Philloise Re-Written

Chapter Six

. . . should not have let him kiss you. Who knows what liberties he will attempt to take the next time you meet? But what's done is done, I suppose, so all there is left is to ask: Was he any good at it?

—from Eloise Bridgerton to her sister Francesca, slid under the door of her bedroom the night of Francesca's third ball with the Earl of Kilmartin, whom she would marry two months later.

When the children entered the room, half dragged and half pushed by their nursemaid, Phillip forced himself to remain rigidly in his position against the wall, not daring to go to them.

And even more afraid that he may simply run away and set yet another poor example.

So instead he just crossed his arms and stared, letting them squirm under the heat of his fury, while he tried to figure out what the hell he meant to say.

Finally, Oliver spoke up, his voice trembling as he said, "Uncle?"

Phillip said the only thing that came to mind, the only thing that seemed to matter. "Do you see Miss Bridgerton?"

The twins nodded, but they didn't quite look at her. At least not at her face, which was beginning to purple around the eye.

"Do you notice anything amiss about her?"

They said nothing, forcing a silence until a maid appeared in the doorway with a "Sir?"

Phillip acknowledged her arrival with a nod, then strode to take hold of the piece of meat she'd brought for Eloise's eye.

"Hungry?" he snapped at his children. When they didn't reply, he said, "Good. Because sadly, none of us will be eating this, will we?"

He crossed the room to the bed, then sat down gently at Eloise's side. "Here," he said, still too angry for his voice to be anything but gruff. Brushing aside her efforts to help, he set the meat against her eye, then arranged a piece of cloth over it so that she would not have to dirty her fingers while keeping it in place.

Then, when he was done, he walked over to where the twins were cowering, and stood in front of them, arms crossed. And waited.

"Look at me," he ordered, when neither removed their gaze from the floor.

When they did, he saw terror in their eyes, and it sickened him, but he didn't know how else he was supposed to act.

"We didn't mean to hurt her," Amanda whispered.

"Oh, you didn't?" he bit off sardonically, before turning on them both with a furious sneer which showed none of his usual humour.

"You didn't think she might possibly be hurt when she tripped over the string?" Phillip continued, his sarcasm lending him a controlled air that was even more frightening. "Or perhaps you realized correctly that the string itself wasn't likely to cause injury, but it didn't occur to you that she might be hurt when she actually fell."

They said nothing.

He looked at Eloise, who had lifted the meat from her face and was gingerly touching her cheekbone. The bruise under her eye seemed to be worsening by the minute.

The twins had to learn that they couldn't continue like this. They needed to learn that they had to treat people with more respect. They needed to learn . . .

Phillip swore under his breath. They needed to learn something.

He jerked his head toward the door. "You will come with me." He walked into the hall, turned back at them, and snapped, "Now."

As he led them from the room, Eloise's words from her first night with them echoed through his mind.

"They need attention. They need discipline. Most importantly, they need love."