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Chapter Text

A suffocating expanse of grey approaches.

Grey seas, grey sky, a grey horizon now broken with the ragged outline of stoney buildings, peppered along an ashen shoreline. 

What promises this city has made her. What hopes she had for it. And yet now, as she looks across the monotonous, uninspiring skyline of London, she fears perhaps it was all a lie. How could any hope spring from this drudgery?

In contrast to the stagnant stillness beyond, the ship is alive with anticipation. After six long months of nothing but open ocean and endless skies, the promise of dry land, of families reunited, of new beginnings, creates a euphoric impatience amongst the figures hunkered over the traffrails.

Though not everyone views the encroaching horizon with joy. For Kate it is as if she approaches the gallows. Before her is only an end. Nothing but the shadowy edge of a story near its close.  

England does not promise a new beginning for her. It will not be a new home, there is no home for her now. This is just another transient stop on the meandering path of her life. Temporary. For Kate, everything was temporary. Mothers, fathers, promises, dreams. Like the ebb and flow of the waves on a shore, at once they are there, and then gone. Pulled back into the depths of the ocean, like they never existed at all. 

Though she still has some hopes for this city. Hopes that beyond the shadows there is light, there is a future. For Edwina.

What else could make Kate confine herself to this creaking, barren ship for six months? What else could make Kate sell her own soul to the only family not worthy of it? What else was there, other than Edwina. The light that had kept Kate moving all these years when all else was lost. And Kate knew she would happily bear any weight, any burden, if Edwina would find the happiness she deserved. 

Kate would survive in this city, as she survived before, when everything had crumbled. 

When she had almost crumbled. 

When she had fallen into the shadows of her own life, claimed by the darkness sent to snuff out the colour of her past. The vividness of a life she had almost lived. Almost. 

Though she tries to block it, that colour flashes behind her eyes. A kaleidoscope of memories that she has so desperately been trying to forget. With all her might, she tries to cast the memories away. Though they are insistent, always so insistent. She had expected it to fade, as she distanced herself with an ocean, yet somehow it seemed even more potent the closer she came to these shores. 

Screwing her eyes closed Kate tries to force darkness, but in the shadows, hides her light. 

Jet black jackets stark against the crisp white of their shirts, the gentleman reminded Kate of the magpies that pecked for their morning meal on the verdant green lawns. Stifling her giggle, she thought it amusing that, just like the magpies, the gentleman seemed intrinsically drawn to all that glittered. The sparkling whisky glasses held aloft upon trays carried by an army of servants, or the sparkling diamonds that adorned the necks of the young ladies. 

If the men were distracted magpies, then Kate thought the ladies like butterflies. Elegant gowns of ruby red, sapphire blue and emerald green whirled across the polished wooden floors. Gliding elegantly, never settling anywhere for long as they fluttered around the room. 

Kate knew she should stay where she was, hidden from sight amongst the lush undergrowth of the estate’s sprawling garden, but from here she could barely see the gowns. Barely take note of the jewels nor the feathers nor the tiaras. That was why she had snuck away, despite the clear orders of her father, so that she could just once experience the extravagance of one of the Governor’s balls. Kate longed to see what wonders these revered events held even though her father warned her she was too young for such things at only ten and eight.

Her curiosity would be the end of her, that was what Mary always said, and Kate prayed that it was not actually a premonition from her mama, as she bent low, sneaking a little further across the lawns until she was cramped up against the outer wall of the grand house. 

Pressed against her back, the stone was still warm from a day braced against the Indian sun, even though it had long since descended from the sky. Considering her next move, Kate lifted the silks of her sari carefully so as to not damage the delicate fabric, before dropping to her knees and crawling a little further along the gravel path, ignoring the sharp imprint of the stones against her skin, until she found the perfect vantage spot. 

An English rose bush, sapped of its strength in the unrelenting tropical heat, sat upon a small stone pillar just in front of a long row of expansive windows. Kate found that she could wedge herself between the pillar and the rose’s wilting branches and see almost the whole dance floor, whilst still staying mostly out of sight. Congratulating herself on her new position, she began to study the floor, smiling broadly as she took in the beauty before her. 

This close, the serene notes of the violin were carried on the breeze to caress her ears, and Kate felt herself swaying gently in time to the music, her mind practising the steps Mary had taught her at home. One, two, three, one, two, three, and twirl. 

Apparently though, she was too early for the dancing, and instead the guests seemed to be content to mill about the grand room. There were a few faces she recognised, the Governor was there of course, holding court and puffing his chest out like a peacock, just in case anyone did not know he was in charge. His jacket strained over his rotund stomach and his thick fingers sloshed the liquid in his glass as he laughed heartily along to his own joke. 

The Governor was speaking with someone, a young man with his back turned to Kate. The man was smaller, slighter, but with proud, broad shoulders encased in a soft, midnight blue jacket that marked him out from the others somehow. Though Kate could not see his face, there was something in how the elder man focused on him, listening carefully to every word he was saying with genuine attention, that meant Kate could not steer her eyes away. 

A mess of chestnut curls adorned the man's head. Somehow both chaotic and ordered at the same time. As his head bobbed lightly in conversation, the candlelight caught streaks of gold and Kate felt an inexplicable compulsion to run her fingers through the softness of his hair.

His hands were clasped behind his back and Kate watched as he wrung them tightly together. Anxious? Bored? Her eyes were mesmerised by how his fingers twisted and turned, never still, betraying the passivity of his posture that he put out to the rest of the room. This secret was being revealed only to her. 

Desperate now to see him, Her breath hitched a little each time he turned his head, as if he may reveal himself, but each time he would settle forward again and Kate would sigh unhappily.

A shift in the breeze, and the violins suddenly became louder and with it too was carried a few snippets of conversation. The Governor's self-satisfied voice arrived first, sharp and nasal, but then another voice responded. 

Velvet. The voice was like velvet and it blanketed Kate’s skin in gooseflesh.

The Governor was motioning towards the other side of the room then, holding out a hand as if ushering the man forward, but Kate was not ready for him to leave yet, she needed more. Needed to just glimpse his face. To see the colour of his eyes. 

Unclasping his hands, the man shifted from one foot to the other, bouncing a little on the tips of his toes. And then turned.

And the world stopped spinning.  

They claimed her, his eyes. Piercing through her as if he had held a dagger’s point straight to her heart. But it was not the burning copper hues of his eyes that held her so still, it was what she saw within. An echo of her own soul.

There was no surprise on his face that he had found her looking at him from beyond the ballroom. No hesitation, no discomfort, there was inevitability in it. As if he had been looking at her his whole life. As if he knew her every secret, her every wish, her every desire. 

Like he knew every fibre of her being as if it were his own. 

The deck, so quiet and isolated these last few months, is now a flurry of activity. Families gather at the edges in the hopes to catch a glimpse of long missing family. Sailors prepare rigging, haul ropes, shout and holler. Urgent as they taste a sense of freedom, the salty air mingling with the heavy, sooted air of the city.

Edwina has found her. Dressed in her finest day coat of soft pink, her eyes sparkling brighter than the sun. 

“Can you believe it, didi, we are finally here. England.” It is a magical salve, her sisters smile. Soothing the sharp edges of Kate’s fears. “Do you think they are down there, waiting for us?”

“I am sure that they are bon, they promised to meet us here after all.” Kate manages a smile, hiding away her nerves when she sees Mary is seeking them amongst the melee. Their mama is doing a less admirable job of hiding her concern, it is etched across her face, scarring her beautiful face with lines of worry. Kate holds out a steady arm for her mama, which the woman takes gratefully, as the three Sharma’s begin their descent down the gangplank. 

The port is even more chaotic than the deck, but still Kate sees them clearly. Even without having ever seen a likeness, there is no doubt who they are. There is something about the stillness of the man, the haughty way he holds himself as his eyes scan the bustling crowd with distastes, that marks him out as the cold hand from the letters they exchanged. Though it is the woman that gives them away, she has Mary’s eyes. Large, beautiful almonds, though these hold none of the kindness that her daughter’s bestow.  

Edwina squeals in excitement when she sees her grandparents and the reunion is almost sweet. Innocuous conversations about the journey and the ship follow, all giddy smiles, until at last the older couple finally deign to acknowledge the other two present. They bow to Mary as though she is a stranger. Kate receives a curt nod. 

A recognition of the gift she has carried across the seas, perhaps. 

Then they pile into a waiting carriage, the door closing on the mayhem beyond and it is suddenly stifling within. Five veritable strangers and an awkward silence.

“Your ship was an hour behind schedule.” The earl’s accusing eyes fall on Kate.

“I am sorry.” Kate apologises, as if she is responsible for the tides. Lord Sheffield huffs, satisfied he has found someone to blame. 

“We like to have our tea at three. We will have to have it later now.” Lady Sheffield is saying to nobody in particular, as her husband spins his pocket watch in his hand, eyes rolling when he sees the time. Kate looks out the window, watching the slate grey of the city fly past her. 

The copper eyes have sought the face of his pocket watch a dozen times in the last quarter of an hour. She wonders what he is counting down to. The silver catches in the burning candles each time, drawing her eyes, not that they have strayed far from him for long. 

He had spotted her watching him twice more. 

The first time was incidental. He had been sipping champagne, surrounded by a flurry of fawning ladies, fluttering fans and eyelashes. It had blocked her view of him, and so Kate had shifted from her hiding spot to better see him. In her movement, his eyes found her. They’d rooted her to the spot, taking her a few moments before she could gather her senses and slip back into the shadows. 

The next time, there was no pretence. He had been standing with a group of older gentlemen, listening passively, the pocket watch stealing his attention more than their conversation. Eventually, he had left them and walked to the edge of the ballroom, where the huge windows looked out upon the lawns. He’d stood there a while, quietly looking out. Watching. Waiting.

Kate thought if she stayed still, she would remain out of sight. The darkness keeping her safe from his searching eyes. But he found her in the shadows. Eyes brimming with curiosity. Sparkling with mischief. 

Then he smiled and his face transformed. Dimples, he had dimples. 

Her whole world became light.

An unexpected voice to her side startles her. “What are you doing out here, Kate.” The whisper is urgent. “Does your father know you are here?”

“Uncle?” Kate exclaims, her eyes following the voice to find the concerned face of Mr Dalal, the butler, his eyebrows knotted and arms crossed firmly. 

“You should not be here, you know that.” His face is stern, but there is a lightness in his eyes. He always had a soft spot for Kate, ever since she was toddling amongst the estate lawns. He would sneak her hard-boiled sweets while her father was in meetings with the master. “If I were to tell your father I found you out here…”

“No, please uncle. Do not.” She slips from her hiding place, taking a few quick steps to join Mr Patel on the small path leading into the main house. “I just wanted to look, I meant no harm, it’s just all so glamorous and beautiful, I could not resist seeing it for myself.”

“You have always been a curious young thing, but so impatient. I am sure you will have your fair share of balls in your future. Though until then, I suggest you heed your father who I am fairly certain did not give you permission to be a spectator this evening?” He waited for Kate to shake her head, face studying the tips of her toes. “Now, come child, off home with you and quickly.”

“Yes uncle.” Kate allowed herself one final look back at the ballroom, but the boy had gone. The window’s golden glow just framing dancing couples and whisky-sipping gentlemen looking on from the side-lines.

With the vigilant eyes of Mr Dalal watching on, Kate tiptoed back along the gravelled path, trying not to make a sound. Trailing her fingers along the coarse stone wall that encircled the house, she wondered idly if the boy had joined the dancing. Did he have his name against one of the beautiful ladies dance cards? Would he have put his name against hers if she were old enough to attend, and allowed to by the grace of the Governor?

Rounding the corner of the house, she took her first step onto the manicured lawns that would lead her back to her family's cottage on the other side of the estate, when a sound found her from the darkness. Someone clearing their throat, and then…

“Hello.” It was velvet. 

Sheffield House is much like its owners. Cold, miserly and unwelcoming. 

A banquet of flavourless sandwiches and tiny cakes is laid out for the ladies as they arrive at the house, and Kate picks at the unappealing feast as her host coos over her sister, leaving Kate and her mamas to themselves. The genuine delight on Edwina’s face is almost enough to help Kate swallow down the milky, tepid excuse for tea she has just been served. 

“You have your first ball tomorrow, my dear, and you must make a memorable entrance.” Lady Sheffield asserts, her lips curling in a grotesque attempt of a smile. “I have arranged for us to visit the modiste this very afternoon.” 

“You have?” Edwina looks straight to Kate, her eyes alight. 

“Of course, no expense is to be spared for my only grandchild’s presentation to society.” The lady’s words make Edwina pause, until Kate gives her a reassuring smile. 

“Well that sounds just wonderful, does it not, bon? How fortunate you are.” Kate insists, desperate to avoid the crease on Edwina’s brow deepening. “Why do you not take a moment to refresh yourself before you are to leave?”

“Good idea, Kate.” Edwina finally nods in agreement, standing to brush down her skirts. “I am a little weary from my travel, and would like to be at my best for my first trip into the city. Will you not wish to do the same, Kate?”

“I feel a small headache coming on, I would prefer to stay here with mama and we can get ourselves settled.” Kate says quickly, not wishing for Edwina to realise that the invitation had clearly only been for her.  

“Very well, dear.” Lady Sheffield barely waits for Kate to finish. “Let me show you to your rooms. We can be on our way the moment you are ready.” The older lady places a hand at the small of Edwina’s back, guiding her eagerly from the room, whispering something into Edwina’s ear that causes the young girl to giggle sweetly.

Alone, Mary reached a hand across the settee they share to take Kate’s hand in her own. 

“It is for the best, darling.” 

“I know, mama.” Kate squeezes her mother’s hand, grateful to have her by her side. 

“You were watching me.” There was no accusation in the words, just curiosity, as his eyes bounced across her face searchingly. If she had thought him handsome from a distance, up close he was devastating. 

“You were watching me.” she retorted quickly  

“It is hard not to.” His eyes flashed darkly as he said it, and it made Kate take a sharp intake of breath.

“You are bold, sir.” 

“You are beautiful.” That stops her breathing entirely. Letting his eyes drop slowly, it was greedy, the way they travelled over each inch of her and yet left her even hungrier for more. “Why are you not at the ball?”

“I was not invited, my Lord.” Her eyes dropped, embarrassed. 

The flickering candlelight from the ballroom found them all the way out there in the gardens, and it played with their shadows. Kate watched the performance at her feet, entranced, as her shadow and this boy’s merged and parted as they caught the light through the trees as they moved in the soft breeze, like a silent dance.

“I imagine the other ladies feared they would be outshone should you attend?'' His tone was light, teasing, but the words settled so heavily on her that Kate could not find the words to respond. 

The heat of the evening was suddenly too intense, the darkness too powerful beneath his gaze. His confidence wavered when she did not respond, the brightness of his smile dimming a little in his uncertainty. “I have overstepped, I am sorry. I find myself a little tongue tied. I just mean to say…you are beautiful.”

“You already said that.” Kate was relieved her voice held the teasing tone she hoped for and did not betray how nervous he was making her. 

“If I say it again will you tell me your name?” 

Stop. Kate tells herself that she must stop. No good can come from these memories. What use is it reliving the past when your future is set so clearly. 

Throwing open the heavy lid of her trunk, Kate drops heavily to her knees, scouring haphazardly through the contents. Books and papers are pushed aside, trinkets and jewellery thrown upon the bed until finally she finds her treasure. Wrapped in delicate sheets of blue paper, the fragrance alone is enough to soothe her frayed nerves. Leaning back on her haunches, she holds the soap up to her nose and inhales. Lilies. 

The servants are calling her again, the water no doubt growing cold, and finally Kate acquiesces, following the voices to the waiting bath tub. As she crosses the room she begins to remove her hair pins, shaking her bountiful curls free from their tight bun, and carefully unclasps the well-worn metal chain adorning her wrist, as always its absence feels heavier than the metal.

As Kate sinks beneath the tepid water, she can feel the layers of salt and brine wash from her skin, peeling away to reveal a raw, unsullied version of herself. Emerging slowly, the lilies mingle with her troubled mind and offer an absolution.

But not for long.  

“I have not seen you before.” Kate knew that she would have noticed this boy had he visited the estate. She would never forget those eyes. 

“I just arrived this week. I am here to meet with the Governor.”

“What about?”

He paused before answering, tilting his head slightly as if to try to read her. “Some business matters.” She waited for more, and he smiled brightly to himself as he realised she was clearly not satisfied with such a response. “My family wishes to make some investments in the area, purchase some land and businesses, and I am here to see if they are in line with our expectations and values.”

“Where are you from?” Kate was running the gauzy edge of her sari through her fingers gently, to try to quell her nerves. The movement drew his eyes, and they burned a path across her skin as they hovered a little too long over the bare skin that peeked above her skirts. He folded his bottom lip beneath his teeth before looking back up at her eyes. 

“England.” he stated, with a slight tremor in his voice. 

“England? That is far to travel for a man so young. Why did you father not come?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?” The tone is barbed, but his eyes dance with humour and intrigue. 

“Yes.” Kate retorted matter of factly, and a little spark of pride bloomed in her chest when he laughed loudly. It was a beautiful sound, his laugh, and it wedged itself in his chest. 

“My father is eager for me to become a man of my own. Seeing the world will do that, he tells me, so here I am.”

“England. How wonderful.” Kate knew of it only through her books, and from tidbits of conversation she heard from the estate guests when she was lucky enough to be allowed to join parties or hunts. 

“It is grey compared with this.” He looked about them both now, pausing as if to take in the heady essence of evening, laden with floral scents from the garden, the night alive with a symphony of insects and birds, above the gentle strings of the violins from the ballroom. “Everything here is so vivid, so alive, so…” He turned back to her then, holding her eyes carefully. “So enchanting.” 

Another sound found them in the darkness then. The clink of metal against glass as the distant humdrum of the guests grew hushed. 

“Ah, time for a toast, it seems. I actually think it is for me, so I should probably…” he motioned toward the house with a slight nod of his head, yet made no other attempt to move. His eyes still firmly locked into hers.

“Then I suppose I must bid you goodnight.” Kate said as she dropped  her sari from her hands, holding herself up straight. 

“Good night?” The velvet is back in his voice, soft like a caress. “Not goodbye? So you will see me again?” 

“Perhaps.” She doesn't know when they had moved closer to each other but now she seemed to be firmly in his orbit, pulled inextricably towards him as she lost herself to the intensity in his eyes, and the way his lips quivered against the flicker of the candlelight beyond. 

“Perhaps?” He said through a smile. “I am quite certain that I shall see you again. There is no doubt that you will fill my dreams tonight. You are impossibly beautiful, Miss…”

“Kathani.” The name rushed from her lips, breathlessly. “You may call me Kathani.”

“Kathani.” he repeated reverently, and it had never sounded so sweet. “I am Anthony.”

He bowed, theatrically, and she curtsied in response. And it was all easy smiles and strange familiarity, even as something seems to shatter and rebuild itself within her,  

“So, tomorrow?” His eyes wide and pleading.

“Perhaps.” She swayed a little on the spot, the edges of her sari clasping across the gravel beneath her feets as she pretended to weigh up her options. Though she knew she was barely holding back her smile, knew her eyes must be giving her away, and he laughed, bold and bright, before she acquiesced. “Tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came, even when she wished it would not. Her first English morning is another blanket of grey. A weak dawn sun tries to penetrate the morning mist as it settles across Hyde Park’s empty paths, as Kate pushes her mare forward and faster. 

It does not seem to matter what she does, how fast she rides, how far she travels, she cannot shake the memories nor the regrets. They chase her always, unforgiving and relentless. 

Nine long years since she had seen that smile, and yet why would it not cease in stalking her. Like weeds claiming an unloved garden, they poke and prod and make room for themselves, even when she starves light. 

Her heels squeeze tightly against the mare’s heaving chest as they both fight to maintain their pace, but they move quicker still, darting across the expansive grounds. Running from thoughts hell bent on catching her. 

“Woah there.” It is velvet.

Damn. Why does  her mind tease her so, why does the memory of his voice plague her like this?

They are devious, these memories, how they chase her across the park. Hammering ceaselessly like horses hooves behind her. Nipping at her heels. The faster she rides, the more they match her. Only one step behind now. 

How will she learn to live a life in quietness, to make peace with the promises that never came true? How will she ever escape the ghost that will never let her be, will never release her. 

A small copse blocks her path, and she narrows her eyes in determination. A final kick, a steady set of her shoulders, and she launches herself high. The voice is still there, but quieter now. Distant. Perhaps finally, she is moving on. 

Hooves skid as they land, and Kate twists in her saddle to find her balance. Whipping her hood from her head, she shakes her head sharply in hope it may clear her mind. Though still it feels like the phantom watches. Waits. Like he never left. 

Taking a steadying breath, she looks back. The ghost does not disappear. 

It claims her eyes. The copper burns just as brightly, her own reflection just as clear. 

And the world stopped spinning.

Chapter Text

Time had blurred the edges of his memories.  

Only snippets of their conversation survived now, a few sentences here and there, or the way her mouth shaped around certain words. He could recall the sight but not the feel of her hair as it twisted around his fingers. Could paint in his mind the exact shade of teal of her gown but could not remember the style nor, however desperately he tried, the way it had moved with her body.  

Some things though, remained as sharp as a knife’s edge. The exact pitch of her laugh, the way it started low but ended with a tinkling high. The etching of pink blush as it spread across her bronzed cheek. The hot, smooth feel of her tongue as it slid against his own.  

Clearest of all though, the memory that burned as brightly now as it did that first night, was the exact amber of her eyes. The intricate tapestry of golds, toasted browns and burnt orange that weaved together like a map of the stars. But more than that. Something beyond that landscape of the night sky, an echo of something deeper. Something more.  

Something that was, rather impossibly, looking back at him on a chilled, misty morning in some quiet corner of Hyde Park.  

It is not possible , he tells himself.  

It cannot be her. It cannot be those eyes looking back at him. Those amber eyes that have haunted him every night since he became a man. Watched every step he has taken in his mind's eye. It is not possible. I cannot be her.  

And yet they are watching him too. Just as alive, just as mesmerising, just as haunting as they were the very first time they found him in that suffocating ballroom, all those years ago. 

Then, as quickly as they appeared, they are gone. It is so fleeting, just a flash of amber piercing his chest, and then they are carried away with a thunder of hooves and the ripple of midnight blue velvet floating in the wind. 

His mind tells him to make chase, and yet his body moves as if it were in a thick treacle, slow and clumsy, incapable of responding to the urgent demands of his brain. By the time he has enough nous to move, there is no sign of her. Flying across the park, down every path and every hidden crevice, he desperately looks, unable to accept the harrowing truth that he has lost her again. 

Once again, he is left alone chasing his own shadow. 

…………………………….. 

“Where have you been, Anthony?” His mother’s voice chimes loudly across the entrance hall before Anthony has even removed his riding gloves, her face anxious. “The Gorings have already left, their daughter was most perturbed to miss you. It was frankly a little embarrassing.” 

“My apologies, mother. I got lost.” His shoulders sag in his defeat, barely having the energy to suffer his mother’s consternation. He knew what she wanted, of course, but he was not ready for that battle, not today.  

“Lost?” His mother’s eyes crease in confusion for a moment, until her face falls. She looks as exhausted as he feels. “Lost. I dare say that is true. It feels a little like you have been lost for some time now, Anthony.” 

“I am sure I do not know what you mean, mother.” His attempts to manoeuvre around her to reach the solitude of his study are blocked as she positions herself repeatedly in his path until he relents, sighs dramatically and levels his gaze at her. 

“I mean, Anthony,” She starts sharply, but her anger does not persist. It withers in her throat as she takes in the melancholy that hangs upon her son’s shoulders, even more acute than normal this morning. And as mother’s tend to do with their sons, she softens. “I mean that you seem only half present most of the time. You promised me that this year you would seek a bride and yet here we are at the cusp of the season, and this is the third time you have been absent from an engagement I have organised with a young lady and her family. I do hope you are not considering yet another delay?”

“I…”  His heart hammers. How can he explain it? Everything has changed. Everything. And he can no longer be standing here, wasting valuable time, when he needs to be out there searching for her. 

“Do you want to know what I think, Anthony?” His mother places a hand upon her hip, relaxing into the pose he knows he takes himself when he wishes to lecture a sibling on their frivolous spending or untoward social conduct. 

“Not especially mother, but I feel you are going to tell me nonetheless.” He does not mean it to sound so cutting, but his mother frowns at his tone, and guilt claws at him. He knows she is trying her best, doesn’t she always. His fingers twitch for his quill, desperate to release the frustration on a clean sheet of parchment, and even that thought alone helps him find a smile to placate her.  

“It feels like you are waiting for something.” Her tone is soothing. It’s a tone she rarely reserves for her eldest son, and hearing it now does nothing to comfort him, it merely makes his skin prickle, the hairs on the back of his neck stand alert. He fears he will not want to hear the rest of this clearly rehearsed speech. “Ever since you became the viscount, it has felt like you were never really here. As if you were just going through the motions whilst you waited for…more? I know you think I am pushing you too hard to find a wife, but I rather hoped that by settling down, starting a family of your own, perhaps it would help ground you. Help you find your place in this world, as I found my place with your father.” When she reaches out to place a hand softly upon his forearm, he pulls back in surprise. “because I do wonder what it is, my son, that you are waiting for?”

“Are you waiting for someone?” His voice seemed impossibly loud in the still Indian evening, the air laden with humidity, weighing oppressive upon his skin, as he cursed once more the heavy layers of clothing he was forced to wear. Though, as she spun quickly to the sound of his voice, her loose, ebony curls bouncing across her shoulders, he felt totally weightless. 

Even though he’d been waiting for the sight all day, not believing she could be as beautiful as his memories had allowed, he still sucked in a breath to find his imagination had not done her justice. She was exquisite. 

“Perhaps.” Her face lit up as she caught sight of him, and the surge of adrenaline that coursed through his chest at the sight of her smile almost knocked him off his feet.  

Sitting perched atop a small stone wall that ran along the house, she was mostly hidden from view by the lush vegetation that sprung bountifully upon every surface in this lush, green country. He doubted he ever would have seen her had it not been only a few feet from where he had met her yesterday. Something else tells him though, that perhaps he would always find her, his soul seeking her out like it’s missing piece.

Pushing her hands against the wall to stand to her full height, the deep teal of the sari that had been bunched on her lap cascaded to the floor, pooling around her. Only a few glimmers of the candlelight from the ballroom filtered through the stirring branches of the trees, and it made the light dance and shimmer upon her in fits and bursts, never settling, at once in shadow and then light. The sharp angles of her appeared beautifully stark in the contrast; her cheek, her jaw, her collarbone, all accented poetically, as if carved from finest marble.  

“He must be a lucky fellow indeed to be spending a night with you.” He ducked beneath a creeping vine that hung low between them, positioning himself directly in her orbit.   

“Anthony.” She said softly as he fell still before her, seemingly as surprised by the letters upon her lips as he was by the visceral tug of his stomach at the sound.  

“Kathani.” The name that had been on his tongue all day tasted so sweet as he spoke it aloud.  

“You came?” There was an innocence in her expression as she looked up at him then, a hope, and it settled in his chest. Like a precious gift that he must protect at all cost.  

“Of course.” He smiled and hummed a surprised laugh. Did she not realise he had been counting down every minute until he could be here with her again? “I always keep my word.”  

“Should you not be at the ball?” She tilted her head toward the ballroom, only a few feet from them but the sounds muffled by the heavy air and windows shut tight from the threat of rain. 

“Another evening of dry small talk and warm champagne? No thank you. I would much rather be here.” Her eyes dropped down at his words, her eyebrows scrunching together in worry as she bumped a slippered toe up against the small stone wall distractedly.  

“I am sure the young ladies will be bereft to lose such an eligible gentleman.” She spoke to her feet.

“Eligible?” The word is an echo from the world he’d hoped he’d left behind in the ballroom. The word that hung too heavily upon him back in London. Here, miles from home and nestled with the girl that looked like the sun, he had hoped that word had not followed him. He wanted her to see him, not his father’s shadow nor his ancestors name, just him. He had hoped this was different. He had hoped to her he could just be Anthony.

“Indeed.” She continued, her eyes returned to his, as if she sensed his trepidation. “It is rare we have visitors such as yourself here in our little part of Bombay. The governor’s guests are usually slightly…older. A little greyer, a little dustier, a little less...” she looked him up and down slowly, and he held his breath.  

“Less?” He prompted, needing more.  

“Hair.”  

He barked a laugh, far too loud in the quiet of the evening, but she rewarded him with a giggle that left his cheeks dimpled and his heart hurting. “Well, I am glad the standards here are so low, perhaps I stand a chance at catching a girl's eye after all.”  

“Oh, was that your hope?” Her frown is back.  

“Not at all, quite the opposite. I came here to escape all that.” He looked back towards the glowing windows of the ballroom beyond their humid, verdant sanctuary, grateful once more to be standing where he was. “Though it seems perhaps fate has other plans for me.”

A soft pink blush blooms on her bronzed cheeks she felt his eyes find her again, heavy with promise, and her gaze shot back down to the floor. Another kick of her toe at the stone wall, him watching her build her confidence up again, before she cleared her throat to look back at him.  

“Ah, well in that case I suggest you avoid the ballroom at all costs. A pleasing smile like yours would keep you on the floor all night.”

“So you find my smile pleasing?” He volleyed back.  

“Why yes, in that you still have all your teeth.” Her eyes sparkled as he laughed, like a light source of their own. Anthony bit down on his bottom lip, squeezing the plump flesh to stave off the desire to kiss away the smug smile that she was wearing so brazenly.  

A beat passed. 

The air crackled.  

Another beat, until she shifted a little on her feet under the intensity of the moment. Swallowing heavily, her throat dipped and stretched against the motion, skin taut. His fingers flexed at this side as he denied them their desire to reach out and touch. To feel. 

“But what of your business affairs?” She continued earnestly. “You said you needed to meet with the governor and his partners?” He shook his head softly as she spoke, almost incredulous that she had not realised it yet.  

“They do not matter.” His words were gentle as they carried across the small space between them. “You matter.”  

“Whatever is the matter with you Eloise, stop fidgeting with your dress.” Anthony whispers softly into his sister's ear as she once again pulls irritably at her sleeves.  

“That is easy for you to say. You are not trussed up like a cow for auction.” 

Benedict, appearing just at that moment rather unhelpfully mooes softly, receiving an elbow from his sister and a barely hidden smirk from his elder brother.  

“I may not be in sequins, but as far as mother is concerned, we are both hogtied and on our way to the slaughterhouse.” 

His mother appears, perfectly timed, as the siblings hide their smirks. Anthony lets her loop her arm in his as she leads him deeper into the ballroom.  

“One dance, Anthony. That is all I ask of you. I have not seen you dance with anyone since your father died.”  

“Perhaps I am a terrible dancer.” 

“You were always a wonderful dancer, dear. A mother remembers these things.” As they navigate the gossiping mamas and courting couples, Anthony’s eyes cannot settle. He had been avoiding attending balls for almost a decade, but he knows it is his best chance to find her. Maybe his only chance.  

As his mother chats happily, and he is forced to smile and bow at various faces he can barely register, his eyes prowl every debutant and young miss he can find. Each new face disappointing him again and again, until his hope is left hanging by the thinnest of threads.  

By the time his mother finally lets him escape back to his brother, who, by virtue of not being the first born, had escaped the charade of being paraded by their mother, he rather worries that perhaps he had imagined the whole thing.  

It wouldn't be the first time. 

For years, especially the early ones, he would see her on every street corner. Stop his carriage every time he saw a woman with ebony curls or proud shoulders. It was a bitter disappointment each and every time. 

Before long, he had trained himself to stop searching for her. And mostly, it had worked. She existed now only in the whispers of his senses, the softest echoes of his soul, the dark swirl of ink in his quill.  

But his dreaming mind was not so kind, there she hunted him through every thought and wish and desire until he would wake restless and pained.

Perhaps it was for the best that he was mistaken. Perhaps his mother was right, perhaps he needed to stop waiting, and this morning was just his memory trying to let go at last. To make him say goodbye.  

“Mother tells me you have finally accepted your fate, brother.” Benedict’s voice over his shoulder shakes him from his reverie as he stands quietly at the back of the ballroom. “Is it true you will finally take a bride this season?” 

Anthony realises he is stood directly opposite a gathering of debutantes. White dresses and feathers and tiaras quivering before him. He had been staring unseeingly, having already ascertained she was not among them, but now his brother follows his gaze. 

“Most years you barely glance at the debutantes, and yet you seem to be rather entranced tonight. I am glad you are throwing yourself into this so willingly.”

Anthony vaguely considers that he should turn away now, to discourage further questions from his brother but his eyes will not stop their search. They have jumped to the next group of young ladies, scanning each face, greedy and urgent, but thoroughly unsatisfied. 

“Anyone tickle your fancy?” Benedict wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, expecting Anthony to join in this little game, but Anthony barely manages a smile.

“A sparse crop.” he says quickly. “Just like every other year.”

“Oh, do not be so rude, Anthony. Come now, there are many ladies here of beauty. This is the closest I've seen you to a ballroom in some years, so why do you not embrace the experience? Go and ask one to dance.” Anthony rolls his eyes impatiently. “Miss Crowper is all but drooling at you right this minute. She looks positively starved. Be a good viscount and go and ask her to dance, won’t you?” 

“Benedict, be serious.” Anthony nudges an elbow into his brother’s ribs. 

“I am deadly serious. If you do not find a bride soon, I am terrified mother will turn her attention to me.”  

“As supportive as ever, Ben.” Anthony shrugs off the arm Benedict tries to lay across his shoulder then, eager to get back to his search. “Have I ever told you how much I wish I were an only child?” 

“Three brothers and three sisters. However do you cope?" Her smile was mesmerising, as she looked up at him through dark lashes.

“Why do you think I travelled halfway around the world? I just wanted some peace and quiet.” She giggled, and it was like the first beam of sunlight after a storm.

Though his watch sat untouched in his pocket, he reasoned that they must be on at least their fourth loop of the house, so he guessed they had been walking for more than an hour. Though time seemed to have slipped into some immeasurable space, where he could not remember a life when he was not by the side of this beguiling woman, nor can he imagine a moment when they would ever part. 

It had not taken much to stay out of sight. The oppressive heat of the evening meant that most were finding what relief they could in the cool darkness indoors. The sky hung low that night, dark clouds had been stealing across the horizon all day, aggressive in their anticipation. The locals were insisting it was too early for the monsoons to begin, yet Anthony wondered how much more tension the air could hold before it broke.  

As they once again took the same twisted path to commence their fifth loop, Anthony cursed himself once again for not being brave enough to offer her his arm when they had started their promenade. Foolishly, he’d been so overwhelmed by her that he’d missed his chance, and now he was being punished by having to walk side-by-side, close, so close, but nowhere near close enough.  

A few times they would sway together, and her arm had almost grazed his. Almost. Just a hair's breadth, and he’d held his breath at the chance, but then she’d corrected herself just in time, every time.  

“Are you sure you do not mind that you are missing the ball.” She asked again, interrupting his silent thoughts.  

“There is nowhere I would rather be.”  

“You don’t want to be in there, dancing?” Her voice held a lilt of surprise.  

“Not if I can help it?”  

“You do not like to dance?”  

“I did not say that.” He smiled. She smiled back. He had to take a steadying breath before he continued. “I hate the ceremony. The expectation. Forced to be primped and primed, dissected by the debutante’s mamas and bored by their fathers. I have to be…to be someone I am not at balls. Here I am just me.”  

“Anthony.” She confirmed, softly, looking up at him through dark lashes.  

“Yes. I rather like being this Anthony.” They’d stopped walking, having both naturally come to a stop at the foot of a small pagoda nestled amongst a bloom of night jasmine, the delicate white flowers spread like a constellation amongst the tangle of greenery. Her fingers had traced along the stone balustrade delicately as she’d stepped up to the raised platform. He followed, inevitably.  

“I am not sure that I like all that you have described, but I must say I would like the dancing. I only get to dance in our sitting room with my mama. Or with my little sister balanced on my toes, just once I want the chance to have a proper partner, a proper dance.” She twirled herself sweetly in the centre of the stone floor, the teal swirling like a waterfall behind her. As she came to a stop, she caught him looking at her. “Why are you smiling at me like that?”  

“Why did you not say so?” He bounced on his heels a little, trying to hold himself back.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Well if you wanted to dance, we could have been dancing this whole time.”  

“But-” She watched him as he held his hand out, eyes still a little uncertain,  

Just then, serendipitously, the violins caught on a sure breeze, and they were surrounded by the opening chords of a waltz. The trees stirred above them, parting perfectly so she was lit ethereally by the distant candlelight.  

“Kathani, would you do me the honour?”

When he was young boy, Anthony’s father had once travelled to Geneva, sent by the King as an emissary to the Swiss government, on something that at this time had sounded rather boring to little Anthony, who had been quite furious at his monarch’s decision to send his darling father away for almost three months.  

Though, on his return, Anthony considered the whole separation quite worth the misery, when his father had gifted him the most special of presents.  

“It’s just a wooden box.” A young Anthony had complained at first. 

“Ah, to the unknowing eye, perhaps.” His father had whispered into his ear as he slung an arm around the young boy's shoulders. “But within hides a treasure. One you can only reach if you solve each puzzle in turn.”

As promised, once Anthony had studied the seemingly plain wooden box, a litany of challenges were revealed upon each side of the cube. Some demanded nimble fingers to position small metal locks at just the right spot. Others demanded a well-thought through strategy to order a series of letters and numbers. Another, the last, which took Anthony almost three weeks to solve, had involved a hidden key carved into the underside of the box which Anthony had only noticed by chance when he had all but flung the offending item halfway across the lawns of Aubrey Hall in frustration.  

With that key, the final part of the puzzle, Anthony had turned the lock to the most satisfying of results. All at once, each side of the box slid effortless apart, twisting and folding into each other, reassuringly slotting into place in a perfect symmetry. Proudly sat within, was a small, black velvet box which housed a beautiful silver watch. Alongside it, a heavy linked chain with a clasp adorned with a mother of pearl button engraved with his initials. The intricacy, the beauty, the simple satisfaction of everything finding its rightful place, meant for Anthony it truly was the most special of gifts.  

The memory of that moment assailed him as he stood there, thousands of miles from home, with a girl he barely knew who carried the stars in her eyes, because as her hand slid into his, everything slotted perfectly into place, and the most perfect treasure stepped into his arms. 

Anthony steps back into place beside his mother once more. Round and round the ballroom he had stalked, fruitless and painful. Each step an inch closer to having to accept his fate, once again having to mourn something that was never his to keep in the first place.

His mother remarks on the various ladies she proposes he should speak with, a never-ending list of their shallow accomplishments and he nods, and smiles and falls apart inside. 

Until everything goes still.  

A head moves in the crowd. Ebony hair, curls piled elegantly upon her head, a few ringlets escape a bob lightly as she moves through the crowd. 

“Are you quite alright, darling?” His mother’s voice is a distant, muffled thing as Anthony’s whole world contracts. His breath becomes shallow and sounds so loudly in the expanse of the ballroom he fears all can hear it. 

Could it be?

Anthony is moving forward, barely conscious that his feet are in motion. The mirage before him is not as tall as he remembered, but there is something about how she holds herself that sparks a familiarity in his belly. It is not quite as proud as he dreams recall, but there is the same confidence and grace. 

He needs her to turn. He pleads for her to turn. He needs to see her face, to lose himself in her eyes.

The crowds seem to part as he moves, destiny clearing his path to her perhaps. The whole ballroom, in fact, has fallen still and hushed as he moves seamlessly through the crowd. Everyone has stopped, the whole room holding its breath.

Someone says a name. It is not the name on his lips so he barely registers it, but now he realises all the faces have turned to also look upon his ghostly paramour, and that once again she is moving, walking forward into the waiting hand of a man. A small figure, the profile vaguely familiar, should Anthony be able to avert his eyes from the graceful flow of the light pink gown before him as it sweeps across the ballroom’s polished floors. 

Anthony moves more quickly then, stepping around a few other gentlemen in his determination to see her face, until he is immediately behind her. And the whole room is still.  

“Viscount Bridgerton.” His name breaking through the silence of the room stops him in his tracks. He recognises the voice, but it does nothing to settle his racing heart, quite the opposite. When his eyes track the sound, he is greeted with the steely eyes of the queen, her voice dripping with intrigue as she speaks again. “Have you yet met my diamond?” 

All eyes are on him now, including the ones he had so desperately sought. Amber. The same beautiful amber, but there is something missing. The shape, the depth, the spark. It is wrong. All wrong.  

Beside him he hears a throat clear, and it gives him a moment enough of clarity to find some sense. His body acts on reflex, forcing him to bow, to smile tightly, to speak. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, your majesty.” 

The amber eyes are smiling at him now. There is no question that this young girl is pretty. He imagines many would consider her beautiful, but even in the faded light of his memory she is a pale comparison.  

Though there is something there, a reflection of something so familiar that he cannot quite let it pass.  

The ballroom fills with the sound of a single violin, then another, as a waltz begins. So they are to dance. Duty forces his hand forward, and hers drops into his. Cool, light, barely a touch. Holding her hand aloft, he sweeps her toward the dancefloor as they take their position amongst the other couples. 

As he guides her around the room, he allows his mind to wander, just for a moment, to remember the last time he danced.

Every nerve and every synapse sparked, his skin burning beneath her touch as her fingers moved against his skin, tracing a path from his palm, until they were woven between his, locking together with certainty.  

There were no words. No thoughts in his mind. Only the feel of her body, lithe and responsive beneath his. A hand spread across her hip, the soft cotton of her sari guiding his fingers into place, slotting perfectly into the arch of her hip. Cradled like this, his hand seemed impossible large, like she fit almost completely within his whole palm. The perfect fit.  

They moved not to rhythm of the distant orchestra, but to an ancient drumbeat, as old as the moon, as steady as the tides. A twist of his arm, a swirl of teal, before he was drawing her back into him, their bodies knotted together, her being tangled with his, each nook and crevice of their bodies finding their perfect match, as though they were two parts carved from one. The heat of her against him was so novel and yet entirely familiar, so improper and yet so right.  

Another twist, and she stepped away, his body bereft for just the shortest moment when she was not in his arms, before he spun her back into him. Her back pressed up against his chest, and she allowed his arm to snake around her waist. His fingers greedy as they searched across the smooth drapes of her skirts, until, unexpectedly, they reached the forbidden bare skin of her midriff. Hot to the touch. His breath caught, a flash of heat from his head to his toes almost knocked him from his feet, yet she made no move to push him away.  

With her cradled in his arms, Anthony finds his Eden.  

Her head tilted back slightly, resting against his shoulder. With her cheek on his cheek, the softest flutter of her eyelashes against him, the brush of her lips, sensations overwhelm, but it is the elegant expanse of her neck that is his undoing. The soft golden skin glowed in the distant candlelight, and the heady sweet, floral scent of her was overpowering as he nestled his nose against her. He was drawn to it, viscerally, as his nose brushed beneath her chin, the exposed skin quivering beneath his touch. 

A whimper, the softest, sweetest sound, and he was falling apart at the seams.  

The music is slowing.

Anthony realises another body stands still poised in his arms now. Her eager smile still bright, despite his clumsy moves and long forgotten form. A beautiful woman in his arms as they stepped the same steps, breathed the same air, and yet nothing. He felt nothing. Was he doomed to live this shadow of a life? 

“Viscount Bridgerton.” An older gentleman, vaguely familiar, is smiling broadly and shaking Anthony's hand firmly with a sharp grip as Anthony escorts the young girl from the dancefloor. “Lord Sheffield. A pleasure to properly make your acquaintance.” 

“Ah, Lord Sheffield. I think we have crossed paths in parliament a few times.” A distant memory of the name, or the face, amongst the hallowed corridors. 

“Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Sheffield.” A portly lady tries her best to put on a smile, which only proceeds to make Anthony’s toes curl. “My daughter Lady Mary, and it seems you are now acquainted with our beautiful granddaughter, Miss Sheffield.” 

“Miss Sheffield.” The moniker lands heavily on Anthony. An eldest sibling. His heart withers as his hopes are dashed, it could only be an older sister who shared those eyes. The young girl smiles again, hopeful enough that Anthony feels guilty. “You must be very proud indeed, Lord Sheffield. Is it… I mean to ask.. You have just the one granddaughter?” 

A silence descends for a moment amongst the group. Eyes crossing quickly. Anthony imagines perhaps it is a strange question to ask and immediately regrets it.  

“Yes. Just Edwina.” Lady Sheffield says quickly, gripping her daughter’s arm rather tightly, and flashing a glance at Miss Sheffield. 

“I see.”  Perhaps it was all in his mind. The disappointment tastes especially bitter this time. “It was a pleasure to dance with you, Miss Sheffield. Perhaps I will see you again.” 

“That would be lovely, Viscount. We just arrived this week from India, we do not yet know many people in London.” 

He stares at the young girl again, long enough that she glances towards her mother with a little uncertainty in her eyes. Those eyes. Those amber eyes.  

As he slowly registers her words, hope blooms again.  

“From India, you say?”  

Releasing her from his embrace feels like a death, and yet he knows he must. Even as her body unravelled from his, her hand remained, fingers still intertwined with his and hope blooms in his chest.  

Their eyes stayed locked together and she was close. So very close. With his spare hand he reached forward, cupped his hand around her jaw, her cheek warm against his palm. And soft. So very soft.  

“Kathani.” It was the sweetest sound, her name on his lips. 

His eyes bounced across her face, trying to take it all in. The tenderness of her eyes, the way her lips were slightly parted, plump and inviting in the distant candlelight. The air so heavy around them it was almost suffocating.  

He swayed a step forward, she mirrored it, until their bodies were uniting again, inch by inch, the space between closing softly until once more she was moulded perfectly against him. 

“Anthony.” It was breathless, and desperate, and it demanded he move his face a little closer, lips a little nearer, until their breath mingled and he braced himself to finally feel her lips. 

A deep rumble sounded, so strong and sure that it made the air around them tremble.

She gasped.

A drop of rain fell against her cheek, right where his thumb was brushing gently against her skin and he soothed it away. But when his eyes swooped back to hers, they were wild. Desperate. Afraid.  

Her whole body had stiffened beneath him, and as a flash of light streaked across the looming sky above them, her body shook before the thunder even cracked. 

“It is here.” Her voice was small, her body curling inward.  

“What is the matter?” As she pulled away, he tightened his grip on her hands, pulling her back to him, desperate to cast away whatever fear had scared her face. She didn’t seem to hear him, didn’t seem to be aware of anything as a blackness stirred behind her eyes. “Kathani, please, come back to me. What is the matter.”

“The monsoon.” she stuttered, her eyes distant. “It was not meant to start…it is too early… I can’t …I must… I…” Her breath came in short, sharp bursts. Her chest heaved under an unseen weight, her shoulders buckled as if she carried some otherworldly burden. He could not bear the sight. 

“Breathe, Kathani. You must breathe.” At the sound of her name, she came back to him for a moment. Her eyes focused in on his and they cleared again, but as another flash lit the sky, another rumble shook the ground, he lost her once more to the darkness within.

Instinctively, he brought her trembling hand up to her chest, uncurling her fingers so he could press them flush against her chest to find her heartbeat. A steady rhythm. An anchor in her chaos. 

“You are safe, Kathani. I am here. Look at me, please, look at me.” And she did. She looked hard and sure, and the darkness clashed with a fighting spark of light, a silent battle in her eyes as he pressed his skin against hers. 

The rain had started in earnest now. Heavy, unforgiving drops crashed about them but neither of them moved. Like two statues locked in an embrace. 

“Just keep looking at me.” Not letting his eyes drop he found her other hand, drawing it up to his chest before slipping it beneath the thick fabric of his jacket. Her fingers searched, her palm spreading against the heat of him through the light cotton of his shirt as he cradled her hand in his own. Hoping she could feel the steady beat of his heart as it pounded her name.

“I will not leave you, Kathani, I am here. I promise I will never leave you.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, Kate, he was such a wonderful dancer.” Edwina clutches a hand against her chest, swaying gracefully around the parlour, her eyes alight. “And did I tell you how handsome he was?”

“You did mention that, bon, yes.” Kate’s smile curls around her teacup as she takes a sip, watching her sister fondly. 

“And a viscount?” 

“Yes, you mentioned that as well.” The cup rattles in the saucer as Edwina throws herself dramatically upon the settee beside her sister, looking up at her with her doe-eyes wide. 

“But can you believe it, didi. Me, the diamond , and dancing with a handsome viscount. It is such a shame you missed it, I so wish you had met him. And all the other young gentlemen who were there. My dance card was full, didi, full.”

“I for one am not surprised in the slightest, my beautiful and graceful sister has always been the most precious jewel to me, it was just a matter of time before the rest of the world took note.” They giggle together as Kate pulls her sister against her in an embrace.

“And you will be there next time, won’t you, didi. I do not wish to do this without you?” Edwina’s eyes look up at her hopefully, but just beyond, another pair of eyes watch on over the sharp edges of a newspaper. The same eyes that caused Kate to feign a headache and bow out of attending the ball last night. 

“Come now, Edwina.” The eyes find a voice. “You will no doubt have a busy day of visitors today, will you not retire to your rooms to prepare. It will be no good for your first callers to think you are sitting around idle waiting for them.”

“Quite right, grandpapa. A cunning plan. I must not look too eager.” Edwina says brightly, sweeping a finger through the air to enhance her point. 

“I think your new cream day dress would be just perfect, Edwina. I have already instructed the maids to have it ready for you, so off you go, little one.” Lady Sheffield ushers the young girl out with a warm enough smile. 

Though all the smiles drop the moment Edwina leaves, the room instantly falls tense and unwelcoming. 

Only three days have passed in this wretched place, and already her heart aches. Kate yearns for the strength to survive this trip, her grandparents, this unforgiving society, but more than anything to survive her treacherous mind, hell bent, it seems on resurrecting the ghosts of her past. Ghosts she thought she had become better at forgetting. 

Kate supposed it was normal, the stress of it all making her see things that were not there. And it had been misty that morning in the park, her brain was still half adrift in the ocean, her sea legs still unsteady upon solid ground. It was no surprise that one's mind might fracture, conjuring images that were not real, images that were best to forget.

It was not him. She knew it was not him. That it could not be him. 

Surely it would be too cruel a trick of fate, even with the callous hand Kate had already been dealt, for him to be there on her very first day in this country. It was too pitiful, too improbable. Impossible. 

Yet his eyes had seemed so alive. 

No, it was not him. Kate had long ago learned that there was no point in hope. 

The crinkle of a newspaper turning, a teacup tinkling in a saucer and Kate’s attention is brought back to her grandparents. Her mind had no time for flights of fancy, Kate had not travelled halfway around the world to miss her chance to be here for sister while she still could be.

“It sounds as if this viscount will be a fine option for my sister, but I rather hoped she would have the chance to interview a few more suitors before she settles.” Mustering all the courage she can, she stands and walks towards the table where her grandparents watch her as if she were a wild animal, flinching as she approaches them. “I saw a number of calling cards arrive, and I have made a list of-”  

“That shan’t be necessary.” The Earl says shortly, as he brings his newspaper back up to hide his face from her. 

“I think it best we-” Kate continues, refusing to be cowed. 

“We?” It is Lady Sheffield who interrupts this time, a look of amusement on her face. “There is no ‘we’, Miss Sharma, I think you forget yourself. Edwina has been returned to the bosom of her family now, and we will take care of things from here. You are no longer required.”

“But-”

“Why do you not take a walk in the gardens? It is a fine morning and I am sure some fresh air will do you well, my dear.”

“You said I would be able to-”

“We will keep to our word. You may reside with us until Edwina weds, but there is no need for you to be involved in her match-making. I have purchased your return passage to India for six weeks time, as promised you will be here for her season, but that is where your involvement will end. What could a girl like you possibly know of such matters as this?” It is not the words that cut Kate so deeply, but the coldness with which they are delivered.

Tears sting at her eyes, a lump forming in her throat, and she is grateful when a footman interrupts them and saves her from showing weakness to these wicked people. 

“Viscount Bridgerton has arrived, my Lord.” The name causes both her grandparents to smile brightly, a satisfied look passes between them. 

“Ah yes, send the chap in.” The newspaper is quickly folded and cast aside before the Earl’s unforgiving eyes fall upon Kate. “I believe you were off for a walk, young lady?”

Kate’s eyes stay on the floor, swallowing down the pain. The certainty of what will come once these people have their prize. 

As the door slams shut behind her, the solitude of the hallway allows her a moment to breathe, though as she sucks in breath after breath through clenched teeth, her lungs still scream for air. Trembling hands wipe away the tears that start to fall as Kate starts the unsteady path back to her rooms, until she hears footsteps echo in the distance; the footman returning with their guest.

Kate quickly spins on her heels, determined to stay out of sight she hurries in the opposite direction. Eyeing the ornate French doors at the end of the hallway, she quickens her steps until she is pushing them open and slipping outside, with just a moment to spare before the footman and the guest round the corner. 

A few more strides and Kate ducks into the small walled garden, resting herself back against the ivy-covered stone. Hidden and alone, finally fresh air fills her lungs, and Kate is finally able to breathe.

“Breathe, Kathani.” Soft velvet against the sharp splinters of terror. His eyes were fixed so strongly on hers that they were the only thing stopping the encroaching path of her fear, like a beacon of light defying the darkness, scaring away the fiercest of her demons. “Just keep looking at me. I am here, I will not let you come to harm.”

As the sky alighted once more, and another rumble sounded from the clouds in response, he began to move and she found her feet following him, shadowing his every step. 

“I must get you some shelter, you cannot be out here in the rain.” His hand wrapped around hers, warm, solid, grounding. Following blindly, they ducked and dived between the vast tree canopies to find cover when they could, but already she was soaked through, the teal of her dress now almost black against skin that glistened with raindrops. 

A small wooden shack appeared to their side, and he paused when he saw it. A few sharp raps against the door, and he was calling out into the silence. A gardener's shed, nestled to the side of the estate's lawns but empty, of course, at this late hour. The door creaked, and he pulled her in behind him to the stale, dark but dry air within. 

“We can wait it out here.” He turned to her then, moving both hands to wrap around the tops of her arms, soothing and all encompassing. She could only just find his eyes in the darkness as they caught a distant light, but they searched her face endlessly. “You are so cold, Kathani. Here, take my jacket, it is still dry inside.”

Shrugging off the thick, woollen coat in one deft movement, he flicked it sharply to dislodge the surface water before slipping it across her shoulders. 

His fingertips brushed lightly across her arms as he wrapped the jacket around her, the soft, silk lining still warm from his body like a fire against her chilled skin. She found herself burying her nose into her shoulder, breathing in the heady scent that now invaded her - he smelled like comfort. Like the petrichor that would rise hopefully from the dampened ground after the fiercest of storms, or the vanilla-sweetness from the familiar pages of a well-thumbed book, where you know the happy ending is within reach. 

As she lost herself to her senses, he rummaged across the shelves until at last he found a candle, and with a scratch of a match the darkness receded, revealing his copper eyes clouded with worry. 

“What else do you need, Kathani?” He continued their study of her face in earnest, and she realised she had not spoken in some time, yet still she could not find the words. How could she explain that this was all she needed, just his eyes on her, chasing away the barren world the storm threatened,

As her eyes adjusted to the light she took in their surroundings. Pots and an assortment of tools were scattered across the floor, and on every inch of the walls hung various shears and secutores, yet under the soft light of the burning candle it was a welcome shelter from the storm beyond. A flimsy bench ran the length of one side of the small shack, and Anthony was pushing off the content, rather noisily, and pulling a rug off a hook behind the door to lay across the rough wood. Reaching for her hand, he guided her down until she was sitting looking up at him. 

His hand cupped her jaw softly, just for a moment, his thumb running reverently along the edges of her as he tipped her face up to look at him. His lips parted softly, as though he was going to say something and Kate’s heart felt like it was rising up in her chest, moving to meet him, until the air cracked deafeningly beyond their little haven. The storm stealing away the moment as Kate drew back into herself.

Rather clumsily, he threw himself down beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his thigh against her own. As they both waited, counting their heartbeats until the answering thunder, his fingers squeezed hers and she realised her hand was still tightly wrapped in his. Had he not let go that whole time?

Shifting on the bench, he swayed just that bit closer to her, and unbidden, she found herself resting her head upon his shoulder. 

“When we were children,” he began quietly, this thumb soothing a circle over the top of hers, round and round, to the exact beat of her heart, “if we were ever afraid, my mother would have us use prayer beads, to settle anxious hands and chaotic minds, she said. It is soothing. I do not have prayer beads but…perhaps…here,” Lifting his upper hand from hers, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his silver watch, its long chain snagging against his breeches where it was fastened. With another sharp pull, the fastening unclipped. “We would count the beads so that we focused on something other than the fear. It is most effective.”

Holding out his hand for her, he waited until she offered her other hand up to him. Carefully, he wrapped the solid chain around her palm, his fingers gentle but certain. While he looked down, her eyes hung on his face, watching how his brows furrowed in concentration, a deep crease appearing between his eyes as he secured the ornate clasp, binding the chain at her wrist. 

“Here,” With his other hand he uncurled her tensed fingers reverently, and placed her fingertips against the chain. His tone has dropped even lower, their faces so close that his breath brushed against her cheek. “Count each link with me. One, two, three, four-” 

A crash of thunder above, loud enough to shake the flimsy wooden slats of the shed, and Kate gasped.

“Keep going, Kathani.” His voice brought her back from the edge. “Five, six, seven.”

Echoing his words, her fingers traced his across the warmed, smooth metal, her eyes lost in his handsome face, her heart steadied by his velvet tone and her breath levelled at last. 

When the sky rumbled again, even closer than before, his fingers locked between hers tightened, his voice raising as if trying to counter nature’s battle cry. This time, the thunder reverberated across her skin, but did not penetrate, not with the comforting press of his other arm now wrapped around her waist, not with his eyes locked on to hers, it felt like the safest place she had been in years.

“Where have you been Kate?” Edwina is barely visible through the veritable garden of flowers that now sit upon every surface of the Sheffield’s otherwise dowdy sitting room. 

Side stepping the footman bringing in yet another bouquet, Kate finds her mother and sister sitting together on the small settee by the window, her grandparents still standing guard and apparently unmoved since this morning at the small table a few feet away.

“You missed everyone. The whole room was full of callers, was it not mama?” 

“That it was dearest.” Lady Mary gives her eldest daughter a warm smile, reaching out a hand to grasp Kate’s in greeting, and reassurance.

Kate knows her mother was against all this, she had been unusually vocal on the matter when Kate had proposed it the year previously. Though, in the end, both their hands were tied. Despite Kate’s best efforts, the debtors were circling and what measly funds she had managed to stretch since her father had died were running out, just as Edwina was at the cusp of womanhood. 

So they had faced a choice. Even if Kate was able to secure work with the highest ranking of families in Bombay, the amount would still not be enough to support both Mary and Edwina. Kate knew that if Edwina was not formally presented as a debutante, and with no male head of the family speaking for her, then her only matches would be from those gentlemen not seeking brides from ballrooms, most likely those with incomes as precarious as the Sharma’s or because their names had already fallen foul of society for one reason or another. Either way, that was not the fate either of them could face for their darling Edwina. 

That left them with but one option, to appeal for help.

Kate’s exchanges with the Earl had been short and to the point. Edwina would be debuted without a penny spared, Mary would be welcomed back into the family and supported, with just one condition, a condition that Kate did not share with her mama, that the moment Edwina was married, Kate must return to India and cut all ties with her family.

Kate had not been surprised by the stipulation, after all Mary had never had a kind word to say of her parents despite being the holder of a rather wonderfully large heart herself. It had hurt, at first, but as with everything else Kate had known that the modicum of contentment she had been able to find with Mary and Edwina in Bombay was only temporary. As always, happiness never stayed with Kate for long. 

However, she took the graces she was given. This one final chance to aid her sister in seeking the best future possible. Kate had spent years preparing her for this; dance lessons, French lessons, pianoforte lessons, everything Edwina would need to secure a match. One that would keep her safe and secure. One that would make her happy. 

Because some people were deserving of happiness, deserving of love, and Kate knew that was the fate for Edwina, so she would do everything in her power to make sure she found it.

A fact she reminded herself as she looked upon her sister’s blindingly bright smile in the small sitting room in a corner of Mayfair, thousands of miles from her home. 

“Do tell me then, my sweet bon, who has impressed you thus far?” Kate swept her skirts to the side to seat herself opposite them, and could not help but smile at the earnest enthusiasm upon her sister's face.

“Well the viscount was the first to visit, and he is certainly so very handsome, and intelligent, and even-tempered, and clearly very interested in family but…he seemed…distant. Like his mind was perhaps elsewhere.”

“He is from the most illustrious family of the Ton, Edwina. There would be no finer match.” Lady Sheffield added.

“Indeed, and he was most charming. There was also Lord Lumley, he was passionate about poetry and we spoke of books the whole time. The marquis was sweet, but a little young. And then of course there was Mister Bagwell…” Edwina’s palm clutches against her chest and her eyes light up. 

“A man with no title, Edwina.” Her grandfather barely hides his disgust. “I do not even know how he made it through the door.”

“Title is not-” But her mama does not finish the sentence. A sharp look from her father, and the momentary brightness in her eyes is extinguished, they return to focus on the teacup in her hands.

“Tell us again what it was that you and the Viscount spoke of, dear?” Lady Sheffield grasps Edwina’s attention away from her mother.

“Oh, well, he was very interested in family, clearly. He had a lot of questions…” 

Kate’s eyes stay on her mother, watching her stir her spoon with dulled eyes now, until a footman behind her clears his throat.

“Lord and Lady Sheffield. There has been a card delivered for you.” The young man shifts a little as he wilts under his master's glare against the interruption.

“Just leave it on the side with the others, boy.”

“Of course, my lord, only…” 

“What is it?” The room falls quiet against the sharp tone and waits for the young man to speak again.

“This one has the royal seal upon it.” 

“It is from the queen?” Lady Sheffield jumps from her seat somewhat ungracefully, and the cups on the table wobble precariously. Her hand motions for the footman to pass her the card and her eyes search the paper quickly. “The queen, Giles. She wishes to host a soiree, for her diamond. Our diamond. Tonight.”

“A soiree?” Edwina is standing now as well, bouncing on her toes in her excitement.

“Yes, a soiree just for you Edwina.” 

“This is the greatest of honours.” Her grandfather mutters to his wife. 

“It is happening, Giles, we are finally back where we belong.”

As the rest of the room bursts into an excited huddle of preparations and dress colours and hairstyles, Kate and her mama sit quietly upon opposite sofas. When their eyes catch, both try to reassure the other, but neither seems to succeed. 

“I think it is passing.” He says softly, his gaze turned upwards as he peered through the tiny slit of glass at the top of the hut’s door, where they could just make out that though the rain still fell relentlessly, the sky had not been alight from the storm for some time. 

“I believe you are right.” Her voice cracked, still ravaged from her panic, though her breathing had settled as his thumb continued its soothing path across hers, and her fingertips still jumped from link to link of his chain.   

As some of her tension began to seep away, she shifted in her seat slightly, and realised, to some alarm, just how close they had become. Their bodies practically merged, as their hands sat intertwined, their thighs pressed together, her head nestled in the crook of his neck.  

A little gasp escaped her, and his face shot back down to her, ready to battle what demons had found her, only to find her gently untangling herself from him. 

As she tried to draw herself away, he tightened his grip, not letting her leave him. There was an urgency in the way he held her, a desperation, that left her breathless once more. Even with her eyes downcast, she could feel him looking at her. Felt his gaze like fire branding her skin.

Slowly, inch by inch, she allowed her eyes to rise up to his, and when at last they met, it was like the first beams of sun breaking through the stormy skies above.

Lifting his hand, he traced his thumb along her jaw, and that thing that had begun to grow in the darkness, now seemed to sprout a thousand vines beneath his rays, which spread and climbed and burrowed themselves deep within every part of her, binding her to him. Seconds passed, maybe minutes, with his thumb simply resting on her cheek whilst she lost herself in his eyes.

Forcing herself to look away, Kate cast her eyes down once more, too scared to let her heart get lost somewhere she may not be able to find it again.

“You should be getting back to the ball, Anthony, you will have missed most-”

“Kathani, the ball would have finished hours ago. It must be after midnight. I should be getting you home safely.”

“I am so sorry about all this, I am so embarrassed. I wish you had not seen me like that.” 

“No, do not apologise. We all have our fears.” He hadn’t moved his hand, her face still cradled in his grasp.

“My mother,” she began, not knowing why she felt so compelled to share her deepest secrets with him, but the words formed nonetheless. “I lost her in the monsoons. When I was just a girl, and even now I cannot seem to escape that fear. As though they are here to take someone else that I love. I try not to be out, to make sure I am home where my father can look after me, but the storms are early this year. I did not think that tonight would have been like this, I am sorry.”

“I am sorry, Kathani. About your mother, and about forcing you to come here tonight. It is my fault, I should never have asked you to come. I have put you at risk, you could have been harmed out here in the storm, I was so selfish, I just wanted-”

“No, Anthony, please. That is not what I-” Kate placed her hand over his, their fingers locking together against her cheeks. His frantic eyes softened as she did so. “I do not regret it.”

“You do not?” He seemed so vulnerable, then. So hopeful. And it crawled into her chest, that need to protect him too. To keep him safe like her appa, Mary, and Edwina. 

“How could I? I wanted to come. I wanted to see you.”

“You did?” A tiny smile curled at the edges of his lips, then. 

“Yes.” Slowly, she squeezed his fingers between hers, lowering both their hands to her lap so she could properly look upon his face. Nerves fluttered in her chest as she asked for what she longed for most “Would you stay with me a little longer. Just until we’re sure the storm has passed?”

“Of course. I would stay with you forever.” He said it so certainly, so surely, that she looked down to the floor again, knowing her cheeks must be blushing furiously. He was not deterred, releasing his hand from her grip he put a single finger beneath her chin to lift her face to his. “I have not stopped thinking of you. Ever since last night, you have consumed my every moment, Kathani.” 

“Anthony.” It was plea, a prayer. 

“Kathani.” Their fingers slid across each other, like it was not quite enough to be touching, like they needed to feel more. To be more.  

When he spoke next it was so soft she could barely hear it over the lingering rain beyond. “Kathani, tell me you feel it too, for I fear I am losing my mind. I have barely known you a day and yet…I have never felt like this. Like… it all makes sense now. Like I am a thousand miles from London and yet…it is like I am home.”

“I feel it too, Anthony.” 

The hours passed by then, both slowly and yet entirely too fast. They spoke of everything and nothing, sharing their lives and hopes and dreams. And with each word, each smile, each giggle, they slipped further and further into something that could not be undone. Tangling themselves together until they were woven so tightly that a lifetime would not be enough to undo the thread that bound them. 

Kate had noticed that a weak light had begun to sneak through the cracks of the shed panels. The candles had burned low, and yet she could still see the sparkle in his eye clearly. A new day had dawned, but she was not yet ready to let go of her night. Of her Anthony. 

“Was that a lark.” He asked rather suddenly as his finger traced a line from her wrist to the crease of her arm where it was laid across his lap, their limbs having slowly become as tangled as their hearts. 

“I do not think so, I think it was a nightingale.” She said so matter-of-factly, that he laughed, his hand cupping her elbow tenderly, edging her towards him. 

“It was a lark, Kathani.” His fingers whispered up towards her shoulder, leaving a trail of goosebumps wherever they touched, soft and teasing. “I cannot bear to leave you, but you cannot be seen when you return home. I have already forced you to take too many risks.”

“You have not forced me to do anything.”

“I am not sure your father would agree.” 

“You worry what my father will think of you?”

“I do. I imagine his good opinion of me will be quite important soon enough.” As their eyes met her chest ached, a pressure against it like a fist at the unspoken promise of his words. The sweet melody of birdsong pierced through the moment. “That is a lark, Kathani.”

“A nightingale.” She corrected petulantly. 

“Are you always so stubborn?” 

“Always.”

“I like it.” His voice had the gruffness of a night spent speaking. It rumbled across her skin, scratching at an itch she did not know she had, like she needed his voice closer to her, to feel it against her skin as a physical thing, to meld it to her bones.  

“You would grow tired of it. My mama and appa tell me this often.”

“I could never grow tired of you.” He tugged at her arm gently, forcing her a little closer. It had been a game, of sorts. All night, how close they could move into each other's orbit, without crossing that invisible line that they both knew they must not breach. Each testing the others' limits, but it was always him who pulled back at the last moment, leaving her dangling at the end of a thread that grew tauter and tauter each time. 

“I can be quite vexing, you know.” 

“You? Vexing? I do not believe it for a second.” Another tug, but it was Anthony teetering too close this time, close enough that his breath brushed against her lips. 

“It is true. I have an opinion on everything, and I am always right. Always.” She meant it to be flippant, smug, but he does not reply. When she sought his eyes, they were just studying her face carefully, a distant look in his eyes, like he was gazing at the stars.

“Will you see me again tonight?” The urgency in his voice was startling, and she let out a quick sigh of air. He watched it escape, his eyes fixated upon her mouth as he sucked his bottom lip beneath his teeth. 

“Yes.” She said it too quickly. Too willing, too desperate.

“And then, in a few days, I believe the governor has another ball. Perhaps I could escort you?” His finger was back against her wrist, tracing light circles on her skin that set her whole body aflame. 

“A ball? You wish to take me to a ball?”

“Yes, Kathani, a ball.” He laughed kindly at her innocent enthusiasm. “You said you wanted to dance, did you not. And I would very much like to dance with you again.”

“You would?” 

“I do not ever wish to dance with anyone else.” His hand moved across her cheek reverently, pushing back a tendril of her loose curls behind her ear, his fingers featherlight, gentle, as if he feared she would break under his hand. 

She waited. Held her breath. Waited for him to lean in, just that little bit closer. Her heart beat a staccato, jumping in her chest as he moved fractionally closer. And closer. The heat of his lips against hers, their breath shared.  

He pulled away.

“I must get you home, Kathani. Before the servants are awake.”

“Right.” Trying to gather her thoughts, her hand flew to her chest, worried he would hear the pounding beat roaring from within her. “I know these paths like the back of my hand. I will ensure I am not seen, I promise you.”

“You are certain? Let me escort you.” 

“That would be too risky, we could not be seen together.” He watched her for a moment, before nodding gently. “Here, do not forget this.” Her fingers twisted at the watch chain still around her wrist, but a hand upon her stilled her movements. 

“Keep it. You can return it to me tonight, a token to remind you how I will be counting down each minute until we are together again.”

“Then I will see you tonight?”

“I promise.” His hand does not move from her, fingers looping beneath the chain as he brushed his fingertips lightly across her skin. His eyes on her lips, her breath still held, but then he is stepping away. His hand on the door as he looks back at her one last time. “Goodbye, Kathani.”

Kate is left alone, quiet and empty. How can just a second apart already feel like a day. How will she while away the hours when her heart already ached with the heat of his fingerprints still upon her skin. 

Gathering herself, finally she stood, smoothing her skirts with a sigh of contentment and a wry smile. When she reached for the door handle though, a noise from the other side made her stiffen. Perhaps it was later than she thought, and the ground staff were already there. Panic seized her as her mind quickly raced to find an excuse as to why she was here at this hour, just as the door flew open. 

And then he was there. Her Anthony. Face as bright as the morning sun. “I forgot something.”

“You forgot something?” She parroted, her heart frozen in her chest by the way he was looking at her. Really looking at her. Then he was moving. 

When his lips found hers, she was sure her feet lifted from the ground. Like he was carrying her up into the clouds, above the tempestuous skies to reveal the beautiful, glorious sunshine that always exists above, even more resplendent when you have been lost in the darkness below. 

They hang there, suspended in the sweetness of each other, lips pressing together softly while they just float, sharing silent promises and secret wishes. 

When she sighs against him, he shifts his hips slightly, barely a movement but it was like a trigger, and at once they both submit to the hunger that tugs low in her belly. His fingers weaved into her hair, urgent suddenly, to be closer. A palm is warm against her neck while the other settled at the base of her spine - sure and comforting, yet thrilling, as new sensation laden with promise lapped at her skin, unknown yet delicious.  

When he pulled away, only slightly, and only for the shortest moment, the loss struck like a knife and her lips chased his, until he shifted to move closer to her, his nose pressing against her cheek as his tongue traced along her bottom lip, prising her open for him until their tongues curled together. And it was bliss. 

Her hands were still tangled in the soft cotton of his shirt, where she had braced herself against him, but now they crept upwards and her fingers threaded slowly through the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. Beneath her touch, he groaned into her mouth, the vibration against her tongue made her pull him closer, arms tightening to draw him against her. 

When her heart had grown so large she was sure it would burst right out from her chest, he pulled away. As breathless and stunned as she was, but as their eyes met he smiled. A beautiful smile. So sweet, endearing and light that she laughed.

“Oh.” It was the only sound she was capable of making, but it seemed so silly, so inconsequential considering what had just passed between them that he joined her, a breathy chuckle that did nothing to undo the snapping tension in her stomach. But it was a shared, joyous thing that ended with him snaking his arm back around her waist and pulling her back to his lips. 

“I have wanted to do that all night.” He whispered, low and velvety, into her ear as he finally lessened his grip and allowed her to catch her breath. “And I will be thinking of doing it again all day.”

His eyes were different. Tender still, but there was a fire there now. A flame burning brightly that Kate so desperately wanted to pass her fingers through, to feel the heat, the lick of the flame against her skin. 

“Until tonight, then, Kathani.” He planted a softer kiss on her lips then, as he stepped backward and out into the dawn light beyond. 

“Until tonight.”

“Tonight will be quite something, I am sure.” Edwina whispers at Kate’s side as they enter the Grand Hall of the Palace. “A soirée held for me at the queen's behest. We could not possibly have dreamed such a thing, didi.”

Certainly it is a sight to behold. The lofty ceilings are draped in vast boughs of ivy and white roses, the sweet scent cascading to the polished marble floors below. Every surface is adorned with vases of white flowers, peonies, hydrangeas and beautiful star-gazer lilies, Kate’s favourite. 

Upon the queen’s insistence, every lady present was also in white, and they fluttered about like snowflakes, settling upon the jet black sleeves of the gentleman of the Ton, parading the ladies and their whiskies about the room.  

Every lady, of course, bar Edwina herself. The queen’s diamond had been instructed to wear the shades of a peacock, and so Edwina’s gown sparkled in its teals and deep purples amongst the snow white. Kate’s heart soared at her sister’s beauty and grace, as every head in the room turned to them upon their arrival. 

Edwina holds her head high, gripping Kate’s arm tightly as they circle the edges of the room. A sea of unknown faces greet them, and despite what Kate had told herself every minute since she had arrived, still she scans each pair of eyes. Knowing none will answer her call, and yet still, her foolish heart searches. 

“Everyone is looking at us, Kate.” Edwina sounds far too young, like the little girl Kate once knew. 

“They are looking at you, bon. You look beautiful.” Edwina’s eyes drop demurely at Kate’s words, squeezing her sister’s arm back warmly. 

“Where is the queen?” Lady Sheffield’s cuts through the sweet moment.

“And where is the viscount, I saw his name on the invite list and I was expecting to see him here.” Lord Sheffield steps out before Edwina, scanning the faces eagerly, impatience hanging across him. 

“We are still early, mother. I am sure the Queen will greet us in time, and in lieu of the viscount, I for one can see many eligible gentlemen already keen to take your hand, darling Edwina.” Lady Mary’s ever patient voice soothes the rough edges of her parents. And as if on cue, four gentlemen appear eagerly at Edwina’s side, eager for their chance with the diamond.  

With a quick smile back at Kate, her sister unloops her arm and steps forward to greet her suitors. Before long, Edwina’s sweet laugh is carrying across the room, as everyone vies for her attention. 

Slowly, Kate finds herself stepping back, slipping quietly and unseen into her sister's shadow. 

Kate hid in the shadows as her fingers traced the outline of her lip once more. It seemed it was all she could do all day, as she slipped once more into the hazy space of her memories. The softness of his lips on hers, the scratch of his nails as his fingers weaved through her hair, the heat of his body pressed against her. A little smile burst forth, a giggle at how her heart felt fit to burst for a boy of whom she knew nothing but his first name. A boy who lived on the other side of the world. A boy who she knew was her other half. 

As she waited, she ran the hem of her sari through her fingers, the soft cotton reminiscent of his skin beneath her hands. The night around her echoed with life, crickets chirruped, nightingales sang, the trees stirred against another night of a heavy sky, though for now the rain was of no real threat, just an oppressive sense of anticipation that pressed against her skin like a warning. 

And so she waited. 

And waited. 

And waited.

But when the lark called to dawn the new day, Kate was still waiting. Fingers still now, body stiff, eyes red and swollen from tears. 

And when her cries sounded in the dawn light, silence echoed back.

Silence reigned as the queen entered the room. She was every bit as magnificent as Kate had imagined she would be. Arriving late, as one supposed the queen may wish to do, her entrance caused the whole room to fall silent in respect and awe. 

Like Edwina, she wore a dress of rich blues and purples, her hair elaborately dressed with peacock feathers and jewels the size of Kate’s eyes. 

“My diamond.” Edwina bows low as she is greeted, Kate and her family all following suit. “Are you satisfied with your soiree, I have ensured every eligible gentleman is in attendance.”

“It is an honour, your majesty.” Edwina’s grace causes a flutter of pride in Kate..

“Where are my peacocks?” The queen blurts suddenly, a small, portly man sputtering a little at her side. “I was told there would be a dozen white peacocks and I see none. How is my diamond meant to sparkle without them?” 

Edwina catches Kate’s eyes, subtly, and Kate suppresses a laugh. Long had the sisters discussed the eccentricities they expected of the English, and as the queen flaps her hands and demands exotic birds, Kate tried to hold down this feeling, this little moment of shared joy with her sister, as she knows it will most likely be one of their last. 

Distracted by her sister’s smile, Kate almost misses the way the queen’s eyes widen as she sets them upon the staircase, a glint of mischievousness now as she looks back toward Edwina.

“Ah, he has arrived. I could not help but notice that the two of you danced most beautiful at my ball, Miss Edwina. I see the most illustrious match between the two of you, no? My diamond and the viscount.”

Kate follows the gaze of the queen, and now Edwina’s, eager to catch sight of this so-called perfect match for her sister.

“And I dare say, from the look upon his face right now, he seems just as eager. I have not seen a man so clearly lost to love in some time, Miss Sheffield.”

The hall is a maelstrom of fluttering feathers, gossiping mamas, swirling dancers and posturing gentleman, but, as Kate searches the sea of faces, it all falls away to nothing. An expanse of blackness around a single pinpoint of light. 

The world stops spinning.

Anthony.

Chapter Text

Anthony does not know how long they both stand there, no longer an ocean apart, but just a few feet of air between them. Everything else drops away, until they are the only two people left in this new world and after nine long years of searching, of waiting, finally the lost part of himself is found. 

Kathani. 

It is not until his lungs begin to scream in protest that he realises has not taken a breath since he entered the room, and he takes a few desperate gulps of air, allowing his mind to emerge from its wonderment, and finally he can see her with clarity.

Beautiful. She is every bit as captivating as that first time he saw her. The soft white of her gown makes her bronze skin seem incandescent, her luscious dark curls, even pinned sharply back from her face, make his fingers twitch at his side in the memory of them twisted in his fingers. Her sharp angles have softened into curves, and the young girl has blossomed into a beguiling woman. Though it is her eyes that he cannot escape the draw of. They urge him forward, draw him to her as magnetically as ever. Amber pools, now wide with disbelief. Or was it something else. Something darker. 

Unsteadily, compelled by some ancient need to be near her, he takes a step forward. She mirrors him, taking a step back. 

He is forced to watch on, powerless, as a cloud shadows her, eyebrows scrunch together as if she is warring with herself. Lithe, elegant arms fold across her chest like armour, and the amber darkens further - tinged now with regret. And fear. 

Then she is moving, quickly, mouthing something to the bodies beside her and with a flurry of white silk, she is leaving. He is alone once again. 

Anthony cannot remember a time when he had smiled so much. He had practically floated back to the main house, the feel of her lips against his still fresh in his mind.

As the door to his lodgings closed softly behind him, he leant against the wood, sighing contently.

“My Lord, where have you been?” His valet stood at the foot of his bed, waiting for him. 

“Jenkins?” Anthony jumped a little at the intrusion, it was still early and he had hoped to manage a few hours of sleep before he needed to rouse for the day. 

“My lord,” The man stuttered a little as he spoke, “we have been looking for you all night.”

“Whatever for? I am perfectly able to look after myself…” Anthony’s words trailed off as he fully took the man before him in, the anxious look on his face, the way his fingers shook slightly where they were curled around an envelope in his hands. “What is it, Jenkins?”

“A letter arrived last night from your brother. I think it is important that you…” Anthony  stepped forward, snatching the parchment from the man’s hand before he finished, his heartbeat already hammering as his eyes scanned the pages. Benedict’s hand was instantly recognisable, but the words quickly became blurred, they scattered about on the page like marbles as his mind tried to capture them, to make sense of what they were trying to say. 

Father…a bee…come home…your duty.

“No.” Anthony shouted into the silence of the bedchambers. “No. No, no, no.” 

The beautifully promising world of an hour ago was suddenly collapsing into a crippling darkness. 

“No!” He only realises he has spoken aloud when he feels a few heads turn in his direction, conversations hush as they watch him warily across the Palace’s grand hall. but he cannot focus on that now. He can’t focus on anything other than reaching her. Swiftly, he makes chase, but a tight grip on his arms stops him. 

“Where are you going, Anthony?” An urgent voice from his mother.

“Not now, mother.” He is wriggling from her grasp but she holds firm. 

“The queen, Anthony. The queen is requesting you.” She says through clenched teeth. 

“What?”

“Look, she is addressing you right now, you cannot leave.” His mother wears a public smile but her eyes plead privately for her son to listen to her. Anthony grapples at his senses, forcing himself back into the room. 

“Lord Bridgerton?” His mother is right, the queen is looking directly at him, a hint of annoyance in her voice evident as Anthony’s heart beats a riot in his chest. 

“Your majesty.” He manages to force out, somehow finding the strength to bow as he moves towards the queen's outstretched hand.  

“I was just saying how beautiful Miss Sheffield looks tonight. Do you not agree?”

“Miss…” Anthony’s words trail off as he is suddenly overwhelmed by a scent he has not experienced in almost a decade. He almost laughs to himself, that after all that time, one inhale and he is twenty years old, dancing in the humid Indian night with his whole future rolling out before him. It had taken him many years to realise the source of that scent, the one that imprinted itself upon him, and plagued his dreams as much now as it did that first night he met her. Now, it is like a siren call, and his whole body yearns to follow its trail. 

“Miss Sheffield, you look very lovely indeed. Does she not, Anthony.” His mother says quickly, her fingers gripping into Anthony’s forearm and willing him to focus. 

“Yes.” He splutters. “Yes, quite lovely.”

“Come, a dance.” The queen chirrups loudly. Clapping her hands. 

“But there is no music?” The young Miss Sheffield says bemusedly, a sweet smile upon her face as she looks up at Anthony. 

“Brimsley. For goodness sake, how are these two to fall madly in love without dancing?”

“My Queen, I did not realise…right away.” Anthony is thankful that the man's befuddled expression distracts attention from the fact he is a quivering mess, as his mother is all but holding him upright. 

“Remedy it, man, but for now perhaps Lord Bridgerton will take my diamond on a turn about the room instead. Hmm?

“Of course.” Anthony says as his eyes once again seek the doors, closed firmly now, cutting off his path to her. With another stern squeeze of his mother's hand on his arm, he forces his hand out to take Miss Sheffield’s, hoping she doesn’t notice that his fingers are still trembling. When the young girl looks up at him, it’s with those amber eyes again, and somehow it calms him. Giving him hope that all is not lost. 

Guiding her gently, they walk a little way around the room in silence, as Anthony gathers the courage he needs to speak. 

“Miss Sheffield, I must ask. Who was that woman you arrived with?”

The girl looks at him curiously for just a moment, before finding her agreeable smile once more and settling a little beside him. “That was my sister, Miss Kate Sharma.”

“Kate.” Kate. Kathani . His heart lurches as everything starts to click into place. 

Time and time again he was told there was no Kathani to be found, that he had misheard, misremembered, even though the letters were seared against his heart. Could it really be so simple that she simply used a shortened version? 

“But your grandfather, he said you were his only grandchild. Kath… Miss Sharma is your sister?”

“Well,” Miss Sheffield hesitates and he watches her battle with her next words. She glances quickly back towards her grandparents before she speaks quietly to him. “My father was married before he met my mother, Lord Sheffield’s daughter. Kate and I are…we are half sisters. Not that we have ever behaved as such, she is my full sister through and through, nobody has been there for me like Kate, after we lost my father she all but raised me...”

Lost their father? He didn’t realise he could feel the pain of another’s grief so acutely, but imagining his Kathani…Kate, suffering as he had somehow hurt ten fold to his own grief. He realises Miss Sheffield is still speaking, and he tries to listen carefully to her words, his mind in chaos. 

“...she has always been the most wonderful support, I owe her so much. But my grandparents, they…”

“Yes?” Anthony encourages her to continue as he sees the young girl begin to question herself, her gaze always flicking back to her grandparents who watch them both eagerly from the other side of the room. 

“I have said too much, I do not wish to burden you with my past. I hope it does not sour your opinion of my family. 

“Not in the slightest,” he says quickly, placing another hand atop of hers. “In fact, there is something I wish to ask you, won’t you let me escort you back to your family.”

As Anthony came back around, he was slumped against the doorframe, the letter crumpled beneath white knuckles. 

The room before him had become a flurry of activity, his valet commanding a small army of servants who were pulling out trunks and packing up the room of his belongings. 

“My Lord?” The valet was bent on one knee, a comforting arm upon Anthony’s shoulder. “We must make haste, there is but one more ship bound for England this week and if we miss it then we will not be able to sail for many months.”

Hanging his head in his hands, Anthony buried his palms into his eyes, desperate to stave off the tears that stung there. His chest heaving in pain.

“Viscount Bridgerton. Please, it is my duty to return you…”

“What did you just call me?”

“Viscount.” A word Anthoy had heard a thousand times before and yet it felt like a knife in his chest to hear it then, like his heart was being ripped out. He never wanted to hear that word again. “You are the viscount now.”

The world began to spin. Words spoken but unheard, movement everywhere and yet unseen. He pressed his palms harder into his socket until he felt pain, until it numbed everything else. Yet, even in this enforced darkness, his mind would not let him escape. Faces danced across his vision. His father. His mother, Benedict, his sisters. And then hers. It was her beautiful face that was the hardest to dislodge from his mind. 

“I need a quill, and parchment. Now.”

“Viscount Bridgerton.” Lord Sheffield wore the most satisfied grin on his face as Anthony returned Miss Sheffield to his side. The queen had since left them, but his mother looked rather relieved at Anthony’s return, quickly grasping his arm and gently squeezing it as a clear indication that she was ready to move on. 

“I was just telling your mother how much Edwina enjoyed dancing with you at the last ball.” Lady Sheffield proclaims loudly enough for a few nearby guests to hear. “As the queen herself said, you looked quite the most pleasing couple. I am sure you are both destined for many more dances in the future.”

“Grandmama!” Miss Sheffield whispers anxiously, her cheeks burning brightly, but the older lady continues unabashed.

“If I recall that it is the annual Hearts and Flower’s Ball next week. Our invitation does not yet seem to have arrived, so it will be such a shame for Miss Sheffield to miss out on such an event.”  

“Oh, well you know there are only so many guests that we can…” His mother starts, as Anthony places a gentle hand on hers, earning him a curious look. 

“I am sure we would be able to accommodate a few more, mother. I insist the Sheffields join us.” Lord and Lady Sheffield’s eyes widen, satisfied smiles on their faces “And the Sharma’s.”

“The Sharma’s?” Lord Sheffield coughs out, looking rather alarmed as he looks at his equally bemused wife.   

“Yes, I am sure you would wish for your whole family to attend. Yourselves, Lady Mary and Miss Sharma too. I would be most honoured if you were all to join us at Aubrey Hall. In fact we will be travelling down as a family tomorrow, perhaps you would do the honour of joining us a few days early to enjoy the country air?” His mother audibly gasps at that, and he tightens his grip on his hand hoping to reassure her, or at least stop her from objecting. 

“That would be just wonderful.” Lady Sheffield is nudging her granddaughter excitedly, but the young girl is staring down at her hands, fingers worrying the silk of her gloves. 

“That is very kind of you, Lord Bridgerton.” Lady Mary says softly, gracing Anthony with a sweet smile, elegant in contrast to her parents' now greedy reactions. 

“It would be an honour to get to know you better, you, and your whole family.” He asserts once more, and at that Miss Sheffield looks up at him sharply. Carefully watching him, with a more curious expression on her face. 

His mother is making their excuses then, bowing goodbyes whilst dragging Anthony away rather forcibly, complaining about hangers on and available guest rooms, but Anthony hears none of it, the bells of fate chiming too loudly in his ears to notice anything else.

………..

Anthony’s fingers run methodically around the edges of the letter in his hand, the well-thumbed parchment smooth against his calloused fingertips.

He did not dare think of how many hours he had sat like this over the years, looking up at his fathers portrait, a letter in one hand and his father’s watch, conspicuously absent from its chain, in the other.

It had been his only sanctum during his viscountcy. Those nine long years since his father had passed, and fate had forced him to sail away from a future he had such a short time to dream of, and such a long time to regret. 

But today was different. The parchment no longer had the dull ache of loss, but the sharp edge of hope. 

He had thought all the hope had been lost, crushed down to dust as the years wore on and he received no word from her, as the burden of duty buried him deeper in his life here, and his plans to return to seek her became more distant.

Though even without her by his side, she had been there with him. Every day. When his trials had been the greatest, it was always her that he had turned to. 

Kathani had helped him understand his mother, when she had been so lost to her own grief that she folded in on herself, Anthony had been able to understand a little better, empathise a little more, when he was trying to survive his own heart breaking. 

Kathani gave him the patience and tolerance to deal with his siblings when they acted out, when they tried to push him away or when he just wanted to hide from it all. Everytime he felt the frustration threaten to overwhelm him he found the thought of her face, her touch, that scent, it would somehow calm him. It allowed him to be the brother they needed to be, and at times, the father. 

And then there were the letters. When thoughts alone were not enough, he would write to her. His Kathani. Even though he knew he would never send them it was an act of catharsis that would heal a little part of his soul. At first they were always about finding her, telling her of his search and his desperation. Soon, though, he would simply write to her of his life, share the trials and tribulations, and seek her opinions, asking questions that he knew he would never hear an answer to. Yet, he always left his study lighter, more tolerant, if not happy.  

Tapping one such letter now against his palm, it is unimaginable that in a few short minutes he will be in her presence. Will be able to hear her voice. Study her face. Might even be able to hold her. Tears prick at his eyes, and when a knock at the door interrupts his thoughts, he brushes his fingertips against his eyes to try and push back the tide of emotions that have been threatening him all week. 

“My Lord, the Sheffield’s carriage has entered the grounds.” 

It was an unnecessary announcement. Anthony had known already. His heart had told him. The way its rhythm became unsteady, a familiar ache echoing each beat. Anticipation, hope and fear drumming against his chest until he can barely hear another noise.

Benedict finds him pacing in the entrance hall a few minutes later, waiting for the rest of the family to gather for the formal greeting. His usually sprightly younger brother falls still at the sight of the viscount, approaching him warily. 

“Are you alright Anthony? You're dreadfully pale.” He clasps a hand upon his brother’s shoulder, genuine concern on his face.

“Yes, I am well.” Anthony pulls at his cuffs to straighten them before trembling hands reposition this cravat once more. 

“You are serious about this girl, then. Miss Sheffield?”

“Miss Sheffield?” Anthony parrots, looking up at his brother's enquiring face.

“Yes, the lady who is about to arrive. The lady you invited to join us early. The lady mother is all but planning a wedding for as we speak. The lady that I assume is the reason you’ve been skulking about the house like a lost soul for the last few days.”

“Oh, right. Miss Sheffield. Well,  actually…” but he is interrupted by the noisy arrival of his mother and the rest of his siblings, and the two older brother’s are swiftly ushered outside into the blinding sunlight, as a carriage trundles down the last few feet to the front steps. 

She is here. 

The carriage empties first of the Sheffield, and Anthony is not surprised that the country air does nothing to soften their soured composure. They look about eagerly the moment their feet touch the gravel, and Anthony can almost see them taking in the size of the manor, counting the number of staff. Crass people.  

Miss Edwina soon follows, along with her mother. All sweet smiles when his own mother moves forward to greet them, his siblings following her lead and descending the steps. 

Anthony, however, does not move. Alone now, his eyes do not leave the carriage, as he waits, and hopes, that it still has something to offer him. 

Everything falls exceptionally still. Quiet. Like those eerie moments before a summer storm, when the air tenses with that peculiar static, the birds falling silent, and the sky takes on that ethereal haze that threatens danger, or promises relief. 

Anthony is acutely aware of everything, and yet nothing at the same time. The feel of the lightest breeze whipping at his cheek cuts like a knife, but the sounds of the dozen or so people a few feet from him is entirely muffled. He can no longer make out anything beyond the carriage, the rolling lawns beyond just a muted green, the movement of the footmen around the carriage just a blur, and yet he can take in every intricate detail of edging on the door and it’s frame, as a slight movement stirs within.

A hand is delicately revealed from the darkness of the carriage, and caught in the golden sun of the autumn morning, the skin is iridescent. 

A burst of bright purple then, as a swathe of skirts cascades forth, and a white slippered foot is delicately placed upon the steps at the carriage entrance.  

It is like a vice settles around his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs as he waits, his heart beating a tattoo against his ribs, his mouth dry, but his eyes do not even blink. They wait. They hope. 

And then, after nine long years of dreaming of her here, in his home, within his reach, she is a reality. 

When her eyes reach his, those amber pools are as bright and beautiful as the first time he saw them, and a single tear charts a path down his cheek.  

He shifts on his feet, just the smallest step forward, his body urging him to run to her but he sees her start, just like before, her eyes taking in her surroundings, acknowledging the many people upon the driveway and he steps back. Content, for now, to wait. It feels like his whole life has been waiting, what is a little while longer. 

In the many hours he had lain awake that week, dreaming for this moment, his mind had cast a thousand outcomes. He could not ignore the fear he had seen in her eyes, the resistance to the pull that for him seemed impossible to ignore. Yet twice she had fled, and he had been gripped in panic that she would not come at all. It must mean something, that she is here. 

Years he had spent imagining why she never wrote, never replied to his pleading message of why he had to abandon her, or his commitment to return. 

On the better days, he tried to change his perspective, accepting that fate only ever meant to share just that tiny glimmer of happiness with him, that he was allowed to glimpse her magnificence only briefly so that she could mould him into the man his family needed, and he should be grateful for that slither of time he was granted.

Darker days were spent wondering if he was being punished. If the gods had tested him, to force him to choose between fighting for the family he had, and the family he wanted. That by returning home, he made his choice, and that choice now forced him to suffer a life alone at the cost of his family's survival. 

And in the darkest hours of the night, his mind was its cruellest. When no trace of her was ever found, he wondered if he had conjured his perfect woman from thin air, that his mind simply teased him with happiness in some sort of heat-induced delirium. Or perhaps, most cruelly, that she had simply not felt as he had. That she did not want him. Had cast him aside once he was out of sight.  

Whatever was to happen in the coming days, finally he would have answers. And maybe, just maybe, he would have her.

Chapter Text

Each excuse she had offered had been futile. 

Edwina and Mary had been adamant, the Sheffields less so, but it seemed the viscount had been most insistent that the whole family attend. The viscount. 

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton.  

That was his name.

Her Anthony was a viscount. A man of importance. Of extreme wealth. An illustrious family. An impeccable reputation.

It explained a little more why he must have chosen not to come back for her. No doubt he had found out Kate’s lowly status as the daughter of a clerk, and rightly fled. As if a viscount would ever be interested in a girl like her. So, he had run, she almost couldn’t blame him. No doubt viscounts must have girls falling head over heels for them all the time. He probably barely even remembered her, did not realise how his decision had altered every part of her life.

Perhaps then, the reason he had invited them was for Edwina, just as the Sheffields insisted. He wanted the diamond, so much more worthy of a viscount, and Kate was just an unfortunate blip in his past.  

It was at that thought, that Kate had agreed o attend. How could she let that man, that callous man who cast her aside so easily, do the same to her sister. Kate had only a few weeks left to steer Edwina to the right choice for her husband, and with the Sheffield’s here advocating so strongly for this Bridgerton match, Edwina would need Kate to be strong for her. And Kate could do that, could she not, for her baby sister. 

And so here she was, sitting in a cramped carriage for five long, tedious hours with her grandparents' endless discourse about the Bridgertons, and how very lucky Edwina would be once she had secured the viscount's hand. How the Sheffield’s themselves would rise in stature, how wealthy she would be, all the gowns and jewels she would own, how happy Edwina would be settled in their country seat of Aubrey Hall. 

And as Aubrey Hal loomed before Kate now, it was everything she wished it would not be. 

Imposing, yes, but so welcoming too. The grandness softened by trailing wisteria, and a warmth that one can only find in a house that has become a family's true home. His home. The place that has hidden him from her for all these years. His footsteps echoing in these halls, his head resting upon its pillows night after night, whilst she tossed and turned lost on the other side of the ocean. 

As the rest of the family alight from the carriage, Kate hides a moment more in the darkness. Wishing herself anywhere but here. 

A few more steadying breaths, before she steps out into the blinding brightness, squinting into the midday sun as her eyes try to adjust. Everything muted and blurred, only one thing in total clarity. 

Anthony. 

Around them everyone moves, bow greetings, shake hands, laugh politely, but he stays totally still. 

Until now, she had always fled before really having a chance to view him. Forced now to wait, she allows herself to take him in. 

No longer the young boy from her memory, before her stands a man. But he is just as beautiful. The years have been more than kind, that sweet crease between his brows is a little deeper, a few tiny lines around the eyes, but he is just as elegant, as handsome, as arresting. And his eyes, they are just as she remembers - as sharp, as intense, holding just as many promises. Promises they do not intend to keep.  

Forcing herself to move, she breaks from his burning gaze just as an older lady addresses her with a warm smile, the same lady that had escorted Anthony at the soiree before. Lady Bridgerton introduces herself, as she wrestles with two younger children to join her, both tamed for just a second or two, long enough to curtsy to the guests, before spinning off and chasing each other. 

Each Bridgerton approaches in turn then, introducing themselves and inquiring of her journey, and Kate is relieved when Edwina leads the responses, ever the ready debutante, and it allows Kate to slip into her shadow. 

Through it all, though, she feels him watching. Always watching.

His gaze falls like lead upon her skin, the heavy burden almost unbearable and yet she will not yield. She forces her own eyes stay on his siblings, her sister, anywhere but towards him, she cannot yield, she cannot give in and look at him.

But still he watches.

He never moves. Not a muscle. The younger children climb back up the steps to him, flitting around him trying to win his attention, but no movement. An older girl, just a little younger than Kate and exceptionally beautiful, joins him briefly. Her inquisitive blue eyes chart the course between him and Kate, before whispering something in his ear, but still no movement. 

Finally, it is his mother who forces him into action, though she must call him three times before he acknowledges her. 

“Darling, please, won’t you come and greet your guests?” Another moment of stillness before his body responds. His steps are slow and tentative as he nears her. 

Kate’s eyes stay resolutely on his mother. Not straying for a second. Her lip trembles, her heart pounds, a roaring in her ears so fierce she can barely make out the conversation around her. Amongst the polite small talk and smiles, Kate is lost in the torrid storm. 

Desperate for comfort, her fingers migrate to her wrist and wrap around her silk glove. The warm metal presses reassuringly against her skin as her finger travels along the ridges of the watch chain. One, Two, Three. Her heart matches her count, and the next few breaths come easier, until she hears the earls voice nearby.

“And this is my daughters ward, Miss Sharma.” The term is chosen to hurt, but she barely has time to think of it, because then he is turning, and she is turning, and they are face to face...

“Miss Sharma.” Velvet. After all these years, it is as soft as her mind recalled. A sound of such clarity in the chaos of her mind, that her eyes betray her and they journey to find his, as inevitable as the compass finding its north. 

The roaring, raging winds of the storm drop to nothing. A smooth, comforting calm prevails. 

“Lord Bridgerton.” It is too quiet, too breathless, but then he is reaching out across the oceans and the years to take her hand softly in his, to curl her fingers gently beneath his thumb and bring her hand to his lips. A kiss. A feather-light kiss.

She holds her breath. The world holds its breath. All the work that time had done to dull her heartache is lost in a matter of moments. At just the feel of his lips against her skin, his eyes as dark and tender as time recalled, the long years of waiting fade to nothing, and she is just a girl of eight and ten once more, with a beautiful life ahead of her. 

Only she is not that girl anymore, and he is not that boy. 

Snatching her hand away, she cradles it against her chest. His eyes cloud in confusion, but they both step back as if burned. 

“You must be tired from your journey,” Lady Bridgerton is addressing the group, and Kate steps away to stand beside her mama, back to the safety of her family. “Shall we show you to your rooms so you can freshen up?” 

Kate follows the main group eagerly, desperate now to get away. Perhaps it is just the breeze, or a memory of a forgotten time, but she is sure she hears her name, her real name, whispered as she passes.

…….

The rest of the day takes every ounce of Kate’s strength to survive. 

He continues to watch her constantly. Every movement, every breath she takes, he is there. Watching. Waiting. It never ceases. And the ache in her chest, the way her skin itches under his gaze, how every fibre of her being calls to him, urges her to relent and look back, is overwhelming. The fight not to be drawn in, not to believe the empty promises those eyes make leaves her beyond exhausted. 

Many times he tries to speak with her, or to orchestrate a moment alone, but she deflects each time. She pulls Edwina into the conversation, or asks a question of his mother, anything but allow him to see how he is affecting her. Allow him to see the fear in her eyes or the hope in her heart. 

When it is time to dress for dinner, Kate cannot believe she will be able to last the night, let along the week ahead, and it is only when Edwina begs her that she agrees to join the meal at all. After all, it is not as if she can feign a headache for the entire trip.  

The Bridgertons and the Sheffields are all waiting in the sitting room as she and Edwina enter. There is not even a second to breathe before the heat of his eyes hits her again, her whole body prickling under the sensation. 

Caught unaware, their eyes catch this time. A heartbeat, and then two, before she is able to force herself to look down.  

He looks so handsome. A dark velvet suit, crisp white shirt, and his face catching in the soft glow of the candlelight. Kate cannot resist the quickest look back, greedily letting herself have just one more moment under his eyes. 

“Shall we move through to the dining room?” Lady Bridgerton asks brightly, taking Lady Mary’s arm and chatting happily to her guests as she guides them toward the door. 

Kate hangs back, until she realises that Anthony sees it and tries to do the same, so she quickens her pace, falling in step beside Edwina.

Everyone is taking seats and she watches on as Anthony finds his place at the head of the table, quickly followed by his eldest sister, Daphne, the beautiful young lady she had seen on the steps before. It is not long before Kate realises that Daphne has followed her brother’s unrelenting gaze once more, and her eyes also land on Kate. She moves her head back and forth a few times between them, before she smiles sweetly at Kate. 

“Miss Sharma. Won’t you come and sit here opposite me?”

“Oh.” Kate says, rather startled. In her panic, she looks straight at Anthony who has the most desperate look upon his face, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies take flight in her chest.

“I should think Miss Sheffield would be best suited to sit with you, your Grace.” Lady Sheffield interrupts. “I believe the two of you would have so much in common, and I am sure Edwina could learn much from you, as did you know she was also named the diamond of the season? You would love to sit with Lord Bridgerton and the duchess, would you not Edwina?”

“Well, of course, but Kate…” Edwina stutters, looking up at Kate with wide eyes.

“There we are then.” And Lady Sheffield has quickly manoeuvred herself behind Edwina, placing steady hands upon her shoulders and guiding the rather distressed looking girl to the end of the table. 

When they reach the empty seat, they wait. The whole room suspended in silence for a beat, as Anthony’s eyes still hover on Kate. 

“Lord Bridgerton?” Lady Sheffield is nodding her head toward the chair beside him, yet it still takes a moment more before Anthony realises her meaning. With a blink, he then launches himself into action, offering Edwina his hand to take her seat, before gently pushing the chair in behind her. “There we are, much better.”

As Kate takes the only empty seat available, between one of his younger sisters, a sprightly girl named Eloise and one of the brothers, Colin, she notices Edwina trying to catch her eye. She shares a small smile, which Kate returns. 

As the food is served, light chatter sparks up around the table and Kate finds herself happily ensconced in conversations with the Bridgerton siblings, even managing to enjoy herself in between the moments she feels his eyes on her. 

As the main course is being taken away by the servants, Lord Sheffield clears his throat loudly enough to pause the other conversations around the room as he speaks to the viscount from the opposite head of the table. “We must thank you once again for the invitation, Lord Bridgerton, after even just a few weeks in London one does so need the country air.”

“You are most welcome.”

“It is a beautiful property. How many rooms have you here?”

“I believe it is around forty.”

“Gosh, isn’t that quite something. And the grounds are extensive, no? What is it, two thousand acres?”

“Three.” There is an edge of impatience in Anthony’s tone, as if he has come upon the likes of Lord Sheffield many times before. 

“Impressive.” The lord nods happily, a satisfied glance at his wife. “I imagine that equates to a sizeable income.”

Anthony looks down then, placing his fingers softly upon the table cloth and taps a few times as if gathering the right words to put out into the awkward silence that has settled. “We are comfortable, thank you.”

“We do so enjoy the country air,” It’s Edwina, sweet Edwina, who breaks the tension, and Anthony looks relieved at the interruption, “we are much more ourselves in the country than in town, would you not say so, Kate?”

“Is that so?” His face blossoms then, as he looks towards Kate eagerly. There’s a flash of the boy she once knew, a look of pure delight that he has found a way to speak with her, even with over a dozen eyes watching them. 

“I imagine the hunting is marvellous.” Lord Sheffield interrupts, and Anthony’s face falls stern once more as he turns to the earl, his fingers drumming upon the table. 

“Yes, we do hunt on the grounds.” He answers quickly, before turning back to Kate with a soft, hopeful smile again. “What is it that you like about the country, Miss Sharma?”

“Well, I-” Kate begins. 

“Grouse?”

“Pardon me?” Anthony’s tone is fractious.

“You hunt grouse? Partridge? Deer?” Lord Sheffield has settled back in his chair, oblivious to Anthony’s exasperation. 

“We have extensive woodland, and so are lucky enough to hunt most creatures depending on the season.” He clears his throat, shakes his head slightly and then smiles when he looks back at Kate. “You were saying, Miss Sharma?” 

She opens her mouth to reply, but then- 

“Rutting season, is it not?” Anthony’s huff of frustration is evident to everyone, apart from Lord Sheffield, as the whole room seems to glance anxiously between the two of them. “I imagine the perfect time to bag a stag. Perhaps we could take a go this week?”

“I am sure we could arrange something.” His voice is dulled, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he takes a sip from his wine. 

“Did you know that Kate likes to hunt?” Edwina adds enthusiastically again.

“Do you?” Anthony’s smile is irresistibly bright when he looks at her then, his eyes sparkling.

“I am sure you are quite mistaken, darling, Miss Sharma is a woman.” Lord Sheffield chuckles to himself. 

“A woman hunting, just imagine it, how indecorous.” Lady Sheffield adds, and it takes all Kate’s strength to keep her face calm. Her hand settles around her wine glass, studying how the burgundy liquid swirls at her touch. 

“I find it rather refreshing,” his voice draws her eyes back up to him, “a woman exploring her own interests rather than those society deems appropriate. Not everyone is inspired by embroidery.” There is a softness to his eyes as he watches her, waiting for her to respond. 

“Have you seen Edwina’s embroidery skills? They are quite something.” Lady Sheffield’s shrill voice sounds down the dining table. 

“And her languages.” Lord Sheffield adds. “Edwina speaks five languages.”

“Taught by my sister, Kate, who speaks six.” Edwina nods contentedly to Anthony, whose smile extends to both sisters. 

“Too many foreign languages implies a lack of ability in English, do you not think?” Lord Sheffield says tightly to nobody in particular. The whole table seems to hold their breath, uncomfortable looks passing between the Bridgerton siblings, but Anthony seems almost serene as he looks on at Kate.

“What is it that you enjoy about hunting, Miss Sharma?” His voice has a softness that makes her head swim.

Everyone waits then, looking on at her and she almost can’t continue, but he very slightly nods his head, a gentle encouragement.

“Well, I suppose it is the peace it brings. The patience it requires.” Another almost imperceptible nod. “More than that though, it is that when you are out there, you are truly at one with nature. Nature does not care who you are, what you have done, your past or your future, you are just…you. We are equal in the face of mother nature.”

Their eyes meet again, and her chest tightens under the intensity of his full attention. Time seems to wind slowly by as she slips a little closer to that edge she had been so determined to avoid. 

It is Benedict who clears his throat, and breaks the moment. “That is beautifully put, Miss Sharma. Us Bridgertons too adore being outside, our childhood was spent almost exclusively in the fields and woods that edge the estate.”

“Perhaps we could show you all a little more of the grounds tomorrow?” Eloise offers brightly.

“A splendid idea, El. Do you ride?” Daphne asks both the sisters.

“Kate loves to ride. Her horsemanship is quite fine.” Edwina answers for both of them, smiling encouragingly at Kate.

“We have fine horses here at Aubrey Hall, if you wish to take a ride , I could...we could arrange that?” Anthony speaks directly to her again. 

“Edwina loves to ride too, don’t you dear, she loves animals.”

“I am more of a fan of the type that can curl up on my lap.” Anthony smiles warmly at her little sister at that, but still his eyes wander back to Kate’s before long. “I am not a very strong rider, not like Kate.”

“Neither am I, Miss Sheffield, but it is still fun to be out.” Eloise offers across the table. “You and I can take things a little more slowly?”

“I think it’s a lovely idea.” Lady Bridgerton echoes, as her eyes dart all seeing around the table. “It will be the perfect chance for you all to see the English countryside.”

“You are not long on these shores, I understand.” Daphne prompts to Kate.

“That is right, we arrived in London just last week. We are all most grateful to be on solid ground after so long at sea.”

“It must be so strange, to be so far from home. Do you miss it?”

“India?” Kate asks, as Daphne nods encouragingly. “Very much so. Your English countryside is beautiful, indeed, but India is so much more...”

“Vibrant.” The whole table turns quickly to Anthony then, though his eyes stay locked on hers.

“Yes, vibrant.” She nods, as she slips a little further.

“That’s right, I forgot you visited India some years ago, did you not Anthony?” Daphne says slowly .

It is an innocent enough question, yet Kate feels her cheeks burn, feels his every reaction acutely as his lips part slightly, a laboured swallow, a few taps of his finger against the tablecloth. 

“Yes, umm,” He clears his throat. “I did.”

“You did not mention that, Lord Bridgerton.” Edwina’s eyes study Anthony carefully.

“Well, it was many years ago now. I was on business, for my father.” He takes a sip from his wine glass, flustered. Until his eyes seek hers, holding them for a moment with a deep breath. “but I have the fondest memories of it. Beautiful memories.”

Time drifts away from her then, and Kate is submerged by those memories. An endless night, a dance, a promise, a kiss.

“It is not for me, I must say.” Lady Sheffield barks. “Too hot, too noisy, too many people, and you cannot find a good gooseberry pie for love nor money. You must share the recipe for this one, Lady Bridgerton, just delicious.” 

As the conversation turns to the dessert, Kate studies the dish that has just been placed before her, her spoon scraping against the porcelain but never quite making it to her mouth.

She tries to ignore them, tries desperately to block them out. She thought that without sun, without nourishment, those seeds of hope she had crushed to oblivion would never return. Yet here they were, eager saplings forcing themselves to the surface, threatening to breach the impenetrable shadow that she had cast them in.

But she cannot allow it. Cannot allow them to bathe under this false sun, under his brightness.

She must not be fooled again; she must stay strong. 

…………….

Kate manages to sit through a few rounds of cards with the ladies, before she feigns a headache and at last, is able to slip away to seek some solitude. Her head is in chaos from dinner, her body exhausted from fighting it’s pull to him.

Lost in the maze of hallways, eventually she sees a door she thinks she recognises, the library. Hopeful that immersing herself in a fictional world may help her find sleep, she pushes the door lightly back and is relieved to see shelf after shelf of books.

For a moment she allows herself to trail her fingers along the tomes, seeking something she recognises. The quiet, the familiar scent of ink and parchment, the soft leather beneath her finger tips, it allows Kate to take her first steady breath since she arrived.

That’s when she feels it, that same crushing pressure upon her skin, like it was too small to contain her. 

Spinning around, she knows she will find him there yet still she sucks in a breath at the sight. Leaning casually against the door frame, he is caught in the warm glow of the candles. They cast a golden haze across his handsome form, as if he has been conjured straight from her dreams.  

“Lord Bridgerton.” She watches as his eyelids flutter ever so gently at her words.

“Miss Sharma.” He returns softly, and Kate hates how her body warps at the sound, his voice so close after so long. He takes a few steps deeper into the room, and she is so aware of him, every movement and motion exaggerated and an invasion on her senses. “I have been hoping for a moment alone.”

“I should not be here.” She forces the words out, willing herself to move forward, to step around him and flee.

“Please.” It was a terribly desperate sound, and it stops her just as she reaches the door. They have switched positions now, him drifting deeper into the room as she hovers by the door, and yet slowly, tiny steps at a time they drift closer together. She’d never imagined it could be like this again, lost in each other's orbit once more. 

“Do you plan to hide from me forever?” The low timbre rumbles across her skin.

“I was not hiding.” I was forgotten.

“Miss Sharma, I…” As he steps forward quickly, she takes a step back, her back bumping against the door frame and his hands shoot out and up, calming her. Pleading for her not to flee, as if he were calming with a frightened wild animal. “I do not wish to upset you.”

“I am not upset.” I am terrified.

“After all this time,” His whole body softens as he speaks, tenderness and disbelief flooding his wide eyes, “I cannot believe you are here.”

“It is a small world, it seems.” Kate is thankful for the solidness of her voice, that it does not betray her frayed nerves.

“It is fate.” He says with a whisper of a smile. That smile. It has haunted her for so many years, it cannot be her undoing.

“Fate?”

“Yes, fate has brought us back together.” Another step towards her then but Kate holds her ground, twisting her chin upwards to steady the tremor she feels, the pinch at her eyes as tears threaten. 

“I do not know what you mean.” She is grateful to see he flinches at the chill in her voice.

“Well now you are here…”

“What? You think we will pick up where we left off? Eight years have passed.”

“Nine.” He corrects quickly.

“It does not matter. We are strangers.” Kate tightens the shawl around her shoulders as though it were armour. 

“You could never be a stranger to me.”

“We are strangers. We met for one night a lifetime ago. That is all.”

“Two nights. It was two nights. And I think of them-”

“It was a lifetime ago.” she interrupts, and his eyes crease in confusion, in panic. 

“You speak of it as if it were nothing.”

“It was nothing. It is nothing. I was just a girl. You were a boy.”

“I know you have not forgotten. I can see it in your eyes.” He takes another step towards her then and once again she mirrors a step back, she cannot allow him to get any closer, she is already too close to the edge.

“Yes, well, when a girl is left without a word to stand alone in the rain with nothing but broken promises, it is hard to forget.”

“Without a word?” Confusion edges his voice, but she turns her head away, she cannot watch the emotions on his face a moment more. “I was the one left without a word. You never replied to my letter.”

“What letter?” Despite herself she looks back at him. 

“The letter I wrote that morning, the one where I explained everything. The letter I wrote you…the letter I…” She was shaking her head softly and this time, when he takes a small step forward she allows it. “Please tell me you received it, please tell me you knew why I left you, Kathani.”

“Do not use that name.” And she steps away again, she knew she could not let him get close, she could almost feel herself falling. “I do not go by that name. Not anymore. I do not want you to say that name.” Because I will not survive it.

“So you did not know why? All these years you thought I just abandoned you?” 

Kate cannot listen to another word, it does not matter if what he says is true or a lie, she cannot stand here and face him, she is too weak. With a sigh, she starts to move, to brush past him and flee but he grasps her hand. 

They are both silenced at the contact, taking a few pained breaths before they can continue, their eyes cast downwards and studying the image of their fingers intertwined.

“That is why you did not write back.” He mutters, almost to himself.

“It does not matter. It is in the past and I am not that girl anymore.” 

“Please, Katha-, Miss Sharma. I would never have left if I did not have to.” Despite herself she waits a moment more, letting his thumb soothe soft circles across her knuckles. 

“When I returned to my lodging that morning, it was to a letter from Benedict informing me of…my father…that he had been lost to us. I had to leave right there and then or I wouldn't have made the next ship. I had no choice, I had a duty here that I could not ignore. I promise you I left a note with who I thought was a trusted servant, he said he would find you, the bastard. It gave you my name and address. I asked you to write, and I told you that I would come back for you.

“And then I wrote to you. Every day of my journey. At every port I would leave a stack of letters to be sent on to you, every port. It was all that got me through. Fearing what would await me when I walked through these doors, my mother a widow, a new babe who would never know her father, a brother forced to carry my burden in my absence. I thought the load would be lighter should I arrive home to a letter from you. A hope that we would be together again. But nothing, just grief. For months.

“And then, finally, the letters arrived. Dozens. Hundreds. All in my own hand. All returned unopened. Recipient not found. All I had was your first name, a name I now know that you do not use, letters sent via a servant who appears to have been incompetent, and I lost you. But I always assumed that you received that first note, that you knew why.”

Another step closer, his eyes pleading, yearning, drawing her in. “To think all those years, you never knew...”

Kate allows herself to take in the words, wants to believe them. She allows herself to selfishly picture what their future may have been like had fate not had other plans. For a fleeting moment it all plays out in her mind, that parallel world she could exist in with him.

But it is futile to dream. 

“Well I am sorry that you wasted all that ink.” Kate pulls her hand from his, takes another step closer to the door but foolishly, lets herself look back at him one last time. He is blinking back tears, his shoulders sunken and defeated. It hurts, to see him like this, but she knows it is better this way, for both of them. She is sure of it. 

“Please, Kathani…do not do this. I have been waiting so long for you…”

“And I waited for you.” It rushes out of her, so wrapped up in the emotion and fear, she cannot help herself. “Every night I waited for you, hoping, dreaming, but you never came back.

“I barely knew you. In fact I did not know you all, I did not even know your full name, for goodness sake, and yet you were like a sickness. Like a poison that crawled through me unbidden, infecting everything you touched, and I wanted to get you out. I wanted to rip at my skin and claw out all the parts of me that you invaded and took for your own, but I couldn’t. I had to let it ravage me, eating away at all the goodness and hope until there was nothing left but the absence of you.”

“And then…a few weeks later my father died. Like that,” She clicks her fingers, and he flinches, “he was gone. And I wanted to mourn him, I needed to mourn him but I barely had anything left in my heart because it had already been broken. There was nothing left of me, not after you. I was already out of tears.

“Perhaps I should thank you, for curing my childish obsession with love. You showed me that nothing in life is what you think it will be, happiness is only ever temporary. You hardened me to the realities of this world, you made me strong enough to survive my grief and support my family, to accept the inevitability of my spinsterhood, to face the vitriol of the Sheffields. You made me ready to survive this awful world, so I suppose I should be thankful for that.”

“No.” It’s a pitiful sound, as he hangs his head, defeated. 

“I must leave.” With every last ounce of strength, she turns towards the door, but he is quick. Stepping around her, he blocks her path. Eyes seeking her once more, now red rimmed and pleading.

“Please, Kathani, do not leave me again. I am sorry. How can I begin to say it, I am sorry. I was broken too, but we are… you are here now and I cannot be this close to you again and lose you. I have thought of you every day. Every day, Kathani. I am consumed by thoughts of you, even now. We could still be…”

“Be what? There is nothing left here.” There is no strength left in her words, and when he braves a step closer to her, she doesn’t protest. 

“That is not true.” He says quietly, as he takes another step forward. 

Another step, and she sways with him, their bodies circling each other, so close that they almost touch, and she can feel the heat of him pressing against her. He is everywhere, his scent, his breath, the velvet caress of his voice, she trembles she is so overwhelmed by him.

“I see it.” He whispers against her, the words brushing against her cheek. Another sway, and they slip closer to each other still, until there is barely an inch between them. “I see it in your eyes, I feel it here.” He holds a hand up to his chest, palm flat as his finger clutch at his jacket. 

And in that moment, she feels it too. Like a symphony of her hopes and dreams, she is wrapped in the melodic beat of his heart, the rhapsody of his presence, and as his other hand slides against her waist, a secure arm wrapping her tightly against him, she lets herself fall.

“My lord,” but she does not remember the words she had meant to say, as he moves his hand from his chest to rest against her cheek, his thumb gently guiding her chin upward, letting her eyes find his. He was close enough that she could see the intricate marbling of golds and greens in his eyes as they plead for her. And it would be so easy to fall into him, to fall into the promises his eyes hold.

But she has done that before. And it left her adrift in a cold and unwelcome world, and she knows she would not survive it again.

Instead, with a heart of lead, she pulls herself away, untangles her body from him, pacing away from him with a soft shake of her head. 

“You are living in the past, Lord Bridgerton.” She pauses at the door, braving a final look back at him, stood now alone and defeated.  “And there is no point in dwelling there. Nothing awaits us but grief and misery.”

Chapter Text

It is not until the saucer overflows, hot tea splashing against the crisp, white table cloth, that Anthony realises he is still pouring the milk into the cup. His hand jerks back, spilling even more of the liquid as he receives a sharp remonstration from his mother.

“You look half asleep, darling, is everything alright?” She touches his arm affectionately once she takes in his dazed expression. He nods, smiling tightly.

In all honesty, he had barely slept at all. 

Kate’s words had replayed in his mind again and again and again. All these years he thought it was just a case of missed connections, or that she had made the choice not to respond, that she didn’t realise the extent of his feelings. Assumed she had chosen not to make herself found. 

Now her knew the truth, every time he closed his eyes, he pictured her standing in the darkness, alone, waiting for him, and it was like a knife in his chest. He could shoulder his own hurt, he was used to that, but he couldn’t bear hers. It was a burden too heavy, too great, and he buckled now beneath it.

“Miss Sheffield, Miss Sharma.” His mother greets the two young ladies as they enter the room and as his head jerks up to find her, for the first time since he has arisen he finally feels awake.

As always, she is hauntingly beautiful.

Though there is something different. She wears her hair a little looser today, not the tight severe style he has seen her with these last few days but softer, a few tendrils falling to brush against her neck, making his fingers twitch at his sides with his want to touch. But that is not what causes him to pause, to study her, it is as if her eyes are darker, more intense, and he realises that she has not slept either.

As she and her sister take the proffered cups of tea and fill plates with fruit and pastries, he switches between wanting desperately to catch her eye, to trying to avoid it, terrified of what he may see there.

For her part, she makes the choice for him as she finds a seat in a quiet corner with her mother, their heads soon huddled together as they speak quietly, never looking up. 

“Anthony, when are we leaving?” Hyacinth has thrown herself dramatically upon the sofa beside him, narrowly avoiding spilling the long-cold tea in his hand once more.

“Leaving?” 

“You said we were all going for a ride this morning?”

“I did?” His sister rolls her eyes at her brother’s blank expression.

“Yes, at dinner last night. You said we would show our guests the estates.” Dinner felt a life time ago, time having become a strange concept these last weeks.

“Please tell me you have not changed your mind, all the other guests shall be arriving tomorrow and we’ll be stuck playing civilised versions of ourselves,” Eloise narrowly misses a sharp tap to her wrist as she ducks away from their mother, “this is our last chance to have a bit of fun.”

“Right, very well. I suppose if everyone wishes for it?” He glances hopefully at Kate, but she is stirring her tea, eyes focused on the spoon held elegantly between her long fingers. Her pinkie is sweetly pointed outwards, and he curses how the image makes his chest bloom with affection for her.

“I think it a marvellous idea, you young ones go off and explore, and I shall show Lady Sheffield and Lady Mary the gardens, we have some especially beautiful roses in bloom.” His mother adds encouragingly.

“Miss Sheffield,” Anthony glances at the young girl politely and she returns a bright grin of acquiescence. He must brace himself for the next words physically gripping the edge of the settee, nails digging into the fabric as if to hold him from being thrown off. “Miss Sharma?” 

And she looks up. Looks right at him. 

There are words on her lips, he can see them stuck there. Her mouth part slightly but around silence.

“You will come too, won’t you Kate?” Edwina encourages, and Kate’s shoulders drop, a secret war battling across her eyes as she waits to answer.

“I think it best I stay behind, visit the gardens with the mamas.”

“But you so love to ride?” Miss Sheffield protests.

“Edwina, I must agree with Kate, it makes more sense for her to stay with us mamas. You would not want a spinster ruining the fun of the young ones.”

Kate’s eyes dart back down to her cup as her cheeks flush pink. Awkwardness forces the room to fall quiet.

Though the words clamour at Anthony’s ears. Propelled by an unexpected surge of fury, Anthony finds himself standing, rather too abruptly, and everyone looks at him warily. He opens him mouth, ready to disparage this despicable woman, but at that moment, Kate finally looks at him. Her eyes plead, implore him to calm and so, with a juddered exhale, he lets the anger seep out from him. Instead, he pulls at his cuffs, straightening the perfectly straight cuffs as he waits for the ice fingers wrapping around his chest to thaw.

“I am also an old maid now that I am married, and I have no doubt that Miss Sharma and I will entertain each other.” Daphne says lightly with a smile, and a wink towards Kate. She places a comforting hand on her brother's forearm, reassuring him, or holding him back, he is not sure, “I insist Kate come along to see the horses, Aubrey Hall has the finest stables in Kent."

Anthony has never had a stronger urge to hug his sister, as Kate nods politely, and lets Edwina pulls her after the rest of the group as they disappear from the room to ready themselves.

With Kate is out of sight, he waits a moment more, allowing himself a long enough glower at Lady Sheffield that the woman is forced to shuffle over the pastry table to avoid him.

…..................................

It’s just him and Benedict at the stables, the ladies still dressing for their ride in the house.

“Is everything alright?” Benedict asks, as the two brothers check the bridles of their horses, stood side by side in the semi-darkness of the stalls.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

“You have been acting rather strangely of late, brother.”

“I do not know what you mean.” Anthony lies, knowing he’d missed half the conversations the family had had this week as he lost himself to the memories in his mind. He was hardly the devoted brother he usually worked so hard to be.

Benedict huffs, reaching to pull a brush from the shelves behind them, and beginning to run it across the coarse hair of his horse. He clears this throat, seeming keen to try a different tact. “They are rather lovely, the sisters.””

Anthony unhooks his fingers from beneath the leather straps, content with their tightness, and hums a non-committal response to his brother. Eager to escape the conversation, he paces over to the stable doors, leaning against the frame and looking out upon the path that leads from the house, hoping for a glimpse of her.

“Mother seems to think it is the younger, Miss Sheffield, that you have your eye on?” Anthony’s chest tightens a little at his brother’s reluctance to drop the subject.

“Is that so?”

“You tell me.”

“There is nothing to tell.”

“That is a lie.” His brother insists. “You have barely taken your eyes off her for a moment.”

“Miss Sheffield?”

“The sister.” Benedict puts his brush down carefully, sauntering over to stand opposite his older brother. He mirrors Anthony, leaning causally against the opposite door frame. “You look at her like l look at a muse. I've never seen you like it before; you are totally lost to her.”

Anthony stomach twists, he so desperately wants to share the pain that is crushing him but does not wish to burden his brother. Not when Benedict has already had to suffer so much from Anthony’s failures in the past.

“Come on, brother, talk to me. You cannot deny me, one would be blind not to see it.” He pivots forward, tapping a hand to his brother’s elbow, encouraging him to give it all up. “It’s almost sweet.”

And when Anthony lets himself look at his brother, sees his lopsided encouraging grin, he gives himself totally away by smiling back.

“I knew it.” Benedict crows. Clasping his hands together in glee to have cracked his older brother's shell. “She is beautiful. Sharp, bright and far too good for you.”

“Hush you.” Anthony smile doesn’t last for long, the sweetness soured as he replays her words from last night. “It is not that simple.”

“Tell me?” Benedict implores, and for a moment Anthony wants to. Wants his brother’s advice and to share his heartbreak, but they hear the sweet melody of female voices laughing and when they look to the path, the young ladies, flanked by Gregory and Colin, are bounding down the path.

“Not now.” Anthony confirms as he pushes himself off the frame, standing the greet them. To greet her.

“Later, brother?”

“I fear it is already too late.” Anthony mutters, shooting his brother a warning look to let the topic drop.

Kate is trailing at the back of the group, dressed in a beautiful gown of deep teal. At first sight of his, his heart swells, it is almost the exact same shade as the sari she had worn that last fateful night together. When their eyes meet, it is as if no time has passed at all. And for a far too fleeting moment, all that history, all that pain just disappears. It is just the two of them.

But then she frowns, looks away, and it all comes crashing back.

“Miss Sharma.” He hears the eagerness in his voice and cringes, but it earns him a thin smile. “I have prepared you a mare, she is the finest the stables have. This is Crystal.”

A little reluctantly, not before a quick glance back at her sister, Kate allows herself to take a few steps toward him. As she takes in the fine animal before her, a brighter smile crosses her face. Discerning eyes sparkle with interest as she runs a hand along the speckled coat of the horse.

“She is beautiful.”

“Indeed. A fine animal, strong, quick, she will do you well.” He has not taken his eyes of Kate, as she slowly paces a circle around the mare, before coming back to give her an affectionate scratch beneath her chin. When the horse whinnies in appreciation, Kate steps back and laughs. He remembers that sound, has heard it a thousand times in his heart, and its closeness now makes his heart feel too big for his chest. But then her eyes find his, smiling with him, laughing with him, and his heart explodes from the caged confines he’d been keeping it locked within all these years.

Last night, he had convinced himself all was lost. That she could never learn to accept him, to forgive him for how he had left her, but in this moment, with her holding his eyes as they laugh together a little spark of hope lights up his shadowed existence. Perhaps all is not lost.

Quickly, though, her eyes shoot down to her hands. Composing herself, she accepts the reins he holds out to her without looking at him, schooling her smile as she rounds herself to mount the horse.

“Do you need…” He starts, but already she has hoisted a foot into one of the stirrups, and with a swift, elegant move, she lifts herself up and sits herself gently in the saddle.

“I am quite capable, thank you, my Lord.” She cuts him off, but then bestows him a smug smile that leaves him embarrassingly breathless.

“Indeed you are, Miss Sharma.” She holds his eyes then, for a beat longer than necessary, before a light tap of her heels and she is trotting slowly out to the stable yard to await the others.

Turning to mount his own steed, he spots Benedict and Daphne in one of the other stalls, heads bowed together as they whisper quietly, looking back at him eagerly. There is something about the smile his sister flashes him that makes his heckles rise.

“Are we all ready?” Benedict calls brightly, ignoring the concerned look from his older brother as he jumps on top of his horse. “Hy and Greg, stay up with me please.”

Hy lets out a groan, until Benedict flashes her a stern look. His little sister is known for her rather daring equestrian style, and he is grateful that someone is looking out for her on this trip. Anthony worries his own attention will be elsewhere as he watches Kate. The woman was a masterpiece on foot, on horseback, proud and commanding, Anthony was having a little trouble breathing.

As the group leaves the stable yard, they make quick time across the lawns and are soon entering the miles of verdant green fields that blanket the estate.

There’s an easy mood amongst the riders, conversation slipping in and out of laughter. It’s not long before a few smaller groups form naturally, and Anthony could not have orchestrated it better if he had tried when his horse falls happily into step beside Kate’s.

Unsure if his presences is unwelcome, Anthony lets them carry on a little while before he speaks. It’s not uncomfortable the silence, more like the feel of a warm blanket around your shoulders on chilled winters morning, and Anthony imagines he could probably stay in it his whole life. It is only how desperate he is to hear her voice that forces him to speak.

“I was sorry to hear of your father. I remember you spoke so fondly of him.” His voice is quiet, only just carrying above the regularly beat of the hooves beneath them, and when she stays silent for a few more minutes he wonders if she heard him at all.

“It was a great loss, for all us.” She says at last. “And I am sorry to hear of yours.”

“Thank you.” He feels her glance at him from the corner of her eyes then, just a quick look, and he fights the overwhelming urge to reach for her hand. Instead, he clears his throat and continues. “How soon after…when did you lose him.”

“A matter of weeks after we…” Another glance, a little flick of her chin. “There was an accident. A carriage overturned when he was walking home, a cruel twist of fate that nobody could have seen coming. Over in a moment, for him at least.”

“I am sorry.” He repeats, and she nods gently.

“And your father?”

He sighs heavily, even years later it does not hurt any less. “A bee. Just one little sting, that was all it took. Over in a moment, I am told.”

They ride on for a few more minutes in that same comfortable silence, as he lets their grief settle quietly again, hiding itself away beneath barely healed scars.

“We left the governor’s estate almost immediately after he died. It turns out the governor had little desire to sponsor a family with no sons and no contribution to his household, so we returned to Bombay. Not more than two weeks after you left.”

“Oh.” Another few beats of silence, hooves echoing on the soft grass.

“My name, the one I told you, only my father used to call me that. It was my mother’s name, and when she died delivering me to this world he wanted to honour her. I’ve always loved that name, but when Edwina was born she could not manage the sounds, her little mouth too small for all those letters.” She smiles a little at the memory and she looks so sweet, so vulnerable that he has to hold his reigns in an iron tight grip not to reach for her. “She could only manage the first part, so I became Kate. Always Kate. And my father said that when we were around so many of you English speakers, it was better that I went by that. Nobody at the estate knew me by any other name, I think perhaps that is why your letter did not find me.”

It’s a kindness, she is offering him, explaining away almost a decade of wasted efforts, of broken dreams. It all sounds so simple now, the tiny choice she made of offering that true part of herself, costing them a future they would now never know.

“I promise I tried.” He thinks of the hours he spent writing to investigators, to foreign estates, to ambassadors, all in the hope of finding this woman, now explaining it all away with a few sentences. So easy. It all could have been so easy.

“It does not matter,” she asserts, her voice devoid of emotion, “that is not why I am telling you. I just thought you’d want to know.”

“Thank you.” He says earnestly.

And she looks at him properly then, twisting in her saddle to better view him. Her brow is creased, her lips curving but making a sound. So he waits, but she just shakes her head lightly, and lowers her eyes.

“Miss Sharma, I…” he starts, not wanting this to be over yet, needing more time to make her understand, but she is squeezing her heels and riding off before he can say any more.

Benedict has pulled the others to a stop in a small clearing, and he watches as Kate joins them, naturally sidling up beside her sister, but still allowing herself a sly look back at him as he arrives too.

“What say you, brother?” He realises Benedict is addressing him, and that now the whole group are looking at him eagerly.

“What’s that?”

“I said, should we have a race.” Benedict repeats, a bright smile upon his face. “Like we used to, up to the old tree.”

“I am not sure that is appropriate with-”

“A race?” It’s Miss Sharma’s enlivened voice that carries across the murmurings of the group, and she has a look of such delight on her face at the prospect that his decision is made immediately.

“That sounds like a smashing idea, Benedict.” Anthony quickly agrees, not missing the furtive look that his younger brother casts between him and Kate.

“Excellent.” Benedict winks at Daphne, and Anthony’s stomach lurches. They are up to something, and that can only mean trouble. He is about to trot over to the meddling siblings to demand an explanation of whatever they are plotting when-

“What are the terms?” There’s a new edge to Kate that he hasn’t seen before. Eyes sparkling, determination settling across her brow, and all thoughts of his sibling's tomfoolery is completely forgotten.

“You fancy your chances, Miss Sharma.” Anthony teases and is delighted when he’s rewarded with a bold smile. Good god, that smile would be the end of him.

“You are surprised?” She quips back lightly.

“Kate is wicked fast.” Edwina confirms, eyes just as bright as her sisters as she looks between them.

“Is that so?” He says with an eyebrow raised, and when Kate responds with a haughty chin tilt it makes something warm pool in the pit of stomach that nearly has him falling off his damned horse.

"There is a clearing in the trees, around a vast oak tree, you can see it from here.” Benedict has trotted over to the sisters, and is now pointing off into the distance beyond the small wood that starts just beyond where they stand. “That’s the finish line. You have a choice. You can go through the trees which is slower but shorter, lots of jumps and tight corners, but usually it will get you there faster. Or it’s an open sprint if you go around through the fields.”

“Only Anthony has ever beaten anyone taking that route.” Eloise adds, her irritation clear as she pokes her tongue out at her brother.

"How interesting.” Kate says it slowly, holding his eyes while she narrows hers in challenge. His heart beats so embarrassingly wildly that he is the one that has to look away.

“Everyone clear on the finish line?” Benedict confirms, looking around the group as everyone readies themselves, trotting alongside a natural starting line that has formed at the edge of the clearing. As luck would have it, Anthony and Kate find themselves side by side, and his skin hums with the awareness of her eyes on him.

“Don’t hold back.” She whispers.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He promises, and finds himself chuckling as she meets his gaze, smiling as easy as anything. Like they’ve been chasing each other their whole lives.

And then Benedict is shouting for them to go, and Anthony digs his heels sharply into his stallion's side, launching himself forward. Predictably, his family all take the easier route through the trees, but he draws his horse wide, finding his stride immediately as he thunders along the wide-open fields that he knows will win him the victory.

Only he is not alone.

Right on his heels, he can just about make out a flash of teal, moving lightning fast at his side. Before he can even react, already she is beside him, the horses nose to nose as they both canter furiously forward.

If it were his siblings he was racing, he would have his head down and nothing would detract his focus. But it’s not, and he can’t help himself. He glances to his side, and when he sees her, body lithe and poised in perfect focus, her face ablaze with her determination, eyes bright as they dance in her rapture, he forgets himself. It’s only a few seconds, but he lessens the grip of his thighs, and his horse eases off, allowing her to gain on him.

Cursing himself, he is squeezing his heels again, and they stay neck and neck as they round the corner, a clear path now to the oak tree. Kate hunches her shoulders, her body at one with the agile movements of her horse, and she is stealing away from him. Though he can’t find it in himself to be annoyed, not when he has the perfect view of her, the epitome of beauty and grace, reaching the finishing line ahead of him. 

Usually defeat leaves him fuming but as she reaches the oak, pulling her horse around to watch him trot the last few steps in behind her, he can express nothing but absolute awe.

He almost cannot look at her, it is like he is looking directly at the sun and he feels the need to shield his eyes. Her face is so bright and open, eyes creasing as she laughs, cheeks flushed pink as her chest heaves, catching her breath. A smile so magnificent it burns itself into his memory. She is iridescent.

“You are amazing.” It slips out, unbidden, he has never quite felt so dumbstruck by someone as this, and it almost feels dangerous, like he has lost all sense of himself.

As she watches him back, the air shifts. The playful laughter disappears in an instance, as their gaze seems to simmer, a heaviness settling between them that makes his chest ache.

“I have never seen you move that fast brother.” It’s Daphne, clearing the bushes just behind him, and he reluctantly pulls his eyes away from Kate.

Soon, Benedict is out in the open too, not long followed by the others. All out of breath but smiling.

“I had worthy competition for once, Daff.” He smiles back at Kate, but she’s withdrawn from who she was a few moments ago. Face placid now, she pushes the few loose tendrils of her hair that have broken free during the race behind her ears.

He has lost her again.

"Who won?” Eloise asks, looking between them both.

“Miss Sharma, easily.” He confirms, and a round of applause breaks out, and she smiles politely, nothing like the sunshine she bestowed on him a few moments earlier.

“Shall we head back then, I think we all deserve some luncheon after that.” Colin announces, and slowly they all begin their descent back through the little woods to the house.

Edwina and Eloise have stolen her away from him, intent on hearing every second of his defeat, and Daphne finds her way to his side, their horses in step as they navigate the path.

“I have never seen anyone happier in defeat?” She starts, giving him a knowing look that he wants desperately to ignore. He lets the silence carry on for a moment, though he knows his younger sister will never give in so easily. “Usually, you are impossible if you lose and yet you are the cat that got the cream. I wonder if your mood has anything to do with Miss Sharma?”

Sighing heavily, he focuses on the path ahead.

“He is in denial sister.” Benedict appears at his other side, and suddenly Anthony is trapped.

“She is rather lovely.” Daphne continues, unabashed. “I spoke with her last night and this morning, and she is just like you. Only prettier.”

He laughs at that, something so sweet about the description that it comes out far too affectionate and wistful 

“He laughs! So it’s true, I knew it” Daphne almost lifts from her saddle in her excitement.

“I merely agreed that she is pretty.”

“Your face is a picture, brother.” Daphne settles back into her seat with a knowing wiggle of her shoulders. “I am telling you, she is absolutely perfect for you.”

“I must agree.” Anthony admits, much more willingly than he expected. And when Daphne squeals loudly, reaching across her horse to grab at his arm in her joy, the whole group turns around to see what the excitement is about.

“Anthony is just recounting the race, sounds most exciting.” Benedict clips off quickly, and most of the others turn back around, apart from Kate, who looks nervously between the three siblings for a moment more.

“So, what now. Are you courting? Have you proposed?”

“Calm down, Daphne. She has been here a day. And it is not that simple.” He shakes her hand from his arm, not wanting to feel any comfort for when he has to confront this truth. “She does not wish for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I have...I tried to...but she was very clear. She does not wish for me.” His siblings allow a moment of silence then, and it seems even heavier now he has shared this burden. He thought, perhaps, if he could speak it aloud it would not seem so desolate but quite the opposite.

“Oh brother,” Daphne begins at last, but it is not the consoling tone he expected. It’s exasperated, and he looks up at her in confusion, “you are such a fool. For one with so many sisters you are rather useless at understanding women.”

“What does that mean?” Anthony asks, ignoring the unhelpful chortle from Benedict on his other side.

“Miss Sharma has barely taken her eyes off you since the moment she arrived.” Daphne says matter of factly. “And not only that, it is the way she looks at you. Like you hung the moon and stars just for her.”

“You think so?” Anthony asks, his voice far too hopeful, too desperate, and he schools himself. It will do no good to his heart to pretend the past never happened. “It does not matter. She could not have been clearer. I must accept defeat.”

“You? Accept defeat?” Benedict barely hides the surprise in his voice, as Anthony shrugs. “What was it that father used to always say? Never be afraid to fight, not just for your family...”

“...but for everything else as well.” Daphne finishes, and Anthony closes his eyes at the words, the sounds of his father’s voice echoing in his ears.

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks sadly.

“Perhaps just speak with her again. Let her get to know you, perhaps she won’t find you quite as abhorrent as we do.”

“Thank you Ben.”

“But he is right, brother.” There is kindness in Daphne’s voice now. “You have some time before everyone else arrives, let her see the Anthony we all adore. How could she not fall for you too.”

“I would not know where to start.” Anthony admits, remembering her words from the library, her despair, her broken heart, all the hurt he has caused.

“Just speak with her.” Daphne pushes again.

“About what?”

“I don’t know, the weather?”

“I am not going to speak with the woman of my dreams about the weather.”

“The woman of your dreams!” Daphne gushes, her eyes wide as she smiles widely.

“The...” He stumbles, knowing his cheeks are blushing pink as his siblings giggle childishly at him. “the theoretical woman of my dreams.”

“Good god, you are a lost cause.” Benedict punches him in the shoulder playfully.

“Well think of a different topic of conversation, and make haste about it.” Daphne says brightly.

"Make haste?” Anthony says in confusion, but before he can think of it anymore Daphne is clearing her throat and pulling her horse to a stop. 

“Oh dear.” She calls out loudly, causing the whole group to stop and look back at her.

“What’s wrong?" Eloise calls from a little further down the path.

“I have lost my bracelet. The one Simon bought me for my birthday, it is my favourite.” Daphne pouts, holding up her bare wrist for all to see.

“Didn’t I just see you put it-” Benedict starts, looking carefully down at Daphne’s hands until she shushes him and gives him a look that could kill. “Oh, right.” He stammers, following along now. “Oh sister, what a nightmare.”

“Good god.” Anthony mutters under this breath as the rest of the group begin to trot a little way backwards to join the elder siblings.

“I am sure I had it on this morning, I must have lost on the ride. Maybe on the walk over here, or during the race. Could you all help me look for it?” Anthony shakes his head at her, but she ignores him.

“Perhaps we should split up. Cover more ground?”

“Good idea, Benedict.” Daphne agrees.

“How about we go off in pairs, see if we can find something?” He continues. “I’ll take the little ones towards the house and check there. Eloise, you best stick with Miss Sheffield. Daphne, you go with Colin.” 

“Anthony,” Daphne turns to him with a mischievous smile, “you and Miss Sharma seem well matched, in terms of your horsemanship, you two should pair off too.” 

“Daphne.” Anthony says under his breath, futile as his sister continues to ignore him.

“I think it best I stay with Edwina?” Kate is looking warily at the siblings now, and Anthony feels his blush all the way to the tips of his ears.

“No, Kate,” It’s Edwina who protests, a quick interruption that startles the elder sister in its conviction, “it will only be a moment, surely, and her grace is right that you and Lord Bridgerton could no doubt cover a lot of ground quickly, perhaps you two could head back up to where we had the race and look there? You’d be back in no time at all, surely.”

“I quite agree, Miss Sheffield. It will mean we’ll all be back for lunch all the quicker.” Daphne adds as Miss Sharma looks back and forth between her sister and his. Nervously. Finally, she gives a reluctant nod of acquiescence.

They ride in silence then. Not tense, but not the same comfort he felt before. Miss Sheffield was right, the two of them cover the ground in no time at all and soon they are back to the starting line of the race.

“Might I suggest we continue on foot?” He offers when they both come to stop. “We wouldn’t be able see anything from up here.”

Without responding, she sighs, and elegantly slides herself off the horse, walking off into the trees quickly, leaving him rushing after her.

“What have you said to them?” She asks when he catches up to her.

“Nothing.”

“Clearly your siblings are forcing us together.” Her tone is harsh, and he hates it. Wants to pull her into his arms, soften the sharp edges of her anger, dull the pain, wash away the years.

“I promise, I have told them nothing of our past.”

“And your promises are worth so much.” She looks sharply at him when she says it, and it cuts like a knife.

"Miss Sharma.” He steps toward to her, his eyes soft and his expression sincere. It stills her, and a few breaths pass as her annoyance cools.

“Come along then, let us look.” And she’s stepping away, walking deeper into the wood, her eyes scanning the floor for the bracelet he is fairly sure is currently in his sister’s possession.

“Miss Sharma,” he calls after her, “Please, can we speak.”

“We are speaking.” she says dismissively,

“You know what I mean.”

“We spoke last night.” She does not halt her movement through the trees, dappled sunlight dancing across her elegant silhouette as she remains facing away from him. “I thought I was clear.”

“So that is it?”

“That is it.” She confirms.

“Please, Miss Sharma, will you not even look at me?” He hears how small his voice sounds and he wishes he could sound braver, less weak, but still she does pause. And turns to face him.

“What do you want from me?” She asks, vulnerability flashing across her eyes.

“Honestly?” He asks, and her wide eyes bounce across his face, as if searching for answers there.

He takes a step closer to her, and then another.

The nearer he gets, the heavier the air between them becomes. As if he is forcing the space to crystallise, to morph into something tangible as it vibrates under the pressure of their nearness. The anticipation growing so thick he can barely breathe.

“Honestly,” he repeats, quietly, not missing how her eyes flicker ever so briefly down to his lips. “I want what I have always wanted. I want you.

“Oh.” It is more noise, than a word. A strangled sound from parted lips.

Taking the final step forward, he is close enough now to feel her. Her warmth, her scent, her breath. It's enough to make him lose himself, and he is so very willing.

“What is that you want?” he asks, his voice dipping low. “Honestly.”

“It does not matter what I want.” It is said so quietly, with such meekness, that it stings.

“I do not believe that to be true.” He braves to reach out, to take her hand, a thumb sliding across her palm until their fingers interlock. And she lets him.

“I want to erase the past. I want us to young again, without all the burdens that have twisted me from that innocent girl you once knew into this, a broken spinster who is not even brave enough to say what she wants.”

“You are brave enough. You are strong enough, I know it.” With his other hand he reaches out, hesitantly, but she does not stop him as he cups her face in his hand. She leans into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed as he swipes his thumb across her cheek. His heart reeling at the touch, it is everything and yet it just leaves him wanting more. “What do you want, Kathani.”

“Anthony” She breathes it out, like the soft stirring of a summer breeze. And it breaks him. 

“How I have longed to hear my name from your lips again.” His fingers push searchingly along her jaw until they nestle themselves in the soft downy hair at the nape of her neck. With a gentle pressure, he guides her in closer to him, her forehead dropping to rest against his, their noses bumping together.

“We must stop.” But she makes no move to step away, instead swaying gently so that they are even closer, hips slotting together, the long length of her body pressing up against his and leaving him weak. “We must stop.”

“I cannot, please.” He begs, as she sighs, her breath brushing against his lips, the whisper of a memory swirling around him, a dream of long ago. But then he feels her shoulders drop, a sigh of anguish, and so with a heavy heart he lets her slip from his arms.

“It is too late.” She shakes her head softly, twisting herself to look away from him.

“It is not too late.”

“It is. I am returning to India.”

“What? Why?” He still has her fingers gripped in his hand, and he pulls her back to look at him, his face desperate as he searches hers for some trace of a lie, of a cruel jest, of something that will stop his heart from shattering.

“It was always the plan. My passage is booked.”

“No, you cannot leave me again. Please.”

“That is why I must focus on Edwina, I cannot be distracted by…” She looks at him squarely then, her eyes creasing almost pained. “I must not be distracted. I have only a matter of weeks...”

“Weeks!” It’s a sorrowful sound that makes her startle. “No.”

“Yes, in six weeks I will return.”

“But...” He starts, but she’s shaking her head.

“It was the only way I could save them.” She says quietly, moving herself that little bit closer to him again, placing a hand upon his forearm, he is not sure if it is to steady herself, or him. “My family. It was the only way. The Sheffields, they…”

“Tell me.” He insists, as she shies away, stopping herself from sharing it all.

“They would only accept Edwina back and offer her a dowry if I promised to return to India. To sever all ties. It was the only way I could secure Edwina’s future and her happiness.”

“They would abandon you?”

“Happily. I am not their blood.”

“I will...” He can feel the anger surging in his blood. Those insipid faces appearing in his mind's eye as he considers all the ways he will rip those awful people from her life, but her hand tightens on his arm, firm but calming as she pulls his eyes back to her.

“You will do nothing. You must not speak a word of this. Edwina does not know, and she must not. You must promise me that you will say nothing, to them or Edwina.”

“Please, let me help you.” He begs, but he can see it already, the resolve in her eyes. The determination. And even though he hates what it means, he respects her all the more for it.

“Promise me.” She implores again, and he knows, knows he would do anything she asks of him.

“Very well.” Her grip lessens then, but she makes no move to step away from him. “So you will leave … Edwina. You will leave your family, leave everything.” Leave me.

“I too have a duty to my family, my lord, just as you did all those years ago. We must make sacrifices for those we love. I have long ago accepted my future, and there is nothing that will change that. Nothing.”

“What if...” he starts, and she flashes him a warning. He hesitates, but his father’s voice echoes in his ears. “What if your situation changed, what if ..”

“Do not.” Her eyes are cold as they meet his now. “Do not do that. How dare you do that. It was me allowing myself to believe.... to think that... I will not allow you to make a fool of me again.”

“Kathani, I never intended to make a fool of you. That is the furthest thing from what I wanted.” A gentle tug and she is stepping back into him. “All I ever wanted was you.”

“Do not...” But she is accepting his other hand, letting his fingers twist with hers as he brings both her hands up to his lips, planting a kiss upon her knuckles as she lets him hold her eyes.  

“I never wanted to hurt you, do you have any idea of my torment that I have done so. The lengths I would go to make it up to you, to humble myself before you, to show you that I can be a good man.”

“It is too late.”

“It is not. Please do not say that, it is never too late. We could try...”

“I am leaving...”

“But not yet. Please, do not push me away, not yet.” Another kiss, and then his lips just rest softly against her skin, and it’s intoxicating, making his head swim with possibility. “All I ask of you is that you allow me one thing?”

“One thing?” She repeats meekly, eyes wide as she looks up at him beneath beautifully heavy lashes.

“A dance. Tomorrow at the ball, just grant me one dance.”

“A dance?” She repeats again, her eyes dropping from his for just a moment, as if trying to hide from him even as their bodies mould into each other where they stand.

“Yes. You always loved to dance.” He says quietly and she hums a laugh, it sounds like hope.

“I did. But I have not danced since.”

“Then let me dance with you, please.” He squeezes her fingers, and blissfully, she smiles. It is guarded, but she smiles. “One dance, will you allow me that?”

In the distance, his name is being called and at the sound she pulls her hand from his grip. Two hurried steps back before Benedict appears in the distance, and with one final lingering look, they both make to follow the sound.

Back on horseback, Benedict guides them back to join the others who wait for them on the far edge of the lawns, and once they are all united, they begin the short journey back to the house.

They ride beside each other, neither making the decisions especially, just naturally coming together. The others chat, and they join in. Occasional smiles and laughter, but every time their eyes catch, they fall a little further into each other. Uncertain, but a little more willing.

As they near the house, they pull the horses up to the main steps where the stable hands are already awaiting them. He is quick to dismount, eager for a chance, just one more chance, to touch her.

In seconds, he is beside her horse and holding out his hand. Unguarded for a moment, she smiles down at him, and she is breathtaking. Her fingers slide so naturally into his, warm beneath the soft silk of her gloves.

As she drops to the ground, she does not pull away straight away, and their hands stay clasped together. She is far too close and yet still he fights the urge not to pull her closer.

“Yes.” She whispers into the heated space between them. “Yes, I will dance with you tomorrow.”

He knows his grin is embarrassingly bright, that his siblings, who he suspects are watching on despite their pretence at busying themselves with their horses, will mock him later, but he does not care. His Kathani is smiling at him, her hand warm in his, and that is all he has ever wanted.

“Kate.” It’s a shrill sound that cuts across the lawns. Lady Sheffield. Her face piqued and red as her eyes bounce between the pair.

Kate freezes, her eyes wide in panic as she takes a step away from him. Foolishly, he reaches out to steady her, but that elicits another booming shout.

“Miss Sharma,” It is Lord Sheffield now, the couple stood at the top of the stairs, watching the group dismount with eager eyes.

“Do come inside, Kate, and make haste.” Lady Sheffield’s voice has softened, but somehow that sits like acid in his stomach. He turns back to Kate, to implore her to stay, to keep her away from them, but it is too late. She is already stepping away, hurrying up the steps, and, flanked by the Sheffields, slipping away from him into the darkness.

Once again he is left alone, with only the faintest scent of lilies and a fragile grasp of his hope.

Chapter Text

The evening is crisp, the air dancing with the scent of wisteria and roses, a heady combination that leaves her smiling despite the heaviness in her heart.

A full moon casts an ethereal light across the lawns, painting everything it touches with a pale shimmer. When a gentle breeze stirs the trees, their leaves flicker between the dark shadows and flashes of silver as they catch the moon’s attention, making the whole garden seem almost alive with glimmering light.

By contrast, the constant golden glow of the candles that blaze from inside Aubrey Hall seem muted and leaden, the movements and sounds of the many forms within muffled to Kate in her seclusion, nestled as she is beneath an overgrown rose arch, and hidden from view on the lawns.

There is something ironic, she thinks, that after so many years and so many miles, here she is again, on the outside looking in at him in a ballroom. And while so much has changed and so much has passed, she supposes her destiny was for it to always be this way. Fate had long ago decided she was one to be toyed with, to show what happiness could be, just to spirit it away from her when she started to believe.

Though that does not stop her from looking, from wishing. And how handsome he is, her viscount. Tonight he is dressed in a deep teal velvet jacket, and she wonders if he realises how close the shade is the sari she had worn that first night they had danced. She doubts he would remember. Now it cloaks him so elegantly, making the dark depths of his eyes seem improbably more entrancing, and even from this distance Kate’s chest aches at the sight.

The ballroom is filled with the most esteemed members of the ton, having been deposited at Aubrey Hall throughout the day by fine carriages and their exhausted steeds. The viscount is in high demand. In the few minutes she had been watching him, half a dozen people have approached. Mamas proudly brandishing their daughters, older gentleman offering cigars or gossip. Through it all he seems distracted, hands never settling, twisting around his cuffs, clutching behind his back before being released again, anxious fingers running through his hair. Eyes searching. Looking for something he cannot find.

When she sees her sister arrive, gracing the floor in a beautiful pink gown, Kate finally turns her face away. While she loves her sister to distraction, seeing her flanked by the Sheffield, proud as anything, as the family descend to the waiting viscount’s open hand, it is too much to bear. 

A few steps deeper into the gardens, and it not long before Kate finds it, the grand gazebo nestled amongst the vines on the Bridgerton lawns. She had seen it a few days before on a morning stroll and decided it would be the perfect place to wile the evening away, in the company of the nightingales and her regrets.

A few sumptuous cushions had been laid out upon a small stone bench, and Kate lowers herself to their comforting embrace, leaning back as she lets her eyes flutter closed to enjoy the enlivening evening air.

The day had felt long, desperately so. Hidden away in her rooms, excuses ready for whenever Edwina would challenge her or beg her to join one of many activities the Bridgerton's had planned for their guests. But Kate remained hidden, in the shadows, where she belonged.

The Sheffield’s, for the first time, were on her side. Eagerly distracting Edwina, or strengthening her excuses, only too happy for Kate to make herself scarce.

The picture of Lady Sheffield’s face, contorted in anger, as she’d dragged Kate back to her and Edwina’s chambers after the ride, still plagued her. Every moment from the day before replaying in crystal clarity.  

“Whatever do you think are you doing, girl?” Speckles of spit flew from her snarled lips as she slammed the door behind them, trapping Kate inside with the infuriated woman and the worryingly stoic earl. "Throwing yourself at him like that. It was embarrassing to watch.”

“Imagine, a girl like you, offering herself up to a man like him.” Lord Sheffield continued, his voice twisted in derision as he took a few firm steps deeper into the room, forcing Kate to scramble backwards until her thighs hit the bed, and she clumsily fell on to the mattress. “He must feel filthy at the thought of it.”

“He is a viscount.” Lady Sheffield spat out as she began to pace the room behind her husband. “You are nothing. The daughter of a clerk, and goodness knows what else with that mother of yours. You think a man like that would ever look twice at a low born woman like you.”

“I did not…it is not like that.” Kate began, but soon cowered when Lord Sheffield loomed above her.

“Then tell me, what is it like?”

“He was just helping me from horse,” she spluttered, “that was all, nothing more.”

“I saw your face. You hold affection for him.” Lady Sheffield made no attempt to hide her distaste.

“No.” Kate’s head shook repeatedly, not wanting to admit it, not to herself, and not here. Especially not here.  

“It is pitiful. Shameful. Selfish.” The earl continued. “You know he has intentions with your sister. Do you have so little regard for her that you would try to win him for yourself?”

“That is not what I am-”

“Poor Edwina.” Lady Sheffield’s voice softened, and the hairs on the back of Kate’s arm stood to attention.  “What did she ever do to deserve treatment like this. From her own sister.”

“Half-sister.” Lord Sheffield corrected.

“I did not mean to...I would never hurt Edwina. She does not think of him that way.”

“Are you sure? That is not what I have seen, and his mother has already spoken with the earl about a proposal.”

“She has?” The thought pierced through Kate’s heart, the hilt of the dagger bruising her skin as she pictured it. Anthony on one knee, Edwina’s breathless smile, Kate stoically watching on.

“Well what else did you expect?” Kate folded her arms around herself as Lady Sheffield continued. “Edwina is the diamond. A man of the viscount’s status deserves the best, and Edwina is the best.”

“Unless, of course, something happens to ruin her reputation.” The earl offered, his tone twisting around her in its malevolence. “Imagine if the ton were to hear of your behaviour. A woman of your lowly status, exhibiting such salacious behaviour, trying to tempt a man so above your station. It would be a disgrace, a scandal, it would ruin Edwina. The Bridgerton’s would want nothing to do with her, and the others would all follow suit. Where would that leave poor Edwina, with no suitors, no future.”

Kate’s mind scattered as it tried to pull together all of their words. Her heart was wilting, her thoughts turning to dust. Tear pricked at her eyes.

“We would be forced to disown her, against our best wishes, but what choice would we have. We could not offer her a dowry or risk ruining our own name and all of this would have been for nothing.”

“What would you do then, Kate?” The earl asked innocently. “You have no funds left; Kate and Mary rely on you Kate. They trust you, and this is how you repay them? How could you explain this to them, that they were ruined all because of you. Because of your disreputable behaviour. I imagine it would break them. I doubt they would even be able to look at you.”

“No, no, please.” Tear fell freely.

“Please what.” The earl was so close now she feels the sickening curl of his words against her skin.

“Please do not abandon her. Edwina did nothing wrong, it is me. It is me.”

“It is you. But I do not know if you can save the situation now.” Lady Sheffield said sadly.

“I can. I will. She has the ball tomorrow, I will stay away, let her shine her light and secure a husband, there will be plenty of eligible gentlemen there.”

“Like the viscount.” The earl added coldly.

For a beat, he pinned Kate to the spot with a hardened stare.

“Like the viscount.” Kate replied, as she wiped away her tears.

The hours she spent replaying their words only hardened her conviction. They were despicable people, unkind and selfish, but she could not deny the truth in their words.

Kate had given up everything for Edwina, spent the best years of her life moulding her into the diamond, readying her so that she had every possible opportunity to find happiness. And here was her chance, at last, and it was only Kate’s actions that were putting that all to risk.

As much as it hurt, Kate knew what she must do. Happiness was only temporary. She had survived losing him before, and she would do it again.

Just as she reminds herself of her conviction, pressing a palm against her heart as if tempering its objections, she hears a soft footstep upon stone.

“Are you hiding from me?” It is like velvet.

“My lord.” Bolting upright from her seat, she sees him leaning casually against one of the grand stone pillars of the gazebo, beautiful copper eyes bearing down on her. A smile so tender that her heart surges at just the sight.

“Please, call me Anthony.”

“Anthony.” His smile brightens as she says the word.

Levering himself from the pillar, he takes a few steps across the marbled floor. He cuts a fine figure, broad and sharp, as his silhouette is framed elegantly by the moonlight beyond this sheltered little haven they find themselves in.

“I heard you were unwell.” Concern flutters across his face as he studies her.

“Oh, just a headache.” She focuses on her hands, twirling her thumbs together as they sit in her lap. Determined not to look up at him. “I thought some fresh air may help.”

“Ah.” It is not even a word, but it’s so soft, so calming, that it draws her eyes to him, unbidden. “So, you were not avoiding me?”

That handsome crease on his forehead deepens as he holds her eyes, waiting for her answer.

Something peculiar seems to happen whenever they are this like this, too close. As if the space between them becomes charged, and it hums now like it is alive. A living, breathing thing that sucks out all the air until she is left gasping for breath each time. Kate wonders if he feels it too, and as she studies the way the neat, silken bow of his cravat ripples against the laboured rise and fall of his chest, she suspects she is not alone.

“I should be going.” She stands abruptly, smoothing down her skirts with trembling hands before she makes towards the steps.

“Wait. Please.” The sound is too desperate, and she is already slowing when warm fingers wrap softly around her wrist. And she stills. “You promised me a dance.”

“I did, but...” Foolishly, she looks at him again. His eyes catch the distant glimmer of the moon, and they sparkle like the nights sky. Already her resolve is slipping.

“Just one dance,” A sweet smile starts in the corner of his mouth as he watches her, “we were good partners.”

“I do not remember it.”

“You do not?” The crease deepens, but so does the smile. “I remember every second. You trod on my toes.”

“I did not.”

“Aha.” It’s almost blinding, then, his grin. “So, you do remember it.”

How she wishes he weren’t so sweet, and so charming. How she wishes he would stop looking at her like that. It is making all this so much harder.

“Very well, my lord.” His eyebrows raise up, a little teasing wobble of his head, his smile pressing against her until she finds herself humming a laugh and giving into him. “Anthony.”

The hand around her wrist twists, his palm sliding against hers until their fingers are intertwined, whilst his other hand slips to fit into the curve of her hip perfectly. Resting her own fingers upon the soft velvet of his jacket shoulder, they do not stay there for long, instead she lets them trail further upward, slipping between the silk of his cravat and his stiff, starched collar. Dipping them as close as she dares to his skin, feeling the warmth of him on her fingertips.

And then they dance.

It is so easy. How she falls into him. Their bodies slotting flawlessly back together, as if they had carved themselves a space in each other all those years ago that had never quite been filled since. Her feet mirror his across the marbled floor as though they had never stopped, as though they had always been an echo of each other, always leading each other in a practiced dance, oblivious to the oceans and years that separated them.  

Of course, it had been a lie that she did not remember. She remembered every moment of their first dance. Every touch, every step, every breath. And as he swirled her around the gazebo floor now, it was like she was back in that dream. That breathless memory that had got her through her hardest days, her most heart-wrenching decisions, the darkest toils. Only this was not the dulled, frayed memory of old. With his smile fixed on her, his hands searching yet soft as they envelop her in his heady, comforting embrace, this is a new dawn, as bright as the morning sun and offering just as much promise and hope.

They have stopped following steps, she did not notice when, but now she realises they are just swaying gently in the breeze, holding each other. Her head has fallen to rest upon his chest where she can hear the hammering of his heart against her cheek.

His finger skims lightly along the edge of her jaw, tilting her face to look up at him. His eyes are as dark as the night, but tender, edged with a yearning that she knows is matched in hers.

Slowly, he closes the space between them and as his lips brush against hers, she is sure her feet lift clear off the ground, held aloft by the euphoria that swells through every single part of her, raising her up to the heavenly heights above.  

Strong hands move to cradle her, one soft against her cheek, the other firmer, fingers pushing through her hair, pulling her into him until they are perfectly entwined, not an inch between them.

When he pulls back, her lips chase his, needing just one more moment, one more caress of his, but he holds her away, just so he can look at her. Take her all in. And she blooms under his eyes, petals unfurling, feeding off the tenderness in his eyes, basking in his light.

His smile grows slowly, a shy thing that emerges into the brightest of grins. And from that anxious, uncertain pit of her stomach bursts forth a laugh. A giggle. A tinkle of a sound that is echoed immediately by a low, gravelly chuckle from him, both just lost in the joy of being there, together, at last. Then he steals her laugh, greedily swallows it down with another kiss that leaves her breathless.

“Thank you.” She whispers against him, as he nestles his head beneath her jaw, a sweet line of kisses along her neck that make her words so much harder to find.

“For what?”

“For giving me a little more happiness. For giving me enough to last a lifetime without you.”

“Without me?” He pulls away, and Kate wonders if she will ever forgive herself for the hurt in his eyes. “No, you said you would give me more time. Please.”

“It is for the best.” She places her palms against his chest, savouring the warmth of him. Storing away the memory, like all the others, for when she will need it on that long voyage ahead.

“What did they say?”

“Who?”

“You know who.” The hurt has gone, replaced with anger. “Your grandparents. This is them speaking, not you. I saw the way they looked at us yesterday, they have told you this should not be.”

“No, this is my choice.” Her voice trembles as she tries to keep her eyes steady.

“I do not believe you. Those people do not care for you Kate, not like I do. I would never let a single hair on your head be harmed, I would assure your every happiness, every day of my life, I promise it. Do not listen to them, please.”

“Just go back inside.” She tries to twist from his arms, but they are so tangled together that he easily holds her against him. And she wonders how hard she really tries, that little defiant part of her that she cannot shut out still wanting to bathe in his presence just that little bit longer.

“Go back inside,” She pleads.

“I won’t let you push me away.”

“Please, just go inside.” And with a more forceful tousle she breaks free of his hold, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the gazebo, a despondent shake of his head. 

“I will not stop fighting for you.” Even in its saddest ebb, his voice is still soft enough to smooth the jagged edges of her pain. And she stills at the steps, looking back at him. “There is nothing I would not do for you. I will fight for you until my dying breath, I will never stop.”

“Why. Why will you let the past go?”

“Because I cannot. It is fate. You are written into my soul, Kathani.” She lets him take a few steps closer to her, until she’s wrapped back up in him. “I knew it that very first moment I saw you. You were watching me through the window, I felt it before I even saw your eyes, like something shifted in me. And then, you were looking at me and everything else just...fell away. It was only you. It was only ever you. My heart has been an echo since I lost you, just waiting to hear yours beat again.”

“I…” His hands reach out to softly frame her face. “I don’t know what to say.”

“You do not have to say anything, but please, do not listen to them. Listen to your heart.”

“I must go.” She curls her fingers around his and gently pries his grip from her, stepping back towards the steps.

“Wait.”

Allowing herself one more look back, one more moment to take him in, she watches him, stood half shadowed by the night, the weight of her failures wilting his shoulders in defeat.

“Good bye, my lord.”

The storm had long passed, rain still drummed lightly against the tin roof but the urgency had dissipated, and instead the sharp, steady patter had become a comforting metronome, a countdown of each moment as they sunk closer and closer together in the silent hours of the Indian night.

Her head had fallen onto his shoulder some time ago, the warmth of her cheek sinking through the light cotton of his shirt, a reassuring presence he knew he would always seek. Her ebony curls were cascading around her and his fingers hands and twisted in its lengths, as he wrapped soft tendrils around his fingers.

“What do you think of you, when you imagine your future?” She whispered, the sound sinking into his bones, and making him sigh contentedly.

“I think of my parents.” He answered honestly. “They are so sickeningly in love, it’s rather nauseating. But that is what I want. To love like that. To be so besotted with my wife that I never want to leave the house again.”

The little hum of laughter she let out made his chest ache. Every new part of her that she revealed was more beautiful than the last, and he became more and more certain with each passing minute that it would always be her.

“Not leave the house?”  Her voice arched in question. “Then you would not be able to visit me?”

“I would have no need to leave my house to see you, Kathani.”

“You wish for me to live there with you and your wife?” She sounded affronted, so he rolled his shoulder gently, forcing her to twist her face to look up at him.  

“Don’t be obtuse.” He volleyed, and she smiled back. A tiny little nervous thing, but edged with the same hope that was surged through his chest.

She knew.

A beat or two passed like that, silent promises filling the air, before she settled back down. Cheek back on his shoulder, his fingers back trailing through her hair.

“Do you miss them? Your family.” She asked.

“Of course. My father especially, he is the best man I know.” With a twist of his head, Anthony buries his nose into her hair, and breathes in. Sweet, floral, insatiable. “He will love you. He’ll say you are too good for me, but he will love you. I cannot wait for you to meet him.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what.” He asked innocently, as she pushed her shoulder into his chest playfully.

“Stop speaking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Now who is being obtuse.” She twisted herself again to face him, shuffling a little in her seat so she could look at him properly, her face serious. “You have known me a day.”

“It is enough.” He looked back sincerely, and felt lighter, to speak his truth into the space between them. “I already know.”

“Stop it.”

“I cannot.” Another beat, the air between them crackling like the sky above, until she slid a little further down the bench, laying herself back down and resting her head upon his knee, hair spreading out like a halo and bathing him in the sweetest of scents.

As she shifted to make herself comfortable, he just looked down upon her in awe. He had never known a peace like this, like the whole world was at once right.

“What do you see, when you think of your future?” He asked softly. She let out a long, slow sigh and let her eyes flutter closed.

“When my father met my mama, my step mother, her parents forbade the match. They threatened that if she married him, they would disinherit her. She did it anyway. And she left it all, left everything she knew, her family, her home, her friends, all for my father. For me. I cannot imagine that. Finding a love so powerful that you would fight for it with everything that you have, everything that you are. To be willing to risk it all, to know for sure that real, true love is worth it.” She opened her eyes, to find him looking down at her, his eyes watery as he listened to her. “A love worth fighting for, that is what I wish for in my future.”

As he sinks into the worn leather of his chair, he pushes his fingers against his forehead. In the distance, he can hear the busy chatterings of a house full of guests, and not for the first time that day he wishes he could banish them all from him home.

All except one, of course.

Her brightness still lingers upon his skin, that tinkling light laugh echoing in his mind. He just needed time and space to think. To be with her, to show her that what they had was worth fighting for.

An uncertain knock sounds at his door. For a moment he considers staying quiet, hiding himself away, but assuming it would just be a servant coming to stoke the fire, he seals his fate.

“Come in.” He offers, and as the door creaks open he is surprised to see the small figure who peers around its edge. “Miss Sheffield?”

“I am sorry to disturb you my lord, I wondered if perhaps I could just take a moment of your time?”

“Of course, come on in.” At his words she takes a few more steps into the room, and Anthony stands, rounding his desk to meet her halfway. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh yes, everything is fine.” She nods dutifully, her gaze casting around the room subtly, intelligent eyes taking it all in. “It is a lovely ball.”

“Thank you.” A few moments of silence pass then, until she bounces on her toes and starts pacing around the room.

"My grandparents are very excited that you have shown such an interest in courting me?”

Ah.

He is grateful that her eyes are set upon the wall as she paces, allowing him a few moments of privacy to try to gather his thoughts. He had been so distracted by her sister, that he had not stopped to question what Miss Sheffield may make of this whole situation.

“They are already planning their return to society. I think my grandmama has already bought her wedding hat.” She pauses then, and looks right at him. Eyes narrowed and he offers her an awkward smile.

“Miss Sheffield…” He starts, clearing his throat as he tries to find the words.

“You are courting me, are you not Lord Bridgerton?”

“I…”

“What other reason could there be for you to invite my family to Aubrey Hall in advance of the others guests?”

“Well..." Words were slipping through his fingers as she looked up at him, innocent eyes searching, scrutinising, waiting. 

“And you were so insistent that it was my whole family who joined the advanced party. Quite unusual.” It feels like less of question then. An observation. And Anthony’s chest tightens even more when she spins on her heels again and resumes her pacing.

“Did you know my sister Kate does not believe in love. There was a time when she did, many years ago. We would sit in my father’s library and she would read me book after book of epic love stories and fairytale endings, and we would sit there together and imagine what wonders our lives might have in store for us. And then my father died, and everything changed. She changed. Life became about duty. Perseverance. Sacrifice. I never heard her speak of true love again, especially not for herself.” She pauses her pacing to look at him, a little sigh before she continues.

“Everything I learnt; I did through my sister. She is a wonderful teacher, and she almost made me believe that true love was not real. She nearly removed all hope from me, until a few nights ago. At the queen's soiree. That’s when I saw it. True Love. I saw it on your face Lord Bridgerton, the moment you saw my sister. It was like you were looking at the sun.”

The air leaves his lungs, a great pressure building there as she carries on looking at him. Waiting. Her eyes as piercing then as her sisters.

“I was.”

“You have met her before.” Once again it is more a statement than a question, but still he shakes his head softly, eyes cast down so that she cannot see the truth. 

“You are a terrible liar, Lord Bridgerton.” Edwina takes a step forward, her face kind when he does look up at her, but certain. As if she knew it all. “When you were in India?”

“It was a long time ago.”

“But you have not forgotten?”

“I could never forget.” He answers honestly.

“Then why are you hiding it?”

“Your sister will not allow it. She does not want it.”

“She is also a terrible liar. I’ve seen the way she looks at you, the way you look at her. One would have to be blind not to see it.”

“I have tried, I promise you.”

“My sister is the most wonderful person I know, but she is also a stubborn fool. She has it stuck in her mind that she cannot allow herself happiness, that she must secure mine and my mama’s first, like she does not even matter. I think she has made some foolish deal with my grandparents but she won’t tell me anything.” The young girl looks her age then, so young as tears prick at her eyes as she thinks of her sister’s sacrifice. “That does not matter now, all I know for certain, is that I have seen a side to my sister these last few days that I have not seen in years. When our father died she put up these walls, she made herself into some impenetrable fortress, not letting anyone one in, hiding herself away, disguising the wonder of her true self. And now it’s like someone is pulling down those walls, and I can see Kate again.

“I think you are that person, Lord Bridgerton.” Miss Sheffield takes another step forward then. “There is nobody in the world that deserves love more than Kate, but she does not believe it. She will never ask you to do so, but she is worth fighting for.” She reaches out, placing a hand on his arm. “Will you fight for her?”

“Always.” He says warmly, placing a hand on top of hers.

They smile with each other then, and she squeezes his arm gently, just as the door to his study swings open.

“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Sheffield’s face is dark with fury, but with a tinge of something else. Delight.

Miss Sheffield has pulled her hand away quickly, turning to face the door which now frames both her grandparents.

“It is nothing, grandpapa. We were just...” Miss Sheffield starts, but the growl from the opposite wall cuts her off. 

“Unhand her at once.” Lord Sheffield booms.

“Darling, come away. What is the meaning of this?” Lady Sheffield is stepping towards the young girl, tugging at her arm to pull her from Anthony.

“Your hands were all over her.”

“What?” Edwina and Anthony both stutter back in unison.

“You have been compromised. By the viscount.” Lady Sheffield explains to a shocked looking Edwina.

“I most certainly was not.” She complains, rather admonishingly.

“I did no such thing.” Anthony is face to face with the earl now, as his mind begins to panic at the premeditation he sees in the man's eyes.

“Anthony?” His mothers voice pulls his attention back to the door. Her face is panicked, as she surveys the room before her.

“Mother, no, we were just talking.” He takes a few steps towards her, and is relieved when she takes the hand he offers her. The edges of her anger softening as she looks into her son's honest eyes.

“It’s true, we were only...” Miss Sheffield tries again, only to once more be cut off.

“There is nothing for it. A proposal. I insist.”

“What?” Edwina and Anthony in unison again.

“A proposal, or I will be forced to besmirch the name of this fine family.” The earl straightens his shoulders, a curl on his lips betraying the rage in his voice.

“Edwina?” Lady Mary has appeared in the room now too, her eyes wide in shock as she sees the panicked faces scattered across the scene before her.

But then everything stills. Amber eyes are watching him, Kate’s beautiful face creased in confusion as her little sister runs to her the moment she sees her.

“Whatever is happening?” Lady Mary asks, as Kate’s eyes bounce between him, the earl and her sister. Confused. And he is desperate to reach out to her as he feels the cool hand of fate reaching for him.

“Your daughter has been compromised by the viscount here. I found him with his hands all over her, I saw it with my own eyes.”

“You saw no such thing.” Anthony snaps, his anger piqued when he sees the conspiratorial glance the earl shares with his wife.

“Might I remind you, Lord Bridgerton, that you have a house full of guests. Raising your voice is probably not the best course of action, should you wish to keep this scandal under wraps.”

“Scandal?” It is Miss Sheffield, sinking into her sister's arms. Kate’s arms. Both their eyes wide as they look on at Anthony.

“Miss Sharma, it is not true...I did not...” but Kate isn’t looking at him anymore, just at her sister, cradling her in her arms tenderly, already guiding her from the room. “Miss Sharma...wait”

“I am a gentleman,” Lord Sheffield‘s voice crawls across his skin, and Anthony tries so hard to take in the words but all he can focus on is the back of Kate’s head as she leaves him, “so I will allow you to complete your duty as a host tonight, as I think it would preserve both our families' names to not bring this situation unnecessary attention, but I expect a proposal before we leave tomorrow, or I will be forced to take more extreme action.”

Anthony is dimly aware that more words are spoken, something from his mother and another woman, but he cannot make out the sounds now. A comforting arm on his is leading him to a chair, and he is sinking into it.

That bright future, that sweet laugh, disappearing into the distance as once again as fate closes its hands around his heart.

Chapter Text

Kate’s clenched fist hesitates against the wood before she plucks up the courage to knock.

There is a peace in not knowing. A safety on this side of the door, where her heart has not quite yet closed itself down completely. As though if she stays here, in this moment, she may never have to face the heartbreak that she knows sits sullenly behind his desk on the other side.

The morning was heavy, weighed down by anticipation. Guests had still milled around the estate up until the late morning, conversations hushed and tongues wagging as they broke their fast. Even though Lady Bridgerton had done a gallant job at keeping the whispers to a minimum and the events of the previous evening hidden, a hum of unease unfurled across Aubrey Hall.

Kate had stayed hidden, locked in her rooms with Edwina as the young girls weeping had eventually tailed out into sleep. Kate however found she had no shed a tear. Not for her sister, nor the viscount, nor herself. The moment she had seen the determined look on her grandfather’s face, and the desolation on Anthony's, she had known what she must do. She had no time for tears, she had work to do and not much time to do it.

With the weight of three future upon her shoulders, she knocks the door.

The room is unchanged from the previous night. Even though a beautiful new day has dawned outside, the thick heavy drapes remain drawn, blocking the sunlight from penetrating the gloom. The candles are down to their final ebb, and they cast the hunched figure in a sorrowful light. His arms are spread before him, hands filling through a desk full of papers while unseeing eyes scan the contents.

When he looks up at the intrusion, despondent eyes falling upon her, her resolve almost falters. He is lost. Broken.

“Kathani.” It is a prayer. A hope. His relief at seeing her transforms him, a haggard breath released from sunken shoulders and earnest eyes. As if she can somehow save him from this wreckage they find themselves in.

“Lord Bridgerton.” She had not meant it to sound so cold, but the burden of trying to keep herself moving has taken its toll.

“I promise, I did not touch her, not like that.” He had stood, revealing a rumpled shirt and creased trousers, clearly he had not seen his bed that night.

“I know,” she reassures, and a little of the tension in his shoulders uncoils. “Edwina explained, I know nothing untoward happened.”

“Thank God. I could not sleep, I have been so consumed by what you would think. I had hoped you may come to find me, I waited-”

“I was with Edwina. She is distraught.”

“Oh.” He lowers his head. “Of course she is. She told you everything?”

“Not everything. Only that it was her that came to see you, that it was her that put her hand on your arm, that you did nothing to evoke Lord Sheffield’s accusations.” His eyes have regained a little of their sharpness as he listens to her, nodding gently.

“Did she tell you what we were speaking of?”

“She would not say, and considering how upset she was I thought it best to leave it at that.” Kate is still framed in the doorway, back pushed up against the closed door, not wanting to breach his space. Not wanting to be too close to him should she falter. She knows what she must do. “What will you do now?”

He pauses, a slight crease in his brow as he thinks on her question before answering one of his own. “We spoke of you.”

“It does not matter. I do not need to know-”

“Of how you told Edwina that there was no such thing as true love. Which you know is a lie.”

She takes that first step into the room then, and he responds with a bolder step around his desk. “Will you heed my grandfather-”

“Why do you still pretend like there is nothing here?”

“The other guests are leaving and we don’t have-”

“Because you know there is. Kathani. You know there is.” They meet in the middle of the room, drawn together by some unknown force. Every inch of her comes alive at his closeness, so she shakes her head and steps around him, determined not to lose herself.

“What does it matter now? What good will it do for me to…” but her words stop in her throat. As she reaches his desk, her eyes scan the contents covering its surface and she draws in a sharp breath. She looks up at him, his face is earnest, waiting for her.

A quick step forward and she picks up one of the neat white envelopes, her fingers tracing across the elegant black letters on the front. It is one of dozens, all in the same hand, all with the same seven letters printed neatly.  

“What are these?” she asks, but she does not wait for an answer before pulling the neat parchment from the first envelope. Her eyes scan the page quickly, not understanding what she sees.

“Letters.” He answers simply.

“To me?” Her eyes find him again, he is just watching her quietly.

"I told you I wrote to you.”

“But this one,” she holds the pages up before him, but his eyes stay on her face, “it is dated last year?”

He nods, but it makes no sense. She takes another parchment from another envelops. “This one is from only a few months ago?”

“I never stopped writing.” As her eyes scan the desk, she sees stacks and stacks of the letters, some tied with twine, crisp and clearly unsent. Others tattered, crumpled envelopes with longer addresses, overwritten with red and dozens of stamps.

“I tried everything to find you. When my first letters were returned, I instructed an investigator in Bombay. He searched for months, but now I know why he could find no trace of a Kathani. I tried to use my connections with parliament, I had ambassadors instructed, I even convinced an old university friend who travelled out to India as a surgeon to do some digging, he went all the way to the governor’s estate for me but, nothing ever came back.” There is a sadness to his explanation, of missed chances, of wasted years.

Her fingers search through the letters now, capturing words, sentences, dates until she stops again. He has moved to stand behind her, a comforting presence against her, and he looks over her shoulder to see what has caused her to pause. A small square ticket sits in her hands.

“I booked a passage three times. I wanted to come straight away but, my duty here would not allow it, I had to wait for things to settle and my mother to get well, but then the week I was due to sail Gregory was very ill, the family needed me and I missed the boat. Then the next year, parliament denied my leaving due to war in the Americas and we were all called to the House.”

“This one is from last year?” Slowly she turns to face him, and realises he is far too close, she leans back to perch on the edge of his desk, needing to hold onto something to stop her from falling into the perilous gulf that has opened  between them.

“Yes, but mother begged me to stay to help with Daphne’s season.” He pauses for a moment, a frown forming as he reaches to her side, wiggling open a stubborn draw to pull out a final ticket. He taps his palm atop it thoughtfully before speaking. “This was for this winter, I was determined I would make this one, that I would find you. But you found me instead.”

He allows himself a smile then, a huff of a laugh but it does not last long. “But I never stopped writing. You saved me. Time and time again, when I thought I couldn’t go on, I would think of you, remember your face, your laugh, and then I would write to you and it was a way to get me through it all. Not having you with me has been the hardest struggle of my life, only you were here. You were always here.” He holds his palm against his chest.

Kate’s heart quivers in her chest, like a scared little bird trapped in its cage. She was resolved, but she knew that they did not have that much longer, and so she wanted to give him something. Something that would either make this all so much easier, or so much harder. But with him looking at her like that, she found she would give him anything.

“I have not meant to push you away. Not really. I have tried to be careful with my heart, and with yours, because I think I always knew this would be fleeting. That we would never really have our chance together, so I was just trying to protect us.”

He nods, letting her speak as he studies her face carefully, as if mapping every inch to keep for himself.

“I have not wanted you to know how it has been from me, I did not want you to think me weak.”

“I would never.” He says softly, and a warm hand clasps around hers. She is still perched against the desk, and he edges himself a little forward so that their legs tangle together.

“That I was some silly girl wrapped up in memories.”

“I was that silly boy.” It’s a sweet smile, that he offers her.

“But…” Slowly, with his eyes watching each movement carefully, she pulls her hand away from his and the fingers of her other hand tug at the tips of glove to loosen it. Rolling the silk along her forearms, she slowly slips the garment from her arm, and holds her wrist up for him to see.

“My watch chain?” It’s breathless, his eyes instantly rimmed with tears. “All these years?”

“I never took it off. Do you remember how you-”

“I remember.” He reaches his hand to run a finger along the links, until it slips beneath the metal and slides along her skin. When he sees the delicate mother of pearl button, his initials etched upon its surface, a first tear falls.

“It has helped me through some of the hardest moments. When I thought I could not find my way, when I was scared, or alone, it was like a beacon. I would run my fingers along the chain and let myself imagine your voice counting me through the fear. You were here too. Always.” She mirrors his action from before, a palm against her chest before he swoops her hand back into his. Delicately, he lifts her wrist up to his lips, and presses them against her skin. A soft kiss as his eyes squeeze closed, lost to himself for a moment.

When they open again, he looks more certain. “And now we are here, together at last and I will do anything for you.”

“Anything?” Kate finds her resolve, and when she looks back at him her eyes are clear. “Then you must propose to Edwina.”

“What?” He steps back, abruptly, his mouth parting as if to say more but he just shakes his head fiercely.

“It is the only way. All night I have wrestled with it, but I cannot find another way out.”

“I cannot.” He begs, trying to twist away from her but she reaches out to wrap her fingers around his wrist, pulling him towards her, and he comes.

“I know you do not think that you love her, but you could. You will.”

“I could never.”

“And she will learn to love you, too. I know it is not what you may have imagined, but so many other marriages are built on less. You two are both wonderful people, the best I know, I think you could make each other happy.”

“Do not ask this of me.” His eyes implore.

“There is no other way. For us to save our families, this is the only way.”

“You would be my… I could not, my honour would snap. I could not…”

“I will not be here. I will leave the moment my sister is married, the Sheffield’s have already booked my passage, you would not have to see me.”

“How is that better? How? How could I possibly live if you leave? You think that is what Edwina wants too, she was in here last night telling me how much she loved you, how much you deserve love. You are the only one who cannot see it. You will let those awful relations of yours ruin three lives? We must fight...”

“We have no choice. They will ruin your name, your family, and they will ruin Edwina. I cannot allow that.”

“But I love you.” He says it so softly, so sweetly, that he is that young boy again, far from home and untethered.

“Don’t.” She buries her head against his chest, hates how loudly and sure she can hear his heart. “You do not love me.”

“I do. My heart beats your name and your name alone. It has always been you.” His lips are soft against her forehead, hands trying to bring he face up to his, but she knows she cannot look at him. She cannot see the look she knows is on his face, that one that matches her own shattered heart.

“What we had was beautiful, but we are not all destined for great love. Perhaps it is better that we do not hurt ourselves anymore. You can find happiness with Edwina, and I have been preparing myself for a life alone for years. I will survive it. You will survive it. And our families will survive it, that is what matters most. It is the only way.”

Their hands are clasped together now, and they’ve fallen into each other without realising it, limbs entwined and faces so close that he can feel her words against this lips.

“You once said you wanted a love worth fighting for.” he says softly, before sweeping a finger across her cheek, tilting her chin so that she looks up at him. “Well, here it is, so why will you not fight for our love?”

There was a time, perhaps, when Kate thought that was her. Someone who would fight. Who would always rise to a challenge, never be cowed by others nor follow orders. But over the years it had been choked out of her. Perhaps it had all started that long night when she had waited for him to come to her, but then the loss of her father had cemented it. Extinguished her passionate sprit, snuffed out her strength. Years of carrying every burden for her mother and sister, and then bearing the brunt of the Sheffield’s cruelty, it had all dampened that fire that once burned within her.

But hadn’t the tiniest spark ignited that day she’d seen him again in the park. A flicker of the girl that she once was, an inkling of the woman she could have become. The woman she could still become. Couldn't she feel the embers smouldering within her now, her body a tinderbox waiting to burn.

But it was too late. Too late.

“I fight for the family I have. I fight for Edwina, and her happiness. This is the only way.”

Kate watches as he searches for words, grappling for a way out, another chance, another hope. She finds she cannot watch, cannot bear witness to the moment he accepts their fate, and so she bows her head. A step towards the door before she allows herself one final look back.

“Good bye, my lord.”

“Wait,” it is the last thing she hears as the door clicks closed behind her.

…......................

It is as if he walks to the gallows, not to propose to the diamond of the first water. The catch of the season. The most eligible miss in England.

As he pauses at the French doors, looking down at the Sheffield’s gathered on the lawns, he sees his mother advancing on him. He had been ignoring her all morning, not wanting to hear her indignation nor advice. How could she understand. How could he possibly explain the complexities of nine years of waiting, for it to all come to this. He ignores her pleas, and continues determined towards the family now all watching his advance.

They are only sat a little way from the house and yet the walk seems endless. The earl and his wife are sitting sipping tea calmly, as if no great scandal hovers above them at all. Miss Sheffield and Lady Mary, in contrast, are sat huddled together, heads bowed and shoulders sunken.

Kate stands. Achingly elegant, just to the side. Watching his progress with despondent eyes.

As he passes, he wants so desperately to reach for her. To beg her not to make him do this, but he knows he must. Not only is she right that this is the only way to save them, but he would do anything she asked of him. He knew that.

Only his pinkie finger defies him, reaching for her at the last moment, but it is too late.

“Miss Edwina.” He announces himself, and Miss Sheffield jumps to her feet. He sighs heavily at the sight of her. There is no doubt she is a beautiful girl, but she is just that, a girl. And she seems so young as she stands there looking at him wide eyed, waiting for him to decide her future.

“No, my Lord,” she says clearly, and it makes him pause. While he knew she would not seek this arrangement he had been so caught up with Kate he realises that they poor thing is just as unwilling as he is. Surely she must know the perilous position her grandfather has put them in. Does she not know this is the only way. “Please do not do this. Kate, tell him. Tell him not to do this. Why won’t you let yourself be happy, please?”

Though her pleas go unanswered. The hardened stare of Lord Sheffield bears down on him, and Anthony knows he has no choice. His hand fumbles in his pocket for the small black box he had asked his mother for before the Sheffield’s had even arrived. Before he knew this would be his fate.

“Anthony!” His mother has reached the group, she sounds as harried as he is but he does not even spare her a glance in her direction, he cannot falter, not now. “Please do not do this Anthony, won’t you speak with me first. Please.”

“Miss Edwina,” he starts, ignoring the young girl shaking her head, ignoring his mother as she calls for him, ignoring the eyes he knows would stop him from doing this with just one look, “would you do me the honour of…”

“Wait.” Kate’s voice is like a benediction from the heavens, a litany of hope.

When he meets her amber eyes they are wide with fear, but too, he sees in their depths a spark, like a fire has been lit. He watches as the emotions flicker across her face, unfolding slowly and then all at once. Resolve hardens her gaze, her shoulders straighten, her chin lifts and when she meets his eyes, they are determined.

“Kathani?”

“Anthony.” Her voice is steady, yet still soft. “I…I was wrong. Love is worth fighting for.”

Everything becomes still then. And quiet.

As if the rest of the world has fallen away, and it is just them. The ache in his chest, the one he thought would break him just moments ago seems to disperse beneath her eyes, as his whole future roles out before him, a future of possibility, of colour, of light.

“Anthony!” It is his mother’s voice that breaks through his reverie, shrill and cautionary.

"Please mother, it will be alright. It will be alright.”

“No, Anthony, please. Do not move.” She continues, her tone desperate now.

“What?” He goes to turn to her, to try to explain, but then he follows the panicked look in her eyes. They are ablaze with fear, a fear he has not seen on her face since he first returned to her as a viscount. He feels the vibration before he hears the buzz. And he freezes.

There, wiggling happily on his lapel, is the striped body of a honeybee.

“Get on with it, man.” Lord Sheffield shouts across the now silent group, the man had stood, moved closer, and is now flicking his hand to motion to the ring box held aloft by Anthony’s shaking hand. 

When the puff of air disturbs its peace, the bee launches itself from his jacket, hovers in the air for just a moment, before planting a piercing sting just on the exposed skin above Anthony’s cravat. 

It is sharp. Piercing through everything like a knife.

And the world becomes muffled. Just sounds and shapes and dulled colours, as Anthony staggers back, one step, then two, only just finding his footing as he braces himself for the end.

His heart beats manically, like a countdown towards its own cessation.

“Lord Bridgerton?”

“Get help.”

“Has he been stung before?”

“Is he allergic?”

“Isn’t that what killed the old viscount?”

And then through the chaos, carving a way through the fear and regret, comes a single sound.

Anthony.

Her eyes appear with total clarity before him. Wide, and scared but so breathtakingly beautiful that it allows his mind to clear.

“Breathe with me, Anthony.” Her voice is like honey, thick and sweet, a blissful salve in his final moments. “Take this, quickly. Breathe with me, count with me. Remember?” Her hands are on his, uncurling locked fingers as she forces something warm, and metallic between them. His watch chain. “One, two, three, four.”

Her voice calms, soothes, as her fingers close around his other hand, bringing it to press against her chest, against her heartbeat. “Six, seven, eight.”

She is so close.

They were so close, and now after everything, it is he who is leaving her.

“It is too late, Kathani, it is too late.”

“No, it is not. Breathe, breathe for me. Please. Do not…do not leave me.”

“I am just so grateful I got to see you one last time. You are so beautiful.” His forehead falls against hers, her eyes not an inch away, their golden depths offering him serenity in these final moments. “I am sorry. I am so sorry for everything, for not trying harder.”

“You tried everything.”

“I should never have left you, Kathani.”

“And abandon your family? Then you wouldn’t be the man I love.”

“Love? You love me?”

“Of course I do. I always have. I loved you the first moment I saw you in that ballroom and I have loved you every wretched day I have had to spend without you, I love you. So, I beg you, please, do not leave me. I do not want to be in this world without you.”

“I love you, too. I do, Kathani, with every beat of my heart I love you. Every beat is your name”

Kathani. It is all he can hear, that solid beat, that familiar resonance of her name in his heart beat. Kathani, Kathani, Kathani.

It is still there. His heartbeat. Quick, but solid and sure.

His fingers keep skipping across each link, the same incantation each time, Kathani, as slowly the panic dissolves into relief.

It is Kate who lets out a shuddering breath, one she has been holding, when she realises he still stand, still breathes, still lives. Her forehead drops to his, her tears wetting his cheeks as they both fold into each other.

“You are alright, my love, you are alright.” Her lips mould against his, fraught and benevolent, as he lets himself fall into her salvation.

“I cannot live without you.” He whispers against her lips as his arms hold on to her desperately. 

“Whatever is the meaning of this?” Lord Sheffield’s voice booms across the lawns, and Kate jumps beneath him, so his arms wrap around her more tightly. Savouring her warmth for a moment more before he can brave to pull away from her.

“Kathani.” It is his mother who speaks the name, trying the sound out loud. “The letters. In your study. That’s you?” Her eyes bounce between the couple, still tangled together, at first in confusion but soon a puzzled smile flourishes. 

“You knew of the letters?” Anthony asks.

“We all did.” She smiles softly at him then. “I never understood, but I knew how much they meant so I just let you be. I never realised...I never imagined that it was this.”

Violet is beside them, Kate having released him enough for his mother to grasp his arm, as she brushes a relieved hand against his cheek. “My darling boy. Are you alright, shall we call the surgeon?”

“I am well.” He looks over at Kate, squeezing her hand. “I am very well.”

“I demand an explanation.” Lord Sheffield is closer now, his wife hovering behind his shoulder, both with faces warped in anger.

“Do you not see, grandpapa,” A nervous Edwina has stepped in the earl's path, blocking his looming advance upon the pair. “They are in love.”

“Love.” It’s said with enough venom to make Anthony recoil. “That is irrelevant. The fact remains that it is Miss Sheffield who was compromised and the viscount must marry her.”

“Oh, do shut up, father.” Lady Mary moves to stand beside Edwina, the meek mannered woman suddenly finding her voice. “We all know there was nothing to see between them. You have been conspiring to have them wed this whole time merely to advance your own status. Just like me, Edwina is only a pawn to you. I cannot believe I have stood by and allowed you to do it again.”

“Be quiet Mary, this is nothing to do with you.” Lady Sheffield shouts, placing a firm hand upon Mary’s arm to try to force her out the way but she stands her ground.

“They are my daughters. Both of them. And I will protect them even if it costs me everything. You will not force Edwina down the aisle and nor will I let you send Kate back to India.”

“Back to India?” A confused Edwina looks back at Kate with wide eyes then.

“Miss Sheffield was compromised and…”

“Was she?” Lady Bridgerton steps forward then, wearing a familiar look upon her face now, one Anthony has seen many times before. Her bright mind is clicking through options as she smiles placidly.

“What?” The earl spits.

“I seem to recall both myself and Lady Mary were just out of sight while the two youngsters spoke, as if I would ever allow a young couple to be unchaperoned in my home. Therefore, I am sure, should anything untoward have happened Lady Mary and I would have born witness to it. Did you see anything Lady Mary?” Violet walks to join Edwina and Lady Mary then, looping her arm with the older lady smugly.

“No, Lady Bridgerton.” Lady Mary says slowly, a fierce smile upon her face. “I saw nothing at all.”

“Well, is that not a relief? To know that your beloved granddaughter has not been comprised after all. And I cannot imagine that anyone would question my word, that of a well-respected figure head of the most illustrious family in the Ton, one with a personal relationship with the queen, over that of a family name that society has long since forgotten. I imagine any attempt to disparage mine and Lady Mary's word would no doubt cause a scandal that would force the Sheffield’s even further into the fringes of society than they already are.”

“What are you-” the most pleasing annoyance blossoms on Lord Sheffield’s face then as he looks between the three women staring down at him. “No, this is not how this is meant to go.”

“That is enough now, grandpapa. Enough. I do not wish to marry the viscount, and he clearly does not wish to marry me.” Edwina looks back at Kate then, and through the chaos manages to offer her the sweetest smile.

“You are just a girl, you know nothing of the world. The viscount offers you everything you could need, all I am doing is securing what I des...what you deserve!”

“And that is it, isn’t. All this is about what you think you are owed.” Edwina continues, her voice still steady, ever the graceful debutante. “The wedding my mama denied you, you will now inflict on me. And at what cost? You do not care for me, nor my mama. And you are cruel beyond all measure to my sister, the one person you should be grateful to for pulling your family through their hardest times when you did not even care to write. But Kate was there, Kate saved us, Kate fought for us. And she has shown me that you must fight for what you love. And Kate is what I love, and mama, and I will not let you treat them like this anymore.”

“You are more of a fool than that half-sister of yours then, if you think I will offer a dowry now you are most mistaken.” The earl folds his arms across his chest, eyes flicking from Edwina to settle upon Anthony, still stood frozen, clasped in Kate’s arms. “Bridgerton. You will hide behind these women. And you call yourself a gentleman?”

“I am a gentleman.” Anthony steps around to face the earl then, raising himself up, his chest broad as the older man steps back a little. “I have conducted myself with nothing but honour, it is you should be ashamed of yourself. The way you have treated your own family, with such disrespect, like mere instruments to enhance your own social standing. It is shameful. I have held my tongue only because Miss Sharma asked me to do so, but no more. You will leave, immediately, and I never wish to see your face upon my property again.”

“You think this is the end?”

“I know it is. You have nothing over me, nor the Sharma’s anymore. I will offer my full protection to Lady Mary and Miss Edwina, and I fully intend to make Miss Sharma my wife, should she allow it, therefore they have no need of you. And if I ever hear that you have mentioned their names or even breathed in their direction, so help me God I will use everything in my disposal to push you even further down that social ladder that you are so desperately trying to climb.”

“This is all you.” The vitriol in his voice swarms around them as the earl’s beady eyes fall on Kate “I should have left you to rot in India.”

“Do not dare...” A frantic step forward from Anthony is only halted by a firm grip on his arm from Kate that has him falling back into her.

“Anthony, no. Do not let him rile you, he is not worth it. Neither of them are.” Kate then steps forward, slowly and calmly, though her fingers still link with his softly, not quite willing to let him go. “You made me feel like I was not worthy of love from my own family. You have treated me with disrespect, which I can bear, but that you would cast your own daughter aside and learn nothing, only to trick your granddaughter into an unwanted match, that is unforgiveable. I have only tolerated you because I thought you would help me find the path to my mother and sisters' happiness, but now I see you are capable of nothing but pulling others into the miserable pit that you reside in. Edwina is right, I am willing to fight for those I love. I thought that meant giving in to you, but I was wrong. I must fight for the love that they deserve, and that is not you, it was never you. And the love that I deserve, I will fight for that always.” She looks back to Anthony then, his face trained on her, mouth parted in awe as he reaches to grasp her hand more tightly.

“This is beyond the pale.”

“That is enough.” Even with Kate’s calming fingers skimming his Anthony can take it no more. “You have taken up far more of our time than you ever deserved. You will be leaving us now.”

The earl scoffs a laugh, his mouth opening to say more.

“I said, you will be leaving us, now.” Anthony repeats, slow and careful as he motions to a nearby footman to summon the carriages. Lord and Lady Sheffield stand motionless a moment more, looking between each figure before them before a glance at each other, a huff of indignation and they push past Anthony to leave. At the last moment, Anthony grabs the old man’s wrist, holding it tightly as he whispers into his ear. “Be grateful, my lord, that you are being able to walk out, that is only by the good graces of Miss Sharma. If I had my way, my servants would be picking you up off the floor and throwing you onto the streets. Now get out.”

The whole group watch the couple march back up to the house in silence. Once they disappear into the depths, it is Lady Bridgerton who speaks first.

“Well, that was all rather unexpected.”

“Forgive us,” Lady Mary begins quietly, “Lord and Lady Bridgerton, we did not mean to air such family drama under your roof, but how can we ever repay you for the kindness you showed us today.”

“It is nothing, it was the right thing to do.” Violet insists, as the two ladies bow together, before Lady Mary brings Edwina into a tight embrace, whispering into the young girls as she wipes away her tears.

“And whatever are we going to do with the two of you?” Lady Bridgerton turns to Kate and Anthony, who have already fallen back into each other's arms. His hands tightly locked with hers, as if should he let go she may slip away from him once more.

“Mother, I am sorry, we did not...”, “Lady Bridgerton, we did not mean....” They speak in unison, until they see the soft smile upon the dowager's face. Kate’s fingers squeeze his, and Anthony looks up to her as she shares a shy smile.

“It sounds to me like there is probably a story that we need to be told, hmm Kate?” Lady Mary looks on amusedly at the pair blushing before her.

“Perhaps we should all go inside and have a little cup of tea, I feel like we may need to be seated for this one.” Another generous smile as Violet gathers Lady Mary and Edwina, and guides them back up to the house, a knowing look back at Anthony as she goes.

“Are you alright.” Anthony turns to Kate the moment they are out of earshot, placing both hands at the top of her arms. “You are shaking. Come, let me get you inside.”

“No, wait.” She reaches out to him then, cupping his face in her hands. And she smiles. A beautiful thing bright enough to cast away all his lingering fears. “I love you. I am sorry I did not say it before, but I love you.”

“I love you too.” He lets out a breathy laugh, of disbelief, of joy. “I love you so much that it hurts, but it is the sweetest pain.”

“I cannot believe we are here. Together. It feels like a dream.”

“The most beautiful dream.” He affirms, his arm winds around her waist, pulling her against him.

“What happens now?” She asks sweetly, smiling up at him.

Slowly, he steps even closer to her, swaying to capture her fully in his embrace, dropping his face so their noses brush gently against each other.

“I think we live happily ever after, Kathani.”

And he leans forwards to kiss her, drawing her into him with searching lips as he feels her smiling against him.

…..................................

Anthony had imagined it a thousand times, that first step on Indian soil after so many years. He would picture it in his mind’s eye whenever his hope faltered, imagine himself landing after long, turbulent months at sea, with nothing but his determination and love to battle the impossible task of finding her again. It would fill him with a terrifying awe, but also an ever-expanding hope.

Never, in all those years of dreaming of this moment, did he imagine that his Kathani would be holding his hand as he took that step. Her fingers locked tightly into his as he helped her down the gangplank, before sweeping her off her feet and carrying her the final few steps so that he himself could place her feet on the ground.

“My viscountess.” he whispers against her ear as her lets her go.

“Thank you, husband.” And when she kisses him, drawing his lips to hers as though it is the simplest thing in the world, he thinks his heart may well explode right there in this bustling port in Bombay.

Six months. Six whole months of having her just to himself, on the honeymoon he could never even imagine himself taking. Kate had planned an exhausting itinerary, determined to show him the very best of her homeland, after his previous trip had been cut so short. A few weeks in Bombay, before the Summer’s heat would drive them to spend a month in the verdant hills of Simla, followed by a river cruise along the Ganges. Anthony had not yet told Kate that he’d also planned an eye-wateringly expensive and complicated detour to Tamil Nadu, somewhere she had said she was desperate to visit to honour her birth mother, who still had family there that Kate had never been able to visit. He was planning to surprise her on their anniversary, that rather than travelling home they still had another month of travel together, and he could hardly wait. 

He’d expected it would be quite the challenge to convince his family to spare him for what would be well over a year from the estate. However, his mother had squealed in delight when she had heard of his plans, Daphne had just given him a knowing look. Hy and Greg had pouted until he promised gifts, Eloise seemed frankly delighted at the idea of not having her brother’s eyes watching her every move. Benedict had been his biggest concern, expecting he would be rather tworried about taking up the reigns, but apparently his eldest brother had grown rather traumatised about how often he had stumbled upon his brother showing his wife just how much he loved her, in every room of the house, and was rather ready for a break from the pair of them. Anthony’s ears had tinged pink only slightly, before burying his brother in a tight embrace that Benedict had willingly returned.

Preparing for the trip been a trial in itself, endless lessons with Benedict to prepare him, meetings with his solicitors, accountants, and the like, whilst Kate had packed up half the house to take with them. And to make things even more complicated, just a few weeks before they were due to depart, Edwina had announced her engagement.

Anthony had taken quite the active role in Edwina’s courtship, insisting on throwing extravagant balls and soriees in her honour, giving Kate a proper chance to vet every possible candidate. Though, in the end,Edwina choice was made the moment she was reintroduced to a terribly sweet young man named Mr Bagwell. It had been rather undeniable, the moment they laid eyes on each other, so inevitably it was only a few weeks later that they were attending a beautiful and elaborate ceremony at St James, and Miss Edwina had promptly become the ever so happy Mrs Bagwell.

Kate and Anthony’s wedding, in contrast, had been a small affair, just family and a few of their closest friends. His mother and Lady Mary had arranged everything, now such firm friends that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d walked into Bridgerton House and not found the two gossiping over tea and cakes. They were the ones who had proposed an outdoor service, much to the minister's chagrin, however there were few men left in England that Anthony thought could win an argument over him, now that he had Kate on his side. And when Kate had mentioned what a fan she was of the gazebo tucked away in Aubrey Hall’s grounds, the decision was made.

So, beneath its rose laden arches, Anthony had held his breath waiting for his bride. He was used to waiting for her by now, yet those final few moments felt as long as some of the years, until he saw her, arm in arm with her mother, draped in the most exquisite red and gold silks, hair cascading around her just like that very first day her met her, and tears were falling before she even reached him.

Vows were offered and commitments made before everyone present, but it was those she whispered to him that night, limbs tangled and heartbeats in sync, that really meant the most. As he promised himself to her, and she him, and they shared joyous tears of their hopes and dreams that now seemed a reality.

There were times he could not quite believe that this was his life. That they had made it. The years of searching and waiting, the near misses and tribulations, all fell to nothing whenever she would catch his eyes across the room with a knowing smile, or squeeze her fingers between his when she wanted his attention, or in those hazy moments after they made love when they felt so closely bound together he wondered how they had ever survived apart.

In the end, it was all so easy. They hadn’t heard a word from the Sheffield’s. Anthony had been on edge for months, and though Kathani never mentioned it he knew she worried too. A few choice words from his mother at some key social engagements had been enough to shatter their reputation completely, and either they shied away for fear of embarrassment, or of reprisals. Anthony cared little for the reason, only holding on to the relief that the Sharma’s did not have to live under the fear of them anymore.

And in that freedom, his Kathani had blossomed. Almost the moment the Sheffield’s departed the house all those months before, it was as if she had shrugged off a heavy cloak and revealed a dazzling new side of herself. No more shouldering those burdens alone, and with her restored faith in love, she revived not just the ghost of the girl she was before, but she became something even more beautiful and striking.

She had settled into her role as a viscountess with ease, not just managing the household but revelling in it. His siblings adored her, his mother sought her opinions readily on anything and Anthony, well Anthony could never quite bear to be away from her for more than a moment. In fact, it rather became a running joke that the viscount could not enter a room without enquiring where his wife was, and if he was spotted marching about the house they would all hark ‘looking for Kate?’ which was irritating for many reasons, but mainly because it was nearly always the truth.

Anthony let himself chuckle about it now, how sickeningly besotted he was with his wife, and how unbelievably happy he was about that fact.

They were standing on the side of a busy port thoroughfare now, the streets a blur with harried porters, hawkers with trays of fruit the likes that Anthony had never seen, and fellow travellers testing their land-legs after months at sea. His wife was knotted against this side, his arm looped securely around her waist.

“I do not remember it being quite so hot.” Anthony bemoans, tugging at his cravat, desperate to find some relief from the suffocating air.

“It is not even the peak of summer yet, but luckily you have a wonderful wife who thought to ask your tailor to make you up a number of cotton suits for the trip. I don’t know why you insisted on wearing velvet. Velvet. Honestly, you English men.”

“You like me in velvet.” he pouts, as his wife runs a finger discretely along the soft edgings of his jacket, slipping between the buttons so he can feel the heat of her through his cotton shirt beneath.

“That I do, but I like you even better when your cheeks aren’t flushed and you are not bathed in sweat.”

“I know for a fact that is not true.” He offers her a devilish smile.

“Viscount Bridgerton!” Kate swats at him playfully, as he flexes his arm and pulls her even closer to him.

“It is our honeymoon, is it not?”

“I suppose, but we are in public.” She glances around them quickly, and seeing the porters are all busy loading their luggage onto the carriage, she leans in for a long, lingering kiss that leaves Anthony even more hot and bothered. “Thank you, for bringing us here.”

“Anything, anything to make you smile like this.” He chances another kiss, and she allows it, humming contentedly against him. “I wanted you to have a chance to come home.”

“You do know this is not my home anymore.” She whispers against him as she nestles herself against his collar, and he settles his chin upon her head. “Home is wherever you are.”

“And I am right here.” He taps his palm against her heart, bringing her hand against his own chest in return. “Always right here.”

The End