Archive of Our Own

You truly wouldn't know.

"My Lady, perhaps you ought to retire for the evening…"

Your maid—the one that has been with you since the early days of womanhood—spoke up. She carried an aura around her, and her tone was not tired. If anything, it boomed with force.

So, did yours. "Nonsense!"

She opened her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with your hand. "I cannot and will not retire for the night. Going to an empty bed is far crueler than preparing for a ball!"

From the corner of your eye, you saw a sunny flash of red hair bristle a little too close to your vase. Polishing was to be done as instructed, but the young woman just found herself clumsily a little too close to your most precious antique.

You leaped toward her, like a lion pouncing at its prey. "No! That vase is from Greece!"

You didn't intend to sound so forceful, but any indication of future infliction of pain on your vase from Greece had your heart in your throat. A gift from your mother-in-law should be protected at all costs, you thought. The poor girl was blushing furiously in embarrassment, yet she still had stars in her eyes from being so close to her ladyship, the Viscountess Bridgerton. You felt a prickle of guilt, and so you spoke again, less firmly and more approachable? "The vase is a gift. It is in my belief that no harm should come its way. I apologize for being so forceful."

"M—my Lady! You must not apologize. I apologize…"  

You nodded, feeling stiff all of a sudden. The girl curtsied, scurried off to tend to another more approachable vase. They were polishing all things shiny for the ball after all.

When you appeared back where you once stood, three steps on the grand staircase, you noticed how your Lady’s maid was next to you yet again. "Are you certain you are feeling well, my Lady?"

You nodded determined. "Of course, I am well. Well, enough to continue, I suppose. Whatever for?"

"The artist is here," she retold you. "He has brought the chalk."

"Oh."

"Indeed."

"Well…" You sounded hesitant. The man that was waiting for your arrival was a pain, and you could only take so much.

Just as about the words 'Send him in' were about to leave your mouth did your eyes spot a familiar silhouette of a man in the crowd of buzzing ladies. He was tall, two heads taller than most of them and handsome too. You recognized him as your beloved husband, one that was freshly returned from White's, an outing with his brothers, and ready to pledge loyalty to his wife by carrying an array of soft flowers in his arms. The smell was instant, it enveloped the commodious room in its aroma, and it grew with each step he took.

Your teasing maid had disappeared, and you stood regally on the stairs even when he appeared in your line of vision.

You looked down on him, teasing with the action. He was far too short looking from where you stood. "I take it these are not for the ball?"

Anthony rolled his brown eyes, handing you the flowers. You took them warmly yet kept the blank face of no showing interest. "No…but I had the impression my wife would revel in a flower arrangement."

"You must do something for me husband dear." You announced promptly, holding the flowers firmly.

His smile faltered, and he looked like a man begging for salvation in the instant those words left your mouth. Anthony was suddenly not at all like the strong Viscount he was when he broke through your home. "I already gave you my heart. What else do you want?"

"Aww," you cooed, releasing the hold on your straight face. You took two steps down the stairs, so you were eye to eye with your husband. You cupped his cheek with your hand, and he visibly leaned into it.

He's such a putty in your hands.

"I want your assistance," you murmured, feigning strictness. "I need your assistance."

"You do?" He asked, an eyebrow raised. Your sultry tone of voice was giving him ideas that were of no relation to the ball.

You took a step-down, and now you had to raise your head to look at him. Your hand that were once resting on his cheeks, was now brushing against his tailcoat. "Oh, I most certainly do."

His other hand was much more scandalous as it traveled to your hair, used so he could wrap a few fallen locks of your hair with his two fingers, watching as they fell around his wrist in the process. Your husband was determined to make you breathless as he brushed over your exposed collarbone, taking you in. "I see now that I can be of great assistance."

Standing so close to him while reigning every scorching bone in your body was difficult. Many sets of eyes were in the room, yet none dated to cast you a glance. Anthony's hand found your waist through the dress, and he grasped it firmly to tug you to him. How you withheld the sounds that were forging in the back of your throat was unknown to you.

And with that, you marched up the stairs to collect yourself, leaving Anthony behind—hot, bothered and determined to make you pay when he gets his hands on you.

You managed to softly respond, quietly so no one but him heard and just as he started to enjoy himself, you placed your palm against his rock solid chest. You wished it was more firm, but you knew it was the best it could be. At that moment, you wanted to take him to the bedchamber. Hell, even to the closest empty room. That room would be his office, and thinking about what could happen in there had cotton wrap in your throat. You were breathless.

The Viscount looked up, confused, but you only smiled mischievously. The plan you orchestrated was coming along. "Perfect," you smiled victorious, and tipped your head toward the place. "The artist is in the ballroom. He has brought the chalk."

***

"Iced punch was a marvelous idea my love," said Anthony, bringing you out of your trance. He was by your side, has been throughout the entire evening, making sure all was in order as instructed. Right now, he was looking between the servants who were circulating through the crowd, handing out the drinks that had enough alcohol to make one's head spin after a sip. He held your body close to his, like he couldn't go five minutes without touching you.

The ball was in full swing, and from what you could tell this early on…Lady Whistledown's papers will greet you with nothing but praises. Your family was enjoying it, and Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton—your husband's mother—was too. That was all you could ask for.

These balls were your favorite thing now. You had a ring on your hand, a man under your command, a man so strong and intimidating you no longer had to fight of lords like flies.

He did it for you.

Any trace of comfortableness was long gone after you had married, and now the only feeling that cursed your body was the one of pleasure and bedroom. Just a cast at Anthony had warmth seep down through your body until it pulsed with anticipation for what's to happen after the ball is over.

What more could a woman ask for?

You glanced at your hands, that were now adorned in only your gloves. The gloves were pretty, and they matched the color of your dress in the silkiness. The dance card was nowhere to be seen.

How very perfect!

You nodded with a sigh, suddenly feeling insecure about the whole thing. Many wouldn't feel that way if they had three crystal chandeliers sparkling over their heads. Yet somehow you did. "You really think so?"

Anthony furrowed his brows, as if he couldn't believe his two ears. Grasping your forearms was his reaction, one he used to gather your eyes in his and lock them together. "Of course, I think so Y/N. You did a splendid job."

When you didn't reply, he took it upon himself to make you smile. Anthony glanced around the crowded ballroom until he spotted someone. "Ah, here look. 10 pounds Lady Danbury is the last one to leave."

A snicker was about to slip past your lips, and you pressed your gloved hand to halt it. A choked sound of a dying bird came out instead.

Anthony beamed when you removed your hand and a sweet, yet mischievous smile colored your face. "I love seeing you smile."

"Smile," he whispered after a moment, kissing your temple softly. "It's beautiful."

You soon found yourself surrounded in the perfect ambient, the soft tune of the music, the array of colors—everything you worked so hard to capture in a ball—and yet you couldn't see anyone but him. "I love you."

"I love you too."

You looked deep into his eyes, feeling an unexplainable amount of gratitude. "And I am so lucky to have you by my side, do you know of that?"

"Of course," he replied solemnly, looking at you with eyes brimming with love. The man was head over heels for you, "You make me want to be a better person, do you know of that?"

No words needed to be spoken after that, despite it being an inquiry.