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A crippling chill ran up his spine as he forced himself to his feet. Upright, his eyes traveled from person to person, searching, seeking, hunting, for her. The shrieks of congratulations and crying dulled behind him, the sound a mere blip – diluted by his ever-growing anxiety. He had lost her. She was not within the group. He listened numbly as Miss Edwina began to reach for his arm. He sidestepped her with ease. He had heard congratulations from everyone except one; and he could not find her. His eyes swayed back and forth – quickly, roughly, ebbing and flowing until out of the corner of his eye he saw her: the tail of a purple frock swishing around the bend.
It should not have been so easy to follow but it was; a paltry excuse of a footman calling him and he was following her trail, leaving behind everyone else – Miss Edwina only too happy to engage in the lavish excitement alone. He did not know what he expected when he rounded the corner, perhaps, if he was honest with himself, he had hoped she would be facing him, ready to welcome him into her arms, to forget the mess he had just created. But as his legs took his last step that was not what greeted him. Instead he saw her, turned away from him gazing at the flowers. Her head lowered and her chest heaving unevenly, her hands still grasped tightly around the abandoned glove, the offending material held over her heart.
He had half a mind to leave her there lest he intrude upon her solitude but his feet would not move and his body stood rigid. He placed his hands behind his back, clasped; to make sure he did not reach out for her. Lord knew all he wished to do was hold her. His hands drawn together, turning white from his unyielding grip, he went to take a quiet step forward, but she had heard him. Her ears pricked, and in but a moment she straightened her back, taking a deep breath in, composing herself before turning. She knew it was him, he could feel the energy pulling them together.
Her body circled toward him, hands still gripping Miss Edwina’s glove. He gazed at her, her lips a fine line, eyes sunken and tired. He meant to say something, anything, but as he stared at her he crumbled within himself. Her eyes fierce and chin jutted out, she stood there watching him expectantly, eyebrows lifted waiting for him to start. She looked like a painting, one that took hours of painstaking strokes so the artist could depict the fullness of her beauty. Regal. Proud. A Viscountess.
He went to break the silence, “You have not congratulated me,” He said in jest, a fake smile plaguing his face. He looked every bit as he did when he had met her that first morning, racing her to the far end of the field. He would race with her to the ends of the Earth if she would only ask.
He had hoped she would spar; show him some of that lively stubbornness that he so admired. But she remained still, stoic even, like a stolen statue. “Should I?” she stated plainly, her eyes never wavering from his own.
“The rest of the party has,” he began softly, “and your approval would mean the world to Miss. Edwina.”
“Though not to you, it seems.” Kate quietly accused.
He did not understand. The last few days he had been plagued with the need to gain her approval. The very thought of her disliking him pushed him toward the edge, ready to throw himself off without a second thought. Did he not say as much in his study just last night? Did he not make it clear that he wished, no, needed, her to like him?
While his thoughts fought to figure out her meaning, she took one step forward, a wave rising off of the shore, ready to destroy anything in its path. “My approval,” she continued, “does not seem to mean anything to you as you did not even think to ask me for permission for my sister’s hand. The one sentiment I thought we agreed upon during our stalemate at Pall Mall.” Her nostrils flared slightly, trying to keep her calm.
He stepped back momentarily, ebbing himself from her tide. He had no answer. Or he had no answer that would suffice. He had acted irrationally, out of fear; in his anger he wished to blame Daphne. She had forced his hand, unknowingly as it was, it still was. Once Daphne had opened her mouth there had been no going back. Anthony was nothing if he was not irrational, smart as he was, he still had not conquered the idea of thinking before doing.
“I promise you,” He assured her, his voice gaining power, “your approval means a great deal to me.” He took a step toward her, flowing back to her current.
She looked away quickly, her breath hitching while her face fell, “Your promises mean nothing to me.” She momentarily deflated as if the air had been sucked out of her, rolling back into the sea, retreating from the shore. Anthony felt as if he was treading water. He was waiting for the next peak.
She kept her face turned toward the flowers, refusing to meet his heated stare and in that moment Anthony could see the cracks. She was hurt, though she hid it well. The slight grimace on her lips, the tightness of her jaw, the straining of her eyes – she did not want him to know. She did not want him to see how deeply this wounded her. It angered him because he, too, was hurt. She could have broken him into submission with just a few words. Why had she not told him?
A small part of him was even offended that she called his promises into question, though he knew she was correct. When had ever kept his promises, he thought cruelly. He was a failure; his mother thought so and his Father would have thought so. Everything and everyone he touched seemed to fall apart. He pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind. He watched her sullenly. Wrapped in her inlet he boldly stepped closer, grabbing the glove that she was absentmindedly stroking. Gently tugging on the garment, his fingers brushed her palm; he shivered at the contact.
She released a silent gasp and he lost all of his sense, “Kate –“
She recoiled at her name, jumping back hastily, thrusting him into the shallows. “Do not touch me,” she softly declared. The forgotten glove fell to the ground between them. He braced himself for her storm.
Her breath quickened trying to rein control of herself. She closed her eyes, calming herself, bringing him into her eye, a temporary calm settling over them. “You need not worry, Lord Bridgerton, I will not stand in your way,” she began.
“I do not care about that, Kate, you must know that I – “ I love you, he wished to say, but she was too quick.
“No.” Her breathing became labored again, trying to control the winds within her.
“Yes,” he stressed. He was flailing in her current, “You must listen to what I have to say!”
She scoffed, “I need not do any such thing.”
“You must, you must let me explain to you, because I am –“ In love with you.
“My brother.” She finished for him.
His body seized, he felt like he was sinking. Her words were pounding against him; threatening to throw him over into the vast sea. His stomach churned at the very thought, illness threatening to make him sick right before her. “What?” He asked incredulously.
She straightened her posture, her wave growing larger, the storm that was at bay closing in on him, throwing him from his broken ship, “You are to be my brother.”
Moisture threatened to spill from his eyes. Her face became blurry as he tried to hold the tears back. He could never be her brother. The very idea made him want to run to the gallows. He looked at her in disbelief. He would be her brother and the head of her family. If she were to stay in England, he would field her marriage proposals. He would have to watch her from the sidelines as he died bit by bit each day. What was worse, if she did return to India, he would never see her again. Left to hear only minuscule pieces of her life that Miss Edwina would read about in letters.
With every thought he felt as if he was being pulled under, fighting to burst out of the water to gasp for breath, only to be pummeled again. He was drowning.
“Kate, where are you? We must be going!” His neck snapped to the sound of Lady Mary calling for her step-daughter, still hidden from them by the front of the house, but her footsteps were growing closer.
When he swiveled back he saw Kate kneeling down. She softly picked up the discarded glove, clutching it in her hand. While kneeling, she raised her head to take a glance at him. He towered over her, but she held him in her wake. One word from her and he’d take her to Gretna Green.
“Congratulations.” She said stiffly. The breath knocked out of him. “You have bested me, My Lord,” She continued sadly while still praying before him. She slowly rose to her feet, her voice quivering, “You have won,” she whispered with finality. She began to walk around him, intent on returning to her family.
As she slinked by him, he grabbed her arm to stop her. As if burned by a fire she tugged it back. “Do not torture me so, Anthony.” She swallowed deeply, “Please,” she started, “stay away from me from this day forward.”
He was choking on sea foam, trying to master her tide. He went to grab her arm again but she stepped back.
“You have won,” Kate desolately repeated. “Let me go.”
She turned her back on him for the last time. Glove in hand, she returned to the front, plastering on a smile, preparing to hug her sister and listen to Miss Edwina’s excitement for the entire ride back to London.
Anthony stood alone, watching as her figure became smaller and smaller. The waves crashed over him, pulling him down to the sea floor. He was lost.