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Chapter Text

Lately, along with history and maths and all the other usual stuff, Hyacinth’s governess has been trying to teach her that proper young ladies keep their thoughts inside their heads and never, ever blurt them out without serious consideration.

Hyacinth is not convinced that this is entirely fair, especially since she’s quite certain she’s never heard anybody tell Gregory that proper young gentlemen have to do the same. But unfortunately she’s also quite certain that mastering this particular skill is linked rather strongly to her chances of ever being allowed to come downstairs and dine at the table when her mother has a house full of important guests, so she’s been trying her very best to get the hang of it.

It’s more than a little disappointing then, that when Anthony comes upstairs before dinner and tells her his news, the very first words out of her mouth are, “But you cannot get married!”

Hyacinth winces, expecting a telling off, but Anthony only folds himself into the small chair beside hers and says, “Whyever not, dearest?”

“Because!” she says wildly, thinking of Daphne – always off at Clyvedon now, her absence only made even slightly bearable by the fact that Simon is so very nice. “I have not even met her!” Hyacinth looks at her brother, his tall frame all scrunched up to fit into the child-size chair beside hers, and her voice begins to wobble. “What if I do not like her?”

“Hyacinth Bridgerton,” Anthony scolds gently, “do you really think I am capable of selecting a wife that you would not like?”

Hyacinth only sniffs, dragging her fist over her running nose. That’s not something that proper young ladies do either but Anthony doesn’t seem to mind.

“Please don’t be upset,” he says, looking rather upset himself now. “You’ll meet her soon, I promise.”

Hyacinth watches as he fidgets with the signet ring on his little finger, her conscience poking at her for ruining his happy news with her unhappy reaction.

“What’s she like?” she asks, trying to sound dignified and interested instead. “Is she nice?”

“Sometimes,” Anthony says, but there’s a funny little smile on his face that says he’s only joking.

“Clever?”

“Very.”

“Pretty?”

“I certainly think so.”

“When can I meet her?” She glances at Anthony, already dressed for dinner, and knows it won’t be tonight. Unless... “What if I came down for a moment and–”

“Hyacinth…”

“Only for–”

“You know that if it was up to me, you’d be sat right beside me,” Anthony says, just like he always does whenever they have this conversation. “But Mother says–”

“I am not yet old enough,” Hyacinth finishes glumly. “I know.”

“And yet you still ask me,” Anthony says, elbowing her lightly. “Every single time. Why is that?”

“Because,” she says, elbowing him right back, “one day you will give in and let me come down.”

“One day,” Anthony agrees easily, “but not, alas, tonight. Now I must go or I’ll be late for my own engagement announcement.” He groans as he unfolds his long legs from under the little table and stands up. “I’ll be sure to ask Miss Sheffield to set aside some time tomorrow morning–”

“First thing tomorrow morning,” Hyacinth insists. Honestly, she can’t be expected to wait any longer than that.

“Very well, first thing,” Anthony agrees, with that indulgent little laugh that she likes to think belongs to her and her alone. “Perhaps we’ll go for a walk, if the weather permits.”

Unbidden, Hyacinth’s imagination supplies the whole horrible scene – a pretty, faceless stranger taking Anthony’s arm, both of them laughing at a hundred little jokes that Hyacinth isn’t in on.

“It’ll be alright, you know,” Anthony says softly, almost as if he can see right into her head. He crouches down, bringing his face level with hers. “I promise that you’ll love her.”

Hyacinth looks across at him, narrowing her teary eyes. “Do you love her?”

“Now that,” Anthony says, not quite looking at her any more, “is none of your business, Hyacinth.”

Which means yes, of course.

Hyacinth’s heart does a funny little flip, like it can’t quite decide if that’s good news or not.

--

“Your sister wants to go for a walk tomorrow?” Kate repeats, after Anthony murmurs the request in her ear after dinner. “Heavens, which one?”

“Hyacinth,” he says. “You haven’t met her yet. She’s–”

“The youngest,” Kate supplies, idly wondering if they’ll be expected to keep up the alphabetical naming tradition with their children.

Their children.

Because they’re getting married.

Her thoughts jolt to a sudden stop.

They’re getting married.

They’re getting married and they’re going to have babies and they’re going to raise them together in this enormous, beautiful house.

Lord above, this is the strangest day of her entire life.

“Kate?” Anthony says, moving in a little closer than is entirely proper in company. It’s probably forgivable – they are betrothed now after all. The realisation does not help with Kate’s spinning head. “Are you quite alright?”

“Of course,” she says, shaking her head as if that might shake away the thought that he kissed her this afternoon, that he might even find a way to kiss her goodnight too. And that she really, really wants him to. “I–”

“Does–” Anthony suddenly makes a strange motion with his hand, almost as if he started to reach for her and then stopped himself. Barely. “Does it hurt?”

“Does what…” Too late, Kate realises she’s been idly scratching at the welt left by the bee sting on her collarbone. “Oh! No,” she says quickly, snatching her own hand away. “It’s nothing, my lord–”

“Anthony,” he corrects automatically, his eyes still fixed on the small red mark on her chest. “Please.”

There’s something a little desperate underneath the tension in his voice, the sharp edge of it scraping away at her good mood until she feels silly and vapid and selfish, the champagne souring in her stomach. There she was, daydreaming about kisses and babies while he was thinking about her dropping dead on the drawing room floor. It’d almost be funny, if she didn’t hate it so much.

“Anthony,” she amends, trying for a smile and not quite getting there. “I–”

“Kate, you must tell me if it hurts.” His hand – still hovering awkwardly in the space between them – starts to tremble. “Please.”

“It doesn’t,” she says quickly, curling her hand into a fist to stop herself reaching for him and giving all the curious eyes in the room something else to whisper about. “It itches a little, that’s all.”

But just like in the garden, Anthony barely seems to hear her. “I should have sent for a doctor,” he mutters, shaking his head.

He’s starting to look a little like he did in the garden too, she realises, brittle and barely present, that awful haunted look creeping shadows into his eyes again. Only this time it’s worse than before, worse than almost any feeling she’s ever felt, because this time she understands exactly what’s happening inside his head. The knowledge breaks her heart clean in two and for a moment Kate can’t do anything but stare at the man she’s going to marry and wonder just when exactly they got so tangled up together that his discomfort became her own.

“The oversight is unforgivable,” Anthony says, taking her silence for agreement. “I–”

“No!” Kate says, concern sharpening her voice into something harsh. She takes a breath and reaches for something softer, something a little more like the way he spoke to her last night during the storm. “It wasn’t necessary.”

“But–”

“Anthony.” She says his name quietly, because he asked her to use it and because she likes it, likes the sound of him on her lips and likes the idea that it might soothe him. She likes that far, far too much. “Look at me, please.”

He does as she asks, the harsh line of his jaw softening under a sigh as their eyes meet. The motion makes Kate think of all her own soft edges, the ones she hid away behind her sharp wit and never showed to another soul until Anthony found her under that table last night. And he didn’t flinch, didn’t even hesitate, just got down on his knees on the floor of his own grand library and held her hand while she shook.

The urge to do the same for him is too much to bear, even with every eye in the room watching their strange little tableau. Deciding that she doesn’t give a damn who is watching, Kate gives in and reaches for him, laying her hand gently on his trembling wrist. It’s not enough, not nearly enough, but she’s fairly sure nothing ever will be when it comes to this man.

“I promise you,” she says, quiet but firm. “I am perfectly alright.”

“Are you?” he asks, so very quietly. “Are you really?”

And it’s the strangest thing, because Kate knows that she’s only known him as a man but even so, she would swear on her very life that this is exactly what he sounded like as a little boy.

“Yes,” she says, just as quiet as him. “Really.”

It’s only much later, when she finally closes her eyes to sleep, that Kate realises he might have been asking about more than just the bee sting.

“Good.” Anthony lets out a long breath, finally allowing the gentle pressure of her touch to lower his hand back to his side. “That’s good,” he repeats, a slightly bashful smile tugging at his lips.

He shifts his weight awkwardly for a moment, his body telling her what he can’t quite put into words – that he’s embarrassed, maybe even a little upset with himself for giving in to his fears like this, right here in this room full of watchful eyes.

“Lucky, too,” Kate says off-handedly, guessing that some levity might be what he needs. “Can’t very well be wincing my way through our engagement celebration, can I?”

“Quite,” Anthony says, a flash of gratitude colouring the amusement in his eyes. “Lady Whistledown would have a field day.”

“I do wonder if she’s here,” Kate says, eyeing the other guests. “Don’t you?”

“Better bloody not be.”

Anthony glances around, seeming to only now realise the sheer number of people watching their conversation with undisguised interest. Frowning in that way that she used to hate and now finds rather grumpily endearing, he turns his back on the room and offers her his arm. Kate bites back a smile and tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow, allowing him to lead her away from the earshot of most of the guests. Well, allowing might be a bit of a stretch. She’s fairly certain she steers them most of the way herself.

“Now then, tell me about Hyacinth,” Kate says, as they come to a stop side by side in front of one of the windows, their backs to the rest of the room. She steals a glance at him, finding his face far more interesting than the sunset outside. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” he says, and then, “Not much, at any rate.”

“You’re not filling me with confidence, my lord.”

“She’s a darling, really.”

“But?”

“But,” he allows, “she didn’t seem overly excited about the idea of our engagement.”

“Oh ... well, of course not.”

“What do you mean of course not?”

“I’d have thought that was obvious.”

“Obviously not,” he says, heaving a put-upon sigh, “or I wouldn’t be asking.”

Kate laughs at the rather delicious scowl on his face. Whatever else happens, being married to Anthony Bridgerton really is going to be so much fun.

“Kate...” He grinds out her name like a warning, thankfully quite oblivious to the silly direction her thoughts have flitted off to. “Are you going to tell me or am I supposed to guess?”

The slight growl in his voice sends a pleasant shiver across her skin. It really doesn’t help her concentrate on the matter at hand.

“Kate?”

“Sorry,” she says, trying to discreetly press the back of her hand to her cheeks to see if they’re as flushed with heat as she suspects they might be. “Just – try to think on it from your sister’s perspective.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you are her big brother”–Kate points a finger at him before turning it back on herself–“and I am just some interloper that she has never met, come to take you away from her.”

It’s quite sweet really, that Anthony looks so terribly offended by the suggestion. “But you won’t take me away from–”

“Of course not,” she says, “but you can see why she’d think that.”

“I suppose so,” Anthony allows, tilting his head slightly as he considers it. “But I’m sure she’ll come around, once she gets to know you.”

“Like you did?”

Anthony snorts a laugh. “Exactly.”

“And would you say you share a similar temperament to your sister?”

“You could say that,” Anthony says, evidently quite warming to the idea of Hyacinth putting Kate through her paces now. “Like me, she can be a little ... spiky sometimes, I suppose.”

“Oh joy,” Kate says blandly.

Anthony laughs. “My dear Kate,” he says softly, the endearment slipping from his lips like a habit, “you just survived dinner with a room full of the ton after I announced that we’re getting married in a week. You can handle my little sister.”

“Oh, you can hardly compare the two,” Kate says, with a careless wave of her hand. “I don’t care a jot what most of these people think. But your family… well, they’re different.”

“Are they now?” Anthony says, looking inordinately pleased.

“Of course,” she says, indulging him. Anything to keep that smile on his face. “They matter.”

Anthony hums a little note of appreciation in the back of his throat and Kate suddenly finds herself very aware of just how close he is, standing beside her like this in front of the window. It would be so very easy to lean slightly towards his warmth, to press her bare arm against his and find out how soft the velvet of his evening jacket really is. Before she can muster the courage to do just that, Anthony moves instead, subtly angling his body so no-one sees him close his fingers around hers.

Kate sucks in a breath that doesn’t seem to fill her lungs. “Anthony...” she says, though for the life of her she doesn’t know what the end of the sentence might be.

Anthony only smiles. “I am very glad to be marrying you, Kate Sheffield,” he says, his voice impossibly soft. “Did you know that?”

“No,” Kate blurts, too blind-sided by his admission to conjure any pretty words or silly quips. But now that it’s out there, she won’t take her answer back. She lifts her chin and lets him see the truth of it in her eyes. “I did not know that, my lord.”

A flicker of regret passes over his face and she knows that he understands.

“Well I am,” he says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Very glad indeed.”

And as Kate stares up at him, his handsome face warmed by the glow of the sunset outside, she realises that she believes him. Completely. He might not have chosen her in his heart, not in the way she suspects she has already chosen him, but whoever else he might have preferred by his side, Anthony is not sorry to find that it is going to be her.

That will have to be enough.

“As am I,” Kate admits, so quiet it’s a wonder he even hears it. She laughs. “Heaven help me, but I am.”

Anthony smiles at that, giving her a little helpless shrug that seems to contain all the very same things that she feels – surprise, pleasure and maybe, despite how very unfunny this all is, just a little sliver of amusement at the mess they’ve gotten themselves into.

Kate grins back at him, moving to hide their joined hands in her skirts as they turn their attention back to the view outside and watch the last rays of sunlight disappear beyond the treeline.

Anthony doesn’t let go of her hand until the sky is dark enough to count the stars.

--

Chapter Text

--

What Hyacinth really needs is more information, of course.

Gregory is utterly useless as usual, despite having actually met the lady by chance the day before.

‘Really quite nice,’ is the best he can offer. ‘Nice’ and ‘tall’ and ‘pretty’ and lots of other adjectives that absolutely don’t help in the consideration of whether this nice, tall, pretty girl is actually good enough to marry their brother. Nevermind that Gregory didn’t know when he met her that she was going to end up joining their family, he really should have paid more attention.

When Hyacinth points out the possibility that this girl could be some sort of fortune hunter, Gregory actually laughs in her face.

“Aren’t fortune hunters more usually gentlemen?” he says, frowning. “Since ladies are the ones with the dowries?”

He’s right, of course, which only infuriates Hyacinth further.

“Besides,” Gregory points out, still being so very irritatingly reasonable, “Anthony obviously likes her. Is that not enough?”

As arguments go, it’s fairly persuasive. After all Anthony is very clever and he obviously saw something in this girl to have picked her out of all the other ladies in London. Still, it’s highly annoying to be reminded of this fact by Gregory of all people.

Hyacinth spends a good portion of her evening ignoring her brother after that, focusing instead on trying to remember if there was ever anything useful in Whistledown about this Miss Sheffield. She has a vague recollection of something about Anthony and a dog, which Anthony got very cagey and snappish about when Colin tried to tease him. She wonders if perhaps the dog bit him.

It seems odd to marry a girl whose dog bites her suitors but you never know.

After all Hyacinth has read quite a few books – including several that she’s fairly sure she was not quite old enough to be reading – where people seem to do lots of questionable things for love. It always seemed rather romantic before but now she thinks it might also be rather foolish actually.

By the time Colin sneaks upstairs after dinner with three eclairs, Hyacinth is really quite worked up about Miss Katharine Sheffield as well as being quite worked up about the fact that she’s worked up in the first place.

All in all she’s having a rotten evening, though the eclair does rather take the edge off.

“What do you know about this Miss Sheffield?” Hyacinth asks Colin, taking her chance to interrogate him while Gregory has a mouth full of his dessert.

“Ah you know about the engagement, do you?” Colin says, finishing his own eclair in two ridiculously large bites.

“Anthony told me before supper,” Hyacinth says, realising for the first time that Anthony must have made a special effort to find time to tell her before the rest of his guests.

And she wasn’t even nice about it.

Hyacinth licks the last of the chocolate off her fingers, feeling like quite the worst sister in the whole world.

“Don’t be so glum,” Colin says, mistaking her frown for an opinion on the news. “Kate is a capital girl, really. You’ll love her.”

“That’s what Anthony said.”

“Well there you go.”

“But who is she?” Hyacinth says, wishing she had thought to get some paper so she could write down the outcome of her investigations, like Eloise is always doing. “Where is she from?”

“I do not know,” says Colin.

“How old is she?”

“Don’t know that either.”

“You’re useless!”

“That’s not fair,” says Colin, looking highly offended, “I brought you an eclair!”

Hyacinth tosses the napkin it was wrapped in right back at him.

“So ungrateful,” he mutters, throwing it back. “And now I’m afraid I must get back downstairs.”

Colin stops when he reaches the door, looking back at her with something like understanding in his eyes. “She really is very nice, you know. Quite the very best person for Anthony to be marrying, I promise.”

Hyacinth just nods and says, “Thanks for the eclair.”

Without anyone else to speak to, Hyacinth’s research rather stalls for the rest of the evening. Even if she had a notebook and quill nearby, all the information she’d have to review so far is: nice, tall, pretty (possibly has dog). It’s hardly enough to decide if this girl should be allowed to marry Anthony.

She’s so busy wondering what, if anything, would ever be enough to allow someone to marry Anthony that she loses five card games to Gregory in a row and ends up going to bed in quite a huff.

Hyacinth’s last chance to gather some information comes when her mother floats into her bedroom to say goodnight, bringing with her a cloud of her familiar perfume and the sweet scent of what Hyacinth thinks might be champagne.

“I’ve got some news,” Violet says, sitting down at the end of Hyacinth’s bed with a wide smile. “Anthony–”

“Is getting married,” Hyacinth says, rushing to say it first. “Yes, I know.”

Her mother’s smile falters. “You do not seem pleased.”

“Of course I am,” she lies, suddenly quite desperate not to discuss Miss Sheffield at all anymore. She turns onto her side, hiding her face. “It’s lovely news.”

“It is lovely news.”

“That is what I said.”

“I am not sure it is what you meant.”

Hyacinth jerks around, pulling herself up on her elbows to look at her mother and fully intending to say … something – something glib and cheerful and pleasant enough to make her mother believe her so she’ll go back downstairs and leave her alone. But when she opens her mouth no sound comes out at all.

“Oh, Hyacinth…” Violet says, her voice full of understanding. She tucks a strand of hair back behind Hyacinth’s ear. “Your brother loves you very much, you know–”

“I know that,” Hyacinth snaps, embarrassed.

And she does, of course she knows that. It’s just that – oh, she doesn’t know what it is, just that she’s felt strange ever since Anthony told her the news, like something is turning her inside out.

“I don’t suppose you have had a chance to meet Miss Sheffield yet?”

“Not yet,” Hyacinth says, biting at the nail on her little finger until her mother bats her hand away from her mouth. “Anthony said we could go for a walk in the morning.”

She really doesn’t mean to sound so very unenthusiastic about the idea.

“Hyacinth…” Violet sounds her name like a warning. “You must promise to give Kate a chance.”

“I will!” Hyacinth says, dropping back to her pillows with a huff.

“Hyacinth Bridgerton!”

“I promise,” she amends.

“Good girl,” Violet says approvingly, and then, “And I promise not to say ‘I told you so’ when you tell me tomorrow that you like Miss Kate Sheffield very much after all.”

“Do you, Mama?” Hyacinth asks, staring up at her mother’s face to make sure she’ll catch any hint of a lie. “Do you like Miss Sheffield?”

Violet smiles again, so wide it makes her cheeks lift. “I do.”

Well then.

In Hyacinth’s imaginary notebook that’s three votes now for Miss Katharine Sheffield, none against.

Maybe everyone really is right about her, Hyacinth thinks, as she lays down and tries to fall asleep. Maybe Miss Sheffield really is just a nice young lady that is perfect for Anthony.

And maybe she’ll make him so happy and give him so many babies that he forgets all about everyone else.

Hyacinth stares at the canopy about her bed and tells herself it’s just tiredness that is making her eyes burn.

--

“Lady Katharine Bridgerton. Lady Kate Bridgerton. Lady Bridgerton.”

“Edwina, stop–”

“Katharine, Viscountess Bridgerton.”

Kate falls back onto their bed, covering her face with a pillow. “Edwina!”

“You have to admit,” her sister says, bouncing in beside her and pulling the pillow away, “it has quite a marvellous ring to it.” Edwina’s face, already incandescent with happiness, somehow manages to brighten even further. “Oh! Speaking of which, has he given you one yet?”

Kate snatches the pillow back and presses it over her mouth to muffle a groan.

“I shall take that as a no.”

“It just – it all happened so very fast,” Kate says, dropping the pillow and peeking up at her sister. “I told you–”

“I know, I know,” Edwina says, scoffing a laugh. “You had ‘no idea’–”

“I didn’t!” Kate says, still marvelling that Edwina apparently … did?

It doesn’t make sense. Anthony was courting Edwina. He said so. Often and fairly vehemently. And he sent flowers. And … well, that’s all really. Now that Kate thinks about it, he wasn’t a particularly attentive suitor to her sister. But how on earth Edwina took that and twisted it into Anthony being interested in Kate instead, Kate will never, ever know.

He didn’t even like her until recently.

Whatever Edwina thinks, he certainly isn’t falling in love with her.

It’s ridiculous.

It’s absurd.

It’s … all Kate wants in the whole world.

She flops down onto her front and plants her face right into the pillow again.

“Kate?” Edwina says slowly, her hand rubbing small circles on Kate’s back. “What is it? Are you – are you not happy? Because if–”

“No, it’s not that,” Kate says, turning over and staring up at the ceiling. “I am happy.” The truth of it settles over her like the weight of Anthony’s arm around her shoulders last night – warm and a little surprising, but so very welcome. “I’m very happy indeed,” she goes on because damn it, it’s true and not saying it out loud won’t make it any less so.

Now if she could just be sure that Anthony felt the same way, she’d never ask for another thing in her whole life.

Glad, he said. I’m very glad to be marrying you.

She should be pleased with that. She is pleased with that.

Glad is nice.

Glad is quite a lot better than nothing.

But there’s something about Anthony Bridgerton that makes Kate greedy in a way she’s never, ever been before. And now that he’s not standing next to her, muddling up her thoughts with his smile and his scent and that maddening heat that always seems to be rolling off him, Kate can’t quite shake the feeling that glad isn’t going to be enough after all.

Worst of all, she can’t quiet the voice in the back of her mind whispering that perhaps he would be so much more than just glad if he was marrying Edwina instead.

“Kate?” Edwina’s curious face appears above her, blocking out the ceiling. “If you’re happy then what on earth is wrong with–”

“Nothing,” Kate lies, shoving Edwina back to her side of the bed with a slightly forced laugh. “It is just – well, it’s rather a lot to take in, if you must know. That’s all.”

That’s not all of course but it’s the closest thing to the truth that she can manage now. Not half an hour ago Kate came upstairs with the full intention of telling Edwina everything, the whole mad story, but then Edwina started crowing that she wasn’t surprised, that she knew Anthony was smitten, and Kate rather lost the thread from there really. She tried to explain about the bee and the garden and Mrs Featherington but Edwina only dissolved into giggles and insisted that chance had simply given fate a little bit of help.

Kate knows that she could tell Edwina the whole truth – about Anthony’s father and that awful, desperate panic that overtook him – but she also knows that she never, ever will. Just like she knows that Anthony won’t tell another soul about what happened in the library. They have their own secrets now, things that don’t belong to anyone else, and Kate can’t quite put her finger on when she started liking that so very much.

“You’re right, of course. It is a lot to take in,” Edwina says, clearly making an effort to be sensible. “But I know you’ll make a tremendous viscountess.”

“It isn’t even that!” Kate says, hearing the slightly shrill edge of panic creeping into her voice. “Or not just that, at any rate.”

“Then what is it?” Edwina asks again, and Kate spares a moment to thank God – or possibly Mary, for gifting her with such a patient sister.

Kate takes a breath, trying to put all the messy pieces into some semblance of order.

“Consider this, Edwina,” she begins, slipping under the covers now and holding them up for her sister to join her, “I arrived here not two days ago, quite sure that I didn’t like Anthony Bridgerton at all.”

“I was not so–”

“Edwina!”

“Sorry, go on.”

“I thought he was courting you,” Kate says, beating the pillow under her head to try and force it into a more comfortable shape, all the while knowing her discomfort has quite another cause. “No other alternative occurred to me.”

That seems to make Edwina sad and Kate finds herself turning onto her back, addressing the ceiling instead.

“Then – well, then I don’t really know what happened but somehow everything changed and now – now I like him very much, perhaps even too much–”

“How can you say–”

“And,” Kate ploughs on, quite unable to restrain herself now that she’s begun, “suddenly I’m going to be a viscountess and – and a wife and I’m going to live here in this enormous house and you might not be surprised, Edwina, but I bloody well am!”

“Oh,” is all Edwina manages to say to that.

Kate swallows down the sudden and very inappropriate urge to laugh.

“And,” she adds gloomily, “it sounds like his little sister hates me.”

“I see,” Edwina says, and then, “And is that all?”

Kate really does start to laugh then.

Honestly, there’s nothing else for it.

--

Chapter Text

--

The next morning dawns with a bright sky and a light breeze, perfect weather to take a nice invigorating walk in the spring sunshine and decide once and for all if Miss Katharine Sheffield really is fit to join the family.

Having slept on the issue, Hyacinth decides that it’s actually quite simple.

Either Miss Sheffield is nice or she isn’t.

If she’s nice then it follows that she’d never hurt Anthony or do anything to steal him away from everyone who loves him, and Hyacinth has nothing to worry about. On the other hand if Miss Sheffield is the sort of lady who would even think of doing any of those things, then she isn’t nice and she isn’t fit to be a Bridgerton at all.

It really is so very simple.

When Hyacinth tries to explain this to Gregory over breakfast, he only frowns and says that in fact it all sounds rather complicated. But then again, he’s not as clever as Hyacinth.

When she reminds him of this, he drops a blob of jam on her sleeve on purpose.

Hyacinth is very restrained and doesn’t even retaliate. Oh, it’s tempting of course but if she does what she’d like to do – which is leave the butter dish right where Gregory will put his elbow – then she’ll surely be sent upstairs to work on her sums instead of going out with Anthony and his fiancée. And there is absolutely nothing more important than finding out if Miss Sheffield is good enough for Anthony, not even revenge against Gregory. That can wait until this afternoon.

If she’s not busy plotting how to end an engagement by then, of course.

Admittedly Hyacinth isn’t entirely sure how to do that but it really can’t be so very hard. Colin seemed to manage it last year after whatever happened with Miss Thompson, though Hyacinth still doesn’t know what that was. She’s fairly certain the answer is in one particular edition of Whistledown that her mother threw into the fireplace before Hyacinth had a chance to read.

She amuses herself by wondering just what might have been inside those pages while she waits for Anthony in the entrance hall. Something that is certainly not nerves fizzes in her stomach every time she hears footsteps but it’s always someone else – servants or some of the other guests or even Gregory, come to tease her about the small pink stain on her pale blue frock that’s entirely his fault.

Hyacinth is so busy sucking her sleeve into her mouth to see if she can remove the mark that she doesn’t even notice Anthony approaching until he’s standing right in front of her.

And he’s not alone.

Of course she knew he wouldn’t be but for some reason Hyacinth still manages to feel vaguely surprised at the sight of this total stranger on her brother’s arm. And perhaps a little bit sick.

“Hyacinth,” Anthony says, with a proud little smile that makes Hyacinth feel even stranger, “may I present my fiancée, Miss Katharine Sheffield.”

Hyacinth spits her sleeve out of her mouth and looks up at the lady, staring her straight in the face in a way that she’s quite certain her mother would deem extremely rude. Miss Katharine Sheffield is indeed all of the things Gregory said, tall and pretty and – well, nice remains to be seen but Hyacinth will allow that there’s nothing obviously unkind-looking about her. She has shiny, dark hair and bright eyes, and if her walking dress isn’t quite the latest fashion it certainly looks comfortable. But by far and away the most interesting thing about her is the fact that she doesn’t look away from Hyacinth’s stare, not even slightly.

“Kate,” Anthony goes on, apparently oblivious to the staring match between them, “this is my youngest sister, Hyacinth.”

Miss Sheffield blinks first.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bridgerton,” she says, and Hyacinth feels a slightly savage pleasure in the fact that she does sound a little nervous.

“And I you, Miss Sheffield,” Hyacinth says, aiming for that airly polite sort of voice that her mother always uses with new acquaintances.

Anthony stares at her, his nostrils flaring in a way that suggests she did not quite hit the proper tone after all.

“Oh please, call me Kate,” Miss Sheffield says, waving her hand. “All my friends do.”

“I am not sure I should,” Hyacinth says, the insult falling out before she can stop herself. “Since I have not yet decided if we are going to be friends.”

It is quite possibly the most spectacularly rude thing that she has ever said.

She regrets it immediately.

The ringing silence that follows seems to stretch on forever and with every passing second, Hyacinth feels guiltier and guiltier, the weight of it piling on top of her until she feels the hot rush of tears behind her eyes. And that’s before she peeks over at Anthony.

He doesn’t even look angry. Oh, it’s so much worse than that.

He looks hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she blurts, “I–”

“Address your apology to Miss Sheffield, not me,” Anthony says, a spark of temper appearing in his voice now.

Hyacinth is rather glad of it. Anything is better than disappointment.

She drops her head, addressing the polished wooden floor, “Miss Sheffield, I–”

“Eyes up, please,” Anthony instructs.

Hyacinth chews on her trembling lip, dragging her face up to meet Miss Sheffield’s gaze, and finding … oh, is that the hint of a smile? There’s certainly no sign of offence. Not even surprise. In fact if she didn’t know any better, Hyacinth would even say that Miss Sheffield looks rather impressed. It doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

“Hyacinth…” Anthony says warningly, taking her silence for insolence. He seems to grow even taller in front of her, warming up to what Hyacinth suspects is going to be a spectacular telling off. “Are you actually going to apologise or–”

Then, out of nowhere, something really rather incredible happens.

“Anthony,” Miss Sheffield interrupts smoothly, silencing him with just the sound of his name and the touch of her hand on his upper arm. “It’s quite alright.”

And Anthony … listens. He obediently snaps his mouth closed, his anger seeming to melt away as he looks across at Kate.

Hyacinth, on the other hand, feels her own mouth fall open.

“After all, Miss Bridgerton makes a fair point,” Miss Sheffield goes on pleasantly, apparently oblivious to the literal magic she just weaved, “we do not yet know each other.” Then, suddenly she grins. “That said, if we stand here all day then we never shall. So let’s get to that walk, shall we?”

And with that she slips her arm out of Anthony’s and marches off towards the door that leads to the gardens.

Stunned, Hyacinth watches her go.

And then –

“Kate! Kate, wait for me!”

Very well, Hyacinth thinks as she sprints across the lawn after her, it’s possible that Miss Sheffield is actually rather nice.

After all, she really didn’t have to intervene and save Hyacinth from Anthony’s scolding, not after Hyacinth was so abominably rude to her in the first place. And she certainly looks very impressive right now, marching off into the grounds of Aubrey Hall with the determined sort of stride that makes Hyacinth think of a girl in a book, off to have adventures.

When Hyacinth finally catches up with her, she doesn’t even make a big fuss about the fact that Hyacinth has been shouting her first name all across the lawn not two minutes after having declared she wouldn’t use it.

In fact, she just grins and says, “Kate now, is it? How lovely. May I call you Hyacinth?”

So yes, Hyacinth decides, Kate Sheffield might be very nice indeed.

But after about half an hour of walking around the lake, it’s still only a might.

It’s not Kate’s fault. It’s just that it’s dreadfully hard to interrogate her properly when Anthony is right there, hovering and occasionally glaring, making Hyacinth forget all the careful questions she dreamed up over breakfast. By the time they’ve completed a circuit of the lake Hyacinth knows where Kate came from, what her sister’s name is, what her step-mother’s name is, that she paints and doesn’t sing and hates pears, but she doesn’t know a single thing that matters.

And what’s worse, she’s rather running out of questions. And time.

They’re almost back up at the house and any minute now, Anthony is going to say it’s time to go back inside to her governess. Hyacinth glances around desperately, seizing on the first thing she sees that might help prolong the outing.

“Oh look!” she says, steering them over to the large terrace that runs along the back of the house. “They’re already setting up for tonight!”

The whole patio is abuzz with servants, most of them busy marking out a dance-floor ahead of the final night of the house party.

“Francesca says that Mama decided to have the dancing for your engagement party outside, since the weather is so fine.” Hyacinth sighs wistfully, imagining all the guests that will be twirling across the stones in just a few short hours. “Isn’t that lovely?”

“Indeed,” Kate says, though the look she’s giving the dance-floor is rather wary.

“Do you like dancing?” Hyacinth asks, spinning herself around in a neat circle.

“Sometimes,” Kate says, flicking a strange look at Anthony that seems to make him smile. “With the right partner.”

“I love it,” Hyacinth says, looking around longingly. “Not that I’ll be allowed down, of course.”

“That’s a shame,” Kate says kindly, before suddenly giving what Hyacinth thinks is a rather exaggerated shiver. “Though I do hope your mother doesn’t come to regret the decision to take the festivities outdoors. It’s rather chilly, isn’t it?”

Hyacinth looks up at her, frowning.

It is not, in fact, rather chilly at all.

“Anthony,” Kate goes on, rubbing her hands over her arms, “would you be so good as to find Edwina and ask her to fetch my pink pelisse from our room? I believe I left her in the library with Eloise.”

“Oh – yes, of course,” Anthony says politely, even as his eyes narrow.

“You’re too kind,” Kate says brightly, completely ignoring the questioning look on his face. She hooks her arm through Hyacinth’s, pulling her away. “We’ll be in the flower gardens.”

“Very well, I’ll rejoin you in a moment.”

Kate mutters something under her breath that sounds rather like, “No you won’t.”

The second he’s out of earshot, Kate winks at Hyacinth and says, “Well, that’s gotten rid of him at last!”

Hyacinth blinks. “What–”

“Now we can have a proper conversation,” she says briskly, steering them into the gardens. “So go ahead, ask me anything.”

For the second time since meeting Miss Kate Sheffield, Hyacinth finds herself stunned into complete and total silence.

--

Hyacinth is quiet for a very long time, all the way across the lawn and into the flower gardens, until finally she blurts out, “Do you have a dog?”

Kate blinks.

“Er – yes,” she says. “His name is Newton, he’s a corgi.”

It’s not exactly the deep and meaningful question she was expecting.

All through their outing it seemed so obvious that Hyacinth had something more to say than just pleasantries, but couldn’t quite find a way to say it. By the time they reached the house she was practically vibrating with barely concealed impatience, sneaking furtive looks at Anthony every few moments and constantly opening and then closing her mouth without actually posing a question.

It really doesn’t seem likely that she had nothing more serious on her mind than Kate’s pets.

“That’s nice,” Hyacinth says, wandering away down a walkway lined with sweet smelling lavender. She spins around to look back at Kate. “Is Anthony going to let you keep him when you’re married?”

“Oh,” Kate says, pulling up short. “I – I think so.”

She hasn’t, in fact, thought about it at all. Should she have? The very idea that Anthony might assume she’d leave Newton behind makes her stomach twist uncomfortably.

“And is that – is that really all you wanted to know?” she says, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

But Hyacinth, it seems, is not finished with the topic of Newton. “Has he ever bitten Anthony?”

“What?” Kate plants her hands on her hips, staring at Hyacinth. “Is that what your brother told you?!”

“No,” Hyacinth says, running her hand over the lavender and bringing it up to her nose to inhale the scent. “He didn’t tell me anything.”

“Oh,” Kate says, mollified. “Well, no. I assure you Newton is far too well behaved to ever bite anyone, even your brother.” She makes a show of looking around, even though they’re quite alone and then adds, “Although he did once shake a big pile of dirty river water all over him.”

Hyacinth splutters a shocked laugh. “That’s not well behaved!”

“Oh, it was,” Kate says, with a wicked grin. “I specifically told him to do it.”

Hyacinth laughs again, in the sweetly free sort of way that only children can, and Kate beams back at her, thrilled to have been the one to make her smile. In no time at all it seems that this little girl has crawled right into her heart and taken up residence, perhaps permanently. Kate’s not sure exactly when it happened – it might’ve been the first moment she saw her, sucking away at a stain on her sleeve, or later perhaps, when she looked at the preparations for the party with so much longing in her eyes that Kate ached to find her a dance-card.

It had mattered before she met her of course but now that she knows her, there is nothing more important in the world than earning Hyacinth’s blessing.

Perhaps it’s her lot in life, Kate thinks ruefully, to always be chasing the love of a Bridgerton.

She drops down onto a stone bench, trying very hard not to think about what happened last time she sat down on a bench like this one. Hyacinth seems to think about sitting down beside her and then changes her mind, looking nervously over her shoulder.

“I expect Anthony will be back any moment now.”

Kate shrugs. “No he won’t.”

“But–”

“You see, I don’t actually have a pink pelisse,” Kate says, grinning. “And I’m quite sure that Edwina’s not in the library either.”

Hyacinth gapes at her, a strange mixture of shock and respect colouring her face.

“Why–”

“I thought perhaps you might have some questions for me that you would not want your brother to hear.”

“I did.” Hyacinth blushes but doesn’t look away, just plants her hands on her hips and sucks in a deep breath. “I do.”

Ah. Here it comes.

Kate smiles at the quiet courage on Hyacinth’s face. “You may ask me anything you like.”

The words are barely out of Kate’s mouth before Hyacinth blurts, “Why do you want to marry my brother?”

Because I love him.

The answer materialises on Kate’s tongue without conscious thought. She forces herself to swallow it down again though the feeling seems to linger, thick and uncomfortable in her throat. It’s silly, really. Positively absurd. She doesn’t even know if she does love him. Even if she does, she’s certainly not going to give voice to the feeling for the first time ever to his eleven year old sister.

“Well,” she says awkwardly, aware that she hasn’t said a word in close to a minute. “There are lots of reasons.”

“Just give me one.”

Kate looks up at the little girl in front of her, four foot nothing and poised to fight for her big brother’s happiness.

“This conversation,” she says. “You.”

‘I–” Hyacinth drops her hands from her hips. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, you obviously love your brother very much,” Kate explains, patting the space beside her until Hyacinth sits down, “which tells me that he has been a very good brother to you. Family is very important to me, you see, and I simply could not marry anyone who didn’t feel the same way.”

“I don’t have a father, you know,” Hyacinth says, in that matter of fact way that only children who have never known their fathers can speak. “But Anthony has always looked after me.”

“I know,” Kate says softly, surprised to find the threat of tears behind her eyes. “And I very much like that you want to look after him too.”

“Well somebody has to!” Hyacinth says, with a sigh so filled with exasperation that Kate almost laughs. “He’s always worrying about us, it’s not fair if no-one ever worries about him.”

Kate thinks of the haunted look that sometimes flickers in Anthony’s eyes, and that longing that gripped her in the library – to be the one who guards his secrets and his worries and maybe, if he’d only let her, his heart.

“Do you think,” she says quietly, taking Hyacinth’s hand in hers, “that you might like a little help with that?”

“But–” Hyacinth frowns. “You’re getting married. Doesn’t that mean Anthony is supposed to look after you?”

“I am sure he will,” Kate says, pleased to find that’s not an empty statement. However their marriage came about, she doesn’t doubt that he’ll care for her. “But I don’t see why it can’t go both ways. Because I think you’re quite right, Hyacinth. I think Anthony deserves to be looked after too.”

For a moment Hyacinth says nothing at all. She just stares at Kate, her head cocked as she considers her, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

Then quite suddenly she throws her arms around her, so forcefully that Kate almost topples right off the back of the bench and into the flowers. Kate splutters a laugh, wrapping her arms around the little girl and squeezing tight, locking this memory away in her mind for days when the sun is not shining quite so brightly as it’s shining today on this little corner of Aubrey Hall’s gardens.

As quickly as she hugged her, Hyacinth lets her go. Jumping back to her feet, she turns to face Kate and says, “So when will I get to meet Newton?”

Whatever test Hyacinth has been putting her through, Kate rather thinks this means that she has passed it.

She beams up at her soon to be sister-in-law. “Whenever you like.”

Anthony finds them a little later, giggling together among the flowers as Kate tells Hyacinth the whole story about the Serpentine, having first sworn her to secrecy.

“Shh,” Hyacinth says, when she spots him approaching, “my brother’s coming.”

“And look, no pelisse in sight,” Kate whispers back to her and they dissolve into giggles again.

Anthony looks between them, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Well then,” he says to Hyacinth, jerking his head in Kate’s direction, “I take it this means I have your permission to marry her?”

“Oh yes!” Hyacinth darts over to him, stopping so close that she has to crane her neck right up to look at him. “You absolutely have to!”

Kate’s smile is so wide it actually makes her cheeks ache.

“That’s a relief,” Anthony says, flashing Kate a smile of his own over Hyacinth’s head.

It really is a force to be reckoned with, Anthony Bridgerton’s smile. Kate sinks back down onto the bench, suddenly finding it quite difficult to rely on her knees to keep her standing.

“Now then,” Anthony goes on, “I just saw your governess up at the house and–”

“Oh no,” Hyacinth whines, “can’t I–”

“And I told her you’ve been given the day off your lessons,” he says, smothering a grin at her squeal of approval. “I also saw Gregory on my way out. I do believe he was on his way to the tree house.”

Hyacinth dances on the spot, looking between them. “Brother, may I–”

“Go on then,” he says indulgently. “Run along.”

She does just that, bounding off with a grin and a shout of, “Don’t forget your promise, Kate!”

“Oh yes?” Anthony turns to Kate. “What’s this?”

“I told her she could come with me one day next week when I walk Newton,” Kate says, getting up and starting to wander down the path of lavender again, “if your mother is agreeable of course.”

“Ah, so that’s how you won her over, is it?” Anthony says, following her. “Your dog.”

Hyacinth’s words seem to whisper in the back of her mind.

Is Anthony going to let you keep him when you are married?

“Perhaps,” Kate says, shoving the thought aside.

“I’m sorry to have missed it. I’m afraid it was rather difficult to locate Edwina.”

Kate snorts a laugh at that.

“And then when I did find her, she found it rather difficult to locate any pink pelisse of yours.”

Kate spins to face him, her features schooled into a bland expression that she knows doesn’t fool him for a moment.

“How unfortunate.”

“She gave me this instead,” he says, showing her the shawl in his hands.

Without waiting for an invitation, he steps in close and arranges it around her shoulders, pulling the two ends tight around her front. When his knuckles brush against the front of her chest ever so slightly, Kate sucks in a breath that only lifts her chest further, prolonging the contact in a way she did not plan but can’t bring herself to regret.

Quite suddenly she realises just where they find themselves – in the garden, out of sight. Again. It’s nowhere near where he kissed her yesterday but even so, the breeze seems to carry that same sweet scent of roses and when Kate looks up at Anthony, she’s sure that he’s noticed it too.

“There,” he says quietly, as her hands come up to take hold of the shawl from his. He deliberately brushes his fingers against hers before he lets go. “Are you warmer now?”

Kate almost laughs.

Her cheeks are positively blazing and what’s worse, the blush doesn’t seem to be staying put on her face. She can feel it spreading, little tendrils of heat that creep down her neck towards her chest. When Kate looks down, Anthony’s gaze follows her own and the heat seems to follow his eyes, sweeping across her chest as his gaze does, burning there as he watches her breathe.

He’s going to kiss her, Kate realises, in that split second before he starts leaning towards her. There’s something soft and warm in his eyes and she wants – oh, she wants so many things. She wants to lean in, to drop her shawl and clutch his arms and drag his body against every line of hers.

But she doesn’t.

Because – heaven help her, she can still hear Hyacinth Bridgerton’s voice in her head.

Is Anthony going to let you keep him when you are married?

The sky is clear and the sun is shining and her fiancé is looking at her like he wants her more than anything in the whole wide world.

And all Kate can think about is her bloody dog.

It’s really not fair.

“There’s something I need to ask you,” she blurts, pulling away before his lips touch hers. She staggers back, putting some space between them. “Or tell you, rather.”

Anthony blinks, looking more amused than put out at her strange behaviour. “By all means.”

“Well,” Kate says, heading off aimlessly towards the little maze of hedges off to their left, giving Anthony no choice but to follow her. “Newton is my dog, you see.”

She takes a sideways peek at Anthony. If he seems surprised by this turn to the conversation, he’s doing a good job of hiding it.

“Yes,” he says mildly. “I do believe I’ve met the creature.”

“The point is he’s not Mary’s, or Edwina’s,” she goes on, still mindlessly walking onwards. “He’s mine.”

“I know he is.”

“So … I’ll be bringing him when we marry.” Kate can’t quite make herself look at him. “Won’t I?”

She hates how small her voice gets, hates how she makes it a question.

“Kate,” Anthony says, stopping her with a gentle hand on her arm. “Of course. Of course you will.”

Kate sucks in a breath, embarrassed by the stinging rush of tears that flood her eyes at the simple honesty of his words, the way he doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t judge, just tells her what she needs to hear. She turns to look at him at last, finding nothing but concern in those familiar brown eyes of his.

“You’ll be bringing anything you want to bring, of course,” he tells her, in that quiet, kind voice that she used to think he didn’t possess. Now she thinks it might belong to her. “Your dog and your books and your flute–”

“How did you–”

“You told me, weeks ago.”

She remembers it then – a passing remark, the day he came to call on Edwina.

“You remembered that?”

Anthony shrugs helplessly. “Of course I remembered.”

As she considers his words, Kate lets out a breath that’s half a sigh, half a laugh.

It doesn’t make sense, any of it, but it’s also the very same sort of nonsense that she’s been living with everyday since the day she set eyes on him. She remembers too, remembers every interaction, every glance, she always has. Even when she thought she hated him, she remembered.

It just never occurred to her that he might remember everything too.

Before she can think better of it, Kate steps towards Anthony, her shawl slipping from her shoulders and dropping to the garden path as she crowds him back into the nearest tall hedge. It might well be the boldest, most forward, most wonderful thing she’s ever done and when Anthony swallows hard, his back thudding lightly against the hedge, she lets go of the last shreds of propriety and lifts her hand to rest against his chest.

“Kate?” Anthony says, trembling slightly under her touch.

She did that, she realises. She made him shake.

Never – not once in her life – has Kate wished to be considered a diamond of the first water, the way Edwina is. She is sensible. Clever. Perhaps even pretty, sometimes. That’s always been quite enough.

But when Anthony stares at her like she hung the very moon in the sky they were looking up at last night, Kate feels like something else. Something she has never, ever been before.

She feels incomparable.

“I want you to kiss me,” she says, looking him straight in the eye. Anthony’s jaw goes a little slack, his eyes darkening. “Now.”

She could kiss him herself of course. Wants to, as well. One day he’ll teach her how to be that brave, but not today. Not yet.

“Er – please,” she adds awkwardly, her courage faltering.

Anthony tips his head back against the hedge and laughs at that, but there’s nothing unkind in it. He takes hold of her hand when she tries to snatch it away, lifting it to his face and pressing her palm against his cheek for a long moment.

“Very well, Kate,” he says softly, releasing her hand and sliding his arms around her waist, “since you asked nicely.”

He kisses her gently then, just the softest brush of his lips over hers, holding her to him with a hand on the back of her neck. When his fingers flex against the base of her scalp, surely making a mess of her hair, Kate hums something that might be a moan, the soft whimper of it passing from her lips to his. The sound seems to make Anthony go weak, his body falling into hers slightly, and then his spine suddenly seems to straighten as he clutches her closer, his lips moving over hers with more urgency, more heat. Kate feels the same blush from earlier taking over her again, heat burning across her chest and blazing to life everywhere that he’s pressing the strong lines of his body against the softness of hers.

“We should–” Kate says breathlessly when he moves to kiss her jaw, her neck. “Anthony, we should stop.”

“You started it,” Anthony says, whispering it like a secret into her ear. He tugs on the lobe with his teeth. “I liked that very much, by the way.”

“We could get caught,” she says, even as she curls her hands into his jacket to hold him against her.

Anthony hums a laugh. “Oh dear, and then we’d have to marry, wouldn’t we?”

Kate laughs too, and then marvels at the fact that she’s laughing at all. She’s never been in this position before of course, but she rather suspects that being forced to marry isn’t usually quite so much fun.

“Still,” she says, making an effort to be sensible, “it would not do to fan the flames of our little scandal.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Anthony releases her, chuckling quietly himself. “But,” he adds, stepping around her and kneeling to retrieve her shawl, “when we are married, we’re coming back here. I want you to know that. We’re coming back to this very spot, in this very garden.”

There’s something really very appealing about the sight of him on his knees in front of her, his voice low and his eyes full of promise.

Kate swallows hard. “As you wish, husband.”

It’s terribly presumptuous of her. He’s not her husband yet and she’s still not entirely sure he wants to be – at least not as much as he might have wanted to be someone else’s. Still, Anthony seems to like the title. Really rather a lot. Something flickers in his eyes when he hears it, something possessive and desperate and somehow, rather sweetly fond as well.

“Are you asking for a preview?” he says, his voice taking on a dangerous lilt. “We are betrothed after all. It’s almost the same as married.”

“Almost,” Kate says, taking her shawl from his fingers and flinging it around her shoulders like armour. “But not quite.”

Wrong answer.

Anthony springs to his feet, stalking towards her. “Well then,” he says, and this time she finds herself backing up into the hedge, “I’ll almost do what I have in mind, shall I?”

Later, when Edwina asks her why her shawl is covered in some sort of greenery, Kate shrugs and says she has absolutely no idea.

--

Chapter Text

--

Even now, several hours later, Hyacinth still can’t quite believe the extent of her brother’s good fortune.

Miss Kate Sheffield is not just suitable for him, she’s perfect.

It’s almost enough to make Hyacinth forget that everyone will be at the party tonight, dancing and laughing and generally having a marvellous time while she’s stuck upstairs with only Gregory and her governess for company. They’re not bad company of course but that’s beside the point.

Hyacinth consoles herself by spending the afternoon daydreaming about Anthony and Kate’s wedding and the party that will follow, the one she very much will be allowed to attend. In fact she’s so focused on drawing the exact sort of dress she’d like to wear to the wedding that she doesn’t hear the soft knock on her door until it sounds for the second time.

Frowning, Hyacinth looks up at her governess who only gives her a secret little smile and says, “Who could that be?”

It’s certainly not one of her siblings. Not a single one of them would think to knock.

Abandoning her drawing, Hyacinth opens the door and finds – “Kate!” She beams up at her. “What are you doing here?”

Kate is already dressed for dinner despite the early hour, her hair neatly twisted up into a complicated knot that makes her look very much like a viscountess already. Her lilac dress is simple but pretty, so much so that Hyacinth immediately changes her mind about the sort of dress she wants for herself for next week’s wedding.

“I’m here for you,” Kate says, taking Hyacinth’s hand and pulling her out into the corridor. “But we must hurry.”

“What’s going on?” Hyacinth stumbles after her, almost tripping over her dress as Kate tows her along the corridor. “Where are we going?”

“Somewhere fun.”

“But–”

“Hush, not yet.” The soft silk of Kate’s dress makes a lovely swishing sound as they sweep down the stairs. “You’ll see.”

It’s all rather exciting, even if Hyacinth isn’t sure quite what’s happening. Sometimes Kate pauses at the end of corridors, peeking around doorways before moving through them, and she doesn’t slow down until they finally reach the doors that lead to the ballroom.

“Kate,” Hyacinth tries again, as they move into the empty room. “What are we doing?”

Kate lets go of her hand, turning abruptly to face her. “Have you truly not guessed yet?” She smiles widely, stopping in front of the large french windows that lead out onto the terrace.

Hyacinth’s heart leaps, remembering what’s outside. “Are we–”

“Yes,” Kate says, leaning back and giving the huge doors a hefty push. The hinges creak as they sweep open to the terrace beyond. “We’re dancing, Hyacinth.”

Hyacinth does not need to be told twice.

Excitement coursing through her, she darts past Kate and outside to the patio, stuttering to a stop at the sight that greets her. Everything is ready for her mother’s guests later on, the space for dancing cleverly marked out by flower displays, huge decorative vases that are filled with tulips and roses and – Hyacinth grins – hyacinths as well. Her mother must have pulled up half the garden for tonight.

“Well?” Kate says, smiling softly as she follows her outside. “Do you like it?”

“Like it?” Hyacinth repeats dumbly, still staring around. There’ll be candlelight later of course, and that’s sure to be lovely, but Hyacinth can’t imagine anything more lovely than the way the late afternoon sun is painting the yellow stone of Aubrey Hall gold right now. “It’s magic.”

“I’m glad you think so.” Kate comes to stand beside her, offering her hand. “So, may I have this dance, Miss Bridgerton?”

“But…” Hyacinth glances at the empty seats set out ready for the musicians. ”There’s no music.”

“Isn’t there?”

Hyacinth frowns, listening hard. The soft strains of a piano-forte are just starting up, carried along the wind from somewhere in the house.

“Sounds like your sister Francesca is getting in some practice,” Kate says innocently, cupping her ear. “And she’s left the window open. What luck.”

Hyacinth bites her lip to stop from squealing out loud with excitement.

“Oh, but what if Anthony finds us?” She glances around, half expecting him to jump out from behind the tulips. “Won’t he be cross?”

“Hyacinth,” Kate says, her eyes twinkling, “who do you think is making sure none of the servants disturb us?”

“You – you mean to say Anthony knows about this?”

“Of course he knows,” Kate says, like there’s nothing remarkable in that at all. “This was not just my idea, you know.”

“Oh,” Hyacinth says, the one tiny syllable somehow managing to contain everything she feels – delight and surprise and total, utter joy.

To think, only this morning she was worried that Kate was going to take Anthony away from them. Instead it seems she’s picked him up, shook him around and given him back, infinitely better than he already was.

For the second time that day, Hyacinth launches herself straight into Kate’s arms. She takes a little more care with this hug, not wanting to crease Kate’s frock before the party. She will not have her sister-in-law looking anything but spectacular on this dance-floor later.

Kate’s arms come up around her to return the hug, heedless of what it’s doing to her dress. “This is a strange dance,” she says, giving Hyacinth a squeeze. “But I like it.”

“But – why?” Hyacinth looks around the empty terrace, still not letting go of Kate. “Why would you do all–”

“Because, sweet girl,” Kate says, smoothing a hand over Hyacinth’s hair, “I know all too well what it is like to feel left out. I have stood at the edge of enough ballrooms myself, pretending that I did not care to dance when really no-one had thought to ask me.”

That seems impossible. Hyacinth can’t imagine why anyone wouldn’t want to dance with Kate. She’s clever and kind and so, so much fun. But then again, maybe it makes it more special if Anthony was the only man in London who noticed this.

“It must be so nice to be engaged,” she tells Kate, sighing happily. “To know that now you will always have someone to dance with.”

Hyacinth thinks it’s a rather obvious point but Kate seems strangely taken aback by it, blinking furiously and trying to pretend that she isn’t near tears.

“It is nice,” she says in the end, her voice quite choked. “Very nice indeed.”

“And just think,” Hyacinth goes on, moving into the hold that she thinks is right for a waltz, “the next time there’s a party here, you shall be the hostess!”

Kate seems to go a little pale at that.

“May I tell you a secret?” she says, taking the man’s part and starting to lead Hyacinth around the cobbles. Their dance is half a waltz, half a polka, not remotely graceful and yet really rather marvellous. “I am not at all sure how to be a viscountess.”

Hyacinth scoffs. “That’s a good thing, I rather think.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, it’s just that I think anyone who thinks they know how to be a viscountess before they are one, probably won’t make a very good one.”

“That’s…” Kate tilts her head, considering. “Hyacinth, that’s really very clever.”

“I know,” Hyacinth says, executing a clumsy spin under Kate’s arm. “But my governess says I must learn to keep my opinions to myself.”

“That’s a shame.”

“I am sure there must be some sort of exception for family though.”

Kate suddenly stops dancing at that, dropping Hyacinth’s hand and looking down at her with something close to wonder in her smile. Hyacinth smiles shyly back at her, feeling very silly indeed for ever doubting that Anthony would pick anyone to marry but the cleverest, nicest, prettiest girl in all of England.

As if she’s summoned him, her brother suddenly materialises beside them.

“Brother!” Hyacinth says, looking warily around. “I thought you were guarding–”

“I roped Benedict in instead,” he says, waving a hand. “I wanted to claim a dance.”

Hyacinth thinks that’s quite the sweetest thing she’s ever heard. He’ll surely be by Kate’s side all night and yet here he is, trying to sneak in one more dance while nobody is looking.

“Of course,” she says, stepping aside.

But it isn’t Kate’s hand that he reaches for.

“Miss Bridgerton?” Anthony says, turning to Hyacinth with an impressively gallant bow. “Shall we?”

“Brother?” she squeaks, as he takes her hand and starts to lead her across the dance-floor. “What on earth are you doing?”

“I do believe it’s called a waltz,” he says, laughing as he jumps slightly to get out of the way of Hyacinth’s feet. “Though you’re botching half the steps, little sister.”

“But…”

Hyacinth glances around to find Kate, not an easy feat when Anthony keeps changing direction, spinning them in effortless circles. He’s really quite an impressive dancer, far more accomplished than Kate, not that Hyacinth will ever tell her.

As the quiet strains of the distant piano build to a conclusion, Hyacinth finds Kate at last. She’s standing over by the open french doors, one hand resting lightly over her heart as she watches every single step that Anthony takes. There’s a lovely little smile tugging at her lips, full of pride and something even sweeter, something like the promise of many more days like this.

“Oh, Anthony...” Hyacinth says dreamily, “if Kate wasn’t already madly in love with you, she certainly is now.”

“Hush,” Anthony says, his voice gruff with embarrassment. “I am not dancing with you just to impress Kate, Hyacinth.”

“I know that, silly,” Hyacinth mutters, shaking her head at him. “That is precisely why you’re impressing her so very much.”

--

Several hours later Kate finds herself back by those very same doors, standing on the ballroom side this time as she watches the festivities going on outside.

“You,” Violet Bridgerton says, slipping in beside her, “are hiding, my dear.”

There’s no trace of recrimination in her future mother-in-law’s voice. When Kate glances over at her she finds only a kind, patient smile on Violet’s face, the sort that reminds her immediately of Mary.

“I suppose I am,” she says. “I’m rather unused to all this attention.”

Attention is putting it rather mildly. Scrutiny would be closer to the truth. And occasionally, most often when Anthony is not by her side, downright hostility.

Violet says nothing, just keeps smiling that soft little smile that makes Kate want to tell her about every single hurtful glance – all the narrowed eyes and thinly veiled insults, the lingering stares whenever she speaks or dances or heaven forbid, laughs.

“It’s a little overwhelming,” is all Kate says, in the end.

Violet nods like she heard every word that Kate didn’t say. “And where is Anthony?”

“He’s dancing with Eloise,” Kate says, pointing them out.

“And he left you all by yourself? I should box his ears.”

“Actually, he left me with Colin. But I sent him off to dance with Penelope Featherington.”

“Oh well done,” Violet says approvingly, finding her third son in the crowd.

“I don’t mind, really,” Kate says, watching the smile on Penelope’s face as Colin takes her hand for a turn. “As I was telling your youngest earlier, before I met the viscount I was quite often found at the side of the ballroom.”

Violet turns to Kate, a nostalgic smile playing around her lips. “Before I met my viscount,” she says wistfully, her eyes suddenly very far away, “so was I.”

Kate stares at her, incredulous. Violet Bridgerton has always struck her as so effortlessly in charge, the quintessential leader of society, it seems quite impossible to think that she could have ever been anything else.

“I have been a viscountess longer than you have been alive, my dear,” Violet says, as if she can sense the direction of Kate’s thoughts. “So I’m rather used to it by now. But it certainly wasn’t always like that.”

“I never thought something like this would happen to me.” The admission slips from her lips before Kate can stop herself.

“Nor did I,” Violet says kindly. “But I think you’ll find, as I did, that it is not so very far from the corner of the ballroom to the centre of attention.”

Hope unfurls, tentative and wonderful, in Kate’s chest. If it’s true that Violet Bridgerton wasn’t born to this role any more than Kate was, then maybe Kate doesn’t need to be so scared. Maybe she can do this, after all. She can be a good viscountess. A good wife. Even if Anthony didn’t choose her for this, she can still succeed. She can run this beautiful house and raise a family that is every bit as good and kind as all eight of Violet Bridgerton’s boys and girls. It’s terrifying, how much she wants that.

“Perhaps you should start practicing now,” Violet adds, her tone turning slightly cajoling, “and get back out there. Hyacinth would be very disappointed to learn that you aren’t dancing.”

“I’m sure she would.”

“Thank you for that, by the way,” Violet says, her eyes fixed on the dancing. “For Hyacinth.”

Kate blinks. “I–”

“The family bedrooms overlook this particular terrace,” Violet says mildly. “My bedroom in particular.”

“Lady Bridgerton, I–”

“She’ll love you forever for it, you know.” Violet turns to Kate, taking both her hands and giving them a squeeze. “As will I.”

Throat too tight to speak, Kate can only nod. When she looks outside she doesn’t see the busy swarm of guests beyond the open door, only the empty terrace from earlier, and Anthony in his finest evening wear, crouching his tall frame down to hold his little sister’s hand.

Violet’s quiet voice pulls her back to the present. “I’m very glad my son chose you, Kate.”

“He – he didn’t,” Kate says, her emotions too close to the surface to catch the words before they slip out. “Not really.”

“I am not so sure about that.”

Kate can’t contain the quiet scoff that escapes her lips, even as Violet says the very thing she wants more than anything in the world. She stares unblinkingly at the scene outside, filling her ears with the chatter and laughter of the party, the soft strains of a violin, anything but Violet’s pretty lie.

“You were there,” she says awkwardly. “You must understand why – you saw–”

“I saw my son lose all reason,” Violet says quietly. “Just because he thought he might lose you.”

“That’s not–” Kate shakes her head, even as her heart aches to believe it. “He would have–”

“Kate.” Violet Bridgerton, reigning queen of society, actually stamps her foot. “If you are about to try and tell me that Anthony would have reacted the very same way to a bee sting on any other young lady, I swear I shall scream.”

Kate splutters a laugh, despite herself.

“I do not know precisely what happened in that garden,” Violet goes on. “And I’m quite sure I do not wish to.”

Kate feels her cheeks start to blaze. “I–”

“But I know my son.” Though Violet’s voice is quiet there’s something like steel underneath – strong and certain. “And I know that in order to be caught in a compromising position alone with you in the garden, Anthony had to choose to be alone with you in the garden in the first place.”

“I…”

Common sense is a very, very quiet voice in the back of Kate’s mind, trying fruitlessly to remind her that she knows why Anthony was obliged to come to the garden that day – that it was nothing more than polite concern for her well-being after the storm. He would have done the same for any other lady.

Or is that just what she told herself?

As Kate looks at the quiet certainty in Violet Bridgerton’s smile, it’s tempting – so very tempting – to consider another story. To decide that perhaps Anthony chose to come to the garden for her. That he would not have done the same for any other lady. Just as he would not have crawled under the desk of his library for any other lady, nor ruined himself over one tiny little bee sting.

He did not choose her for his bride, she knows that.

But maybe that doesn’t have to mean he hasn’t been choosing her at all.

The realisation steals every last breath from Kate’s body.

“You certainly make a compelling argument, Lady Bridgerton,” she somehow manages to say. “I will grant you that.”

“Violet, please,” she says, kindly pretending not to hear the hitch in Kate’s voice.

“Violet,” Kate says, testing it out.

“Much better,” Violet says, craning her neck to look over the crowd. “And look – here’s Anthony now, come to prove my point yet further.”

“And what point is that?” Anthony says, appearing from the dancefloor as a dozen other couples wander off in various directions.

He nods at Kate in greeting, flashing her that dangerously lovely smile that makes her knees rather weak. It’d be irritating, the effect he has on her, if she wasn’t starting to like it quite so much.

“Oh, nothing of note,” his mother says airily. “Only that lately wherever Miss Sheffield goes, you are not so very far behind, dearest.”

Kate’s not sure she has ever seen Anthony Bridgerton blush before. It’s really rather lovely.

“Now then, I must find Mary,” Violet says briskly, looking out over her guests. “I need her opinion on the flowers for the ceremony.”

Kate watches her go, shaking her head slightly. “Surely it should be our opinion she needs?”

“At the very least yours,” Anthony agrees. “Though I rather think that was just a ruse to give us a moment alone.”

“Oh.” Kate swallows, realising that he’s right – they are indeed alone.

Not quite as alone as they were in the garden of course, not with all the guests milling about outside, just steps beyond the open french doors. But the ballroom is empty enough, so empty that Kate hears every creak of the floorboards as Anthony moves to stand beside her. It really wouldn’t be so very difficult to take a few steps back, to swirl the huge drapes around them and disappear entirely.

Kate presses the back of her hand to her cheeks, wishing she wasn’t wearing gloves so she could feel the cool press of her hand instead. Though she’s only had the slightest sip of champagne, she feels rather light-headed, unsteady under the weight of Violet’s words and everything they might mean.

“Are you alright?” Anthony asks.

Kate’s starts to panic slightly, wondering if he somehow knows what she’s thinking, but then he smiles and adds, “I’m under rather strict instructions from Hyacinth, you see. To make sure you have a lovely time tonight.”

“Are you indeed?”

“She seemed to think you were rather nervous about all this,” he says, waving his hand to indicate the terrace outside. “When we were dancing earlier, she told me in no uncertain terms that I must do everything in my power to keep you happy.”

“Heavens.”

“I rather think she was talking about more than just this evening, actually,” Anthony goes on, turning to look down at Kate. “But this seemed a good place to start.”

The lure of his steady, warm gaze is far too much to resist. Kate feels her eyes slowly sliding away from the dancing and up to meet his, quite beyond her control. Anthony’s approving smile has the slightest edge of arrogance, just enough to give him an air of quiet confidence that she can’t help but like, despite herself.

“But how to make you happy...” he mutters, as if to himself. “I could always kiss you I suppose.”

Kate bites her lip, hard. She didn’t mean it to be seductive, isn’t even sure she’s capable of such a thing, but Anthony’s eyes snap to her lips all the same.

“Alas, I cannot,” he says, and though his tone is joking there’s nothing funny about the longing in his eyes. “Not now.”

“Why not?” Kate asks, not at all surprised to find her voice a little breathless. She can’t remember the last time she took a breath.

“I’m afraid,” he says, a small smile playing around his lips, “that we have an audience.”

“What?!” Kate’s eyes fly wide as she follows the finger he’s pointing towards the far end of the room. She finds Daphne resting on a chair at the far end of the ballroom, her feet propped up on a second chair. “Oh!”

“Anthony!” Kate says, just as Daphne looks up and gives them a cheery wave. Kate bats her hand against his chest. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I just did!”

Hitting him seemed like a good idea at the time but the moment her hand lands against his firm chest, Kate thinks it might actually have been a rather spectacularly bad idea. The heat of him seems to bleed through the thin fabric of her gloves as the ballroom suddenly dissolves around her, transforming into the hedge-maze in that quiet moment this afternoon just before he kissed her. She could swear that she can even smell the roses.

Frowning, Kate gives her head a little shake and forces herself to wave to Daphne. To remind herself that Daphne is here. Daphne is here and they are in public and she has – lord above, she has got to stop looking at Anthony’s lips.

“Now then,” he goes on, smiling in a way that says he has noticed exactly where she’s looking, “since kissing is quite out of the question, I’ll simply have to tell you that I’d like to kiss you.” Anthony steps in closer, closing his hand around her arm when she tries to step away. “Very much indeed.”

“Daphne–” Kate protests.

“Can’t hear a word I’m saying,” he says carelessly, trailing a gloved finger down Kate’s arm. “So–”

“My lord–”

Anthony drops his hand, shooting her a disgruntled look. “Are you always going to interrupt me quite so much?”

“Most likely,” Kate says, though she fears her disapproval is rather blunted by the breathy lilt to her voice.

Anthony shakes his head, heaving the sort of long-suffering sigh that she expects she’ll be hearing rather a lot over the years.

“That’s yet another reason why I’d like to kiss you right now,” he says, leaning against the alcove wall and folding his arms. “It’s rather hard to argue when your lips are otherwise occupied.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kate says. “I expect you and I shall find a way.”

“Yes,” he says, barking a laugh. “I expect we shall.”

There’s something about the way he says it, the hint of pleasant anticipation in his voice, that makes Kate feel warm all over.

“Now then, I do believe it’s a waltz next,” Anthony says, nodding to the dance-floor where the musicians are just getting ready to begin again. “And Hyacinth made me promise to lead you in one. Shall we?”

Perhaps it’s because Anthony just mentioned her but for the second time that day, Kate hears Hyacinth’s voice whispering in the back of her mind.

It must be so nice –– to know that now you will always have someone to dance with.

As Kate slips her hand into Anthony’s, she decides that Hyacinth didn’t get it quite right. It’s very much more than just nice.

All the eyes on the terrace turn their way as Anthony leads them towards the dance-floor but there must be some quiet magic in the gentle pressure of his hand around hers, because Kate doesn’t feel the stares. Every curious face and murmured comment seems to blur away into the background until there is nothing but the music, the scent of the flowers, and Anthony.

“You look very pretty tonight,” he says, as they settle into hold in the centre of the makeshift dance-floor. “Have I told you that yet?”

It’s quite the perfect compliment. Not too effusive, or flowery. No false comparisons with all the prettier faces and flashier frocks. His words are quiet and simple and because of that, she believes him. Because of that, she feels pretty.

“Thank you,” Kate says, concentrating on where to put her feet as the dance begins. “So do you.”

She feels, rather than sees, Anthony raise an eyebrow.

“That is – what I mean to say is – well, you look very handsome,” she says, flicking a look over the fine evening jacket he’s wearing. It’s quite likely more expensive than even her very best dress and the way it fits him should be against the law.

“I do so love it when you get flustered,” Anthony says, his voice so close to her ear that Kate forgets to move her feet and almost stands on his.

“Hush,” she says, thoroughly embarrassed by the mis-step. She lifts her chin to glare at him, fully intending to tell him off, but the look in his eyes steals the words right off her tongue.

“Stop it,” she says instead, though it comes out rather feebly.

His hand on her back presses her closer. “Stop what?”

“Stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all, “I can’t help it. It just – it does something to me, seeing that colour on your cheeks.” He leans in, whispering his next words into her ear. “Most especially when I’m the one who put it there.”

Well. That certainly doesn’t help cool the blush.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” he says, his words a warm rush of breath against her ear. “It’s really rather lovely.”

Anthony pulls back and looks down at her, his voice dropping to a whisper.

“You are really rather lovely,” he says, candlelight flickering in his eyes. “My viscountess.”

It’s impossible – quite impossible – not to give in to dreaming.

And so just for tonight, just until the candles burn down, Kate decides to let herself feel like Anthony Bridgerton’s first and only choice.

“My viscount,” she returns quietly.

As Anthony spins them effortlessly around the terrace of the house that will be their home, Kate’s heart, already halfway his, gives up the ghost and falls right into his hands.

--

“Hyacinth Bridgerton,” comes a scolding voice from the doorway. “You are supposed to be in bed.”

Hyacinth watches her reflection in the glass wince.

“Ten more minutes, Mama?” she says, without turning around. She leans her elbows back down on the window-ledge of her mother’s bedroom, peering down at the terrace. “Anthony and Kate are about to dance again. Please…”

“Very well, ten more minutes,” her mother says, which they both know means fifteen, really. Perhaps even twenty. Violet makes her way over to Hyacinth’s side and looks out with her. “Everything does look rather nice from up here.”

“Doesn’t it?” Hyacinth says dreamily, propping up her chin on both her fists as the waltz begins. The candlelight bounces off the sheen of all the ladies’ dresses, making everything seem to glow as the couples move.

It’s been so much fun, watching from up here where it’s so easy to notice all the things that no-one down there has – like Colin sneaking a few little desserts and giving one to Penelope, or the nervous looking gentleman that can’t seem to stop looking at the petite lady that Hyacinth thinks is Kate’s sister.

It goes without saying, of course, that Anthony and Kate are quite her very favourite people to watch. There’s something so very natural about the way they move together, even when they’re miles apart. Earlier, when Kate was over with Mary and the girl that must be her sister, she tipped her head back and laughed, and Anthony, all the way over on the other side of the terrace, tipped his head up at the exact same time, almost as if a little string was tying them together, all the way across the dancefloor.

And now, even as they’re waltzing right among the crowd of couples, it’s so easy to pick them out. Some of the other couples are so awkward, every step of their feet carefully measured, almost as if they’re not dancing together so much as dancing near each other.

Anthony and Kate – now they are definitely dancing together.

Whenever Anthony turns, Kate’s head turns with him. When he moves his hand around her back, she steps in closer. And even when she gets the steps wrong and almost stands on his toes, Anthony moves his foot out of the way as if he knew just what was coming.

“Don’t they look lovely together, Mama?” Hyacinth says, rather fancying that she just saw Kate brush a very quick, very discreet kiss against Anthony’s cheek as the dance ended. “So very much in love.”

“Yes, dearest,” her mother says softly, putting an arm around her. “I rather think they are.”

--