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The days following her departure from London passed in a blur for Kate.
The Sharmas had travelled to Lady Danbury's country seat in search of peace, though Kate's mind was anything but tranquil. The weight of the broken engagement between Lord Bridgerton and her sister, bore heavily on her.
Worse still was the ache that lingered whenever she thought of Lord Bridgerton himself.
It had been her duty to leave, to protect her family from further scandal and herself from further heartbreak. And yet, she found herself restless, caught between relief at being far from him and longing for something she could not name.
Her thoughts were interrupted when a letter arrived, bearing the unmistakable seal of the Viscount Bridgerton.
Kate hesitated for a long moment before opening it. The paper was heavy in her hands, the handwriting precise and controlled.
It was everything she expected of him: polite, formal, and maddeningly distant.
My Dear Miss Sharma,
I hope this letter finds you well and that the countryside has brought you the peace that London could not. I write to express my gratitude for your and your family’s understanding in the wake of our... disrupted engagement. While the situation was less than ideal, I am relieved that we parted with no ill will.
I trust you are in good health and that your family has settled comfortably into your new surroundings. Please extend my regards to your sister and your mother.
Yours sincerely,
Anthony Bridgerton
Kate exhaled sharply, her lips pressing into a thin line.
It was so like him to write such a letter, full of words yet saying so little.
Still, she felt compelled to respond.
If nothing else, she could assure him that her family had indeed survived the ordeal, even if she herself felt less certain.
Lord Bridgerton,
Thank you for your kind letter. I am pleased to inform you that my family has settled well into our new home. The countryside is, as you suggested, peaceful, and I find the quiet a welcome reprieve after the tumult of recent weeks.
While I cannot say the events of the Season were ideal, I trust that time will bring clarity and closure to all involved. I wish you well in your endeavors, and I hope you and your family are faring equally well.
Sincerely,
Kate Sharma
Kate folded the letter and handed it to the waiting footman, ignoring the pang of regret that accompanied her words.
She had said all that needed to be said.
Or so she thought.
Two days later, another letter arrived.
This time, it was different. While still measured, there was a warmth in Lord Bridgerton’s tone that had been absent before.
Kate read it twice, her heartbeat quickening with each pass.
Dearest Miss Sharma,
I must confess, your letter brought me a sense of peace I had not expected. It seems the countryside agrees with you, though I suspect you would find peace wherever you choose to settle. You are, after all, far more resilient than I could ever claim to be.
If I may, I find myself reflecting often on our shared moments. They linger in my mind, not as sources of regret but as reminders of something I cannot quite name. Do you feel the same, I wonder? Or have you already left such thoughts behind?
Yours, faithfully,
Anthony Bridgerton
Kate read the letter again that evening by the fire, her fingers lingering over his signature.
She wanted to dismiss his words, to convince herself that they were nothing more than an attempt at civility.
But she couldn’t.
Instead, she sat at her desk and let her emotions guide her quill.
Lord Bridgerton,
Your letter reached me on a day when the clouds hung low and the air was thick with silence. For reasons I cannot fully explain, your words brought a measure of light to that day. For that, I thank you.
You speak of shared moments. I cannot say that I have left them behind, though I have tried. They remain, unbidden and persistent, despite my best efforts. I wonder, is it folly to dwell on such things? Or is it simply human nature to long for what might have been?
Yours sincerely,
Kate Sharma
The exchange continued over the following weeks.
Each letter chipped away at the walls they had built around themselves, revealing pieces of their hearts they had long kept hidden.
Dearest Kate,
It seems I cannot stop myself from writing to you, though I fear my letters may be more indulgent than they are welcome. Still, one of your letters has stayed with me. You asked if it is folly to dwell on what might have been. I do not think it folly, but rather a necessary pain, for how else can we learn from our missteps?
If I may be so bold, I must admit that my thoughts often return to you. To the way you challenge me, infuriate me, and somehow manage to bring a sense of clarity to my otherwise tangled mind. Do you regret our moments together, Kate? For I do not. Not one of them.
Yours, completely,
Anthony
Anthony,
Regret is a strange thing. It clings to us, even when we wish it gone. And yet, when I think of you, I find that regret is not what I feel. Instead, there is a sense of longing—a wish that things might have been different, though I do not know how they could have been.
You ask if I regret our moments. No, Anthony. I do not regret them. But I do fear them, for they have changed me in ways I cannot ignore.
Yours, Kate
Dearest Kate,
Your words have undone me. I have spent so long trying to be certain of everything—my duty, my role, my choices. But you have made me question it all. You have shown me that there is more to life than duty, and though it terrifies me, I cannot turn away from it.
I love you, Kate. I should have said it sooner, but I was a coward. If there is any part of you that feels the same, please let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.
Yours, always,
Anthony
Kate’s hands trembled as she read the letter.
The words she had longed to hear were finally before her, and yet she could not bring herself to reply. What could she say that would capture the depth of her own feelings?
Before she could decide, the sound of hooves broke the stillness of the evening. She stepped outside to find Anthony dismounting his horse, his eyes blazing with determination.
“Kate,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I couldn’t wait for another letter.”
She stared at him, her heart in her throat. “Anthony—”
But he closed the distance between them, taking her hands in his. “I love you,” he said. “I have loved you from the moment I met you, though I was too blind to see it. Say you’ll let me prove it. Say you’ll let me stay.”
Tears filled her eyes as she smiled. “I love you too,” she whispered. “I always have.”
And as he pulled her into his arms, Kate knew that there would be no more letters. There would be no need.