Chapter Text
Word has spread to your Author that the Whitgan ball, hosted Friday night held an appropriate amount of glitz fit only for the highest of nobility.
It has not escaped This Author's notice that Y/FN Y/LN, 6th Marquess of Cambridge arrived earlier this week with his family in a very humble escort of 6 carriages. Very humble indeed. Rumor has it that her Ladyship Y/N Y/LN slept peacefully in one of the carriages, unbeknownst to her that she, along with Daphne Bridgerton is said to be what we, my dear reader, call "The Diamond of the season".
After just one ball and the courtesy of a single dance at the hand of Y/N Y/LN, Oliver Greenwill was seen buying a diamond ring. With too many seasons to count on mere fingers, the senior of a man and a Lord has laid his eyes on the young Marchioness, perhaps finally finding a suitable bride.
Oh, the horror!
LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS
"If anything, I think she quite likes you."
You pretended to cry as you plopped on the sofa Daphne was sitting, "Daphne!"
"What?" She replied with a teasing smile, holding the society papers on her lap in a way fit for a lady. "I for one, have never seen her show anything but—"
"I believe the word you are looking for is hatred."
"That is not true," she said.
You bore a sigh, running your hands over your silky dress. "The only thing that is stopping my father from marrying me off is the fact that I was named the Diamond of the season."
Daphne's brows narrowed in confusion, "Oliver Greenwill is merely just a baron. Father believes I will be courted by someone of higher status."
"Like who?"
"The duke."
"But the duke does not wish to marry," she replied, "Anthony said so himself."
At the mention of her brother's name, you felt yourself stiffen, looking around without so much as gracing your closest friend with your eyes. Memories of the past year rushing into your brain, so you almost blushed, "And I do not wish to marry the duke either!"
You stood up abruptly, back turned to Daphne as you paced around the lavishly decorated room, sneaking a sweet in your mouth every so often. "He asked for a dance three times Daphne! Though I told him it is improper. But the man did not care."
"He did not," she murmured with wide eyes, knowing very well what can be spread when news hit that a woman danced with the same partner twice. Or even worse… Thrice! "You must tell your father."
You shook your head, "My father does not care."
But my brother does, Daphne thought.
***
Standing next to your mother, you watched as ladies your age and younger danced with men of all ages. It scared you, the thought of meeting Oliver's eyes somewhere amongst the crowd. It was very well known that your mother was too smitten with the thought of marrying you that she, quite frankly, did not care who asked for your hand in dance so long as he looked presentable. Likewise, it wasn't going to be hard for the old man to seek you out while you weren't protected with your marquess of a father.
"You ought to seek someone's eyes Y/N," your mother's voice sliced through the silence that overcame you. "There are fine gentlemen everywhere."
You tried not to reply sarcastically the best in your ability and instead straightened your spine the same way your mother did, doing absolutely everything in your power to look like a regal marchioness that you were.
"Lady Bridgerton!" Your mother suddenly exclaimed, turning around swiftly.
Relieved to hear the ‘Lady’ before the last name, you turned around to meet the loving eyes of Violet Bridgerton. Next to her stood Daphne, smiling lightly at you. Though unfortunately, on her arm was her eldest brother, a devilishly handsome viscount you knew to be Anthony.
Swallowing, you greeted them politely while evading Anthony's eyes at all costs.
The last time the two of you breathed the same air, you were completely and utterly…
Alone.
Unchaperoned.
Your mother had stars in her eyes as she took in the tall viscount, seeing him in a completely new light now that her daughter was to be married this season.
There wasn't a doubt in your mind that your father would've been pleased with the match to say the least. Especially since Edmund Bridgerton was one of his closest of friends.
"Lady Y/LN," Anthony murmured, taking a hold of your gloved hand and pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles.
You felt your knees weaken at the act but managed to perform a short, polite curtsy despite the symptoms. Anthony Bridgerton was always so attractive to you, ever since you've known him in all honesty.
But it felt as though it was too much even for you to want a rake like himself to settle down with you, no matter how much you thought you were perfect together.
When he stole your first kiss a year ago, he made no effort to settle, even while knowing that you might've been seen together and that your honor was tainted because of him.
Just then, your mother nudged your side, urging you to follow her line of vision with the action. You felt your face grown green at the realization that Oliver Greenwill was in fact there, eagerly looking around the ballroom for you.
"Mama…" You started slowly, looking at him from the corner of your eye. She raised her hand to stop you.
"What is the matter, Y/MN?" Asked Lady Bridgerton, glancing at your mother before casting her gaze on you. "Are you alright dear?"
"Lord Greenwill made quite the scandal today," your mother started lowly, explaining the event she was yet to tell her close friend while brushing off your paleness by saying it was simply caused by nerves. "Arriving at our mansion, saying how he needs less than a fortnight to court our daughter!"
Violet and Daphne gasped softly, making several heads turn your way. Both your mother and you plastered on wide smiles, before your mother lowered her voice again to tell the remains of the story to the Bridgertons.
You stole a glance at Anthony, looking at his dark features that had your heart skipping a beat. He looked as impeccable as he always did. What you did not know was that looking at you while he listened to what your mother spoke about had his heart tightening in chest.
It had finally occurred to him that you being courted was not something he wanted to live through. Without a second thought, his sister’s nudge of encouragement being the last straw, Anthony extended his hand toward you, looking at how Oliver trekked toward your modest huddle from the corner of his eye. "I do hope you will favor me this dance, Lady Y/LN, if you are not already engaged for the dance that is."
"O—of course, my Lord," you said shyly, not quite believing your ears. His suddenness surprising you.
"Good." Said Anthony simply, throwing a one last glance at Lord Greenwill before he dragged you onto the dance floor, leaving the two mamas and sister to plan a wedding amongst themselves.
"Pry tell," he said, his feet matching yours under the familiar rhythm of the music. "Why Lord Greenwill keeps chasing you around?"
"The same reason Lord Berbrooke is chasing your sister," you replied quite dryly, "He wishes to marry me."
His jaw clenches under severe pressure, your words hitting him in the nerve. "Will you?"
"Will I what Anthony?"
Anthony's eyes fell on your face, quite aloofly. For a moment, you thought about stepping on his foot for the mere fun of it. "Marry him."
You failed to seek words, instead dropping your gaze to your locked hands, moving along to the rhythm on instinct. "Y/N I beg of you. Answer me."
"What do you want me to say my Lord?" You asked meekly, feeling your eyes gather with unshed tears. "That I will marry some old man despite having my heart stolen by another? Or that I will not?"
"That night—"
"Lower your voice my Lord." You reminded him, "People are staring."
"I am not your Lord!" He barked, hands tightening around you until you were even closer to him. Scandalously closer. "That night—"
"Was never supposed to happen."
"God grant me endless patience," Anthony exhaled, "Let me finish!"
You stepped on his foot, quite hard. Watching him as his face twisted at the pain was amusing to say the least. "Do continue."
Anthony took a deep breath, deciding to just say the words in fear of being stepped on again. "I do not regret anything about that night."
Your remarks seemed to have evaporated into thin air, lips parted ever so slightly in surprise.
Oh, how he wished to kiss them.
The music seemed to come to a harmonious end at that moment, the couples that were issued on the dance floor twirling into an ending pose. Anthony was dangerously close to you, hidden from ambitious mamas by being in the middle of the ballroom floor with you. He leaned in, so close to your ear you felt his breath against your neck. The action was so sensual, and you have never experienced such pleasure before. The rake whispered, "I will be coming for you tomorrow."