
    â€œI would allow my children to marry paupers if it would bring them happiness.”
    Benedict raised a brow.
    â€œThey would be well-principled and hardworking paupers, of course,” Violet explained. “No gamblers need apply.”
    Benedict didn’t want to laugh at his mother, so instead he coughed discreetly into his handkerchief.
    â€œBut you should not concern yourself with me,” Violet said, giving her son a sideways look before punching him lightly in the arm.
    â€œOf course I must,” he said quickly.
    She smiled serenely. “I shall put aside my feelings for the dowager countess if you care for one of her daughters . . .” She looked up hopefully. “Do you care for one of her daughters?”
    â€œI have no idea,” Benedict admitted. “I never got her name. Just her glove.”
    Violet gave him a stern look. “I’m not even going to ask how you obtained her glove.”
    â€œIt was all very innocent, I assure you.”
    Violet’s expression was dubious in the extreme. “I have far too many sons to believe that, ” she muttered.
    â€œThe initials?”