Chapter Text
The return of the Bridgertons and Sharmas to London had set the ton abuzz with speculation. Whispers trailed them like a shadow, lingering on one particular question: why was Miss Edwina Sharma not the one marrying Lord Anthony Bridgerton? How had her elder sister—spirited, sharp-tongued Kathani Sharma—suddenly become his betrothed?
Adding to the intrigue, the Sharma family had taken up residence in Lady Agatha Danbury’s townhouse, an arrangement that signalled the formidable widow’s continued patronage of the younger sister. London society, ever eager for gossip, watched closely. What had happened between the Sheffields and the Sharmas?
Twelve days after their return from Kent, Anthony Bridgerton and Kate Sharma rode back to Bridgerton House, the crisp morning air still clinging to their clothes. Their outing in Hyde Park had begun as a leisurely ride—but, as was often the case with them, had quickly turned into a full-fledged race.
Anthony dismounted in one fluid motion, his laughter rich and unapologetic as Kate reined in her mare with a disgruntled huff.
“You started without me,” she accused, her eyes flashing with irritation.
“No,” Anthony countered, smug as ever. “I was simply faster.” He extended a hand to help her down, knowing full well she would refuse.
She did.
With practiced ease, Kate swung down from her horse, brushing stray strands of wind-tossed hair from her face.
“You cheated,” she muttered under her breath, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice, despite the irritation that flickered in her eyes.
Anthony’s smirk deepened, the mischievous gleam in his gaze suggesting he was quite pleased with himself. He was no fool, after all—he had, in fact, kissed her right before they took off, stealing a tactical advantage as she had been momentarily distracted. He could hardly argue with her accusation, though. Rather than admit his underhandedness, however, he shifted the subject with practiced ease.
“Would you like some tea?” he asked, as though nothing untoward had just happened, his voice as smooth as ever. “I’ll have some brought up. I’m sure you’re tired after that, and I think you’ll find it most refreshing.”
Kate cast him a sidelong glance but nodded. Before either could say more, a footman approached, bowing smartly.
“A letter for you, my lord,” the young man announced, presenting a silver tray with two sealed envelopes—one embossed with the Bridgerton crest, the other written in delicate, confident handwriting. “And one for Miss Sharma.”
Kate’s brow furrowed slightly as she glanced at the letter meant for her, confusion dancing in her eyes. “For me?” she asked, her tone low, surprised. Why would anyone send correspondence for her to Bridgerton House? Surely, letters would be sent to Lady Danbury’s residence—or perhaps, if there were any lingering business, still to the Sheffield house.
Anthony glanced at his own letter, recognising the messy, bold script immediately. “Benedict,” he said, already breaking the seal.
Kate picked up the other envelope, her name written in delicate yet confident penmanship. A flicker of recognition crossed her face.
“It’s from Sophie.”
“Makes sense,” Anthony murmured, distracted as he led them toward the sitting room.
Whatever they had written, it was bound to be interesting.
Anthony’s eyes scanned the letter, his brow furrowing. He hadn’t expected to hear from Benedict so soon. The journey to Scotland took at least two weeks—how had his brother managed to send a letter back to London so quickly? And more importantly, why was he writing already? Of course he’d inform them all of his nuptials but Anthony thought it would be another week or so.
Brother,
Consider this your invitation to our wedding.
Sophie and I have decided against Scotland. Instead, we have taken up residence in My Cottage and made arrangements with the local minister to read the banns. He did so yesterday, which means we shall be married two weeks from now—September 16th.
We would love for you all to join us in Wiltshire for the day. I trust you will find this a far more agreeable location than Gretna Green.
Benedict
“Wiltshire,” Anthony muttered under his breath, disbelief spreading across his features as he scanned the letter again. This was not at all what he had expected. Scotland had been reckless enough—an elopement was reckless, even by Bridgerton standards. But for Benedict to remain in England, unmarried, living with Sophie at his own property? What was his brother thinking? Wiltshire? Of all places. And unwed at that?
What were they supposed to do in Wiltshire while waiting for the banns to be read? He was afraid to think. The whole idea was preposterous.
His fingers tightened around the paper as he read over Benedict’s words again, frustration building within him. Yet before he could ruminate further, Kate’s voice interrupted his thoughts.
Kate, standing beside him, had opened her own letter and was now smiling softly, her eyes bright with affection as she read Sophie’s words:
My dearest Kate,
I have found my forever home.
Instead of Scotland, we’ve settled in Wiltshire—at Benedict’s property, which is named ‘My Cottage’. Though, as he so sweetly put it, it is now ‘our’ cottage. It is a beautiful place, with rolling fields, a lake that sparkles at sunrise, and land that seems to stretch for miles. I think you would love it here, plenty of room for riding.
We decided against running so far. What difference would it make? Staying together in My Cottage for three weeks or riding off to Scotland—it all suggests the same thing, doesn’t it? Instead, we have chosen to wait, let the banns be read properly, and marry here.
We will be wed on September 16th, and I hope with all my heart that you, Mary, and Edwina will be here to share the day with us.
All my love,
Sophie
Kate let out a soft laugh as she folded the letter, a rueful smile curving her lips. “Trust Sophie to find romance in all of this.”
Anthony exhaled a long breath, his thoughts still racing as he processed the information. Wiltshire. Unwed. Two weeks.
Damn it, Benedict.
He turned to Kate, his expression unreadable, yet the weariness in his voice was unmistakable as he asked, “We’re going, then?”
Kate’s lips curved into a playful smile. “Of course. We must tell everyone else.”
“And then pack our things,” Anthony added with a resigned sigh.
“The sixteenth is still over a week away,” she reminded him, raising a brow as she began walking toward the sitting room.
“Yes. But they should not be alone there, and I do not feel comfortable with it,” he replied, his tone low and serious. “I do not want Benedict acting untoward.”
Kate laughed, the sound rich and genuine. “Anthony, they’ve been alone together for over a week now. If anything was to happen, I imagine it already has!”