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A drawn out hollow note from a violin string vibrates throughout the ballroom. The chatter among the Ton mingled with the tuning of the string quartet.
The heavens above are covered with clouds, but the streams of sunlight break through the gray skies, shining down upon them as the ship finally docks on this new land that will promise a shining future for her family. She inhales a lungful of the salty sea air and takes a step out onto solid ground for the first time in six months, feeling slightly unsteady, but certain of her decision to bring her family here from India, for their future.
Tap. tap. tap.
The conductor hits his baton against his music stand, signaling the start of the next dance.
The thrumming beat of his shoe tapping against the wooden floors like the click of a metronome sounds through his room, running a hand frustratingly through his mussed hair, offering no reprieve of his restlessness.
The number of items on his list of duties that require his attention are endless. Filling the coffers at the modiste for his mother and sisters with the new London season upon them. Overseeing the hiring of a few additional staff. Making the decision to hold off on releasing the land because of the frost that hardened the soil.
His solicitor hands him document after document of yet more accounts need his signature. It is never-ending.
But the most troubling duty of all so far is the search for his new Viscountess. His search has been fruitless and he does not know how many more interviews he can conduct without losing his patience.
Should not the young ladies of the Ton have more to recommend themselves? He's not even asking for much!
The young debutantes stand on the outskirts of the ballroom, waiting for a gentleman to come offer for a dance. The right partner is always most desired, but to partake in a dance with any partner is an accomplishment compared to the wallflowers who blend into the surroundings.
He sees her for the first time in the park. He hears the rumbling thunder of horse hooves, pounding into the ground. A dark cloak flowing in the wind riding past him. She is riding at high-speed.
“Woah there! Miss, are you in trouble?” He shouts across the field to her, hoping to offer any aid to this damsel in distress.
She turns her head slightly to look back at him and a smirk adorns her face. He knows a challenge when he sees one. He gives chase. His heartbeat is racing as fast as his horse's hooves hitting against the Earth.
She pulls on the reins of her own steed and she is leaping high into the air to the other side of a hedge, leaving him in her dust.
He cannot catch her. Nothing can catch her.
A hand held out to offer a dance. Hesitation.
The offer has been accepted. Hands held together, the gentleman leads the lady to the dance floor.
They stand across from one another.
Arms up at the ready. His arm lingers, just below her shoulder blade, while hers rests on top of it. Their other hands clasped together on his right side, her left. Their bodies press closely together, but just far away enough for propriety’s sake.
The music starts and the dance begins.
The night is clear and the tiny stars shine brightly as they dot the dark sky. The weather is fair, with a light breeze whirling through the night; perfect for a spring evening.
He hears the loud clank of a garden pail and investigates to see who is there.
And then he sees her.
His face lights up like the stars above him, recognizing the beautiful equestrian herself from this morning, standing before him. He was so exhausted this morning that he considered that he had imagined their entire encounter in the woods. He thought he had created this hallucination of her existence.
Until this moment. It had not been a dream.
She stands before him now in a light blue evening dress, adorned with tiny rhinestones. Her hair is pulled tightly back in a coiffure.
This woman is dressed as a lady, a contrast to the rider he saw this morning. But regardless, she is still a vision to behold..
"You."
Right foot forward. One.
“ So you find my smile pleasing?” He teases her.
And then back step. Two and three.
"Your character is as deficient as your horsemanship. Goodnight, my lord."
And she walks right past him, leaving only her lily scent lingering in the air.
Forward step. Side step. And feet together . Four, five, six.
Her sister is named the diamond by the Queen. She is relieved to say the least. The hard-work that they have put in the last several years is now bearing fruit. She knows her sister will make a great match.
That is until she sees her sister by his side. He will not give her sister the love that she deserves.
They fall in step with one another, letting the rhythm control their movements. Opposite palms are held up, pressing together in between the two dancers as they spin around one another, clockwise. And then counterclockwise.
He is walking up the stairs of Danbury House in pursuit of gaining a moment with the diamond. Her breath hitches as she sees him ascend the steps, approaching her. No, not her! Approaching the doors leading to her sister that she is guarding upon its gates.
She notices his freshly shaved face and newly cut chestnut curls and she feels a sense of something tingling within her. A man should not look this handsome. It is utterly disarming how good he looks.
She shakes her head free of those thoughts.
His laughter resonates across the hallway at something she says. A sound should not be that appealing, yet she wants to feel the vibrations of his laughter in her ears again and again and let it spread warmth throughout her body once more.
She suddenly remembers why he is there. Her sister.
His hand placed on the expanse of her back, holding her close, as his pointed toe sweeps a line across the ballroom floor.
She is a fool. He is the one who made her a fool. Of course he would pull a scheme like that to distract her.
She is furious to have let her guard down for just a moment. And she pays the price for it.
"Do not speak to me or my sister ever again."
He lifts their arms up and twirls her around underneath them. And up and under again. Another underarm turn until her back is now pressed against his front, their arms crossed in front of her, locking her in his embrace .
He tries and fails to ignore her scent that is permeating through his space .
She never expected for them to fall backwards, diving back first into the mud. Her mother is going to be furious.
He vexes her like no other, but if she is gifted that delightful, hearty laughter of his again, so freely given to her as a reward, she will treasure it. The desire to be the sole reason for his laughter, to hear it more, grows stronger each day.
A sad realization washes over her as she surmises he must not laugh like this so frequently. And that is something she wishes to explore more, but will not. Should not.
She does not need to fan the small candle of a flame that has been ignited since she first met him. It continues to burn, steadfast, each time he is in her presence. She must keep the fire contained and prevent it from growing into a wildfire.
No, it it too dangerous. He is too dangerous. Snuff out the fire.
Her silk-cladded hands trace up his arms to rest her hands upon his shoulders, bringing their proximity closer. They twirl around and around one another, eyes locked upon each other.
Something is shifting between them.
He is panting heavily. His breaths come shorter and quicker. He cannot breathe. A fear so strong, it overwhelms his very being, takes over him and the shallow breaths quicken. He is unable to fill his lungs.
He is starved for air.
She recognizes that fear. She must act now to help him. She grabs his hand and places it upon her heart and his own.
A spark ignites between them. But she tries to ignore it. She has to ignore it as she has all the other times they have so much as brushed each other’s fingers.
All that matters in this moment is that he fills his lungs with air and finds solace. The overwhelming need to show him that she is unharmed right now is of importance.
Inhale. Exhale. Hearts beating steadily, matching in rhythm.
Inhale. Exhale. Their breaths intertwined, tugging them closer and closer.
A new sense of panic sets in.
He swings her out into the open dance floor. She spins around and around, twirling with her arms flailing out to steady her.
He has proposed. To her sister.
It is supposed to be this way, she tries to tell herself. She does not expect the repercussions to be her sister’s glove, acting as the sharp knife, stabbing into her heart, shattering it into a thousand pieces.
The shards of her broken heart cut deep through her slippers as she steps on the fragments on her way to the carriage.
She is willing any feelings that she has left for him to bleed out.
She must become hard as a rock, unfeeling, to prevent her from crumbling like her fragile heart.
She throws her arms out and waves them from side to side. He struts over to her and reaches out his arms to connect them again. She spins back into his embrace, her back pressed closely again to his front. His cheek presses softly against her, his breath blowing lightly into her ear.
It is not supposed to be this way. He has done his duty. He proposes to the diamond.
Then why is it that his mother’s ring fits her flawlessly. It looks resplendent on her fourth finger. Like it belongs there.
He cannot resist the temptation to continue rubbing his thumb along her finger. He must resist bringing her hand up to his plush lips and placing a soft kiss upon it. Must he?
She is brushing her fingers across his palm as they flail their arms out to the side, unable to break their connected hands. His eyes stare intently into hers with a soft tenderness reflected within them.
A bangle falls to the floor, resonating throughout the church. Everything halts.
She turns under his arms, his steady arm above her as a guide, preventing her from getting dizzy. He pulls her in closer to face him again, his eyes locked upon her rose-colored lips for a moment, before he brings his gaze back up to her doe-like eyes.
He is embracing her tight, not willing to let her out of his arms, kissing her with fervor.
They are breathing into each other. For each other.
She combs her fingers through his hair, willing to bring his body closer to her, using anything to try and right the axis that he has shifted in her since the moment they met.
He extends his arms, whirling her out again. Foot forward. Back. His hand reaches out to grab hers and she is swinging back into his embrace. His arms travel down to her waist, hoisting her up and she is soaring through the air .
The rain does not relent.
His horse is galloping across the park at high speed. He wills his eyes to see any movement. Any sign of her in this storm.
He finally sees her. She is racing through the fields again, just as he had seen her for the first time. And then her horse whinnies and she is thrown back, falling to the ground.
It is not her time. It is not supposed to be her. She cannot leave like this. Not until he can let her know…
He catches and envelopes her again, his arms wrapped around the small of her back and hers upon his shoulders. Their bodies pressed closer together than decorum allows. His breath dances ever closer to her lips.
“I love you,” he confesses, his heart worn on his sleeves, baring his soul to her.
She must feel it, because he does.
“I do not think there is anything else to say….other than I love you too.” The words are pouring out of her before he can even fathom his love is being returned.
Her eyes are glazed over with tears and he can see the affection and adoration reflected upon them.
She wraps her arms around his neck, tugging him closer and crashes her lips upon his. Their love bursts through the air, as bright and colorful as the fireworks exploding in the night sky behind them.
They both pull away reluctantly as the dance ends. He bows to her and she curtsies in return. Before she can leave the dance floor, he takes her dance card and scribbles his name again upon it in his usual elegant scrawl.
He turns to his beautiful bride, his hand outstretched towards her, “Lady Bridgerton, may I have this dance?”
She looks back at him with nothing, but love in her eyes. She places her lace covered hand into his immediately, “Yes. Yes, you may, Anthony.” she replies breathlessly.
He rubs his thumb over the back of her hand and gives it a tight squeeze before leading her to the ballroom floor where the noise of all of their wedding guests fell away and it was just them.
He pulled her close to his body, separated only by a breath, their gazes locked upon the other. The music starts and they take their first steps together. Dancing as one body and soul, as they will do for the rest of their lives.