Chapter Text
Agatha Danbury was not a stupid woman. After outliving her brute of a husband and fashioning herself as a fearsome pillar of the ton, there were few who would dare to think she was anything short of intelligent and cunning. Yet as she stood in her pristine drawing room, the hem of the newly introduced Miss Sharma’s dress tracking mud onto her floors, she wondered if her reputation had faltered in recent years.
Holding the young lady’s gaze, Agatha was impressed that Miss Sharma did not fidget or look away under scrutiny. Rather, she straightened her shoulders and tilted her chin with more confidence than Agatha would expect for a woman of the ton. Pursing her lips, she pondered the depths that lay behind those defiant eyes of Miss Sharma’s.
Letting her gaze fall to the muddy hem responsible for her current irritation, Agatha wondered if her notoriety preceded her anymore. It would not be so absurd to assume that the fear she inspired in the ton did not cross continents, yet Miss Sharma’s clear lack of fear would suggest otherwise. That possibility was rather troubling indeed.
As a widow and mother to adult children, Agatha had grown to enjoy certain levels of freedom that most women of society did not have the privilege of. It was crucial to note, however, that she was still a woman. There were avenues, goals, and dreams that would always remain out of reach due to her sex. Relying on a husband's protection was pure naivete, and adhering to the strict rules of the ton had only served to bind her hands. No, if she wanted true power and freedom, she had to tap into something entirely undesirable for the fairer sex in English society.
The greatest lesson Agatha had learned in her youth, and again in the early days of her marriage, was that fear could be a great motivator. Few things spurred action and deference like fear, and for the past few decades, she had benefited greatly from her position as “dragon lady” of the ton. She enjoyed watching young gentlemen scatter when she entered a room, young ladies lowering their eyes in reverence because it was a power entirely hers. She had not been given this gift, nor had it been bestowed onto her at birth, and neither had she traded it for her virtue in a marital bed.
From her posture to the directness of her gaze, Agatha considered if Miss Sharma had learned similar lessons in life. Well, let us see how formidable an opponent she is, Agatha thought before motioning for their party to sit down.
Once seated, a rotund, furry creature was deposited on Miss Sharma’s lap by a disgruntled footman. Agatha had no grounds to ban the animal from her home, but something about the dog reminded her of his mistress. The beast seemed perfectly content to take up space in new surroundings without a hint of apology for his intrusion. On Miss Sharma, Agatha had to admit, the attitude was intriguing, but on the mutt, however, she felt herself pull a face as she regarded him, drooling happily on the miss’ lap.
Striking a conversation about the ball that evening, Miss Edwina broke the tension in the room. Agatha appreciated the distraction–using the conversation to draw a few conclusions about the sisters she would be playing mentor to that season.
Miss Edwina was the picture of grace. Were it not for her mama’s scandal during her debut, Agatha would have wagered that Miss Edwina would easily secure the title of Diamond of the First Water. The young miss was refined, docile, pretty, and most interestingly seemed to defer exclusively to her elder sister.
Despite the impertinence of the elder Miss Sharma—dismissing the tutors Agatha had arranged showed some spirit— she could not help but watch the way the Sharmas interacted. Miss Edwina looked to her sister before speaking, even going so far as to wait for her nod of approval. It was most peculiar indeed, and it reminded Agatha of someone, though she could not entirely remember whom.
It was not until their party stepped into the glittering expanse at the conservatory ball, amidst the floral fragrances and humid air that evening that she was able to make the connection. As she extolled the virtues that made Lord Bridgerton the most eligible gentleman of the season, Agatha observed Miss Sharma’s reaction to him. If she was not mistaken, she thought she even caught the young woman blushing at the handsome viscount. Snapping her gaze back over to Lord Bridgerton— now surrounded by eager young ladies and their ambitious mamas—Agatha watched him, a plan slowly forming in her mind.
As she watched the dancers spin and hop through a Viennese waltz before her, the wheels began to turn in Agatha’s mind. “If you ladies will excuse me, I see my dear friend across the dancefloor and have an urgent matter to discuss with her,” Agatha said to Lady Mary, before rushing towards Violet Bridgerton. She caught up to the dowager at the refreshments table, pleased to see none of the other guests were nearby—they would not have an audience for this conversation.
“Lady Bridgerton,” Agatha called. As she turned, a wide grin broke out across Violet’s face before she reached out a hand to grip Agatha’s tightly. “Splendid evening.”
“Lady Danbury, it is indeed, though my children seem to have already deserted me,” Violet said with a soft chuckle.
Smiling at her friend, Agatha eying young Miss Eloise Bridgerton as she hid from suitors across the dancefloor, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton snickering nearby. “You and I have common interests this season, it seems,” Agatha said conspiratorially, leaning closer. “The news of the viscount’s intentions for the season has spread quickly this evening.”
They turned to see Anthony on the dancefloor, struggling through a cotillion with a clearly nervous Miss Weston. From beside her, Agatha heard Violet snort before quickly covering her mouth with her hand. Shooting her friend a sly smile, Agatha turned back to the couples on the dance floor in time to see Lord Bridgerton brusquely bowing before exiting the floor mid-dance. Her brow raised high, she turned back to Violet.
“I wish I could say that was the most offensive behaviour my son has displayed in his search for a wife, but—,” Violet cut herself off, shaking her head slightly. “The viscount seems set on a particular course towards matrimony, and I feel at a loss for how to steer him away from some rather grave missteps.”
“Ah,” Agatha intoned, tilting her head to watch Lord Bridgerton exit the conservatory. Then only moments later, she noticed Miss Sharma exit through the same door. She wondered if perhaps fate had already intervened, her plan requiring no additional assistance.
“He has been interviewing young ladies,” Violet hissed, pulling Agatha’s focus back to her longtime friend. “He has been posing the most indelicate of questions to them, I fear at this rate he will never marry.”
Pursing her lips, Agatha thought that fate or not, an extra push in the right direction could not hurt. She reached forward and gripped Violet’s hand, hoping to infuse her with some confidence. If they were to be successful in this plot, Agatha needed Violet to steel her nerves as the turbulent road ahead.
“Then you are quite in luck, as I have a candidate whom not even your buck of a son could intimidate,” Agatha said, lips pulling into a sly smile. Violet's eyes widened, her hand resting against her stomach.
“I do not believe such a lady exists in the whole of England, my friend.” Wary, Violet took a large drink of her lemonade.
“Who says she needs to be English?” Agatha countered, satisfaction rushing through her limbs as Lady Bridgerton’s brow furrowed, confusion etched across the lines of her face. “Join me for tea tomorrow morning, I would like to introduce you to one of my wards.”
Taking a sip of her tea, Agatha studied Violet Bridgerton from above the rim of her teacup. It was a good sign Violet had joined her that morning, but there was a curious energy emanating from the lady she could not quite identify.
“You’ve known this young lady only a day and yet you are this certain she is a match for my son?” Violet asked, her mouth tight with tension. Agatha nodded, confident she could make the mark of a person within a minute of their acquaintance. She had so rarely been wrong.
Setting her teacup down, Agatha gathered her thoughts before speaking. “Miss Sharma would be a more than qualified match for any gentleman on the ton. However, I do believe Lord Bridgerton would make a more than adequate—nay esteemable match for her.”
Violet blinked, looking quite taken aback at her speech. “Anthony? My eldest, who just yesterday asked Miss Goring if she read books—you believe he would be a good husband?” she asked incredulously. Agatha found herself working against the instinct to frown at her friend.
Agatha looked at the ceiling of her drawing room and pursed her bottom lip for a moment. Lord Bridgerton’s tactics did leave much to be desired, but she decided to forge on. “Without a doubt. You do not?”
“Oh, well—, I,” Violet sputtered before clearing her throat, twisting her hands on her lap. “I am sure, for the right woman, Anthony would make a fine husband. Though there are some qualities of his that I find worrisome,” Violet said, her eyes drifting to the side to gaze out the window.
Letting out a small frustrated breath, Agatha leaned forward. “You know me to have a most discerning eye, and you know I would not dishonour you by speaking falsehoods on such a serious topic,” Violet turned her eye back to Agatha and nodded quickly. “I have known your son for nearly thirty years, I have witnessed his triumphs and his failures.”
To that, Violet huffed out a laugh. Peculiar, Agatha thought, her brow raising.
“Despite the difficulties, your family has endured,” Agatha added, “he has led your family well, maintained your social standing, and, most importantly, matured into a good man.”
Violet shifted in her seat, unable to hold Agatha’s eye. Reaching forward, she laid her hand atop Violet’s and gave her a small squeeze.
“I believe Edmund would be exceptionally proud of the man he’s become,” Agatha said quietly. Still, her friend did not meet her gaze, though by the wetness she saw pooling in Violet's eyes, Agatha could understand why. “Do you not agree?”
A tear rolled down Violet’s cheek, but she did not move to wipe it away, she merely sat still, staring at her lap. “Yes,” Violet finally whispered. “Yes, his father would be most proud. I am too, though I will admit, I do not often show it.”
With one final squeeze of her hand, Agatha sat back in her seat. Violet let out a shuddering breath, pulling out a handkerchief to blot at her eyes. Feeling they had waded into waters her friend was not yet ready to tread, Agatha decided to bring them back to their task.
“Now, Miss Sharma should be joining us soon, though I will warn you, she is not keen to marry this season. So we will need to be most cautious in our line of questioning,” Agatha said, checking the clock on the mantle. She had only a few more minutes to prepare the dowager viscountess to meet her potential replacement. Agatha suspected Miss Sharma, the prior morning notwithstanding, was exceptionally punctual, and would not take their discussing her in secret kindly.
“She is six and twenty, has lived in India nearly all her life and after their father’s passing when she was only eight and ten, she took over management of their family finances and Miss Edwina’s education,” Agatha said, the information pouring out of her in a rush as she eyed the clock. “It is important that you know she has much to recommend her, and yet she plans to return to India after her sister weds, to become a governess, never to marry.”
Violet let out a small gasp, her brow creasing as she contemplated the torrent of information. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted when Miss Sharma entered the drawing room.
“Ah, Miss Sharma, good morning!” Agatha called, rising to walk towards the young lady. She had her hair pulled back into another severe style that, while complimenting the angular beauty in her face, aged her quite drastically. Her style of dress, too, could only be described as matronly, the heavy fabrics and opulent colour a stark contrast to the light and whimsical fashions that young debutantes favoured.
Idly, Agatha wondered if she would be able to convince Miss Sharma to enter the marriage mart, with enough time left in the day to visit the modiste. Though that was perhaps too optimistic. “May I introduce you to a dear friend of mine, Lady Bridgerton.”
“Lady Bridgerton.” Smiling, Miss Sharma dipped into a graceful curtsy. Agatha looked to Violet just in time to see her mouth slightly agape, eyes widened before she remembered herself and crossed the room to join them.
“Miss Sharma, it is a pleasure to meet you. I hope you do not mind my intrusion this morning,” Violet said by way of greeting, a cheerful note in her voice. “Your host has been most generous in her compliments to both you and your sister, I had to come meet you myself.”
Agatha noted a glint in her friend’s eye. It was the same look that every marriage-minded mama had, secretly hatching plans and schemes for her children.
Though Miss Sharma did not show it beyond a slight widening of her eyes, Agatha could tell she was taken aback at the possibility of someone speaking highly of her. She quickly schooled her expression, a calculating stillness smoothing out her features.
“Lady Danbury is far too kind, we could not have asked for a more gracious host,” Miss Sharma remarked, her eyes showing a polite affability but still clearly assessing the woman before her.
Agatha looked to Violet again and saw how pleased she was at Miss Sharma’s manners. It is almost too easy at this point, she thought wistfully, I would have relished a challenge.
“Though I must apologize, you have just missed my sister. She will be at the modiste’s for the next few hours,” Miss Sharma added, looking between the dowagers.
“No, no, my dear, I came to meet you,” Violet said, taking Miss Sharma by the hand and leading her to the tea service laid out. “Would you care for some tea?”
“Oh, I—, yes please,” the young woman stammered out.
Once they settled again at the small table, Agatha leaned back in her chair and watched as Violet peppered Miss Sharma with questions. She imagined that had the young lady not been so surprised by the attention, she might have worded her answers more cleverly. As it was, she was being rather honest, something Agatha noted Violet seemed to relish.
“What are your plans after your sister is wed if you do not mind my asking?” Violet probed.
“I will return to India, and become a governess,” Miss Sharma replied firmly, a small stiff smile playing across her face.
“You would not consider a match of your own?” Violet rejoined, furrowing her brow in feigned confusion.
Miss Sharma shot Agatha a sharp look, clearly unamused that she now had two women questioning her choices. She merely smirked in response – Miss Sharma’s temper was one of her most amusing traits, and her ability to keep it in check one of her most admirable.
“I am uninterested in marriage,” Miss Sharma said, her tone insinuating a finality Agatha chose to ignore.
“And what of your sister?” Agatha interjected and Miss Sharma’s shoulders tensed. “Would you not stay for her?”
“What use would I be to my sister once she is married?” Miss Sharma replied, genuine confusion marking her face. It struck Agatha then that this accomplished, beautiful, intelligent young woman regarded herself in terms of what value she brought to those around her. Agatha glanced at Violet and saw the same realization reflected on her face. Their eyes met and in that moment Agatha knew that Violet had been convinced. Miss Sharma was just the woman for Lord Bridgerton.
“Well, I do hope you will not mind if I attempt to change your mind,” Violet sat up straighter in her chair and smiled warmly at Miss Sharma. “It would be a great loss for the ton to lose a lovely young lady such as yourself.”
A flush blossomed across Miss Sharma’s neck and cheeks making her look much younger than the sophisticated air she typically conveyed. For all she had accomplished with her family, and all her stubborn plans, she was still a young girl, clearly unaccustomed to such praise and attention. If her plotting unfolded as she intended, Agatha anticipated courting the most eligible gentlemen of the season would disabuse her of that unwarranted and bashful response.
“Thank you, Lady Bridgerton,” Miss Sharma replied, a small but genuine smile on her face directed at the dowager viscountess. “If you will excuse me, I need to prepare a few things for when my sister returns.” Moving to stand, Miss Sharma gave them each a small curtsy. “Lady Danbury, Lady Bridgerton, it was lovely to make your acquaintance.”
Violet waited until Miss Sharma’s footsteps could be heard on the staircase before she turned in her chair to face Agatha, her mouth agape. With a smug smile on her face, Agatha shrugged her shoulders.
“I did tell you I had the perfect candidate,” she said easily.
“My word, she reminds me so distinctly of Anthony,” Violet said in a hushed tone, leaning back in her seat. “Oh, we must arrange a meeting between them as soon as possible.”
Humming, in her mind Agatha ran through hers and the Sharma’s plans for the week it would be difficult to organize something that did not come across as staged. She could foresee Miss Sharma marching away from them in the middle of a ballroom, propriety be damned if she felt she was being managed.
“It would need to be before the diamond ball—,” Violet’s eyes became unfocused as she thought through her next steps. Agatha smiled to herself, pleased that of all the women of the ton to join her in this endeavour, she was paired with Lady Bridgerton, a formidable force to be reckoned with where her children were concerned.
“Yes, I believe that would work.” Violet smiled to herself before fixing her gaze back on Agatha. “Could you arrange for a visit to Bridgerton House the morning before the Diamond ball? If possible, I would like to get ahead of whatever plans Anthony has arranged for the season’s diamond. Should we speak to Lady Mary regarding this—do you believe she would like to attend?”
That question stopped Agatha in her tracks. She had not even considered speaking to Lady Mary about arranging this match on her daughter's behalf. Unconventional familial structures aside, it was rather poor manners indeed.
“I will speak to her tonight, appraise her of our intentions and extend the invitation,” Agatha replied stiffly. What had she been thinking, failing to speak to the lady’s mother prior to speaking to Lady Bridgerton? Though, where was Mary in all this, she wondered. In each discussion regarding their family, household, and futures, Miss Sharma spoke of Miss Edwina first, and herself as an afterthought. Mary was rarely mentioned. An unusual spot of nerves coiled in her chest, there was something very peculiar happening in that household.
Agatha determined she would get to the root of it and solve what she could if only to clear the path forward for this advantageous match between the Sharmas and Bridgertons.
“Miss Sharma, I do hope you cease your sighing by the time we arrive at Bridgerton house. It is unbecoming,” Agatha said, scratching a spot off the handle of her cane. When she lifted her eyes, as suspected, Miss Sharma was glaring at her, while valiantly pretending she wasn’t.
“Are you nervous dear? I thought you enjoyed Lady Bridgerton’s company when she visited last week?” Mary asked, her hand gliding lightly over Miss Sharma’s. The young miss turned to her mama and gave her a strained smile. Agatha felt her brow raise, at the rate they were going, Miss Sharma’s behaviours would give her a permanent strain in her brow if she was not careful.
“No, mama, though I do not understand her reasons why, I am most honoured Lady Bridgerton would invite me for tea,” the young woman said, throwing Agatha another sharp look. Unable to stop herself, Agatha smiled back at her. Which only served to confuse Miss Sharma more, who narrowed her eyes in response.
Looking out the window, Agatha noted they were moments from their arrival. “Like myself, Lady Bridgerton has taken notice of a charming, intelligent young lady. Why shouldn’t she desire your company? If for no other reason, I am sure she wishes you to be a positive influence on her rather spirited children.”
“What influence could I have?” Kate asked in a frustrated huff. “Forgive me, but beyond small social calls with the viscountess, I doubt I shall form any lasting attachments with the Bridgertons at all.”
The carriage stopped on the drive and a footman swiftly opened the door, effectively saving Agatha from answering. Filing out of the carriage and into the house, they found Violet in her cool-toned drawing room, which was remarkably absent of any children.
“Lady Bridgerton,” Agatha called before sitting as soon as she came upon a chair. Despite what the ton seemed to think, she did not carry her cane for theatrics, and she had awoken that morning to a particularly angry knee.
“Lady Danbury,” Violet nodded with a smile before turning to Miss Sharma and Lady Mary, still hovering in the doorway. She greeted her guests and bade them to sit.
Pleasantries were exchanged, idle chatter fluttered through the room, though Agatha could barely hear it as her knee had now grown its own pulse. It was rare that she could not grit her teeth and ignore the pain enough to navigate social calls. Instead, she found herself staring intently at a swirl in the wood of the table in front of her, a familiar wave of cold heat rolling against her skin as another spike of pain flashed through her.
Time passed in strange ways when in the throes of deep pain. Agatha felt like an eternity had passed as she waited for the pain to lessen, to give her at least a small moment of reprieve so she could politely excuse herself and return home for the medicines she had on hand.
Then she felt a hand on her forearm. Agatha had not realized she had closed her eyes until she felt them blink open to look for the source of the touch. Miss Sharma stood above her, a teacup in her other hand. Teeth still firmly clamped together, Agatha tried to relax her expression, to find a way out of wherever this interaction was heading.
“Drink this as quickly as you can,” Miss Sharma said softly, placing the cup and saucer on the table. Agatha leaned forward slightly and regarded its contents curiously. It was startlingly yellow, though the scent wafting off it was not unpleasant. She looked back up to Miss Sharma skeptically and received a private smile in response. “It is turmeric tea, I believe it will help.”
Swallowing around a suspiciously dry throat, Agatha gave her a short nod, before reaching for the cup. Miss Sharma dropped her hand from Agatha’s arm, and without another word, returned to her mama and Violet, the latter watching Miss Sharma with wide, admiring eyes. As long as Violet’s gaze did not swing to her with questions, Agatha was happy to let their acquaintance form naturally without her interference at present.
It seemed only a short while later, the sharp flavour of turmeric still on her tongue, that the muscles in her back and abdomen relaxed and Agatha was able to take a deep breath. She moved her leg experimentally, noting the searing roar of pain had been reduced to a more manageable stiff discomfort. Straightening her back, she rose slowly from her chair and leaned heavily on her cane to cross the room to where the other ladies sat.
It took great effort to not fall onto the settee beside Miss Sharma, and despite her exertion, her descent was less than graceful. Agatha was denied a moment to dwell on it, however, as Miss Sharma spoke up.
“I do believe we should be leaving soon,” she said, looking sharply at Mary. “Edwina and I still have much to discuss before the diamond ball.”
Mary nodded demurely, appearing ready to leave at Kate’s word, but Agatha settled deeper into the settee.
“Your mama can surely aid Miss Edwina in her preparations.” Agatha levelled Mary with a hard glint in her eye. Miss Sharma turned in her direction, but she was unconcerned with Miss Sharma’s desire to control their movements. Agatha watched as Mary’s gaze darted between her and her daughter, tension in her posture. “Lady Mary, when you arrive to see Miss Edwina, please inform the footman to return for Miss Sharma and myself by midday.”
“Yes, I do insist you join me for the midday meal, Miss Sharma,” Violet added with a smile. Agatha turned to Miss Sharma and struggled in vain to keep a smile off her own face as she watched the young miss realize she had been out-manoeuvred.
Though this match would hardly be a challenge worth her mettle, Agatha would find pleasure in Miss Sharma’s reactions. She had such expressive eyes, and while she tended to keep her feelings from her face, her eyes regularly betrayed her.
“Then it is settled, Miss Sharma, please see your mother out,” she said cooly, turning back to Violet, who too was trying and failing to contain her own conspiratorial smile. As Mary bid her farewells, and Miss Sharma effectively stormed out of the room to escort her mama to the door, Agatha stretched her knee out and noticed that the pain had lessened even further than before. That child would be wasted as a governess, she thought smugly, she is far too intelligent, with far too big a heart to simply educate others’ children.
“Anthony should be here before noon,” Violet whispered, peeking towards the door. “Though perhaps we should attempt to brighten Miss Sharma’s mood before he arrives? I fear her reaction to him if she is in a sour disposition.”
Waving a hand to dismiss the thought, Agatha leaned her cane against the settee, finally feeling like she could relax enough without it. “If nothing else, he will get a preview of her ability to remain calm under pressure. These are the virtues he ought to pursue when seeking out a wife.”
“Yes, well I had not thought accomplished debutantes would be so disastrous a match for him,” Violet snapped, though in a hushed tone, letting out a huffed breath and casting her gaze aside. Agatha let her comment settle into the silence of the room.
“I am not blaming you, my friend,” she replied, ducking her head to catch Violet’s eye again. “I simply believe we should be working towards matches that are specifically beneficial to the parties involved. A young debutante would simply be another person to manage for Lord Bridgerton, she could never be his wife, his partner as you would wish for him.”
Eyes welling up with tears, Violet stood and walked to a window across the room. It was curious how frequently she seemed to be on edge when discussing her eldest. Agatha had witnessed how Violet revelled in motherhood, how she doted on her children, allowing them liberties not often practised amongst the ton. Yet, there was something, she had noted, in the interactions of mother and eldest son that made Agatha pause. Though she had not watched them closely enough to draw any conclusions, she anticipated a season of scheming together would allow her more time to study them.
When Miss Sharma returned a moment later, they joined her at the doorway and were led to a dining room for luncheon.
“Miss Sharma, I have inquired with Lady Danbury about your plans for the season outside of shepherding your sister, but she has been remarkably tight-lipped,” Violet said smiling as her footmen brought their luncheon options round the dining table.
“Lady Danbury is not withholding some great secret, I assure you, Lady Bridgerton,” Miss Sharma replied warmly. Agatha could see the building affection between her and Violet, a very good sign if this match was to be a success. “Assisting my sister in finding a match is my sole purpose in England. After she is married, I will return to India to teach.”
Spotting an opportunity, Agatha jumped in before the young woman could solidify that future in their minds. “Miss Sharma is a most diligent teacher, having been single-handedly responsible for preparing Miss Edwina for her season in London. A most impressive accomplishment, considering the buzz about the ton in regards to your sister.” Agatha waited for Miss Sharma’s reaction.
Excitement blossomed across Miss Sharma’s face, her large, brown eyes brightening as she listened. And just as she had before, Miss Sharma did not allow such a display of emotion to linger and it was quickly erased a moment later, a reserved smile taking its place across her sharp features. Such small expressions did not suit a young lady of her beauty. And while Agatha could not pretend the ton was known to praise outwardly large emotional expressions, it unsettled something in her that Miss Sharma was always so quick to smother her emotions. She had yet to see the young miss smile beyond the tight-lipped expression she now donned.
“Lady Danbury is most gracious in her description of my sister's education, but in truth, Edwina must be given all the credit. All her accomplishments are her own, I cannot claim them.” Miss Sharma’s smile for Agatha and Violet did not quite carry to her eyes, nor did it bely the visible tension in her posture.
“Oh, I would not say that Miss Sharma,” Violet replied. “After eight children, I have seen my fair share of governesses and educators, it is more than a willing student and natural talents. There is pride to be found in your accomplishments. Maybe it is not the usual fare a debutante could claim, but I daresay what you have done is a far more exceptional achievement.”
Silence descended on the table. Agatha was shocked by her friend’s speech—she had not known Violet to be so forward-thinking. She shifted her gaze to Miss Sharma and saw a similar surprise mirrored on her face, her face and posture visibly softening as Violet’s words reverberated in the quiet.
“I—, thank you, Lady Bridgerton, you are too kind,” Miss Sharma said, shaking her head, and for the first time that visit, she offered a small, but authentic, smile.
“And to have accomplished all that at so young an age! It is quite remarkable,” Violet continued, turning her attention to the fruit on her plate, cutting into them with all the grace of a lady of her station. “Though I do wonder why you would not seek a match of your own once your sister is settled. I have found preparing my daughters for their debuts and launching them into society incredibly rewarding. I suspect you would feel the same with your own children." As she finished speaking, Violet tilted her head to the side as she took a bite of her food, her tone as innocent as if they were discussing the weather.
Ah, there’s the formidable ally I partnered with, Agatha thought, hoping to keep the smug smile off her face. Violet was truly a worthy partner in this matchmaking challenge they had embarked on. Despite their rank—a viscount being not much more than a baron—the Bridgertons had wielded their power both financially and socially to enshrine themselves as one of the most influential and revered families in London. Few held as much weight or influence as they, and Violet was a true master of the machinations women in their circle had to play in order to climb the social ladder.
Were it any other young lady, Violet’s questions may have profoundly shaken their confidence and may have dissuaded them of any interest in courting with the Bridgertons, but Miss Sharma was not the typical debutante on the marriage mart.
For one, to Agatha’s great vexation, she seemed determined to avoid matrimony at all costs. But most importantly, she was no innocent miss, newly introduced to society, naive to much of the ways of the world. She was a lady forged under immense pressure and by nature could see through the feigned innocence of the question.
Seeming to finally come back to Lady Bridgerton’s comments about Miss Sharma’s intention for her future, she finally responded after taking a careful sip of her wine. “It will be most rewarding to help other families with the education of their children. I expect I will enjoy it greatly.”
“I daresay it is quite different, Miss Sharma. I believe there are many families who would be thrilled to have a young lady of your quality as the lady of the house,” Agatha rebutted, earning her a sharp look from Miss Sharma.
“Mine, in fact,” Violet announced, throwing the room into silence once more.
Though the mood in the room was markedly different than moments ago, Violet looked over to Agatha in question as to how they should proceed. She gave the viscountess a subtle nod in confirmation. Violet turned her gaze back to Miss Sharma, “As you may know, my eldest son is looking for a bride this season—”
“—Lady Bridgerton, I must—” Kate interrupted, but Violet was not to be deterred.
“Many young ladies entering the marriage mart would be ill-prepared to handle the challenges of a large family, the running of a household alone would be enough to satisfy most ladies in want of employment,” Violet explained. “But you have already proven yourself capable of managing a household, seeing to a child’s education, and launching a young lady into society.”
She had expected to find surprise, exasperation, or maybe even excitement in Miss Sharma’s expression, but when Agatha looked across the table, Miss Sharma looked as if she was grinding her teeth together. Anger was the last thing she could have anticipated, and frankly, she found herself unsure of her next steps.
Unaware or potentially undeterred by Miss Sharma’s expression, Violet persevered. “If you are amenable, I would like to arrange a meeting—”
“Lady Bridgerton, there are things—,” Miss Sharma tried again, but this time, it was not Violet who interrupted.
“Mother, have you decided on a lady’s maid for—,” Lord Bridgerton said, entering the room with his head tipped down towards a document in his hand, stopping only once he realized his mother was not alone. “Oh, forgive me, I did not know we had guests. Lady Danbury,” walking further into the room, Lord Bridgerton bowed to Agatha. He turned to greet Miss Sharma and pulled up short.
It seemed as if every piece of him froze as he gazed at Miss Sharma, his mouth slightly agape as he stared. Miss Sharma, for her part, did not seem nearly as surprised to see him there, in fact, the anger she had been keeping tightly controlled moments earlier now blazed furiously in her eyes.
“You,” Lord Bridgerton breathed, still unmoving as he and Miss Sharma locked eyes. Brow furrowed in confusion Agatha looked to Violet, whose gaze was darting quickly between her son and Miss Sharma.
“My Lord,” Miss Sharma ground out, something suspiciously akin to contempt in her tone.
“Oh, you have already met my eldest, Lord Bridgerton?” Violet supplied. She tried for a pleasant smile, but it seemed she too noticed how long Miss Sharma and Lord Bridgerton had been staring at each other. While it was strange, it now bordered on improper, and underneath it all, it was entirely confounding.
“Yes,” Lord Bridgerton answered.
“No!” Miss Sharma said, too loudly, at the same time. Agatha thought the tension in the room could not have been more stifling, and yet, after that clear misstep, she felt she could almost see another layer of emotion descend on the room.
“Anthony, would you care to join us,” Violet tried, and finally something snapped between Lord Bridgerton and Miss Sharma, pushing them both into action.
“I believe it is time I return home,” Miss Sharma said loudly, raising to her feet.
“No, I am expected at the solicitors,” Lord Bridgerton stuttered out, taking large steps backwards out of the room. “Good day, ladies,” he offered before disappearing out of sight.
While the electrified pressure in the room lessened to a degree, Agatha felt the tension that had been building in the room settle into her shoulders. She would need more of that tea Miss Sharma had prepared.
“For heaven’s sake, Miss Sharma, sit down. Let us finish our meal,” Agatha griped, reaching for her wine. “Care to explain how you know Lord Bridgerton when I have not yet introduced you?”
“It’s not—,” Miss Sharma began, frustratedly, before taking a breath and speaking again. “I do not know Lord Bridgerton, I briefly spoke to him in passing at the conservatory ball.”
An obvious lie, but Agatha knew that was not the most relevant information she had gleaned from that improper interaction.
“Well, I should like to introduce you formally then,” Violet began, infusing false cheer into her voice. “As I was saying earlier, if you are agreeable, I would like to arrange a—”
“I am uninterested in forming an acquaintance with Lord Bridgerton,” Miss Sharma blurted. The chair she sat in scraped loudly against the floor as she hopped up from her seat and brushed her hands down her skirt. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton, for the tea and luncheon, but I must return to my family now.”
Before they could offer a word to entice her to stay, Miss Sharma nearly ran from the room. Agatha felt rooted in place as she stared at the empty doorway Miss Sharma had just disappeared through. Gone were her delusions that this match would be a simple endeavour, not after what she had just witnessed. Though she was not entirely sure what was between Miss Sharma and Lord Bridgerton, she knew it was a complication.
The Sharma’s formal presentation to the queen went as well as could be expected. Miss Sharma and Miss Edwina were the picture of grace and refinement, and Queen Charlotte was still cross at Mary’s swift departure decades prior. Though through some cleverly worded goading, Agatha was certain that the queen would name Miss Edwina the diamond, not that the girl would need the added help in finding a match.
Letting her gaze trail over to where her young sponsees stood, Agatha wondered if this was the first time in her life that Miss Sharma had someone working for her benefit. Yes, it would be a boon to her reputation if the young lady Agatha was sponsoring was named the diamond However, in truth, she had not nudged the queen towards the younger Sharma sister for her own benefit, nor even for Miss Edwina.
Across the room, Miss Sharma leaned down slightly to her sister's ear to whisper something to her, unintelligible at this distance, words which visibly had an immediate calming effect on Miss Edwina. The younger Sharma leaned into her sister, giving her a smile of gratitude. An air of pride washed over Miss Sharma’s features, extending into her posture. She stood straighter, looked stronger, more steadfast.
No, the benefits to herself and Miss Edwina were simply happy byproducts. Pushing Miss Edwina to be named the diamond of the season seemed an apt reward for Miss Sharma’s dedication to her family. Agatha knew this to be true when the announcement was made and Miss Edwina’s eyes went directly to her sister, who, again, steadied the new diamond with only a look.
Miss Edwina began moving towards the queen to accept her position and was immediately enveloped by the crowd, disappearing from view. It was not until Agatha crossed the room to join her that she saw a genuine smile light up Miss Sharma’s face. Agatha was struck by the great tragedy that Miss Sharma’s smile was a rare thing, the sight of it so warm and sweet, youthful exuberance erasing the typically severe lines of her face. Agatha nearly grinned back in response.
“I suppose I should thank you,” Miss Sharma said, the potency of her excitement rolling off her in waves.
Agatha turned to face her, and relented, joining in Miss Sharma’s celebration, offering her a small grin in return. “Oh child, it is much too soon for that,” she chided playfully.
When she looked back to the crowd in front of them, she saw Violet trying, and failing, to covertly attract Agatha’s attention with her handkerchief. When she looked up to her friend's face, nerves exploded in Agatha’s stomach, as Violet’s eyes were wide with panic while she gestured with her head towards the dancefloor.
Following her line of sight, Agatha saw Lord Bridgerton slowly pushing through the throngs of guests, his gaze fixed with harsh determination on one Miss Edwina Sharma. Damn, she cursed inwardly. Agatha was still unsure if Miss Sharma’s outright objection to Lord Bridgerton was indicative of some larger concern, or if she simply did not enjoy his company. Worse still, if he showed interest in the lady’s sister, their matchmaking scheme would be for naught.
Darting her gaze back to Violet, she mouthed, “Stop him!”
Violet did not hesitate, immediately turning to her next eldest child, Mr. Bridgerton, and pushing him in Lord Bridgerton’s direction, whispering something harshly as she did.
Agatha moved forward to keep her view of Lord Bridgerton’s path to destruction, nerves clawing up her throat, but just before he could break through the last barrier of bodies between him and Miss Edwina, Mr. Bridgerton grabbed him by the arm. Only a moment later, a gentleman bowed to Queen Charlotte, and then to Miss Edwina before taking her hand and leading her to the dancefloor.
Her pounding heartbeat eventually settling, Agatha returned to her place beside Miss Sharma, letting out a sigh of relief.
“Did you see my sister? Has she been asked to dance?” Miss Sharma asked, leaning forward on her toes in an attempt to see around the crowd that had formed around the waltzing couple.
Clearing her throat, Agatha replied, “Yes, she is on the dancefloor now and I suspect she will be for the next few sets. Why don’t I introduce you to a few gentlemen and you can join her on the dancefloor?”
“Thank you, but I will not be taking to the floor tonight,” Miss Sharma insisted, then turned to dip into a curtsy. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Agatha watched Miss Sharma retreat along the edges of the crowd, seemingly in an effort to view her sister dancing. A moment later, Violet walked over, sliding into Miss Sharma’s vacated place at her side.
“Well that was a near disaster,” Violet whispered through a smile. Agatha shook her head, already exhausted by the evening's events. It was quickly becoming apparent that this match would take far more effort than she had anticipated, and she would most likely need to monitor the situation closely lest Lord Bridgerton or Miss Sharma intentionally throw obstacles in her path again.
“Now the real work begins,” Agatha murmured, to which Violet nodded swiftly. Agatha let her gaze drift lazily around the room, noting who was in attendance, who was behaving strangely, and who was standing far too close. In fact, there was only one couple she could see standing so closely it bordered on impropriety: Lord Bridgerton and Miss Sharma.
From beside her, Agatha heard Violet gasp as she too noticed their proximity to one another. But before they could rejoice at their luck, Agatha noted how they stood. Lord Bridgerton’s hands were clasped behind him, as was typical, but his shoulders were tense, raised nearly up to his ears. His jaw was clenched tight, his brow furrowed, and she could see his chest raising and falling quickly. Miss Sharma, for her part, was hissing something at him, her hands clenched into fists as she spoke, her body nearly vibrating with ire.
Violet’s hand shot out to grip Agatha’s as they watched the scene before them. They were missing some very pertinent information, as there was no justifiable explanation for this level of contempt between them based on Miss Sharma’s relation of their meeting.
Just when Agatha determined she must march over and separate them lest someone else notice, like a crumpled paper unfolding, something in their expressions changed. All at once they both seemed to relax, though somehow Agatha could still see the tension in them, and at such a distance she could not be certain, but they seemed to lean into one another. Lord Bridgerton’s hands unclasped from behind his back, slowly moving to reach forward as if he would touch Miss Sharma in full view of every prominent member of the ton. Miss Sharma’s eyes drifted down from his, softening visibly, even at this angle, settling on his lips.
“My word,” Agatha breathed, unable to look away from the pair. Miss Sharma’s eyes flitted back up to Lord Bridgerton’s and they locked gazes again, lost in some private moment between them. Agatha noted his hand still reached for her, and just before he could make contact, he was jostled to the side by a passerby and the spell was broken.
Agatha let out a breath she had not known she was holding as Miss Sharma and Lord Bridgerton awkwardly shuffled back from each other, though not drifting away. They lingered a moment longer, before finally Miss Sharma remembered herself, threw him a final glare, and stormed off. The forlorn expression on Lord Bridgerton’s face as he watched her leave was as surprising as it was confusing.
Then at once, he straightened his posture and walked off in a different direction. Slowly, Agatha turned to Violet, still reeling as she considered what she had just witnessed. She had expected to see that same bewilderment mirrored on Violet’s face, but instead, she was smiling like the cat that got the cream.
“What is this expression? Are you not concerned about what we just witnessed?” Agatha hissed, brow furrowing. But Violet’s excitement did not wane, she merely pursed her lips together, a smile still colouring her features as she quirked a brow jovially.
“I know exactly what our next move shall be,” she said conspiratorially, looping her arm into Agatha’s, leading them to the retiring room. “Does your Miss Sharma enjoy the races?”