Biography[ edit ] Julie Pottinger was raised primarily in New England, although she spent much of her time in California after her parents divorced. Her father disagreed with her choices of reading material, Sweet Dreams and the Sweet Valley High books, and told her she could keep reading them only if she could prove that they were good for her. She promptly told him that she was studying them in order to write one herself. Challenged to prove that she meant her statement, Pottinger sat down at their early computer and wrote her first two chapters. After finishing her novel three years later, she submitted it to Sweet Dreams, but was rejected.
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Violet swallowed. But it was obvious that she and Benedict had tender feelings for one another. And if Sophie had felt that she had to leave to protect her honor, Violet could not stand in her way. I had insisted that she take one of our coaches, partly because I feared for her safety but also because I wanted to know where she went.
Violet had never seen him so distressed. The agony in his eyes hurt. I wish I did. I quite liked Sophie. And in another world, nothing would have made her happier than to see them wed. And Benedict was the son of a viscount. Society was rarely kind to rule-breakers. It had never quite made sense that Sophie was the daughter of servants.
And the other day Violet had heard her muttering in Latin. She looked up at Benedict. Violet opened her mouth to speak, because a spark of hope had begun to flare in her heart. There might be a way to make this work.
It would still be difficult. Both of them would have to want it—truly, madly, from the bottom of their hearts. They would have to love each other in a way that disdained society, threw caution to the wind, and— Whatever else she might have been thinking flew from her mind.
The door to her office came flying open, slamming against the wall like an explosion. She snatched it up before Benedict could get to it and read, her heart sinking with every word.
Something about the Duke of Ashbourne, something about Penelope Featherington… Violet skipped ahead, impatient to get to the pertinent section. It seems the woman, who This Author suspects was working in the Bridgerton household, used to work for Lady Penwood.
Lady Penwood alleges that the unidentified woman stole from her two years ago and immediately had the poor thing carted off to jail. This Author is not certain what the punishment is these days for theft, but one has to suspect that if one has the audacity to steal from a countess, the punishment is quite strict.
The poor girl in question is likely to be hanged, or at the very least, find herself transported. She handed him the paper, unable to give her feelings a voice. But Benedict was already out the door. It was sweet that her boys wanted to care for her, but she could be quite useful in such a situation.
Francesca let out a sullen snort. Violet almost smiled. She hoped that someday he had daughters. He was going be a good father. Violet nodded. Ten minutes later, they were on their way. The warden who was now lying on the stone floor, a rapidly-forming bruise on his cheek. It was an awful place, damp and dark, with a stench that Violet feared would haunt her the rest of her days.
Violet knew that she had been responsible for having Sophie imprisoned, but she had known the woman for years, and she could not believe that the snippy, haughty lady would have set foot in such a place. Her stepmother had kept her as a virtual slave, letting her think her father had abandoned her to poverty, when in truth his will had provided Sophie with a modest dowry.
It was at that point that Violet, who had remained silent throughout most of the proceedings, could bear it no longer. As far as she was concerned, Sophie was now her child, and no one treated her children like that.
There were far more effective ways of getting what she wanted, and so she cleared her throat, as if her only care might be a bit of dust in the air, and turned to the countess. The aristocracy rarely pays for its crimes. Violet turned to the magistrate.
She was furious, and damn it, she was in charge now. Violet shrugged. After all, Benedict will be entitled to it once he marries her. Violet bared her teeth. But do not expect me to go out of my way to help her. I do believe that will do nicely.
Violet turned back to Lady Penwood. And then Violet turned her back on her. It was the gravest sort of insult, even here in a jail. Oh, magistrate! She turned to her daughter with furious eyes. Violet turned to Posy and issued an invitation to come and stay with her. Violet ignored her.
Would you care to join us for an extended stay in Kent? Do you understand? She screamed, she raged, she even once raised her hand as if to strike. Twenty minutes? Thirty if the roads are full. And you can expect to be stuck with her until your dying day, as no one is likely to offer for her. I have to bribe men just to ask her to dance. Violet began to shake. All the fury that she had channeled into a cool, bored exterior roiled within her, and when she looked down, her hand was clenched into a fist.
But he was a man now. They never remembered such things. On the outside, on the inside, everywhere. Rather proud of it, actually. But now—her tears came pouring forth with a huge sob. There was no way he was getting out of a hug from her now.
And it was. It really was. Somehow, all on her own, Violet had managed to raise eight excellent human beings. Edmund would have been proud.
Violet swallowed. But it was obvious that she and Benedict had tender feelings for one another. And if Sophie had felt that she had to leave to protect her honor, Violet could not stand in her way. I had insisted that she take one of our coaches, partly because I feared for her safety but also because I wanted to know where she went. Violet had never seen him so distressed. The agony in his eyes hurt. I wish I did.
The Bridgertons: Happily Ever After