Chapter Text
Dearest Gentle Reader,
Did you miss me?
As the members of our esteemed Ton lazily sojourned in their rustic retreats, this author was doing but one thing:
Honing my skills.
Or should I say, hatching my plans?
No, even better:
I was sharpening my knives… For all of you.
Questions abound as to this author's identity and means. Seeking those answers shall prove fruitless, indeed.
There is, of course, another unknown identity at present. Though, this one you will be able to unearth. I speak of the season's Diamond, wherever she may be?
Your move, Your Majesty…
-Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 1814
The Honourable Lord Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton, walked out onto the veranda, taking a deep breath as he cursed his mother, having spent the last hour being surrounded by a gaggle of ladies who were all vying for his attention… And smiles, and a dance, of course, though his sore feet were testament to the fact many were not accomplished in that particular area.
His thoughts turned to the young woman he’d met that morning, curious about who she might be, and what she was doing riding out all by herself.
He could see her in his mind, that braid of black hair weaving over her shoulder, escaped strands wild in the breeze as she rode, a flash of her legs as she sat astride, so brazen in her impropriety, her wit both sharp and sweet as she lashed him with it most charmingly.
He’d never met anyone like her, though his sisters could be willful creatures when they felt like it, and he was sure she’d bend and scrape most prettily when she found out who he was.
His title and his wealth saw to that, at least.
But the lady in the teal dressing gown had been on his mind all day, and while he was determined to use his head to accomplish his task, he did not want a stupid wife.
If she was beautiful and smart and fiery too, well then… so much the better.
While he talked of gentle mannered women with child bearing hips, in truth a stubborn woman would withstand the urge to love him the longest, and perhaps she might be spared from the pain of a broken heart that his mother had so keenly felt.
Because it was inevitable.
He knew for a fact that he would not outlive his father, for how could he? Edmund Bridgerton was the best of men, a titan amongst mortals, and if he could die at the tender age of thirty eight, then Anthony would not live beyond that. He could not imagine a world in which that was possible.
No, he would leave his wife a widow, and his children without a father. He knew it in his heart.
So, the least he could do was not inflict that pain on a woman who loved him.
And if he could not provide his Viscountess with a husband’s love, something his father’s untimely death had robbed from any future bride Anthony might have, the least he could do was marry someone he could like.
He could give her that at least.
Perhaps.
Anthony relished the cooler air as he pondered this, the inside of the conservatory sweltering, deciding he would go for a walk, when he heard his name called from across the veranda.
‘Bridgerton!’ came Lord Fife’s voice.
A group of gentlemen were smoking in a corner of the terrace, clearly hiding from the incessant eyelash fluttering and simpering smiles of the season’s matrimony minded misses.
‘I owe you a drink,’ called Fife.
‘Whatever for?’ asked Anthony,as he walked across the terrace to engage with his fellows.
‘With you as the prize catch of the season, the rest of us shall receive a respite from the marriage minded mamas this season, indeed.’
Anthony chuckled ruefully.
‘Enjoy your freedom while it lasts,’ he smiled, ‘You, too, will soon submit to this ridiculous rigmarole of courtship. Squiring every eligible miss around town until you're barely able to see straight…’
‘Is one lady unlike any other?’ remarked Lord Cho, ‘Simply pick the least objectionable and get her wed, bed, and bred. Then you can return to more pleasurable pursuits.’
‘And more pleasurable partners… ’ said Fife.
‘You may be cavalier,’ scoffed Anthony, ‘But if I must leg shackle myself in marriage, the lady in question should have more to recommend her.’
‘Do not tell us you are hoping for a love match?’
‘Love is the last thing I desire,’ replied Anthony, haughtily, folding his arms, ‘But if my children are to be of good stock, then their mother must be of impeccable quality: A pleasing face, an acceptable wit, genteel manners enough to credit a viscountess. It should not be hard to find. And yet, the debutantes of London fall short at every turn...’
‘You want the best,’ said Cho, ‘Perhaps the Queen will finally name a diamond. Save you some trouble. At least, of choosing her. Wooing the piece will be a different story, indeed.’
‘I shall have no problem there.’
They all laughed at that.
‘Smoking room, gentlemen?’ asked Lord Fife, taking a puff from his pipe.
‘I shall be there anon,’ replied Anthony as they took their leave.
The Viscount contemplated his walk, as he headed toward the door he’d entered by, when it opened and out stepped none other than the woman about whom he’d been thinking all day long, almost walking into him as he appeared in her path from around the corner.
‘Oh, pardon me, my Lord,’ she said, and Anthony stepped back in surprise and allowed her to walk by him.
A moment passed as a thousand things ran through his mind at once, before he turned to follow her down the steps.
If she recognised him, she did not show it.
‘Excuse me, miss?’ he called after her and she stopped, turning to give him a haughty glower.
‘Pardon me, my Lord?’ she forced through her teeth once more, as she glanced toward the conservatory to check that they were within sight of the eagle eyed chaperones.
Strands of music weaved toward them on the breeze, varying in intensity as doors opened and closed.
Anthony took a step toward her, keeping a few feet between them. She gave a little shake of her head, tilting her chin toward him, as if surprised or annoyed.
‘I never got your name,’ he said, his mouth curving into a delighted smile. ‘I was wondering if we would ever meet again. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, at your service, my Lady?’
He put his arms behind his back, and gave a little bow, that little smile curling his mouth so very becomingly.
‘I believe it customary for us to be formally introduced, sir. So, until such time, I will keep my name to myself, if it pleases my Lord?’
Anthony grinned happily. Her wit was as sharp as ever and she was giving him absolutely nothing. Not a very feminine trait, to be sure, but it became her remarkably well.
How fascinating.
‘Indeed, it does. Would My Lady In Cognito care for a dance?’ he asked, holding out his hand to her.
She pursed her lips, looking as if she would decline and walk away, but tilted her head ever so slightly as she studied him
‘I came out here because the air is stifling inside,’ she said, evenly, ‘And it would be most scandalous for us to stand up together as strangers, would it not, my Lord?’
The corners of her mouth had turned up a little, and Anthony felt as if it would be a great accomplishment to make her smile.
Or, indeed, laugh.
He would love to see her laugh.
‘That is true, dear lady,’ he replied, lowering his voice, seductively, ‘But we have music, and evenly placed flagstones. Would you do me the honour of a dance right here, at least? No one will notice us when there is so much excitement indoors...’
She stared at him for a moment, a little frown imbedding in her brow, but to his absolute delight, she reached out and slipped long, delicate fingers into his.
He gently squeezed them, giving her a little bob of his head in thanks, as he led her a little way down the path, just so they were in sight of the doorman but less noticeable to the gentry.
‘I am honoured indeed, my Lady,’ he said, as he led her into position for the next part of the current dance, and then the bottom dropped out if his stomach as his eyes met hers.
They were alight with mischief, a smug smile spreading across her face.
‘Oh, don’t be, my Lord,’ she said, with amusement, as he turned her into his arms, ‘I merely wish to know which skill of yours is most deficient…’
‘Is that so?’
He sounded unhappy as his eyebrows drew together, creating the most fetching little furrow between them.
She went in for the kill just as he pulled her out of a dip to face him.
‘Your dancing...’ she said, with relish, as his hand slipped around her waist once more.
‘Or your horsemanship…’
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
Miss Kathani ‘Kate’ Sharma could not quite believe where she was or what she was doing.
After arriving at the Conservatory Ball, which her benefactor Lady Danbury was hosting, and watching her younger sister Edwina dance a while, Kate had wandered off, her eyes searching for the man whom she had learnt was one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton. She scanned the room, wondering where he was, having spotted him now and then, on and off the dance floor.
Annoyed that she was getting headed off by Lady Danbury, whose knowledge of the Ton and society was admittedly impeccable, Kate decided to amuse herself by walking through the crowd to see if she could spot the Viscount dancing.
Kate chewed on her thoughts unhappily, irritated with Lady Danbury’s assumption that she knew what was best for Edwina, when she, Kate, had dedicated herself to ensuring Edwina’s future.
But, she’d never thought about herself, of tying herself to marriage and such notions that horrified more than excited, wanting love but never looking for it, and since Apa’s death, the weight of their fortunes and their future had rested on her shoulders.
She was just contemplating this when she was almost run over by a familiar looking young man who was carrying two cups of lemonade.
‘Oh, I’m terribly sorry, miss,’ he’d said, as he passed her, and she had scowled up at him, moving her skirts out of the way, 'Benedict Bridgerton. Might I offer a drink for the trouble? I can always get another…’
‘Uh, No. No , thank you, sir,’ she said, and bobbed her head, and the man gave her a quizzical little smirk as he returned it, and she walked off, the air suddenly too close and stifling.
Now here she was, dancing with the man she assumed must be that young man’s eldest brother, as the Viscount was far too young and obviously unmarried to be anyone else.
He didn’t even know her name, though his brow had crinkled into serious lines as he led her around the dance, to music which they could barely hear, and he seemed diverted by her insult rather than offended.
‘You wound me, my Lady,’ he remarked, with amusement, ‘And, how do you get on?’
‘Not well, I’m afraid,’ she sighed, theatrically, as they followed each other around, in a circle, staring into each other’s eyes, ‘I honestly cannot decide which is the most lacking...’
He almost laughed as his hands found hers, and he did a little head tilt that told her she’d hit a nerve. He raised her arm above her head as he brought her in close.
‘Of course, as I am proficient in both, I doubt you’ll find much fault in either. None in fact.’
‘Oh, really?’ she scoffed, the edges of her mouth turning up, ‘Well, then your character is the worse for it, sir, as you cannot admit to your flaws, so neither could you work to improve them. A pleasing smile is not much to recommend one, after all.’
Anthony looked down at her with an expression that made her realise her mistake.
‘You find my smile pleasing?’ he asked, and she could almost see him preen on the inside, as he brought her very close again.
They danced away from each other, but she tossed him a glower as she crossed the space diagonally to him, before coming back to clasp hands again. He turned her so that she was pressed against him with her back against his chest.
‘I find your opinion of yourself entirely too high,’ she retorted, as the closing bars of the dance started to sound, and he twirled her away from him. She was trying very hard to ignore that glorious scent of his. Something musky and expensive, and cut with rose water.
They came to a stop facing each other as it ended.
‘But I will give you one concession, Lord Bridgerton…’
‘Indeed?’ he said, as he bowed in return to her curtsey, ‘And what might that be?’
Transfixed, he watched her eyes twinkle in the low light, her mouth spreading into a fetching smile.
‘That I much prefer your dancing…’
>>>~~~~~oOo~~~~~<<<
She’d tossed her head just slightly as she said it, and Anthony quelled the urge to grin like an idiot at how much he enjoyed seeing her that way.
Happy.
‘High praise, indeed.’
Then he was very aware that he’d not let go of her hand. And she’d not taken it from his just yet. He ran his thumb over her knuckles, and that made his stomach do backflips, the warmth of her skin against his fueling something inside him that he didn’t remember ever feeling.
The moment seemed to stretch on into eternity as his eyes found hers.
Abruptly, she pulled her fingers from his and twisted them together, anxiously, looking up at the conservatory, and then at the doorman clearly trying to keep his gaze on anything but straight at them.
Anthony felt bereft, wanting to pull her in closer, not let her go.
‘I should rejoin my party, my Lord,’ she said, and her voice sounded strained, ‘They will be missing me, I’m sure. Thank you for the dance, Lord Bridgerton. Goodnight.’
With another slight bow, she walked off as fast as was proper for a lady, and he watched her skirts disappear through the door perplexedly, feeling almost light headed as an alien sense of panic washed over him.
Finding his wits about him, Anthony rushed to follow her, but by the time he’d made his way through the room, he could not find a trace of her, or anyone who might even be a relation.
She had disappeared from his life, again, and he still did not know her name.
But he was going to make damned sure that he did not remain ignorant for long.
And for the short time he slept that night, Anthony dreamed of a woman with long, dark hair and soft skin scented with lilies, her smiling lips matched by her glittering eyes, the teal blue dress she wore falling away from her golden brown skin in delicious, velvet ripples…