Archive of Our Own

1841 

The english language had left him. 

He could remember none of it. No word, no letter, no sound. 

Only a few seconds ago he had been wondering how many men of his age and station - four and twenty and the spare to a future Viscount - would accompany their eleven year old sister to the bookstore on the other corner of London. 

But then again, none of the men his age have younger sisters quite as adorable as Mary. Or as persuasive. 

He had been woken up by the shouts of his mother and Mary invading his bachelor house in what father called a “questionable” part of London. Mary had been gifted an exotic bird by one of father’s parliamentary friends and now she must know absolutely everything documented about the creature. Miles had frowned, looking at his desk where the large winged creature perched nonchalantly in a white cage, but remained silent. He had opened his mouth to speak when mother informed him that she didn’t have the time, seeing that she was planning a ball - or something - but the glare his mother sent his way shut him up. He had dared to open his mouth again to ask Mary if they could go some other day, he had plans after all, but the pouty look on her little face was enough to have him sighing and agreeing to take her just about anywhere. 

So here he was, standing in Jones and Son’s bookstore, in what was truly a questionable part of London, hissing at his sister to keep her bonnet on. Mary had thrown a fit in the carriage at not being allowed to take the bird with them to the store, but when Miles put his foot down she had taken to fidgeting with her bonnet, claiming that it itched. He could see that it itched, but so did his cravat. 

Decorum was decorum. 

But once they got inside the bookstore she seemed to take it as indication to remove her bonnet, causing Miles to put on his best Edmund-esque voice - as Edmund had long since been more father than brother to Mary - and whisper scream, “Keep that blasted thing on your head Mary or we leave now .” 

Those were the last words he spoke for the next 120 seconds, as he turned around to see at the owner observing them. 

With a smile on her face. 

And her head tilted slightly to the left. 

And Miles fell. 

And fell and fell and fell . It was as if his whole being shifted in the span of two seconds, the two seconds it took to look at her. 

It was like he had gone deaf, dumb and mute all at one go. He was aware of Mary speaking, huffing when he stood there speechless and pulling him by his hands to the tall counter behind which the woman stood. When he seemed incapable of articulating words or even sounds, Mary took over, trying and failing to rise on her toes to look at the young woman. 

It was when the lady in question walked around the counter and bent down to be eye level with Mary did Miles finally regain his senses. Clearing his throat, he took an unnecessary step forward and spoke in a surprisingly gruff voice, 

“I am Miles Bridgerton and this is my sister Mary.” 

“And I am Miles.” He repeated uselessly as the woman looked up at him and words seemed to scatter from his brain once again. Mary whipped around to look at him like he needed to be institutionalized. 

Perhaps he did. 

Was this madness? It certainly felt like it. 

“My name’s Leena Rashida,” the woman spoke softly, more to Mary than him, but graced him with a quick glance as she turned back to his sister, still half kneeling on the floor. 

“We were looking for a book miss,” Mary asked excitedly. “I’ve been given a parrot, and we’ve only ever had a dog as a pet, and I haven’t a clue what to do with a parrot. I wish to learn it all.” 

Leena nodded standing up, taking Mary by the hand and gently walking her towards the large bookshelves on the right. And truly, Miles should be concerned, this was a stranger after all, but we have already established that he had turned into a mumbling, dumbstruck baboon so he simply followed behind. 

“Do you know what kind of parrot it is?” Leena asked, climbing two steps on a ladder to search for a book. 

“No,” Mary shook her head. “He’s green and big and his beak is red. I don’t even know if he’s a he.” Mary frowned now. 

“It’s an Indian Ringneck Parrot,” Miles supplied coming to stand behind Mary. And when Leena looked down at him, a smile formed on her face. “And it’s a he.” 

She nodded, reaching up and pulling out a book before climbing down, and Miles’s hands itched to guide her down lest she fall. 

Heaven’s what was wrong with him? 

He observed her astutely as she bent down again and opened the book to a sketch and showed it to Mary. The little girl nodded enthusiastically and started talking again, as was her right as an eleven year old excited at the prospect of another pet to love and coddle. 

Miles had seen many beautiful women and he didn’t turn into a bumbling idiot around them. Almost all of Edmund and Charles’ mistresses had been legendary beauties, and yet Miles had found nothing of interest in them. Beauty had never been one of the attributes that attracted him to the opposite sex. It was always who they were, rather than what they looked like. 

Not that he didn’t appreciate and acknowledge beauties, he simply didn’t fall like he had now. 

Contemplative as he was famed to be, he looked at the woman - Leena - who had enchanted him like none before. She wasn’t breathtakingly beautiful by the standards of the ton. Adorned in a simple lilac day dress which showed signs of wear and tear, she was lovely for sure, but her appearance wasn’t the catch. Her frame was short and soft, not as lithe and lean by fashionable standards. Her hair barely held together by pins was the color of midnight, and Miles was certain he could lose himself in their depths. 

But that still wasn’t it. 

Her skin was darker than his and Mary’s caramel complexion. Her indian heritage was evident in the color of her skin, the almond shape of her eyes, the honey of her iris and the ebony of her hair. And her face had a softness to it, kindness that radiated from her eyes. And when she smiled she was beautiful. 

But that still wasn’t it. 

It was the tilt of her head. 

When he had first seen her - observing him as he tried to quietly admonish Mary - she had been looking right at him with the tilt of her head, the barest hint of a smile on her parted lips. 

And now as Mary prattled on about wanting to ensure that peaches - Miles assumed this was what she had chosen to name the parrot in the last twenty seconds as it was the first time he had heard that name - adjusted well to his new home in London, he saw it again. Leena watched Mary with an indulgent smile on her face, her head tilted to the left. 

And Miles felt his breath leave him. And he panicked. He wasn’t this kind of man. He wasn’t the one to look at someone and want them so terribly. That had happened to his uncle Benedict. 

That had happened to Charles. 

Poor poor Charles. In love with a married woman. 

It couldn’t possibly happen to Miles. Miles was sensible, intellectual, astute and logical in all aspects. And this, this hammering of his heart, the burning in his throat, the whoosh in his belly, this was the pure definition of illogical. 

Yet here he was, the epitome of gentlemanliness Miles Bridgerton keenly watching a young book owner with open fascination. 

Leena moved closer to Mary and whispered, “Let me tell you a secret - they love eating green chillies.” And then she looked up - right at him - the slightest hint of color rose in her cheeks, her eyes light and playful caught his and he wanted, no, needed to sit down. But the flush of her skin, the nervous laugh that left her as she stood up with Mary’s hand in her hand was enough for Miles. 

She was aware of him, as he was of her. 

Miles had never been popular amongst the ladies, never been pursued or desired. He had neither Charles’ easy charm nor Edmund’s rough handsomeness. He was always too serious, too odd, too unremarkable, that none of the debutantes nor their mother’s had set their cap for him, despite his prolific family name. And he’d truly never wanted to be wanted , it wasn’t a measure of self for him. 

But to know that this glorious honey-eyed woman that had taken him by storm was aware of him, made him feel like he had grown five feet in height. And as he paid the meagre fees for the book Mary clutched to her chest, he found it impossible to not turn back and look as they boarded his carriage. 

She was watching them with the same smile on her face. 

And then she tilted her head. 

Miles returned a week later, Mary begrudgingly joining despite stating thrice that she didn’t need a new book. But he insisted that she needed it. Peaches turned out to be a talking Indian Ringneck Parrot, driving father up the wall with his chattering. So Miles said there must be a book somewhere on how to train the bird, any and every excuse to see Leena again. 

And hopefully this time he wouldn’t behave like an imbecile. 

She was wearing a pink day dress today, and the minute she noticed him her hand moved to her hair instantly, attempting to smooth out imagined frizziness. Miles felt oddly giddy and smug at that. Most of the conversation was dominated by Mary who took it upon herself to inform Leena of Peaches progress in the past week. And as the two ladies conversed, Miles took the time to analyze his reaction. 

He felt the same pull to her once again, the same need to talk to her, to have her attention on him, to ask her a million questions about her life, to hold her hand, to kiss her, to touch her. And he came to the conclusion that he was possibly finding himself truly enamored by Miss Rashida. 

But this wasn’t enough information. He’d had a scant of three mistresses - or companions - as he preferred to call them in his short life. And while he’d liked them, enjoyed spending time with them and heartily participated in bedsports he hadn’t felt this - the all consuming need to be with them, to know them, to think of nothing but them when they were apart. For an entire week he had run through the exact moment he saw Leena a hundred times, he’d catalogued her features to heart and he’d wished he could sketch like Uncle Benedict and William. 

And Miles knew Leena Rashida was going to be very important to him one day. 

He was from the peerage, and she clearly was not. He couldn’t imagine that she’d have anything but a negative impression of the men of his stature. So he had to do it right. 

He needed to do this properly, whatever this was, he needed to do it properly. 

This could perceivably be the most important thing Miles ever did in this life, so he was going to do it perfectly. 

The next Thursday he returned alone, Mary had no more needs for books, instead wanted to spend all her time training Peaches to say her name. Currently all Peaches said was hello and I will slap you in the face . For reasons known to no one, Peaches' favorite person in the household had somehow turned out to be father - much to Mary’s chagrin. Despite the fact that father decidedly hated the feathered creature and had even suggested they set it loose in Aubrey Hall’s grounds, and then profusely apologized when Mary had burst into tears and ran to her rooms.  

He bought a travel book on the mediterranean and handed it to his Uncle Colin at dinner that night, earning a strange look from the man. Colin had of course been to the mediterranean twice in his life. Miles covered it up by saying it was for him to give to Thomas. 

By the third Thursday Miles had run out of book ideas so, on a particularly chilly afternoon he simply put his hand on the first book he saw and bought it. And then he stayed for an hour. 

And she let him. 

Thursdays became the highlight of his week and terrifyingly, his life. 

He’d wake and take utmost care in selecting his best linen shirt, dark cravat and waistcoat. He wasn’t terribly proud of his looks, but he’d make sure he looked neat and composed and gentlemanly. She didn’t seem to care much of his appearance, at least until the day he arrived late and in a sour mood. He’d been invited to Uncle Colin and Penelope’s for lunch and been attacked by thirteen year old Jane, pulled into a fierce hug for the travel guide to the mediterraneans. It seems Thomas had dismissed the book which had landed firmly in Jane’s grasp - who clearly was determined to travel the world the minute she was of age. Miles could tell by the matching glare on Colin and Penelope’s face that they were not in agreement with young Jane’s plans. 

By the time Miles made it to Leena, his cravat was askew, his shirt was rumpled and his hair had been mussed into a haphazard state. She’d laughed at his scowling face, offered him tea and set his cravat right. From where she stood, barely a few feet away he could see the gold specs in her eyes, feel the heat of her body and smell the jasmine of her perfume. 

Miles ensured to never let his cravat be tied properly ever again, much to his valet's confusion. 

He asked a million questions every Thursday and she answered them all. And returned the favor when she asked about him and his life. The more he learnt about her the more he wanted to know. 

Her parents owned an Inn opposite the bookstore. 

She’s worked in the kitchens with her mother since she was eight. 

She could cook sweets better than anyone. And he’d gorged himself on enough of her rasgullas and barfi’s and tarts to know that Uncle Colin would likely want to adopt her. 

She had been married at eighteen and widowed at twenty. 

She had known Anwar, the boy across the street, since she was a child, and marriage had only been a natural progression of their friendship. 

Two years ago he passed from lung fever. 

Two years ago she took over running the bookstore with her father-in-law. 

One year ago her father-in-law passed away. 

She was lonely, he realized. She said as much, with a small watery smile, unafraid to express herself. Unburdened by society and family names and legacy she could simply be; good, bad, ugly, all of it. 

He echoed her feelings. Miles sometimes felt lonely too. He’d sit in the middle of his gargantuan family in the summers at Aubrey Hall and still be gripped by the most potent feeling of loneliness. He never dared to tell his parents, it would break their heart. And he’d rather eat his own hand than tell Edmund. Worse, he’d never tell anyone that he didn’t particularly mind the loneliness, only wished that at times someone would understand him, someone would look at his peculiar reaction to an event and just understand him. 

He had always been different, since the day he was born. That’s what mother always said. 

Maybe, as he observed Leena quickly wipe a tear that escaped, a shameful laugh escaping her - different didn’t mean wrong.

It just meant, different . 

Miles had come to realize - aided by the constant love and support of his family - that there was something glorious in being different. 

So he told her that. Because no one else had. 

“Loneliness is a double edged sword. Beautiful and tragic at the same time. But it’s what makes us who we are.” 

And when she looked at him - wide eyed, open mouthed - he felt something warm spread through him. 

Yes, Thursdays were definitely the highlight of his week. 

He learnt a few days later when he couldn’t show up one thursday - because mother simply needed him at grandmothers - that they were the highlight of her week too. When he’d shown up the week after, she’d given him the cold shoulder until he’d explain why he’d missed coming last week. 

And when he left that day, a bright blinding smile on his face he knew with every inch of his being that he was falling in love with her. 

She’d speak of Anwar fondly, as one would a dear friend they’d lost touch with. 

And he’d itched to ask her - did you love him? Do you love him still? 

But he wasn’t that kind of man and she wasn’t that kind of woman. No pretences, no games and no facades. They were who they were and they felt what they felt and they said what they meant. 

So when he didn’t reply for eons, she simply looked at him; every answer to his question in the depth of her gaze, and smoothly slid the plate of ladoos towards him. 

When she looked at him she did so without a filter, without any armor to protect her heart. 

The next Thursday it rained and rained and rained . And she wore a thin dress of red that did magnificent things against her skin. And when he gave her his jacket to wear he knew it would smell of her when he took it back. When it was time to leave, he stood with a stiff back and a stiff heart and cleared his throat. 

“I should leave.” He was already an hour late. The light was fading and it would take him another hour to get to his Father’s house in this rain. 

It was Uncle Benedict’s birthday. 

“Okay,” Leena said softly, rising to her feet and looking so soft and femine and tempting in her red dress that Miles ached to touch her. 

But he had to do this right. He had to make assurances first. He had to prove to her that she could trust him. That he wasn’t some rogue that would bed her and then leave her. He couldn’t just grab her and kiss her because he was here and she was here and they both so badly wanted it. So he’d wrung his hands together and repeated the words, saying that he had to leave. 

And yet he stood where he had a minute ago, simply looking at her. 

“I understand.” 

“I really should leave.” 

She didn’t say anything this time, only smiled wider and lightly shook her head. And he stood there still, fighting every urge of his heart and body until he violently turned around. 

“Miles.” Like a moth to a flame, he turned to see her looking at him with mirth, and then she said the words that all but made his heart stop in his chest. 

“Aren’t you ever going to kiss me?” 

And then he was doing exactly that. Right and proper be damned. His hand in her hair and his mouth on hers as he groaned at the first contact. He’d wanted this for so long, lain awake at night yearning for her like never before. She laughed against his mouth as he lifted her by her bottom and pushed her against the bookshelf. 

She tasted like lemon tea. She smelt like jasmine. She felt like silk. 

She was the finest thing in the world he’d had the privilege to hold. And he was planning on never letting go. 

He was terribly late for his Uncle’s party and no one but Edmund seemed to notice that his cravat was missing. 

He was still going to do this right. He just needed the time to be right. 

And sometimes, as they lay in her tiny little bed above the bookstore, hands entwined,, she’d look like she was waiting for him to say something. And Miles would panic, it still wasn’t right. He had to do things right. 

But she wouldn’t question or ask or demand, she’d simply smile and kiss him, telling him how happy she was. 

And ten weeks after meeting her he told her he loved her. 

When he was certain it was the right time. When he knew with every fibre of his being that she was where he started and ended. And she wept in his arms and told how much she loved him. 

But she still never asked. Never wanted anything more than just him; simple, odd, quiet in her little bedroom and in her quaint life. 

One night almost three months after he’d met Leena, Miles found himself sitting in his mother’s study, frowning at the mess of letters looking back at him. 

“Miles.” The voice was unmistakable mothers, and he sighed as he turned around to see her wrapping her robe around herself tightly. Worried, she peered over his shoulder to see the books sprawled across the sofa and center table. 

“Hindi? You’re trying to learn hindi”? 

Her voice was incredulous like Miles could have been doing the pirouette and she wouldn’t have been this surprised. And he wondered if there was any way to get out of this without exposing the secret close to his heart. 

Two days ago on one of his regular Thursday visits he heard Leena speaking to one of the workers in the bookstore in Hindi. Contextually, he understood that she was telling him to close the door on his way out - but Miles understood nothing. 

Not a single word. 

The idea to tell her something he desperately wished to in Hindi struck him. And so here he was, at one am sitting with the few books he could find from mother and grandmother Mary’s collection to teach himself a few words in Hindi. 

“ Yes ,” Miles said slowly, observing as his mother moved to sit across him on the settee and continued looking at him like he’d joined the circus and shaved his head, all on the same day. 

“Why?” Such a simple question, such a complicated answer. 

Miles sighed, deciding to take a completely different route, “Isn’t it strange that neither of us can speak more than three words in Hindi.” And when Kate raised a brow - she was far too smart, he should have known. “I can say Namaste , Shukriya and badhir .” 

“That last one is your aunt’s doing.. I would never…”

“Oh please we heard you screaming it at Father once, and then we harassed Auntie Eddie to tell us what it meant.” 

Kate gaped at her son, confused between laughing with him or throwing one of the books at his face. 

“You know Father really is a badhir sometimes, it’s okay!” He called out as a truce. 

Miles realized that no one laughed like his mother, with abandon and joy. It was no wonder Father was always trying to make her smile and laugh. And he ached to tell her everything. To tell her that he had never felt this giddy or this terrified in his life. To tell her that his entire sanity and happiness was held in the hands of a five foot six woman called Laxmi Leena Rashida. 

And he wanted to do it right. He had to do it right. 

“You all wanted to learn french and german, and not Hindi.” She admonished, waving her hand in dismissal as she grabbed one of the books from his lap. “This is the alphabet, and that is a dictionary.” 

And she frowned. His intelligent mother had quickly caught up to his problem. There was no Hindi to English dictionary in existence, he’d searched. So all he had was a book with all the alphabets and a dictionary with all the words. He could match the letters to the words but hadn’t a clue how to sound them out or what they meant. 

“Well this won’t work.” She said in finality, “Tell me what you want to say and I’ll help you.” 

And Miles blushed beet red. 

“Miles Bridgerton. You tell me why you’re trying to learn hindi in the dead of the night, and why you look guilty for the first time in your life or I will put your sister on the case.”  

“Which one?” 

“Mary.” Kate said smugly. 

“Oh no.” Miles had very little resistance to Mary. 

And so he told her. While being careful to omit all the sacrilegious and scandalous things he wanted to - and perhaps had already done - to Leena. And to see the sheer joy and bliss on his mother’s face was worth the divergence from his normal private behavior. 

He rarely shared any personal information about himself with anyone other than Edmund. And even then Edmund would often say that his valet probably knew more than he did. He’d always been fiercely private, but something in him was bursting to share this. 

To his mother. 

The one person who would look at him in her typical Kate-way, run her hand through his hair and tell him that everything was going to be okay. 

And he would believe her. 

“How did you know?” Miles asked her, hours later as they sat next to the fire and soaked in the heat. Miles knew the words he wanted to say by heart and now he was itching for Thursday to roll around.

“Know what?” Mother asked simply. 

“That you loved father? 

“I haven’t yet decided if I love him.” 

Miles laughed at that, leaning forward and watching the flames hiss around them. There were no bigger lovesicks fools on the planet than his parents. Old bag of bones his father may be, but still mother would brush his thinning hair from his forehead and kiss him so ardently that Miles would look away. Their infuriating, undying love for one other was one of the main reasons Edmund had decided at the age of four and twenty that he wanted to marry. 

Miles was certain most of the matchmaking mama’s in the ton had spontaneously combusted in a frenzy that day. 

“Mother.” He chastised. 

She bit her lip guilty, and turned to look at him, “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry?” 

“It’s been so long. Almost three decades Miles.” She said with a roll of her eyes, “I just know that even when I hated your father - and he’ll say I had a mild dislike for him, but he’s wrong, I hated the badhir - I would look at him and feel like I was going to… like I was going to.” 

“Split in two.” Miles finished for her, and he’d thank the gods that it was too dark for him to see the expression of blush on his mother’s face. 

“Yes, yes.” She said softly, “It was painful almost, until I knew he loved me back.” 

“I feel,” Miles took a deep breath, “Like this is the best and worst thing to happen to me at the same time.” 

“Oh, my sweet sweet boy.” And then for a while everything was right in the world as his mother hugged him tightly and kissed his hair, whispering that everything was going to be perfect.

It had to. It just had to. 

The next Thursday he walked into the store - after haranguing his mother and Uncle Colin (Miles couldn’t tell you for the life of him why Uncle Colin was here, but he’d slipped into the carriage and declared that he couldn’t miss this) to remain outside the store, - and told her the words he’s practiced. He could have told her she was beautiful, or how kind, generous, strong she was. But she already knew. 

So he told her the only one thing that would expose him. Brutally, cruelly and with finality. 

He told her what she’d done to him. And that he wanted forever with her. 

He asked her to marry him. 

In Hindi. 

And he faintly heard the squeak of glee from his mother as Leena launched herself from behind the counter and into his arms. 

And that day Miles knew that he may still feel lonely some days, but he’d never be alone ever again. 

Anthony was ecstatic, almost radiating energy as he clasped Miles on the back and pulled him into a hug. All he’d needed to know was if Miles loved her and if mother approved. Because both were a resounding yes, he had given his consent without batting an eye. 

He had always wondered how he would feel when one of his children got married - he knew in the case of Charlotte he’d be terrified, happy and depressed at the same. He didn’t even want to think about Mary leaving them so soon. But the boys, it had always been different. He’d realized he’d spent a lot of time ensuring they were good, honest human beings out in the world and less time ensuring they were happy. 

It was a good thing that Kate was his partner, because where he faltered she excelled. She ensured their boys were good, honest and happy. 

And now his second-born, too perceptive boy was getting married. 

And he couldn’t be happier.

Miles had thought his father’s approval would be hard to receive, he hadn’t thought father would have any problem with him marrying outside of genteel society - but he still had a moment of hesitation. Until he saw the bright, big blinding smile on his aging father. 

In retrospect Miles should have known that all father ever wanted was whatever Miles wanted. 

Miles should have also realized that the toughest nut to crack would be Edmund. 

Edmund had been Miles' favorite person for four and twenty years, and now he was going to have to scoot to the left and make some room for Leena. And he wasn’t about to do that with some theatrics. 

In true Edmund style - and in a great impression of future Viscount Edmund Bridgerton II - he demanded that he accompany Miles the next Thursday and suss out this Leena himself. 

So here they were, Miles sighing in exasperation as Edmund raised his brow in his best entitled way and looked Leena up and down. “So you’re the person my brother wants to marry?” 

And when all Leena did was look from Miles to Edmund with a bewildered expression on her face, Miles couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him as he shrugged in response. 

“Yes,” she said tentatively, deciding at the last minute to smile at Edmund as if that would sway him. 

Of course, the man simply rolled his eyes. 

“I am his elder brother, and I have protected him from title hungry women and families all his life.” Miles frowned. He was certain he had ever been pursued by title hungry women, seeing as he was technically second-in-line to the title and Edmund was standing right there, unmarried and available for the taking. 

“I have to know you’re worthy of him before I give my consent.” 

Miles was beginning to get irritated now. He hadn’t exactly asked for Edmund’s consent, and didn’t need it either - he had simply said that he hoped Edmund and Leena would be friends, as they were the two most important people in his life.  

Of course Edmund had decided to make this as dramatic as possible. 

“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Leena said bravely, sticking her chin out but giving Miles a small tentative glance as if to ask “is it okay if I stand up to your currently annoying pompous brother” . Miles snorted, Edmund being taken down a peg was his second favorite thing in the world. 

He was too much of a gentleman to talk about his first. 

“Yes, well.” Edmund spluttered, not expecting the spunk from the tiny woman in front of him, “ Of course. Miles is the best of men, better than we’ll ever be. He deserves the best in his partner for life too, Miss Rashida.” 

And then Leena tilted her head, her earlier guarded demeanour melting at Edmund’s words. With a smile, she leaned forward and said, “You’re the best of brother’s Mr Bridgerton. Miles is lucky to have you.” 

 And just like that Edmund and his made-up ego deflated. He laughed, running a hand down his handsome face and turning to Miles, “I approve.” 

And Miles squeezed his shoulder, telling him in gestures what he couldn’t with words. That he was truly lucky to have a brother like Edmund. 

Edmund turned to Leena thoughtfully, stepping forward and suddenly grasping her by the shoulders, “You don’t happen to have any older sisters do you?” 

And Miles laughed harder than he ever had in his life. 

A day before the grand engagement party to announce the betrothal of Anthony Bridgerton’s second son was to be held, Miles found himself in his father’s office. A drink in his hands as he watched his father and Edmund laugh about something Uncle Benedict had done in his youth. 

He hadn’t been listening, his mind had been occupied thoroughly by wedding preparations - that he did his best at convincing mother that he actually cared about - and Leena. It had been torture the past one month, her time and his time being dominated by all the ladies of his family planning the grandest, most ostentatious wedding known to man. He’d wanted something sweet and simple, but one look from his mother had him sighing and saying he’ll do whatever she wanted. 

Father had snorted at how easily he gave in, patted him on the back and teasingly whispered “ Welcome to the club son. ” 

He missed Leena. Technically he had seen her a few hours prior, sitting next to him in one of her best evening dresses - she had refused to be gifted more than three new dresses and mother had finally bargained on five. He saw her often, but he didn’t get to see her. They had barely any time alone. He’d had a few innocent kisses to whet his appetite, if one could call pushing her against the library door of Bridgerton House and peeling her dress to her waist as innocent . Thanks to Edmund for distracting his parents for an hour so they could get some time alone at least. 

He didn’t want to know what Father would think of him preempting his vows and he most definitely didn’t want Mother to know about it.  So he didn’t complain when they set a wedding date two months after he proposed. And now, he only had two more weeks of lying in bed and aching for her, and then she’d be all his. Forever. 

“Miles, do try to pay attention son.” Father admonished, but with a teasing glint in his eye. 

“You’re the poster boy for self-control Miles, don’t disappoint us now.” 

Miles glared at his brother for good measure. Lot of good that did, as a clearly inebriated Edmund howled in laughter and refilled his glass. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way Miles, but whenever I thought which of my children would get married first…” Father started then paused. 

“You never thought it’d be me?” Miles supplied with a smile. He never thought he’d be first either. 

Father smiled warmly and nodded, “Yes. But I am very glad you are.” 

“Who did you think would be first?” Even though Miles knew the answer. 

“Well.” Both Miles and Father turned to look at a disgruntled future Viscount. 

Edmund grumbled and inelegantly placed the brandy glass on the table, “It’s not for lack of trying Father.” 

It had been a well known fact that for almost two years now that Edmund had wanted to marry. Not for duty and all that rubbish, but for love. Miles couldn’t blame him, being the passionate sort of fellow that he was, and growing up in their house - with Mother and Father leaving no chance to show their kids just how intolerably in love they were - it was difficult to not want a love like theirs. But Edmund was the only man his age, especially with a title in his future, who was looking for a wife, as opposed to being thrown at them by his mother. 

And two years had only led to no developments. 

And thorough disappointment for Edmund. 

He had seen his brother get more somber and worried in the past two years, as every season passed and Edmund no one that enticed any interest in him. 

“ Maybe ,” Father started in a tone that told Miles he was about to lay into his eldest, “A little less time with the Russian Ballerinas and more time interacting with ladies looking to marry might help son.” 

Miles wanted to ask if Russian Ballerinas didn’t wish to marry but knew it would add no purpose so kept quiet. 

“Oh all that stopped ages ago,” Edmund quipped, and sighed when father raised a brow at him, “ Fine . Six months ago. I heeded your advice father. Implementation might have been delayed by a month.” He added sheepishly, sinking lower in his seat and taking a big gulp of his drink. 

“And besides, I’m doing everything I’m supposed to.” He added defensively, “I’m accompanying mother to every mind-numbing ball, dancing and talking and promenading with every woman she suggests. Hell even Aunt Pen’s gotten in on it, and yet no one absolutely no one interests me beyond thirty minutes.” 

“Maybe you have too high expectations, Edmund.” 

“No, No I don't. Well I suppose yes - I expect a love match and that’s entirely Mother and Father’s fault. But I’m simply looking for someone I’m excited to spend the rest of my life with.” 

“Isn’t that how you feel about Leena?” Edmund questioned sincerely. 

“And more.” Miles said with a small smile. 

“Ugh Bastard.” Edmund made a disgusted sound. 

“Edmund!” Father admonished with a laugh. 

“Maybe I’m looking in the wrong place. Maybe I should visit more bookstores.” He mused. And when all Miles did to that missive was shrug, Edmund gave him a disgruntled look before adding, “You’re quite certain Leena doesn’t have any sisters?” 

Miles laughed, turning to father with amusement, “A drunk Edmund is a delight isn’t he?” 

And Father swallowed tightly, reached across the table and grabbed both their hands. Squeezing tightly, he said, “You’re both a delight my sons.” 

And while Edmund rolled his eyes and hung his head against his chair, Miles squeezed his father’s hand back and nodded in understanding. 

He couldn’t wait to experience this delight himself. 

Two weeks later, Miles was a married man. 

He’d been a tangle of nerves up until the moment he’d seen Leena walking down the aisle in a sinful red lehenga on her father’s arm. 

She smiled. 

And then she tilted her head. 

“Why does your sister look like that?” 

Edmund whirled around at Anthony’s words and followed his trajectory to where Charlotte stood next to Miles and Leena. They were at a massive ton gathering organized by his mother to celebrate Miles and Leena’s marriage. And Charlotte stood next to the couple, glaring at a select few.

Edmund laughed, “She’s decided to scare away any of the people that might make a barb against Leena. Or Miles.” 

“Ah!” Anthony said in understanding, quite happy that his daughter had taken so quickly to her new sister-in-law. And thankful that they had a protector in the fierce Charlotte, who knew how terribly unjust the ton could be. “Good girl.” 

“Have you ever seen Miles look so happy at a society event Father?” Edmund asked giddily, happiness for his brother shining through in his face. 

“I haven’t seen him this happy in general.” Anthony said fondly. 

Edmund opened his mouth to say something but instead a low curse left him, “Oh no it’s her.” 

“ Her ? Who her?”

Edmund groaned irately, “Isabella Roswell.” He tilted his head towards a young woman standing next to Penelope and Colin. “She’s apprenticing with Aunt Penelope.” 

“And why does she warrant such a reaction?” 

Edmund turned to look at his father with the most banal expression known to man, “Because she is quite assuredly the most irritating creature to ever set foot on this earth.” 

“Oh.” 

“She thinks, no no ,” Edmund said with a small laugh, “Believes. She believes she knows best and that everyone with a title - now or in his future - are lazy, entitled, arrogant, inconsequential fellows that should be crushed by the gods above.” 

“ Well ,” Anthony said slowly, controlling the smile on his face at the sheer reaction this slip of a woman had brought out in Edmund, “She seems to get along well with Colin and Penelope. And Miles. And Simon .” He watched as the woman chatted amicably with the group around her, not once looking out of place. Or as if she hoped a giant boot would show up from the skies and crush Simon. 

Perhaps it was just Edmund she despised. 

Curious, Anthony turned to look at his son observing the woman with a scowl on his face. “She vexes me to no end.” 

Curiouser and curiouser. 

“How do you know her?”

Edmund turned to spare his father a quick glance before going back to glaring at Isabella. “I met her at Aunt Pen’s. She’s learning how to finish her book, and taking their help in publishing her book when it’s done.” 

“What’s her book about?” Anthony asked simply to see if Edmund would even look away from the woman to answer his question. 

Indeed, he did not. 

“A book on childbirth.” And when Anthony jerked in surprise, Edmund sighed. “It’s a very noble cause. Her father is a physician specializing in difficult births, and her mother died in childbirth when Isabella was 8. She wishes to write a book educating women - especially poorer, working class women - on simple nutritional and home remedies to prevent infant mortality and keep their strength and health while they’re with child.” 

Anthony turned to look at the woman with a sense of awe. She barely looked a year or two younger than Edmund, with dark blonde hair and a firm jaw, but kind eyes. Anthony remembered the horror of Mary’s birth, and how for two harrowing days he’d feared losing Kate and her. Maternal deaths during birth were always a concern, and infant mortality was a terrifying number across the country. Anyone doing anything to help aid this was a saint, surely. 

“I know, I know ,” Edmund said with an eye roll, he had been fifteen when Mary was born, old enough to see and share in his father’s fear. 

“It’s a brilliant, noble cause and I hope she’s successful and makes a difference. Still doesn’t change the fact that she’s a menace set loose upon the world.” 

Anthony couldn’t control his laughter then. Leave it to the universe to play such an amusing and cruel joke. Anthony remembered feeling exactly like that almost three decades ago. 

“Oh no she’s coming here.” Edmund sounded almost panicked, watching as Colin walked Isabella over to them. 

Anthony on the other hand noticed the twinkle of mischief in his younger brother’s eyes, telling him that Colin had come to the same conclusion as he had. 

“Ah Brother, Edmund there you are. Our Miles looks so happy doesn’t he? Leena is a fine woman.” 

His comment was completely ignored by both Isabella and Edmund, as they smiled tightly and assessed the other like war generals would the enemy's army. 

“Miss Roswell. Bitten off any unsuspecting gentleman’s head yet?” Edmund quipped. 

“The night’s still young.” The woman replied smoothly, pretending to examine her nails.

“Boasted about your superior fencing skills to any dithering debutantes?” Isabella asked with a smirk.

Edmund narrowed his eyes, taking a step forward, “I am superior.” 

“I’m sure you think so.” She mumbled under her breath earning a groan from Edmund. 

“You know what, Miss Roswell, you’re…” And then Edmund seemed to notice where he was. Turning to look at the identical amused smirk on both his father and uncle’s face and frowning in confusion. 

Isabella seemed to realize the same instantly, flushing red and curtsying to Anthony for no reason, “Lord Bridgerton. It-it’s very nice to meet you. I’m very fond of your wife, Sir.” She added with a smile.

“Me too.” Anthony smiled. 

“She’s a brilliant woman. And Miles is one of the nicest gentlemen I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet.” Edmund rolled his eyes at her thinly veiled barb, and smiled infuriatingly when she turned to glare at him. 

“Isabella was just saying how parched she is,” Colin said, “Accompany her, why don’t you Edmund?” 

“Uhm, yes of course.” Edmund stuck his elbow out. The lady in question looked at it as if it had vermin crawling all over it and hesitantly stuck her hand in when Edmund gave her a look that screamed now woman . 

“Ah, brother!” Colin said happily as they observed the pair bickering their way to the refreshment tables, “I believe you’ll have another marriage on your hands soon.” 

Anthony couldn’t help but agree. 

Almost exactly a year later, the family gathered again to celebrate the doubly joyous occasion of  Miles' daughter Parvati’s birth and Edmund’s engagement - which had either occurred during after or before the birth was still yet to be determined.  

Of course, Edmund managed to make even this as dramatic as possible.