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Mothers like that, he decided, didn’t deserve to be mothers.
“And do you have any other children?” Benedict asked Lady Penwood, once the introductions were through.
She gave him an odd look. “Of course not. Else I would have brought them out to meet you.”
“I thought you might have children still in the schoolroom,” he demurred. “Perhaps from your union with the earl.”
She shook her head. “Lord Penwood and I were not blessed with children. Such a pity it was that the title left the Gunningworth family.”
Benedict could not help but notice that the countess looked more irritated than saddened by her lack of Penwood progeny. “Did your husband have any brothers or sisters?” he asked. Maybe his mystery lady was a Gunningworth cousin.
The countess shot him a suspicious look, which, Benedict had to admit, was well deserved, considering that his questions  were not at all the usual fare for an afternoon call. “Obviously,” she replied, “my late husband did not have any brothers, as  the title passed out of the family.”
Benedict knew he should keep his mouth shut, but something about the woman was so bloody irritating he had to say, “He could have had a brother who predeceased him.”
“Well, he did not.”
Rosamund and Posy were watching the exchange with great interest, their heads bobbing back and forth like balls at a tennis match.
“And any sisters?” Benedict inquired. “The only reason I ask is that I come from such a large family.” He motioned to Rosamund and Posy. “I cannot imagine having only one sibling. I thought perhaps that your daughters might have cousins to keep them company.”
It was, he thought, rather paltry as far as explanations went, but it would have to do.
“He did have one sister,” the countess replied with a disdainful sniff. “But she lived and died a spinster. She was a woman  of great faith,” she explained, “and chose to devote her life to charitable works.” So much for that theory.
“I very much enjoyed your masquerade ball last night,” Rosamund suddenly said.
Benedict looked at her in surprise. The two girls had been so silent he’d forgotten they could even speak. “It was really my mother’s ball,” he answered. “I had no part in the planning. But I shall convey your compliments.”
“Please do,” Rosamund said. “Did you enjoy the ball, Mr. Bridgerton?”
Benedict stared at her for a moment before answering. She had a hard look in her eyes, as if she was searching for a specific piece of information. “I did indeed,” he finally said.
“I noticed you spent a great deal of time with one lady in particular,” Rosamund persisted.
Lady Penwood twisted her head sharply to look at him, but she did not say anything.
“Did you?” Benedict murmured.
“She was wearing silver,” Rosamund said. “Who was she?”
“A mystery woman,” he said with an enigmatic smile. No need for them to know that she was a mystery to him as well.
“Surely you can share her name with us,” Lady Penwood said.
Benedict just smiled and stood. He wasn’t going to get any more information here. “I’m afraid I must be going, ladies,” he  said affably, offering them a smooth bow.
“You never did see the spoons,” Lady Penwood reminded him.
“I’ll have to save them for another time,” Benedict said. It was unlikely that his mother would have incorrectly identified the Penwood crest, and besides, if he spent much more time in the company of the hard and brittle Countess of Penwood, he  might retch.
“It has been lovely,” he lied.
“Indeed,” Lady Penwood said, rising to walk him to the door. “Brief, but lovely.”
Benedict didn’t bother to smile again.
“What,” Araminta said as she heard the front door close behind Benedict Bridgerton, “do you suppose that was about?”
“Well,” Posy said, “he might—”
“I didn’t ask you,” Araminta bit off.
“Well, then, who did you ask?” Posy returned with uncharacteristic gumption.
“Perhaps he saw me from afar,” Rosamund said, “and—”
“He didn’t see you from afar,” Araminta snapped as she strode across the room.
Rosamund lurched backward in surprise. Her mother rarely spoke to her in such impatient tones.
Araminta continued, “You yourself said he was besotted with some woman in a silver dress.”
“I didn’t say ‘besotted’ precisely ...”
“Don’t argue with me over such trivialities. Besotted or not, he didn’t come here looking for either of you,” Araminta said  with a fair amount of derision. “I don’t know what he was up to. He ...”
Her words trailed off as she reached the window. Pulling the sheer curtain back, she saw Mr. Bridgerton standing on the pavement, pulling something from his pocket. “What is he doing?” she whispered.
“I think he’s holding a glove,” Posy said helpfully.
“It’s not a—” Araminta said automatically, too used to contradicting everything Posy had to say. “Why, it is a glove.”
“I should think I know a glove when I see one,” Posy muttered.
“What is he looking at?” Rosamund asked, nudging her sister out of the way.
“There’s something on the glove,” Posy said. “Perhaps it’s a piece of embroidery. We’ve some gloves with the Penwood  crest embroidered on the hem. Maybe that glove has the same.”