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Chapter Text

“I am simply saying, Pen,” Eloise says, arms crossed and her shoulders near her ears. The two women are taking their first promenade of the season – the first time they’ve seen each other since each family of the Ton receded to their country estates. In Penelope’s absence, evidently Eloise has had the chance to do more reading. “After reading Wollstonecraft, I find the idea of a debut at all rather backwards.”

“I do not think you ever thought it forwards, El,” Penelope retorts, eyeing her friend with a knowing look. Eloise just continues, undeterred by the interruption.

“I finally even used my French lessons – the ones Mother and Anthony used to make me take, mind you – to read Olympe de Gouges. Finally, something useful came out of my breeding ,” Eloise says the word with a sneer, now moving to fidget with her gloves. “ Man, are you capable of being fair? A woman is asking: at least you will allow her that right. Tell me? What gave you the sovereign right to oppress my sex? "

Penelope merely nods in recognition of what must be a quote. “It’s true that there is hardly fairness, Eloise, but it is not a condition we are unused to–”

“So is that the solution, then?” Eloise says, waving her arms. “To be used to it forever? To be dressed up like livestock at auction, freshly eight and ten, without the advantages of the education our male peers get at Oxford or Cambridge? Colin can explore Europe to find himself, Benedict can throw himself into his art, Anthony may–” Eloise frowns, and Penelope grows distracted at the mention of Colin. “Do whatever it is Anthony does, locked away in his study! And I get shuttled from the modiste to balls to refined manners–”

“You’ve taken great pains to un-refine them, to be fair.”

“Is our best hope at entertaining ourselves, until we are either pressed into a man’s home as soon as we reach maturity or become spinsters if we are not already married off, truly just reading gossip? Is that the life we are meant to live, the biggest our world is permitted to get, who may or may not get married or whose gown the Queen found the most shimmering?”

Penelope frowns at the unintended insult. “Do you truly think that is all Lady Whistledown writes about?”

“It is entertaining, to be sure, but as the Romans said – panem et circenses!” Eloise says, gesturing wildly to nothing. The people among them pay them no mind in the park, no doubt used to Eloise’s rising soliloquies. “Do you not think she could write something more substantive, like de Gouges or Wollstonecraft?”

“It is gossip, El, not the work of a revolutionary.”

“You say that as if the two need to be so separate,” Eloise counters. “Imagine how tired we all are of fresh faced debutantes – who is going to be the Diamond this year? Is it this girl whose mother still forms half her thoughts? Or perhaps whomever the richest man at two and fifty finds appealing of the young crowd.”

Penelope winces. “Ew.”

“Precisely,” Eloise says emphatically. “Ew. We are not mere ornaments, Penelope, but strong and capable beings with minds of our own.”

“And you do not think that Lady Whistledown sees women as something other than ornaments?”

“I think she has the power to shake things up, at the very least,” Eloise replies. “I do believe she should use it.”

-

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Did you miss me? As the members of our esteemed ton lazily sojourned in their rustic retreats, this author was doing but one thing...Honing my skills. Or should I say, hatching my plans?  No, even better... I was sharpening my knives for all of you. Questions abound as to this author's identity and means. Seeking those answers shall prove fruitless, indeed. There is, of course, another unknown identity at present. Though this one I am not certain you will be unable to unearth at all, regardless of who the Queen may name.

The Diamond. Rarely older than eight and ten, and with connections from a predictable list of families. Should it be another debutante carefully coached by her Mama on her best curtsey? Or even better, a girl of seventeen whose dress reflects best in the candlelight? It surely will not be a woman of wit with a head held high – such a candidate would likely challenge the Queen more than she would feel comfortable with. No, it’s all the better for suitors to line up for the most predictable of selections. Afterall, what is a Diamond but the finest of decorations?

Should a woman not be valued for so much more than her dancing or comportment? Should we not value a woman instead for her candor, her character, her true accomplishments?

Your move, Your Majesty.

-

Eloise is laughing, nearly giggling and kicking her feet, on the chaise in the Bridgerton drawing room. Anthony looks up from his correspondence on a nearby desk, irritated. 

“Eloise, as amusing as I am sure you find your gossip–”

Eloise looks up, offended. “Oh, I am sure it could never be as fascinating as the frost in Ferryhallow. It is only a matter of the woman you seek to marry.”

Anthony’s brow draws together in confusion. He kicks back a marble to Gregory as it slides under the table, the motion driven by reflex. He flips his journal over, concealing its contents. “I suppose you’d like to give me an earful on my conditions, would you?”

“Lady Whistledown seems about as happy with the selection of debutantes as you are, brother.”

Anthony exhales. “I suppose we have one thing in common.”

“It appears she’s baiting the Queen into a more unconventional choice of Diamond this year. Heavens knows it was not any of us.”

“Mother assures me your interrupted presentation was for the best for first impressions.”

Eloise rolls her eyes. “I forgot, I must seek to impress London with how I may wear a feathered hat and curtsy. Tell me, brother,” she stands, swiping the journal off of his desk. She holds it above her head as Anthony reaches for it from a seated position, quite petulantly. Anthony huffs, moving to stand, as Eloise tucks the journal behind herself.

“Eloise, could you please–”

“Ah, yes,” Eloise mutters, opening the journal and walking away with an irritated Anthony on her heels. “No mention of either of those, but apparently you have strong feelings on knowledge of French politics–”

Anthony grabs the journal back from her, finally, irritation clear in his posture and tone. “At this rate, your next lady’s maid may also grow tired of you, Eloise.”

Eloise snorts. “As if your valet isn’t run ragged.”

Anthony frowns. “I am quite generous with bonuses, mind you, and my rate of retention compared to yours is–”

“My point was, brother,” Eloise says, undeterred and unrepentant as she slinks back into an armchair. “Maybe you will find a woman with half a brain, indeed. Though I cannot imagine if she possesses such a thing she’d be keen to marry you.”

Anthony scowls. He returns to his paperwork with a huff, glaring at Eloise intermittently. She is unbothered, back to reading her pamphlet with a smile dancing on her face.

-

Kate reads the pamphlet in Lady Danbury’s drawing room, her eyebrows raised in interest. Their hostess had recommended it with a wry smile, stating it could inform much of their stay in London and allow them to get a robust education on the Ton. She even offered last year’s back catalogue – though she was keen to point out she arranged quite an illustrious match indeed with her godson. Mary does not pick it up, eyeing it with suspicion bred of being the subject of gossip herself. Edwina is thankfully out of the room – something Lady Danbury must have timed intentionally – and Kate is simply trying to get the best understanding possible of their new situation.

London takes some getting used to for Kate.

It is not her first time visiting, to be clear. Her Appa had taken her to London before when she was quite young, and she met Mary for tea on several occasions before the two of them traveled home to Bombay to wed. The London of her youth is cloudy, sure, but with notable bright spots: her Appa was in bright spirits in the company of Mary, and when she accepted his proposal she accepted his daughter too. The wound of her mother’s passing was not healed by the stay, but her world grew bigger.

This trip does not feel so light. In theory, it is similar – she is determined to see her sister wed just as her Appa had found a wife all of those years ago. But their Appa was dead, Mary was still grieving and dreading the return to a country clouded in more ways than one, and Edwina did not know Kate had arranged this all as a trip of last resort. Their Appa’s savings were gone, the last of them used on this journey, and their one hope out of this quagmire was the fortune and charity of Mary’s parents. Parents that had refused to meet her Appa or Kate, and clearly viewed Kate’s low birth as a subject of scorn.

But they meant hope for Edwina’s future, and that would have to be enough. Edwina was always eager to believe in fairytales and happily ever afters, always devouring romance novels in various languages. To her, an Englishman noting her beauty and sweeping her off her feet was a dream that could very well come true.

Kate had no such fantasies of her own. She’d dismissed the last of them – finding a match, settling down, raising their children together – after their father died and it became clear her greatest responsibility was to her family. She would see her sister’s match through, ensure the Sheffields followed through on their promise, and leave to secure her own independence only after her sister’s happiness was settled. Though her fantasies were simple, she did not expect them to become complicated.

But London – evidently with its own gossip pamphlet that seems to exist to get a rise out of the queen and jest at the Ton – is going to be more confusing than any amount of language lessons, musical instrument practice, or classical literature could have prepared Edwina for. It is Kate’s duty to absorb all of it, delicately balance Lady Danbury and Mary’s knowledge of the ton, and take in just enough of this additional gossip to be useful. It’s more cutthroat than she imagined, and only grows more so the more she reads of Whistledown’s back catalogue – illicit trysts, servant rumors, notorious rakes, glowing and glittering young women desperate for the Queen’s attention or a man’s hand. 

Kate sighs, looking up to her mother. “Perhaps you were right not to read this.”

Lady Danbury is undeterred. “I think we will have the most interesting season indeed.”

-

Anthony is getting his toes terribly tread upon at this ball. 

It was what he deserves, in all likelihood, and he cannot even remember the poor girl’s name. They are all starting to bleed together – the Miss Goodrums and the Miss Polks and the – does this woman know Napoleon fought for the French? Did he truly, in his heart of hearts, know Napoleon was emperor of France? Did it matter? Did any of this matter?

He is nearing an existential crisis, at this point. Benedict would be quite amused. He looks up to scowl in his direction apropos of absolutely nothing, but then he sees her.

There, in a gleaming gown at Lady Danbury’s conservatory ball, is the woman he caught riding this morning, astride, of all things. She had beaten him in a race he was not even aware he was in until he was breathless at the end. Though he has to admit he prefers her curls as loose as they were when they were initially acquainted, she is awfully stunning in her ball attire.

He meets her gaze, and she looks away as if embarrassed she was caught. Anthony grins. This dance cannot end soon enough, and it is not only because his toes are awfully bruised.

Mercifully, miraculously, the ending notes of the song are upon them. Anthony gives a distracted sort of bow, barely looking at his partner, and strides over to the direction he saw her last. Anthony finds her tucked behind a column, and his grin widens.

“I do not believe we’ve been introduced.”

Anthony bows, ever the gentlemen, and she gives a curtsey that looks reluctant at best. “That is because we have not.”

Anthony laughs. “I did promise to keep your secret, after all.”

“Are you a man of your word, then?”

“I aim to be,” Anthony retorts easily, and he swears he sees the faintest of smiles on her lips. “Perhaps I should begin, then. Lord Anthony Bridgerton, at your service.”

Suddenly the near smile has left her face, and she studies him more intently. “Kate Sharma,” she says, at least granting him her name. “You have quite the reputation, Viscount Bridgerton.”

He rocks back on his heels. “And I suppose a woman riding astride at dawn, racing strange men in strange parks, should believe everything she hears about one’s reputation?”

Her eyes narrow. “I thought you were a man of your word.”

“And I thought you less judgemental, but at least I am keeping my end of the bargain as my lips shall remain sealed regarding our first acquaintance.”

Kate gives him a disbelieving sort of look. “Our first?”

“Well, this is our second, but first for appearance’s sake,” he continues, looking at her wrist and drowning when he finds no string affixed to it. “Where is your dance card?”

“I do not have one,” she retorts, fidgeting with her gloves. 

“So if I were to ask for a dance?”

She sighs. “I’ve been told it’d be rude for me to refuse.”

“And would you? Refuse due to my reputation?”

“It does not matter if I would, as–”

“It matters to me,” Anthony says immediately, easily. “I am not in the business of forcing women to dance if they do not wish to.”

“And yet you hardly seemed a willing partner yourself,” she counters, glancing at his feet pointedly. “I’ve seen more enthusiastic dance partners at funerals, my lord.”

“So you have seen much dancing at funerals? How peculiar.”

“If I did, I daresay it would look more pleasant than what I just witnessed.”

“So you were watching me, then?” Anthony asks, a glint in his eyes. She shakes her head, but a flush is evident on her cheeks.

“I suppose I am curious if your dancing is as deficient as your horsemanship.”

Anthony places his palm on his chest, a mock wound. “I daresay you have not given me a proper chance to prove either, Miss Sharma. Perhaps your curiosity is enough reason to dance.”

She glances around the room, and he wonders who she is looking for. Her family, perhaps? Or even worse – a suitor? The thought annoys him more than he’s ready to admit.

He offers his hand, and a beat passes before she takes it. But she does take it. Anthony grins.

“I shall endeavor to remember the best of my boyhood dancing lessons.”

That earns him his first genuine smile from her, and his grin widens. It is a waltz, and he is quite fortunate that he ceased signing dance cards for later in the evening. His toes, mercifully, are spared as Miss Sharma is as quick on her feet as she is on horseback.

“So, you have the advantage of rumors about me, while I know nothing about you other than you enjoy a morning ride.”

“Perhaps that is all you need to know,” she says, and of course she must know that only makes him desperate to know more.

“What brings you to London?”

“Who says we are new to London?”

“Perhaps the fact that I have not seen you before.”

“It is possible you did not notice.”

Anthony shakes his head. “Believe me, I would notice.”

There’s that flush in her cheeks again, and he could spend some time drawing it out. “India,” she answers instead.

“Oh? What part?”

Kate scoffs. “Am I to believe you could label parts of my country on a map? Where is Bombay, then?”

“Western coast,” he answers, for once on the receiving end of the questions. “My brother Colin has been quite eager to visit, but I suppose he’ll have to return from his grand Greek adventure first.”

She raises her eyebrows in interest. “You have siblings?”

“Seven of them. What, did that not come up in Lady Whistledown?”

Kate laughs, and he will keep aiming for that as well. “I did not realize there were so many, I suppose.”

“And here you asked if I had any siblings, clearly knowing I at least had some. Do you have siblings?”

“One.”

“Ah, so not seven at least.”

“Not seven,” she echoes. The dance ends, but he finds himself wanting to know more. Before he could not get out of dances, promenades, and teas quickly enough. But there is simply not enough time in a dance to learn more about this woman, so he matches her stride off of the dance floor. 

“Care for a lemonade?” he asks, ever so politely finding a means of continuing the conversation. 

Kate eyes him with amusement. “I suppose you’ve proven yourself a decent dancer.”

“Ah, so I can be entrusted with a task as important as the procuring of lemonade.”

“I suppose,” she grants. She tilts her head to the side of the ballroom. “I shall rejoin my party with Lady Danbury and my family.”

“Lady Danbury,” Anthony says, his lips once again twitching. “A great friend of my mother’s, if you would believe it. I shall join you shortly.”

-

Kate tries to compose herself before rejoining her family, tries to will away the heat in her cheeks and the lightness of her step. She is not getting swept away by a rakish viscount while seeking a match for her sister. She is absolutely not.

Her plan fails, as Lady Danbury gives her a knowing look before her sister and mother even recognize that she has returned.

“I see you’ve met Viscount Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury says, raising her eyebrows.

“We became acquainted,” Kate says, willing herself not to look back for him. 

“And I thought you weren’t taking to the floor this evening,” Lady Danbury replies, amusement clear in her voice. 

Edwina is positively beaming. “He is quite handsome, didi.”

Kate bites back a smile. “And quite rakish, if those society papers you left us are to be believed.”

“Who is quite rakish?” the viscount himself interrupts, balancing no less than four cups of lemonade in his hands with a knowing grin on his lips. He hands a glass first to Kate, then to Lady Danbury, Edwina, and Mary respectively.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury’s voice is still light, her eyes crinkling in what Kate already recognizes is fondness. “Your mother said you were seeking a wife this season, did she not?”

“Ah, yes,” Anthony replies easily. “An estate is quite a lot to manage on one’s own. I suppose one grows out of rakishness eventually, if your godson is any proof of the matter.”

Lady Danbury gives him a look of polite exasperation. Edwina is making suggestive looks in Kate’s direction – subtly, almost imperceptibly if Kate did not know her sister so well. Kate ignores her steadfastly, raising her chin.

Anthony clears his throat. “Apologies for the abbreviated introduction –”

“Lord Bridgerton, this is Lady Mary Sharma, Miss Edwina Sharma, and,” Lady Danbury looks pointedly at Kate, “I believe you’ve met my other guest this season already, Miss Kate Sharma.”

Curtseys and bows are exchanged, and Anthony turns back to Kate. “Do you have plans to wed this season, Miss Sharma? Is that what brings you to London?”

Kate nearly chokes on her lemonade. She covers her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, trying to minimize the coughing, as Edwina moves to rub gently on her sister’s back with traitorous amusement apparent on her face. “No, my lord,” she manages.

“No?” he repeats in confusion.

“I am here to see my sister,” Kate gestures to Edwina, “married. Then I shall return to India.”

“For now,” Edwina interjects, her voice as sweet as molasses. “For I would quite love to have my sister closer than oceans away – did you know she’s fluent in five languages?”

Kate’s eyebrows may well be separate from her forehead at this point. “Edwina, I–”

“Five,” Anthony repeats back readily. “Ah, most impressive Miss–”

“Anthony,” a voice interjects, and a woman who looks like she is between the ages of Mary and Lady Danbury appears. This must be Lady Bridgerton, Kate can only assume from the familiarity. “I believe I have not introduced you–”

“No need,” Anthony says readily, hands behind his back. “I was just making the acquaintance of the Miss Sharmas, here.”

“You were?” Lady Bridgerton asks, surprise clear in her tone.

“I was,” Anthony replies. It looks to be a continuation of an earlier conversation, one the rest of them were not privy to. “Have you met Lady Danbury’s guests?”

More introductions are made, and Kate is only growing more flushed. Mary, for her part, looks quite entertained by this exchange. Violet Bridgerton greets her with an easy warmth, and it’s clear at least some of the Ton do not hold gossip-fueled grudges. Anthony is practically bouncing on his heels, Lady Danbury looks pleased with herself, and Kate is feeling a headache coming on.

“I’m afraid I must introduce our guests to the Queen, I had hoped to catch her earlier in the evening,” Lady Danbury interrupts, eyes narrowing on a remarkably tall wig nearby. “Lord Bridgerton, Lady Bridgerton–”

More bows and curtseys are exchanged, Mary asks if such a thing is quite necessary for her to be there for, and Lady Danbury manages to steer all four of them to greet the Queen in a short amount of time. The interaction passes so quickly Kate curtseys from reflex more than anything else. Though the Queen’s dismissal is clearly coloured by their mother’s departure, Lady Danbury looks more determined than ever.

“I do relish a challenge,” Lady Danbury says, her head held high, and Kate is wondering if the night will develop into anything other than a challenge.

-

Anthony finds Benedict and Eloise, the latter sulking, by the refreshment table. He has a bounce in his step as he moves to speak to them, something Benedict eyes with amusement and Eloise with suspicion.

“Don’t tell me,” Eloise groans. “You pulled out a map on the ladies of the evening and asked them to label, sorting them in order of highest scores for viscountess eligibility.”

“Better,” Anthony counters his sister’s teasing with practiced ease. “I do believe I was challenged, and not  for the first time this evening. Are you drinking this?”

Before Benedict can answer, Anthony has already downed his glass. Benedict, ever unflappable, merely shrugs. 

“Was it not your plan to wait for the Diamond to be named to declare your intentions, brother?” Benedict asks, refilling his glass with a flask from his coat pocket.

“I shan’t need to, I believe,” Anthony says, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. “Perhaps the gossip rag of Eloise’s is right, to look at debutantes is to look in the wrong place for a match.”

Eloise does not even gloat at being determined correct by her eldest brother, even if they are occasions she could count on one hand. “Are you in your cups?”

Anthony gives her a withering sort of look she instantly returns.

“See, I pay you a compliment and you–”

“Who has you so enchanted, brother?” Benedict asks, ever the peacekeeper.

“Enchanted is a strong–”

“Fine, then, have you found a tolerable match?”

“Indeed,” Anthony nods. “Slight problem, though.”

“She is fictional,” Eloise counters.

“No,” Anthony shakes his head. “Quite real, thank you very much sister. She says she does not wish to marry.”

Eloise snickers, evidently entertained by Anthony’s predicament. “Oh, I quite like her already.”

“It is no matter,” Anthony retorts, shaking his head. “I do believe there have been hints that she could be persuaded.”

“Hints?” Benedict repeats the word in unison with Eloise.

“Very strong hints,” he emphasizes, waving his arms. “From both her and her sister, hints that perhaps she could consider a particularly persuasive offer.”

“And you’ll what? Persuade her by asking her how she’ll handle an unruly child, test her understanding of ledger accounting, dismiss her knowledge of world affairs–”

“Eloise–”

“Oh! I know! Perhaps you may lecture her on familial responsibility. I am sure that will make her so eager to marry you–”

“On top of being completely averse to love,” Benedict adds, and Anthony gives him a look of betrayal.

“I do believe I can offer quite the comfortable arrangement–”

Eloise and Benedict both groan.

“Wherein a woman could be quite happy,” Anthony continues. “Besides,” he looks around the ballroom pointedly, “have you seen these other gentlemen?”

“That is your case?” Eloise retorts, unimpressed. “That the crop in London is so dire that you look like an attractive option?”

“Many women find me quite attractive, thank–”

It’s at this that Eloise turns and leaves. Benedict gives Anthony a pat on the shoulder, a reassuring gesture that Anthony did not ask for. He’s feeling quite indignant now. He turns to leave, to find Lady Danbury’s party once more, and evade as many eager mothers and debutantes as possible along the way. He finds only his mother, who is staring quite pensively at the dance floor.

“Have you seen Lady Danbury’s guests–”

His mother casts him an amused look. “The elder Miss Sharma left, Anthony. She said she was feeling under the weather, I believe.”

Anthony frowns. “Is she quite alright?”

“An evening like this can be a lot for any young lady,” Violet says, as knowing as ever. “Although I confess it is refreshing to see you excited about one, for once.”

Anthony coughs. “‘Excited’ is a bit of an exaggeration. Relief is more accurate – it is a dismal few that I feel could handle the–”

“Responsibility,” his mother finishes easily. “It is the funniest thing. When I spoke to Miss Sharma, the first thing she spoke of was her own responsibility for her sister. It reminded me of someone.”

Anthony looks at the door. “I suppose it would.”

-

It has been a long evening, to say the absolute least. No sooner did Kate finally settle in her new chambers did Lady Danbury have some pointed words for her. It was not, as she had expected, chastisement for her flirtation above her rank – flirtation that would have been much more well-suited for her sister than it would be for a spinster of six and twenty. 

Lady Danbury had figured out the truth of the dowry quicker than she could imagine, holding the letter from the Sheffields as damning proof of Kate’s scheming. 

She explains this desperation to Lady Danbury as best as she can, how the support from the Sheffields – however conditional – meant her sister and Mary could live well in London. Finally, she would achieve what she had set out to do ever since her Appa passed. Edwina and Mary would be safe and comfortable.

“And what about you?” Lady Danbury asks, her voice pointed.

“I do not matter. This is... This is what I must do.”

Kate has repeated this so often to herself – tearfully, in between balancing ledgers that would not and could not balance, practicing English dance routines to teach to her sister until her legs shook, rehearsing the perfectly accented English that would always come easier to her sister than it did her. Her sister would be happy and get everything she deserved. This was enough for Kate.

“Become a spinster?” Lady Danbury asks, clearly unimpressed by Kate’s plans.

“If I could marry for the sake of my family, I would. But I am not Mama's daughter by birth. Edwina is.”

Lady Danbury’s eyes narrow. “It is Edwina’s future, and she has a right to know. I would urge you to tell her. As for your future, you must stop thinking of it as a closed matter. If you truly do wish to marry for the sake of your family, you do have quite enviable options.”

Kate sighs. “I am six and twenty, the daughter of a–”

“As I said,” Lady Danbury taps her cane pointedly. “Do not become your own worst enemy. You have options, Miss Sharma. I suggest you begin to embrace them.”

-

Lady Danbury is not surprised when the Queen calls her to the palace the next morning. She has spent many years unflappable, and this did not even warrant so much as an eyebrow raise. The latest Lady Whistledown was quite pointed, surely, but the Queen would likely only call her for one reason – she was on the precipice of a plan to address it.

Whistledown had not even released another issue since her last – it seemed as if she was waiting for the Queen’s response before her next missive. Queen Charlotte, for her part, seems deep in thought when Lady Danbury bows to address her.

“I must do something unexpected, Lady Danbury. Something even Lady Whistledown could never predict, for the idea of her feeling one step ahead of me in any regard is intolerable.”

“And I think Miss Edwina Sharma would be unexpected enough, Your Highness. The Sharma family is not well known to the ton, and she is the daughter of a previous Diamond. I would never endeavour to unduly influence you on the matter, but –”

“You wouldn’t, would you?” Queen Charlotte asks archly, taking a long sip of brandy. “I sense my strings being pulled.”

Lady Danbury, for her part, hardly looks chagrined. “Well, you could hardly pick a girl off the street and name her the Diamond of the season, could you?”

Queen Charlotte frowns, a look of concentration on her face. “I suppose that would not do.”

“Of course it would not,” Lady Danbury echoes, nodding. Another idea comes to her, as they often do. Agatha has always had a knack for thinking of the right thing quite at the right time. It was key for her survival for so long, and now serves her quite well in her amusements. “However, if a woman were already in the company of the Ton, perhaps sharing some family members by marriage with a former diamond herself…”

Queen Charlotte merely raises her eyebrows. “The daughter of a clerk, as I recall? Six and twenty?”

“You did ask for something unexpected, Your Highness, and you cannot deny her handsomeness. Even Viscount Bridgerton could not keep his eyes off her at the ball last evening. I daresay the most eligible bachelor of the season is already quite interested in courting her. You wanted to shake up this season, and I can imagine no better way to do it.”

The Queen just looks pensive in response. Lady Danbury knows then she is as good as dismissed. It was far better to merely plant the seed in her mind and allow her time to water it. By the time any growth appeared, she would grow convinced it was her own idea to begin with. It was not as if the Queen was not foresighted – quite the opposite. She knew better than anyone an idea would grow more credible by becoming her own, and so many had.

Lady Danbury takes her leave gracefully, smiling to herself. For all of the elder Miss Sharma’s protests, she would likely find herself quite marriageable indeed. If she truly wished to save her family, she might have arranged for an opportunity for her to do so – quite dramatically, as if there was any other way in London.

-

“Just remember, bon. There is no one here who can hold a candle to your grace,” Kate reminds Edwina just as they enter the Queen’s ball, Lady Danbury and Mary at their heels. Edwina is overwhelmed by the sights, and Kate cannot say she’s unaffected herself.

Edwina turns to her sister, eyes wary. “And if all does go to plan…”

“You shall have your pick of suitor,” Kate says, looping her arm through her sister’s. “They shall be lining up to court you.”

“Then how shall I know if the suitor is interested in me or the perception of the Diamond?” Edwina asks. 

“That’s why you have me to separate any wheat from chaff,” Kate replies easily. “You deserve a man who does not scare easily.”

Edwina squeezes her hand, and they approach the Queen a united party before curtseying before her.

“Your Majesty. Lady Mary Sharma, Miss Kate Sharma, Miss Edwina Sharma,” Lady Danbury introduces them again, as unflappable as ever.

The Queen eyes them with curiosity. Kate looks at Edwina, eager at the idea of Lady Danbury’s plans already taking root. 

“Miss Kate Sharma,” the Queen says, and Kate takes a second too long to respond from her surprise.

“Your Majesty,” she responds quickly, as gracefully as practiced. 

“How are you finding London?”

She tries to mask her surprise and maintain a polite countenance. “Quite lovely, your majesty, it is as beautiful as I remember.”

It may have been a mistake to reference her past visit, given the scandal that resulted after Mary had fled. But the Queen just keeps appraising her, and they are dismissed. Kate looks at Edwina, then Lady Danbury, with confusion written all over her features.

“What was–”

Lady Danbury says nothing, looking satisfied. Kate looks to Edwina again next, who looks contemplative.

“Edwina, I–”

Edwina grasps her hands, and it’s then Kate notices she’s smiling. “Oh, my beautiful sister. You have spent so long polishing me, I daresay you’ve forgotten how you shine.”

Kate gapes. It seems as if she’s walked into the most bizarre of dreams, where everything is opposite how it should be. She is a spinster and the daughter of a clerk, and the Queen must have been needling at some strange curiosity. Before she can say as much to reassure her sister, another voice joins their party.

“Miss Sharma, Miss Edwina,” Anthony Bridgerton says, greeting both of them before greeting Mary and Lady Danbury respectively. He turns back to Kate. “Any chance you’ve remembered your dance card this evening, Miss Sharma?”

Kate is about to respond that she does not have a dance card, before Lady Danbury holds one between her fingertips, gesturing for Kate to take the booklet. Kate flushes, the evening only growing more confusing. Anthony loops it around her wrist before she can protest. He tightens the string of it to fit, and his fingers are firm and warm through her gloves. He writes his name on two dances – the first of the evening and the dinner set – before moving to fill out one of Edwina’s.

“Unless, of course,” Anthony says, looking up at her through his eyelashes. Kate nearly wants to stomp her foot in frustration, so vexed by the evening she barely has the footing too. “You were unimpressed by my dancing, that is. A lady has the right of refusal.”

She does not know what to make of him or his intentions, and the confusion of the night only builds. “Lord Bridgerton, surely one dance would suffice. You must have quite the full evening, do you not?”

“All the more reason to ensure those dances are reserved early,” he counters easily. “Before your dance card fills.”

She wants to point out that, up until about a minute ago, she had no dance card at all. Anthony only winks, inappropriate and infernal, before leaving. 

Kate grasps her sister’s hand once more. “Do I have a fever, bon?”

Edwina laughs, shaking her head. “Oh, do not look so surprised. You were the envy of many women at the royal court back home, I would cling to your skirts and the boys would follow from a greater distance.”

“I was much younger then,” Kate points out.

“Lord Bridgerton is older than you, is he not? You are hardly at death’s door.”

Kate sighs heavily. She had spent a truly exhausting amount of time learning the customs of this country, of this society, only to have the rug pulled from under her. Surely she was not so ignorant of what this society was, or what it had become since she boarded the ship from India. Even Lady Danbury and Mary’s comments about the Ton from their arrival seemed more in line with her expectations. But everyone treated this as quite normal indeed, from Lady Danbury to Mary to Edwina. Sure, there were whispers around them – whispers that Kate pointedly did not listen to – but it did not make sense that the Queen would linger with or that a viscount would request multiple dances with a spinster that did not carry a dance card until just now.

Then the Queen moves to make her announcement, the room waiting with baited breath, and Kate breathes a sigh of relief. She looks to Edwina, beaming, who just looks at her with confusion as the Queen makes her announcement.

Queen Charlotte clears her throat, clearly irritated to have to be repeating herself.

“Miss Kate Sharma.”

Now Edwina is smiling at her, her eyebrows raised as if to urge her forward, and Kate is being escorted by the Queen’s right hand man. Everything that occurs after that is a blur, muscle memory of preparations that were meant for Edwina , practiced by her feet, taking over.

She’s almost relieved to see Anthony stepping forward. The Queen is smiling, and Kate has lost sensation in much of her body. This is the strangest of dreams, and at any given moment she should wake up.

“Viscount Bridgerton. Have you yet met my new incomparable?” the Queen asks, and Anthony grins widely as he thumbs at the dance card on her wrist.

“I believe I’ve already claimed her first dance of the evening, Your Majesty.”

“Lucky you,” the Queen says, her smile widening.

And Kate just nods, because what else is she going to do at this point?

Anthony must notice that she is having a bit of a shock, as his hand feels steadying and his eyes constant. “Just keep looking at me,” he says softly, as if they’re friends and any of this is to be expected.

Kate exhales. “Do you have any idea what is going on?”

“I believe,” Anthony says, his tone light. “That I should be quite lucky indeed to have been the first to fill out your dance card, Miss Sharma. It may be growing quite full by the time we finish this dance.”

“Is this all a very elaborate joke? Are you in on it?”

Anthony laughs. “Perhaps the Queen grew tired of eighteen year olds.”

“That is quite a jump,” Kate counters. She mutters the next part under her breath, highlighting the absurdity. “I spent my dowry on getting here, it does not make any sense.”

“So you are considering marriage, then?” Anthony says, eyebrows raising.

“I did not say that.”

“It was the implication, was it not?”

Kate sighs, aware of the eyes on her. She looks around the ballroom, and the crowd is a mixed reception. Some look like they’ve taken a sip of a punch that sounded questionable, then determined it tasted just fine after all – a perplexed sort of acceptance on their countenance. Others, like Lady Featherington and Lady Cowper, look downright incensed. Kate looks from one side of the crowd to the other, unsure of what to do with attention she was not prepared to handle.

“Hey,” Anthony’s voice is gentle as they are face to face once more. “What did I say about looking at me, hm?”

“Edwina was supposed to be the Diamond,” Kate says, the words nearly a hiss. “Truly.”

“She does not seem upset, if that’s what concerns you.”

“All of this concerns me,” she says. “I do not know if there is a single part of this that doesn’t.”

It’s then that she spots Lady Danbury over Anthony’s shoulder, raising her glass as if to say ‘you’re welcome’ .

“Do I concern you?”

“I am still making my mind up about you, let alone the rest.”

“Oh, so you have not made it up yet?” Anthony counters, and the music ends. He presses a chaste – yet still scandalous – kiss to the back of her gloved hand. “Perhaps we can sort that out during the dinner set.”

And then Kate is absolutely swarmed.

-

Lord Lumely, she learns, likes poetry. She directs him to Edwina for his next set, hoping literature is a topic of lively enough conversation for them. Lord Cho is a bit of a pig, and she steps on his toes intentionally whenever he gets too close. Lord Fife is entertaining, though clearly still in the midst of his own rakish escapades. Lord Burr is a terrible dancer, although very rich, and she makes a note to ask if Edwina minds much if her groom has two left feet. Mr. Bridgerton, Anthony’s brother Benedict, is a relief entirely – he mentions that his brother and sister insisted that she be saved from Lord Gerig’s pencil, and she finds herself grateful for all three of them. 

She finally finds a break, and grasps for her sister like she is shore when Kate has been lost at sea.

“Edwina, I am so—”

Edwina only squeals, wrapping her arms around her sister. “Look at you, didi! Envy of the Ton, are you not?”

Kate’s eyes nearly bulge. “You are not angry?”

“Angry?” Edwina asks, pulling back to look at her sister. “Whatever for? It is quite the treat to see my sister, who has been the most diligent and loving sister one could ask for, whisked off her feet.”

“But you–”

“And likely to stay in London, too! Unless you’d like to invoke the ire of the Queen,” Edwina says, voice turning stern.

“I suppose not, but Edwina–”

“Lord Lumely was kind, I must say I like your method of sieving. I do not have to worry at all about such interests being genuine when they’re prepared by my most attentive sister.”

Kate grasps her sister’s wrists. “Truly, bon. You have every right to be upset. I do not know what has gotten into the Queen, but we will not let this ruin your season.”

“The only thing the Queen has confirmed is her own good taste,” Edwina retorts easily. “Now, I do believe this next dance you shall actually look forward to.”

As if on cue, Anthony appears. 

-

Well, it appears Anthony has found himself with competition.

It is a good thing he thrives in competitive environments, to say the least. He cannot say he was expecting the Queen’s pronouncement – the Diamonds were always ingenues, well settled into London’s society – but he does not disagree with it. Perhaps Eloise’s favourite gossip papers had baited her into such a decision, but Miss Sharma is striking and witty enough that it’s hardly a bad one. 

But it is clear, that after a night of being shuffled around by lords, that Kate is still finding her footing.

Not literally, her footwork is impeccable and his toes are never tread upon. But her panic is not so different from Eloise’s at her debut just recently, and Anthony finds himself wishing to calm her.

“Relax, Miss Sharma,” Anthony insists. “This is just another of our friendly conversations.”

“Friendly?” she retorts, raising an eyebrow. “I think we spend more time needling each other more than anything, my lord.”

“Ah, that seemed to be a place of some comfort.”

Of all things, this is what makes her shoulders lower and her breathing temper. “I suppose it is. Have you made your case for reconsideration, then?”

“Of my marriageability?”

Kate makes a disbelieving noise. “Of your character.”

“I am not seeking a dowry, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Is that meant to be a testament to your character or just your wealth?”

“Both, admittedly.”

Kate sighs. “Why do you wish to marry?”

“I manage a large estate and have seven brothers and sisters, as previously established,” Anthony replies easily. “I wish to have children of my own, ideally ones that can inherit some of their mother’s brains–”

“Oh, like breeding stock,” Kate retorts.

“Do you often take the least charitable interpretation of a gentleman’s words, Miss Sharma? I thought you would appreciate candor. Indeed, candor is a trait I would seek out in a wife.”

“I do, I suppose,” Kate grants. “So, in all of your conditions for a wife–”

“Now you sound like my siblings.”

“I cannot help but notice one absence – are you not seeking a love match, Lord Bridgerton?”

Anthony sighs, considering his words. He owes her truthfulness. “The only thing I am seeking is a suitable match so I may fulfill my responsibility to my family and ensure my siblings are taken care of. Is that such a terrible answer?”

Kate pauses before replying. “No. I suppose it is not.”

“I never got the chance to ask you if your father is in town, though I perhaps you’d find it all rather–”

“He passed years ago,” Kate says.

“Oh,” Anthony murmurs in response, meeting her eyes again. “As did mine. Another thing we have in common, I suppose.”

Kate looks at him, truly looks at him for a moment – the honeyed flecks of his eyes, the proud set of his jaw – and finds him something far worse than handsome. She sees herself in how he raises his chin, puffs out his chest, and finds him stunning all the same. It’s a realization far from ideal.

-

Lady Danbury looks downright smug on the carriage ride back to her home.

“Well, Miss Sharma,” she says, not even bothering to hold back her self-satisfied glee. “It appears you are not quite the spinster you thought you were.”

“It is rather romantic,” Edwina adds, a smile on her lips. “Oh, I was just saying to Kate – how would you tell if a man’s affections were true if you were named Diamond? But the viscount was seeking Kate out before she was even named, was he not?”

“Indeed he was,” Lady Danbury responds.

Kate exhales quite sharply. “Events of the evening – perplexing, confounding events – aside, Lord Bridgerton is not seeking a love match.”

“Ah, but the true love match is rare,” Lady Danbury counters easily. “After all, Miss Sharma – were you not just telling me that you would marry for the sake of your family if you could?”

“When was this?” Edwina asks, eyes alighting with curiosity. “Oh, but Kate – it is as you tell me, you should marry a man you care for. And perhaps though Lord Bridgerton says now he is not looking for a love match…”

“I believe him at his word, Edwina,” Kate replies softly.

“As you probably should,” Lady Danbury says, agreeing with her for once. “Nevertheless, a viscount is a most attractive proposition indeed.”

A proposition that would render the business with the Sheffields null and void, Kate reads between the lines. But despite Anthony’s insistence that her lack of dowry was no matter to him – a forward and baffling thing to say – she could not expect him to do so for her sister.

But Lady Danbury is looking at her, her expectations clear on her face, and she knows the woman is right.

“I suppose it is,” Kate says, and Edwina nearly squeals.

-

“What on earth is going on?” Kate asks, stepping into the drawing room. The hallway was a crowded mess, lords and gentlemen lining down the staircase with flowers in their hands. They’d all greeted her with warmth and nervousness, and she returned their greetings filled with uncertainty.

“Welcome to being a Diamond, Miss Sharma,” Lady Danbury says, grinning. “Some suitors are Miss Edwina’s, of course, but–”

“I cannot both entertain them and chaperone my sister,” Kate argues, gesturing to the door.

“Lady Mary will chaperone Miss Edwina in the parlor, and I shall chaperone you in the drawing room,” Lady Danbury replies. “It is already settled, Miss Sharma.”

Newton looks up from his spot on the rug, tilting his head as if he is just as perplexed as Kate is with the situation. Kate sighs. By the look on Lady Danbury’s face, the matter is already settled.

“I did not plan to marry, Lady Danbury.”

“And look at you now, with half of Mayfair’s eligible bachelors lined up to court you. It’d be quite foolish to not take advantage of the situation, would it not?”

Lady Danbury’s tone suggests the conversation is settled. Once again, Kate cannot see a better alternative. 

“Well, if you’d like to talk to any of the gentlemen, you’d best start now,” Lady Danbury says, pointing to the clock on the wall. 

“I was hoping to go to the races this afternoon,” Kate says rather mournfully.

“Ah, so one of the gentlemen can accompany you,” Lady Danbury replies readily. “I hear Lord Bridgerton is quite enthusiastic about the races, himself.”

“And yet I did not see him in the line of callers,” Kate says, and before she can press the matter there’s a knock at the door. Lady Danbury gives her a knowing look – a common expression from her in the last twenty-four hours – and opens the door.

“Ah, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury greets the viscount readily. “Your calling card arrived this morning, good for you to have the sense to send it with my valet last night.”

“Lady Danbury,” he greets, “Miss Sharma. I believe I may have frustrated some of the gentlemen waiting in line by cutting to the front, but as you mentioned–” he grins, adjusting his waistcoat. “I did leave a card first.”

Kate looks at him, exasperated. He’s holding four bouquets, all colorful arrangements. “For you, Lady Danbury,” he says, passing the pleased woman her own flowers. “I thought I’d leave Miss Edwina and Lady Mary bouquets, as well. And then of course,” he presents the final bouquet to Kate with a flourish, “for you, Miss Sharma.”

Kate shakes her head in exasperation. “Did you buy all of the lilies in Mayfair, my lord?”

“Ah, they reminded me a bit of you for some reason,” he replies. She does not blush. She does get close to it.

“I assume you’ve come to discuss your thoughts on marriage more, have you?”

“You’re straight to the point, Miss Sharma. I respect it.”

“And I’ve heard you’re far from subtle yourself,” Kate counters. “Edwina was telling me half the debutantes in London have been at the mercy of your exhausting interviews. Have you come for mine?”

“I believe I’ve come for mine, as it happens,” he says, easily settling into the chair opposite her. Kate sighs, sitting next to Lady Danbury on the settee.

“You are not seeking a love match,” Kate reiterates.

“Are you?” he asks.

“Up until less than twenty-four hours ago, I was not seeking marriage at all.”

“So you are now?” Anthony asks, and Kate nearly laughs.

“You must forgive me for my surprise at my change in circumstances, my lord, I’ve hardly time to adjust.”

“Would it help if I said the past twenty-four hours did not change much for me at all?”

“You jest.”

“I do not,” Anthony replies, rather defensively.

Lady Danbury moves to sit elsewhere, as if the settee was not the preferred seating area to be entertained. She instead opts for a nearby table, amusement still on her face.

“So what are your conditions for a wife, then?” Kate asks.

“I believe I should be asking you what conditions you’re looking for in a husband, given you have candidates wrapped around your staircase.”

Kate does laugh, then, in a disbelieving tone. “I suppose I have not had much time to think about it.”

“I can be patient,” Anthony says, in a tone that implies he's often the opposite.

Kate raises her eyebrows, amused. “Ah, then I suppose my condition is a good horseman.”

Anthony looks between her and Lady Danbury carefully. “I’ll have to show you the best of my horsemanship, then. Say, do you have any interest in attending the races this afternoon? My family has quite a box.”

“I prefer to watch at the stands.”

“Then we shall watch at the stands, then.”

Kate shakes her head. “You are rather unbelievable.”

“Is that another trait you’re looking for in a husband?”

“How many children do you wish to have?” she counters instead, hoping to catch him off guard.

“Less than eight, certainly,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“Should they be required to be named in alphabetical order?”

“Heavens, no. You caught that, did you? Daphne is carrying on the tradition so I do not have to.”

“And would you be involved in your children’s lives?”

“Of course,” Anthony says readily. “My father was –”

He stops. A beat of silence passes. Kate frowns, and Anthony is staring rather steadily at a spot in the rug. 

“My lord?” she asks, voice careful. 

It’s like a part of his facade has been chipped, a blank stare on his face. He slumps, just the smallest inch, and she resists the urge to reflexively sit next to him.

Instead, she clears her throat. “My father was quite attentive, too,” she murmurs, voice quiet. “I miss him terribly. I try to hold on to the good memories of him as often as I can. There’s not a week that passes between my sister and I where we are not quoting something he would say to us.”

Anthony looks up at her with relief. “Ah. That’s…erm.”

He’s about to say something before he stops himself, moving to stand rather quickly. “Shall I see you at the races, Miss Sharma?”

Kate frowns at the abrupt transition. She’d rather speak to him more, needle away at the riddle that was the viscount, more than she’d like to entertain any of the suitors in the hallway. But she nods. It was good not to pin one’s hopes on any one particular, irritating prospect.

He gives a quick nod in response. “Glad to hear it, I’ll have my carriage sent before.”

Just as abruptly as he entered the room, arms full of flowers, he leaves it.

-

As frustrating as Anthony Bridgerton was, at least he was not incredibly boring.

The same cannot be said for many of the men in line at Lady Danbury’s. Mr. Collins is seemingly convinced his sermons are convincing courtship material, despite the fact that Kate practices Hinduism. She supposes that perhaps got past the Queen’s hasty purview, but the man stands to leave as soon as Kate mentions it. She turns to Lady Danbury, who merely shrugs.

Then there is Mr. Wite, a man twice her age she instantly dismisses.

“He is enormously wealthy, you know,” Lady Danbury almost grumbles. “But I suppose when the alternative is a young handsome viscount, your standards are deservedly higher.”

Kate ignores this, and welcomes in Lord Elliot. He speaks of a lost love and instantly weeps, leaving Kate awkwardly passing him handkerchiefs and furiously gesturing for him to be escorted out to Lady Danbury’s staff. Lord Quick is polite, but conversations that do not consist of ranking all of Beethoven’s compositions quickly bore him. Then there is Baron Everly, who is evidently allergic to dogs and incessantly sneezes while glaring at Newton.

By the time the afternoon comes, Kate is suddenly very grateful for her planned excursion to the races, despite Lord Bridgerton’s earlier awkwardness.

By the time he opens the carriage door with a flourish, Edwina and Lord Lumely in tow at his insistence, Kate has exhausted her patience with suitors.

“Are you allergic to dogs?” she asks.

“No,” Lord Lumely answers, confusion on his face.

“Lord Bridgerton,” Kate says, nearly kicking him as she says it. “Do you possess a dog allergy?”

He looks amused, at least. “I cannot say I do. Franny had a cat for a while. We told her he got lost, and I recommend you stick to that story.”

Kate frowns. “What happened to it?”

“Beethoven took ill,” he says, frowning. “It was hard to break the news to her.”

“That is a name I could sooner not hear,” Kate mutters, fiddling with her gloves.

“Not a fan of his compositions, Miss Sharma?”

“Not nearly enough for some gentlemen, evidently,” she retorts. “Are you a devout sort of man, Lord Bridgerton?”

This is enough to cause Anthony to pause.

“I fear I must ask the intent of the question before I can answer it.”

Edwina snickers. Kate continues, unbothered. “I practice Hinduism, is that an issue?”

“Am I expected anywhere early in the morning?”

Kate shakes her head.

“Then no, it is not. Have you had a long sort of morning?”

“It is as if half of the men in this town are utterly inept at simple conversation,” Kate says, glancing at Lord Lumley apologetically. “No offense intended, of course, my lord.”

Anthony laughs. “Oh, he gets no offense intended and I do not?”

She resists the urge to jab him in the ribs. “Oh, I think you quite enjoy taking a bit of offense.”

“Suddenly I am wondering if we are to be chaperoned at this race,” Lord Lumely mutters as Kate fans herself.

“Benedict appointed himself,” Anthony grants. “I suppose he is the most sensible sort of representative from my family.”

“At least he can make decent conversation,” Kate agrees.

“And I do not?” Anthony retorts, a little defensively.

“Something tells me neither of you struggle with conversation,” Edwina remarks wryly. Kate and Anthony share a look, and Kate pretends to not be biting back a smile.

-

Kate is rather stubborn, Anthony learns.

She pointedly does not take his hand while disembarking (from his carriage, mind you). When Anthony offers his family’s box again, he knows she will refuse – and she does wholeheartedly, pointedly sitting in the stands near the race. And when he dares as to so much suggest that Nectar might be the preferred horse in this race, she has the nerve to laugh at him. It is not a polite, demure laugh. It is full-throated and loud, and he nearly blusters to match her tone.

“What is so entertaining to you about preferring the horse that clearly has the advantage?” he asks.

Next to them, Benedict is grinning in that annoying way that only seems to apply to half of his face. 

“Oh, because everyone else thinks it’s a winning horse?” Kate retorts.

“No, because Nectar has a winning streak.”

“Under entirely different conditions!” Kate exclaims, explaining at length the conditions of the track, the weather, and how each might impact the horse’s performance. Anthony gives her a disbelieving look, which only serves to make her more stubborn.

“Let’s make it a wager, then,” Anthony offers.

“You gamble often, do you?”

“No more than I can afford to lose. If High Flyer wins…” he pauses, trying to think of something. “I’ll gift you a horse.”

“A horse ?” she echoes, baffled. “A horse. A miniature, perhaps? A Trojan horse?”

“A living, breathing horse for you to race me at your leisure. Please do not try to climb inside of it.”

“And if Nectar wins?”

“According to you, this is an impossibility.”

“Of course, but you since you seem certain of your own victory, what would you like in return?"

Anthony shrugs. “Oh, I suppose you’d have to marry me.”

Benedict spits out his lemonade, and it has the unfortunate result of landing directly on Anthony’s face. He grimaces, glaring at Benedict, who is now apologetically wiping his handkerchief on his brother’s face. 

“That is the correct response,” Kate says, clearly smug.

Anthony holds out his hand and his remaining shred of dignity. “Of course, it is to be revisited at a later time if Nectar does, indeed, lose.”

“So it is not a one time offer?” Kate asks archly, raising her chin. He quite likes when she does that, likes to admire the curve of her jaw and the length of her neck. It would be easier to admire her if his eyes were not still stinging with lemonade. 

“It is not,” he says, “but if you accept this bet, and Nectar wins…”

“I’d have to accept your presumptive proposal,” she says warily, eyeing his hand. “It is a good thing High Flyer will win, then.”

She takes his hand and shakes it, accepting his deal. He grins widely.

Chapter Text

Kate wins, of course.

It is a closer call than she must have seen coming, judging by the decibel she cheers on her horse at and the perspiration on her brow. Anthony had rarely seen a woman whistle, and never so exuberantly, but her eyes are shining and her smile wide when she looks at him.

“I’ve never bested a viscount before,” she says, satisfaction evident in both her words and tone. 

“Tell me, are you more pleased with your victory – a matter of chance, mind you –”

“Oh, hardly.”

“Nectar was only the smallest distance from–”

“And yet, Nectar slowed down at the end due to the conditions of the track, precisely as I had predicted.”

“So you find fault with the horse?”

“No,” Kate replies quickly, shaking her head. It’s as if she’s more concerned about the prospect of offending the horse, a creature quite far away who does not have the capacity to be offended, than she is the man courting her. “It is a fine horse.”

A man she’d gambled her hand in marriage to, to be clear.

“Indeed, it is a fine horse,” he says, standing. Kate eyes him warily when he offers her his arm. “Perhaps I shall take you down to see him? See if the horse meets your high standards?”

He suddenly remembers there are other people in their party, and clears his throat. “Ah, of course, if anyone would like to join – Miss Edwina, Lord Lumely, Ben–”

“I shall check on Eloise,” Benedict says, already squeezing himself past the crowd. “It seems you are equipped with riding experts, which I can lay no claim to.”

Edwina, for her part, gives them a well-manner smile. “Ah, I believe Lord Lumely promised to share some more of his poetry with me.”

Lord Lumely positively beams. Kate just gives her sister a look – clearly communicating silently with her in a way their company is not meant to understand. If Anthony were to attempt to interpret such a look, after years of growing up with siblings, it may be somewhere in the vein of, ‘Is he bothering you? Do you want this?’

Edwina’s polite smile gives nothing away. 

Anthony clears his throat. “Ah, you know Eloise enjoys reading quite a bit.”

At this, Edwina brightens. “She does?”

“Indeed,” Anthony says, clasping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder. He turns around in confusion before putting the hint together.

“Of course, Miss Edwina, would you like an introduction?”

Edwina nods. Kate looks relieved to not be leaving her sister alone with potentially unpleasant company. Lord Lumely looks disappointed, and Anthony feels a bit proud of himself for such a maneuver. Kate then takes his arm, and the sense of accomplishment rises in him. 

As they walk away from the crowd in the stands, Kate leans over to speak in his ear. “I suppose she may not be enamored with Lord Lumely.”

“I believe Benedict once described him as being slightly less entertaining than watching paint dry.”

Kate presses the back of her gloved hand against her mouth, suppressing a laugh. “Oh, be careful, my lord, you may get me into–”

“More trouble than wagering your hand in marriage?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, we were jesting, were we not?”

Anthony stops. Kate gives him a dubious look. 

“Do you think I was serious about the conditions if I won?” he asks archly.

Kate merely shakes her head in amusement. “Ah, my lord, I can only assume it was a game we were both playing along with.”

“You assumed I was jesting?” he repeats, almost offended. “So you only were willing to bet a bethrothal if such was a jest, were you?”

“Why? Is that customary in London?”

He has a disbelieving reply on his lips, but she’s laughing. At him. He sighs. 

Nectar is a fine horse, really. Anthony eyes him carefully, remembers his winning record, estimates the rough cost, and – 

“So if I had won,” he says, “If Nectar here had won, you’d not follow through? That’s hardly honorable.”

“I do not genuinely think you’d buy me this horse,” Kate retorts, rolling her eyes. “It was all quite–”

“Oh, you don’t, do you?”

“Of course not.”

“Hm,” he says, rocking back on his heels. Anthony raises his eyebrows. Kate just looks at him.

“Something funny, my lord?”

“Quite,” he replies. Anthony flags down one of the horse’s attendants. “Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes?” a rather gruff looking man replies, looking rather irritated with him.

“Lord Bridgerton, what are you–”

Anthony ignores her. “Is this to be the last of Nectar’s races?”

“He’ll be sent to the knacker’s yard, yes,” the attendant replies. He pats the head of the horse, a little mournfully. “Bit of a shame, had a good season until now.”

Kate frowns. She’s looking the creature up and down with some sympathy on her face.

“How much for him?” Anthony asks.

Kate’s head snaps in his direction. “My lord, you cannot be–”

“I am very serious,” he assures her. “If we are to be married, you should know I am a serious sort of man.”

“You forget, you lost,” Kate counters. “As of now, we are to be no such thing.”

“I’ve hardly forgotten, I am a man of my word. I am indeed buying you a horse–”

“You are not .”

“And I believe our word was that such a suit would be revisited upon Nectar’s loss. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a horse to buy.”

He walks her back to the stands, ever the gentlemen, and Kate is still laughing and shaking her head as she watches him leave.

-

The viscount is ridiculous.

Truly. It was not as if she expected any of their earlier, competitive talk to be meant to be binding. She still was not sure how she felt about any of it – his perplexing suit, her newly minted status, the status quo she’d expected being entirely flipped over. It was as if in preparing for London she’d meticulously arranged an English dining table, cloths and flatware and laborious dishes included – only to find the table turned on its side. 

Kate is contemplating this, watching Anthony go – another wink over his shoulder, truly this man was absurd – when she hears other nearby voices.

“Did you know she is not even Lady Mary’s daughter?”

It sounds shrill enough to be a Cowper. Kate pays it no mind, but her smile drops from her face as she keeps her chin held high.

“I did not know what the Queen was thinking, surely we have enough well-bred girls younger than a spinster. To not pay any mind to my girls, and yet…”

Surely, Lady Featheringnton and Lady Cowper must know she can hear them. Kate sighs. A girl of good training would ignore such comments, keep her head held high, and walk away. It was what she had taught Edwina to do, after all. A proper English lady would adhere to the rules of etiquette –

“And did you see her with the viscount? Whistling? Practically throwing herself at him, such ill-manners and poor breeding. But what would you expect, from the daughter of–”

Kate turns around sharply, striding forward until she meets the eyes of the Cowper women and Lady Featherington.

“My apologies, ladies,” she says, voice saccharine and smile wide. “I do believe in all of this excitement, we have not been formally introduced. I would dearly love to know the names of women so eager to commit treason.”

They gape at her. She then notices Edwina paces away, next to Benedict and a series of people who could only be Anthony’s siblings. Kate strides towards them and away from the unpleasant company, giving the women one final smug smile, and straightens her shoulders.

It was not as if she asked for this attention. She keeps a neutral countenance firmly on her face.

Kate had not fully processed the change in circumstances, but she was no fool. Clearly, the Queen had other motivations than a pleasing curtsy to name a woman of six and twenty without noble birth her jewel of the season. She has no idea what they may be – perhaps Lady Danbury’s own complex machinations, perhaps the urge to simply stir up gossip – but it was not as if she had asked for any of it. Everything had been for Edwina’s sake, as it had always been. Kate was meant to merely be on the sidelines, protecting her sister’s best interest, and whisking herself away the moment she was no longer useful.

For that was what Kate found satisfaction – being useful to her mother and sister. Kate is considering this as she approaches Edwina and the Bridgertons, hoping that such changes did not mean Edwina’s reputation would be sullied.

“Kate!” Edwina exclaims, hurrying over to grab her sister’s arms. She’s evidently already grown quite comfortable around the Bridgertons. “Oh, come meet everyone! Everyone, this is Kate.”

“Miss Sharma,” a man shorter than Benedict, with rounder cheeks than both he and Anthony, greets her first. “Colin Bridgerton. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, apologies for missing you at other events, I was–”

“In Greece,” a girl around Edwina’s age rolls her eyes. She keeps her shoulders low and posture irregular as if on purpose, but she smiles at Kate. “I’m Eloise. You can ignore Colin, it’s all he’s been–”

“Hey!” Colin says, offended. “Forgive me for explaining my absence!”

“It wasn’t noted or noticed,” Eloise counters.

“I heard you have a dog,” a young girl pipes up. 

“And that he’s very short,” a young boy, barely older than his sister, adds. 

“Hyacinth and Gregory,” Benedict introduces them for Kate’s sake.

“I suppose if I get lost I should refer to the alphabet, then?” Kate asks, amused. “Pleasure to meet everyone. I do indeed have a dog. His name is Newton, I’m sure he will take quite a few promenades with me this season.”

Anthony returns to their party with a light jog, his hand keeping his hat atop his head, and Kate bites back a grin. “Whatever they’ve told you–”

Colin looks offended, yet again. “Oh, so everything is about you, is it?”

“We cannot even introduce ourselves,” Eloise piles on.

“As if we have nothing more interesting to speak of then you, brother,” Colin continues, and Anthony rolls his eyes. 

Kate makes a connection. “Erm, F?”

“F?” Anthony repeats, confused. “Oh! Francesca! She’s in Bath for pianoforte lessons, she’s quite good. Our mother mentioned going to Lady Danbury’s for tea this afternoon.”

He says it in a tone that implies it cannot be for good reason. Kate gives him a quizzical look.

“Ah. You have not been around long enough to see how they co-conspire. It is quite the amusing sight to behold, if you are not the one in the crosshairs,” Benedict says, voice glib. “Which I suppose you both would be, come to think of it.”

-

It really is quite the nice tea.

Well, the tea was the same as usual. What was not is the idea of Violet’s eldest son not only courting, but courting with quite the spring in his step. When Anthony had announced his intention to marry, it had been in his usual toneless manner – as if selecting a viscountess were a simple business transaction, like balancing the ledgers after crop yields or deciding on a vote in parliament. Actually, Violet had seen him much more animated about parliament if such matters had to do with lobbying for higher subsistence for families or innkeepers.

No, marriage was a far less exciting topic for Anthony until fairly recently.

He maintained that he was not seeking a love match, of course. Anthony repeatedly insisted, to her, to his siblings, that he was merely looking for an appropriate viscountess whose company he could tolerate and whom he could trust to rear his children.

(Of course, he said this and then promptly dismissed the larger part of eligible bachelorettes in London, until –)

(Well, the same evening she met Miss Kate Sharma she watched her son utterly unable to look at anything or anyone else, and that was before she was named Diamond.)

Now Anthony speaks of his courtship of Miss Kate Sharma as a practical thing. She is the Diamond, she is confident and capable, and she should perform her duties well – he says this dryly, practiced, over correspondence at his desk or to his siblings when they tease him adamantly. Even when Violet looks at him for a beat too long, when she meets his declarations with a pointed sort of silence, he immediately refers back to his script – duty, responsibility, obligation.

So it’s quite amusing to hear that side of her son paired with how he trips over himself to get out the door in the morning to call upon her with a baffling amount of flowers.

Violet relays this to Lady Danbury, of course.

“Miss Sharma is no better,” Lady Danbury replies with a snicker of her own. “Do you know she did not wish to marry until the Queen named her?”

Violet gasps. “She is hardly an old maid.”

“It’s as I told her – but she did say something curious to me, that evening of my conservatory ball. She said if she could marry for the sake of her family, she would.”

 “Are all eldest children like this?” Violet asks, taking a long sip of her tea. “Truly? Or are they just that well-matched?”

“Perhaps both,” Lady Danbury concedes. “And the Queen will get her wish, I am sure. We will shake up the season quite a bit, indeed.”

“Where is Lady Mary?” Violet asks, peering past the parlor. “Is she excited about her daughters’ promising debuts, then?”

Lady Danbury sighs. “Another headache, I believe. She is not much for London society after her return.”

“I cannot say I blame her,” Violet demurs.

“I do think she’s quite worried they might respond to Kate the way they did her,” Lady Danbury frowns. “Being a Diamond is not always the only protection a woman needs from the Ton, as she well knows.”

“Well, I suppose it is a good thing Anthony is rather protective,” Violet smiles.

“Miss Sharma has a spine of steel, I daresay she won’t be needing that protection,” Lady Danbury counters. 

“All the better, she may need it with him, too.”

They sip their tea in satisfied silence.

-

Kate tries to make things as ordinary as possible for Edwina when they return to Lady Danbury’s. They join Lady Danbury and their mother in the parlor after Anthony’s carriage drops them off, and Kate immediately directs the topic of conversation to her sister.

“So, Lord Lumely is likely a no,” she surmises, pouring herself a cup of tea and willing herself not to gag as she sips it.

Edwina looks contemplative. “Not a hard no, I would say.”

“He is quite wealthy,” Lady Danbury adds.

“Which is not everything,” their mother chimes in, and Lady Danbury merely cocks her head rather than arguing the point.

“I suppose you’ve settled on your prospects, which are indeed and mercifully wealthy, Miss Sharma?” Lady Danbury asks pointedly.

Kate flushes, and changes the subject back to her sister. “I did see the Earl of Plymouth called, was he charming?”

Edwina merely shakes her head in amusement. “Oh sister, I daresay I’m more interested to see of what becomes of your prospects than I am mine.”

Kate tuts. “You forget, bon, I have spent time studying how to find you the best match possible.”

“And yet yours simply falls in your lap,” Edwina says teasingly. 

“I would not say that,” Kate counters.

“Oh? Did any of the other men catch your eye, then? Was it the man allergic to dogs? Or the one who did not stop weeping?"

Kate flushes. “It is hard to get to know every man in the Ton in a morning, bon.”

This gives Lady Danbury an idea. “So we shall perhaps invite gentlemen over for an evening, then. Perhaps a way of getting to know them all better. With the amount of callers we had this evening, I do believe we could have quite the delightful soiree indeed.”

“A soiree?” Kate repeats. She thinks about it for a moment. No part of her desires to be in a room full of suitors for her own sake – she can imagine very few occasions more miserable – but for Edwina’s, it could be promising. “Oh! I do know my sister is looking for a literary sort of man–”

“And what are you looking for, my dear sister?” Edwina asks.

“It does not signify,” Kate quickly counters.

“You are the Diamond of the season, Kate.”

“So, fine,” Kate relents. “For us both, then, I suppose – perhaps a poetry reading?”

“You seek to force Lord Bridgerton to read poetry?” Edwina asks.

“Oh,” Kate nearly huffs. It is decidedly not about her, and even less so about Lord Bridgerton. “This is about expanding a set of introductions, is it not? Interacting with a broader set of the Ton?”

“Precisely,” Lady Danbury says, thumping her cane in agreement. “I shall have invitations sent out for a soiree here tomorrow evening.”

-

Kate does not frown when she sees a note of apology from the viscount for not calling the next morning.

Truly, she does not. There may be a quick downwards look, but she brightens up as soon as Lady Danbury asks about it.

“Hoping to see the viscount this morning, Miss Sharma?” she asks, all too knowingly. 

Kate quickly shakes her head. “It is hardly a serious courtship, Lady Danbury.”

(Nevermind that she had perhaps gambled her hand in marriage yesterday. She won, so it did not matter.)

Lady Danbury just arches an eyebrow, as all-knowing as ever, and Kate presses her lips together and straightens her back once more. “I suppose we should greet the callers this morning.”

“Just not your favourite one,” Lady Danbury says, and Kate resists the impolite urge to scowl.

-

That is how much of the morning goes – the room fills with more flowers before the previous ones are given the space and dignity to wilt, and Kate entertains a series of men whom she does not find entertaining.

(Well, that’s not the entire truth, a Mr. Mitchell at some point offered to juggle, at which point Lady Danbury suggested he join that evening's soiree. She’s fairly certain that was to prevent such activity from taking place until she had the chance to hide the most valuable vases.)

She’s in the middle of one of the less interesting conversations, one that goes something like:

“How are you?”

“I am well.”

The man does not ask follow up questions, merely stares at her. She stares back. The man has the nerve to act as if she’s done something offensive to him, for daring not to answer a question he had not asked in turn.

So she is relieved to see one of Lady Danbury’s staff interrupt them.

“Miss Sharma,” Billy, one Lady Danbury’s footman, calls. “You have a guest.”

Kate frowns. “Are we not currently seeing them?”

Not that she would like to see more of this one, but nonetheless.

“Well, you see, Lord Bridgerton is rather insistent.”

When she looks at Lady Danbury, the woman is hiding a smile. She wonders if etiquette dictates that she must stay, but her guest has already stood to take his leave. It is just as well. Kate strides to the door, a retort about her inability to escape the presence of the viscount on her lips, when she spots him and Nectar on the lawn. Nectar has a rather comically large bow on his neck.

“Where did you get that?” she asks, stilling to a stop in front of them. Anthony’s eyebrow raise.

“The horse? The races, of course, you were there–”

“The bow,” Kate says instead, unsure of how this is the detail she is now getting hung up on. It is a very large bow, to be fair. Who had such large ribbon on such short notice?”

“I buy you a prize horse, and you want to ask me about its ribbon?”

“You did not have to buy me a horse, to be clear.”

“I’m a man of my word, am I not?”

He’s grinning as he says this, looking quite satisfied with himself.

“I thought you were occupied this morning?” she asks.

“Well, yes.” Anthony nods. “I was occupied with this. As concerned as you are about the bow, believe it or not, getting the horse was a much more taxing endeavour.”

He steps closer to her, clasping his hands behind his back as one of the footmen moves to take the horse to the stables. She almost smiles. It is a near thing.

“I should thank you for the generous gift,” she says.

“Should?”

“And I should perhaps apologize to Lady Danbury for the imposition to her stables,” she adds. “I should have given her some more forewarning–”

“She won’t mind,” Anthony says instantly. “In fact, I’d say stables at the Bridgerton House also have plenty of room, should the need arise.”

“Should the need arise,” she repeats, eyebrows raising. “Ah, but you did not win your gamble.”

“Not yet,” he says. 

“I trust you received an invitation to tonight’s poetry reading?” Kate asks, ribbing him more than anything. 

Anthony half-groans, half-laughs. “Ah, would a successful suitor of yours need to read poetry?”

“Perhaps the less the better.”

“Good, otherwise I’d have to ask Benedict to write me something quickly, and he’d be quite miffed at how terrible my delivery is. Is everyone reading poetry?”

“Certainly not me,” Kate says. “I believe it’s a…bizarre sort of arrangement of gentlemanly talents. One man is juggling, evidently.”

“Juggling?” Anthony asks, eyebrows raising.

“If we are truly fortunate, there may be hoop throwing.”

“Hoop throwing,” he repeats. “I suppose that is something I might be out of practice with, given I have not done it since I was a boy.”

“Are you devoid of other talents?”

“I do not think Lady Danbury would appreciate me shooting in her home,” Anthony mutters. “Or riding a horse, for that matter – though I suppose according to you my horsemanship is deficient–”

“Until proven otherwise.”

“Does Lady Danbury need her ledgers balanced? I have quite a bit of experience with that. Any dodgy investments I can encourage her not to make?”

“She’s a wise woman,” Kate shakes her head. “I do not believe your services would be required.”

“Ah, a shame then.”

-

Kate is surprised when Anthony does show up to Lady Danbury’s soiree.

Lady Danbury’s home is already filled with the Ton’s most eligible bachelors, and more than a few amused spectators. The guest list was carefully pared down to the most promising of candidates – for Edwina, of course – and not every man is quite so brave as to demonstrate a talent. She’s almost more grateful for the ones who do not.

(Not every man who could sing, should sing – at least not at top volume in Lady Danbury’s drawing room.)

Edwina, at least, seems to be having a jovial time. She’s rather amused by the entire thing. It is just as well, as Kate feels overwhelmed by secondary mortification. Eloise Bridgerton, at least, has commentary that almost makes it bearable.

“At least it is the men who are making fools of themselves this time,” she says, eyes sparkling. “I knew you’d make for quite the fun Diamond.”

Kate laughs, shaking her head. “I wish I could take credit, but no. Lady Danbury encouraged a poetry reading. The men, thanks to their spirit and competition, concocted the rest of this farce on their own.”

Eloise eyes a man attempting to stack cups as quickly as possible rather pointedly.

“Of course they did.”

When Kate turns around to grab lemonade for herself and her companion, she finds herself with quite irritating shadows –

“Miss Sharma, I would be pleased to–”

“Miss Sharma, could I have the honor of–”

It is as if she cannot move without being bombarded, and she keeps a stiff smile on her face and her head low. This results into running into another gentleman entirely.

“Ah,” a voice says, steadying her before she shoulders into waitstaff. “Careful, there.”

“My apologies,” Kate says quickly, looking up into an unfamiliar face. “I was not quite looking where I was going.”

“As it happens,” the man says good humoredly. He must be around the viscount’s age with a handsome countenance. “Are you alright, Miss Sharma? Oh, I suppose I should –” he flushes, just slightly, “Mr. Thomas Dorset, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

He hands her a lemonade from the tray she almost ran into. She takes it, gratefully. At the very least, having a conversation with one man seems to ward off the rest.

“A pleasure to meet you,” she echoes. “Pray tell, do you have a talent you’re displaying tonight?”

Thomas laughs, shaking his head. “Ah, I do not think it appropriate for polite company.”

Kate’s eyebrows raise, and the man quickly turns bright red.

“That is to say, I am a doctor,” he clarifies quickly. “So unless someone takes quite ill–”

“Very possible with all of the commotion,” Kate replies, taking a sip of her lemonade. “There is some strenuous activity occurring in this room, a gentleman may very well need medical assistance after –”

When Kate peers behind her, there is in fact fire. She decides she does not want to know, and turns back around to face Thomas.

“Well. That.”

He laughs. She joins in, relieved to not be at the particular mercy of a man clearly invested in fire-related hobbies.

A throat clears, pointedly, over the same shoulder she just looked over. Kate turns around, surprised to see Anthony. She grins, unable to help herself.

“Decide on a talent, my lord?” she asks, and Anthony is too preoccupied glaring at the man behind her to respond.

“Dorset,” he says stiffly, “I see you’ve become acquainted with Miss Sharma.”

Thomas, she decides, seems like a genial sort of man. He laughs at Anthony as if used to his more intense outbursts. “It is good to see you, Anthony. Miss Sharma and I were just discussing the evening’s entertainment.”

“Ah,” Anthony says, short and clipped. He does not move closer to Dorset to join the conversation, merely lingers in the periphery. 

“And I was just saying how medical attention may be quite necessary at the end of the evening,” Kate adds, almost as amused by Anthony’s state of fluster as she is by the rest of the gentlemen’s antics. 

“Well, Dorset has not been a doctor for very long.”

Thomas shakes his head, ever good naturedly. “I have traveled quite a bit in my studies. Miss Sharma, I believe I heard your family spent time in Bombay?”

“You’ve been?” she asks.

“It is a wondrous place. You must miss it.”

“Oh, every minute of every day.”

-

Anthony has somehow entered hell.

He was told this would be a light-hearted affair. They’d watch gentlemen make fools of themselves, perhaps even indulge in Eloise’s running commentary, and Kate would laugh when he said something particularly sharp. 

( ‘Look at how daft these men look. Look at how much I make you laugh. They do not know or understand you like I could, clearly it is sensible now to simply end the charade and we can find a match for your sister suitably after.’ )

He’d even ridden in on his horse rather than joining Eloise and Colin in the carriage. He thought perhaps he’d offer to display his horsemanship with a race. They might need to bring a chaperone, for the sake of it, but perhaps he could talk Colin into such a thing.

But no, instead he arrives on his horse – delayed by a never-ending stack of paperwork, the likes of which had multiplied after his absence for this morning’s excursions – to find Kate laughing at Thomas Dorset’s remarks instead. Dorset is a good man, this is true.

(And this was the rub of it all – he is a good man, with a far easier temperament than Anthony knew his own to be – and that only makes him more irritated with him as perhaps Kate has already detected as much.)

(And of course Dorset has been to India, can share jokes about English tea he doesn’t quite understand, and–)

“Hello, brother,” Colin’s voice greets him, a hand on his shoulder. “You’re looking quite red, is your talent this evening turning into a tomato?”

Perhaps Anthony’s talent will be brawling. It has been a long time, but perhaps he’s found the motivation for it.

“Mr. Bridgerton,” Kate greets, and now she’s standing next to Dorset like he’s part of her receiving line. Anthony steps forward to fill the space next to her. “It is good to see you again.”

(How Colin gets ‘good to see you again’ and he gets – it is fine, he is only slightly angry.)

“Miss Sharma,” Colin says, and Penelope appears beside him. “Have you met my friend Penelope Featherington?”

Anthony notices Penelope noticeably twitch at the word friend, and he wonders if the two of them may have found grounds to commiserate after eighteen years of having nothing in common.

“I have not, but Miss Bridgerton speaks highly of you,” Kate greets, smiling. “Kate Sharma, lovely to make your acquaintance.”

“Yours as well,” Penelope returns. “Was this soiree…”

“My idea?” Kate shakes her head. “Ah, I cannot claim such credit.”

A gentleman falls from quite a precarious set of stilts with a loud crash at the front of the room. Dorset sighs, and quickly strides to check the man before a doctor can be called. Colin and Penelope wince in sympathy, while Anthony quickly takes the spot Dorset rather foolishly left empty.

“Colin was just telling me he did not have plans to share his talents tonight, but do you, Lord Bridgerton?” Penelope asks. Kate raises an eyebrow as if to echo the question.

Perhaps she had already asked it. Anthony cannot quite remember.

“Miss Sharma has told me she has some interest in riding horses,” Anthony grins. “I may have brought my own. A race, perhaps?”

“In the evening?” Penelope asks, mildly scandalized. 

“Are you sure you want to be embarrassed?” Kate asks archly. “If it is a race, that is.”

“Colin can chaperone,” Anthony offers. Colin looks back at them after craning his neck to look after the situation that befelled the man on stilts. 

“What?”

“Miss Sharma and I are racing,” Anthony huffs. 

“We are?” Kate asks. “Right now?”

“Would you rather listen to this?” Anthony asks, just as more poetry begins. The man on stilts – or rather, the man who was on stilts – is fine, as it turns out. 

“I am not even in riding clothes,” she protests. 

“Oh, so you’d turn down a challenge?”

That is all it takes for her to rush out of the room, presumably to change. Anthony grins, the evening suddenly going much more to plan. Penelope eyes him with curiosity, and he clears his throat.

“You are welcome to spectate, of course,” he offers. “Someone must determine a starting and finish line and declare a victor.”

-

Colin, Eloise, and Penelope all gather on Lady Danbury’s grand lawn to watch the spectacle. He’d asked for one chaperone and somehow ended up with three of them, but it was just as well. Kate has rushed down with a huff, her riding clothes – the teal that perfectly complemented her skin – on. Her hair was still pinned up, something he was rather mournful about, but it was no matter. They both mount their respective horses, at the rock Colin insisted would do as a starting point.

Eloise and Penelope both look a bit shocked to see a woman riding astride. He supposes their independent streaks make such shock temporary.

“And the topiary,” Kate says, gesturing to the hedge in question, “It must be cleared with no contact from the horse.”

“Of course,” Anthony nods. “Quite sensible.”

“This is one of the strangest evenings of my life,” Eloise muses aloud. 

Penelope hums. “I cannot say I disagree.”

Colin counts down, and they’re off.

-

Kate demands a rematch.

Anthony is grinning so widely she wonders if his face hurts. 

“That was hardly enough to–”

“I’m afraid by the terms set forth by the two of you,” Colin says, taking his duty rather too seriously. “The horse cannot touch the topiary. It was clear. My apologies, Miss Sharma, it hurts me to give my brother a victory.”

“It is a new horse!” Kate protests “I simply need a warm up to get acclimated, for us to be acclimated to one another.”

“You ride a racehorse and accuse it of being deficient?” Anthony asks.

“A horse I had not ridden before! I am not saying it is the horse’s fault–”

“Oh, are you not–”

“Simply that you and your horse clearly have more of a relationship–”

“We do, now?”

“And Nectar and I are but strangers to one another!” 

“I reckon I should have placed a wager on this,” Anthony says, grinning as he gets off of his horse. Kate considers just staying on hers until they consent to a rematch. He approaches her, instead offering his hand.

“I promise we can race again at another time to prove your horsemanship,” Anthony offers. “But now I fear you must stop calling mine deficient.”

She scowls, ignoring his hand as she gets off her horse. He’s still looking rather smug. Colin looks apologetic. Eloise and Penelope are seated on the grass, both looking amused.

“I’ve never seen a woman riding a horse like that,” Eloise calls.

Kate nearly frowns, considering the implications of doing so in front of people attached to the Society she’s meant to be casting a good impression upon for the sake of her family, but Eloise quickly amends her statement.

“It makes more sense to ride like a man, does it not? I never got the hang of riding, but all I ever was allowed to do was ride side-saddle. Of course such a thing would interfere with our balance.”

She half-expects Anthony to argue with her, make a case for his siblings’ decorum, but he just fondly shakes his head. He must be still enjoying his victory, Kate gathers.

-

Kate does rejoin the party, after changing back into her evening clothes and fixing the pins in her hair. Lady Danbury’s poor maid has her hands full with her, she knows. The woman did not ask to handle changing in and out of such delicate evening garments twice that night. When Kate rushes back downstairs, the showcase of talents seems to have ended. She thinks that may very well be for the better, and moves to find her sister.

Edwina is in the middle of a conversation with Penelope, the two smiling politely at one another, and Edwina’s grin widens when she sees her sister.

“Where were you off to, didi?”

Kate considers demuring. Instead she grins, shaking her head. “Oh, what is a little evening ride to clear one’s head?”

“In the middle of a party?” Edwina asks in disbelief.

“Lord Bridgerton insisted that he show his talents,” Kate counters, giving Penelope a conspiratorial eyebrow raise the girl beams at.

“Let it be known,” the viscount himself interrupts, three glasses of lemonade in his hands. He hands one to each of the women. “I did win our race.”

Kate resists the urge to stomp her foot. “Ah, but as I said, my horse and I have yet to become–”

“A prize racehorse, mind you.”

“Used to another rider, and I to another horse.”

“It is the funniest thing, Miss Sharma, for some reason I did not imagine you as a sore loser.”

“And yet I was correct in my assumption that you’d be a rather sore winner.”

Edwina and Penelope share a rather amused look between the two of them, sipping at their lemonades.

-

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has been the most unexpected start to the season.

I know you all have been waiting to read my response with baited breath. I am not the first to inform you that the Queen has made a most unforeseen selection in her Diamond of the season. After all, this author did announce she was quite bored with predictability. But what you would like to know is – did the Queen simply select an unconnected spinster out of spite? Perhaps she saw fit to test all of you, the limits of the Ton’s acceptance of her judgement? Even the Diamond herself, Miss Kate Sharma, seemed uncertain if such announcement was in jest or sincere.

Miss Kate Sharma is a most unconventional debutante, in that she is not a debutante in the slightest. At six and twenty, she is of an age considered well past the marriage mart. Perhaps she is more suited for aging widowers than eligible bachelors. Perhaps her manners – unladylike hollering at the Royal Ascot races, a penchant for masculine hobbies rather than embroidery or music, and a head so perpetually held high – are evidence of her deficiencies and evidence still that the Queen has lost touch with her subjects. While Lady Mary Sharma was the Diamond of her season, she is only Miss Kate Sharma’s mother by marriage – a marriage thought rather scandalous at the time. 

But the Queen is not the only one with surprises. You see, Miss Kate Sharma may lack the appropriate qualifications to be a debutante, but quite exceeds expectations for a woman. She is intelligent and quick-witted, competitive yet filled with good-humour, and handsome enough for the gentlemen to fall over themselves to court her. Not least of which is the most eligible bachelor of the season, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, who was rushing to add his name to her dance card before she even had one. This author would not be surprised if the line of suitors at her door are warded off entirely, not by lack of interest but by an imminent betrothal. If this match is the Queen’s doing, it may be one of her wisest ones yet.

Perhaps Her Majesty and I can finally agree on something for once. After all, we both enjoy the Ton shaking things up, every once and a while.

-

“I hear you’re getting married,” Eloise says, patting her brother’s shoulder with a copy of Lady Whistledown. Anthony sighs dramatically, putting down his quill. Much of their family is clustered in the Bridgerton drawing room, and he does not miss the way his mother instantly perks up at Eloise’s words. Even Gregory and Hyacinth pause rolling their marbles, listening in keen interest. Benedict snorts, and Colin almost seems uninterested as if this was information he had already known and considered.

“I have made no proposal,” Anthony says. “Well, actually–”

Did their bet at the Royal Ascot races count? He looks at Benedict, who quickly shakes his head.

“The point is,” Anthony says, moving to stand. “I do have intentions to do so, not that I’ve been particularly shy about sharing them. I think Miss Kate Sharma would be a rather fine viscountess–”

“Would her dog come to live with us?” Gregory asks.

Anthony frowns. “I suppose so. But I believe we are well-suited, and we may have a satisfactory arrangement indeed. I plan to ask the Sharmas to join us at Aubrey Hall – Mother, I believe you mentioned the ring is–”

“Yes, dear.”

“ Satisfactory arrangement ,” Eloise scoffs. “Oh, I am sure that is to be the most romantic sort of proposal.”

Benedict extends his hand towards his sister, and she shakes it exaggeratedly. “Good day to you, ma’am, may I interest you in my hand in marriage? Perhaps you’d like to review the terms at your leisure, you’ll see items one through twenty-five–”

“Oh, my lord,” Eloise replies exaggeratedly, feigning a swoon. “Nothing would make me happier than the thought of you brooding in the corner, hunched over your paperwork, with I as one of your properties, as long as we both shall live.”

Anthony rolls his eyes impatiently at his siblings. “I shall be in my study, it is a much more productive place to accomplish anything–”

“Aw,” Eloise mutters. “See, this is what Miss Kate will have to look forward to if she accepts.”

“A most productive marriage,” Colin adds, snickering.

-

When Kate and her sister are invited to the palace by the Queen herself, she is a little concerned that she may be in trouble.

This is an idea Lady Danbury at first dismisses outright, but she follows this dismissal up with, “Well, have you done anything worth admonishing you for?”

Kate thinks of multiple horse rides in a most unladylike sort of manner, and wonders if such offense – under the scrutiny of being the Diamond – is enough to raise the Queen’s ire. It does not seem like a matter of royal importance (though, it is not as if she fully comprehends what is), but she shakes her head rather than bring up the indiscretions that, in all likelihood, Lady Danbury had already figured out.

At the very least, if Kate is going to be among the zebras at Buckingham Palace as the Queen quizzes her over the season’s events thus far, it is some relief to have Lady Danbury there.

“How are you enjoying London, Miss Sharma?” the Queen asks, her ornate wig towering over all of them.

“It is very lovely, your Majesty.”

“And the attention you have surely been receiving as this season’s diamond?”

“It has admittedly taken some getting used to, but I am incredibly grateful to your Majesty for welcoming me so warmly. I am determined to honor your recognition as best as I know how.”

Queen Charlotte just makes a humming sort of sound, and Kate quickly looks to Lady Danbury to check if she’s inadvertently offended the monarch. Lady Danbury’s expression gives nothing away. Edwina, for her part, gives Kate an encouraging smile she tries to return.

“You have an iron will, do you not, Miss Sharma?”

Kate blinks. “I have been told as much.”

“Good,” the Queen says, her own head held high. “It is something you need in this Ton, do you not?”

“I have found it helpful,” Kate agrees.

“Then you must prove the doubters, the naysayers, the gossips – well, if I’d say you had any duty, it’s to prove them wrong.”

Kate nods, her posture as straight as she can make it. “Of course, your majesty.”

“As you well know, I was doubted as I came into this position,” Queen Charlotte continues. “But I made everyone quickly see that I was not to be underestimated. You have the most enviable position of any unmarried young lady in London – you are the Diamond, a reflection of my judgement and taste, and courted by the most eligible bachelors in the Ton. As much as I know you value your independence, Miss Sharma–”

Kate does not flinch, but she does shoot Lady Danbury a look. Lady Danbury merely raises her eyebrows.

“See to it that you appreciate the independence of good decisions, of a life well made and earned,” Queen Charlotte continues. “I am a tastemaker, after all. Confirm my good taste.”

The Queen strides away, leaving the three women behind her.

-

It is not until she is back in her chambers, after excusing herself with a headache, that Kate allows herself to panic.

It was only a matter of time before the Ton saw her as she truly was. Perhaps the Queen’s approval was enough for them to get past her more unsavory manners – her sharp tongue, her masculine hobbies, the fact that she was awfully terrible at resisting the urge to make her true thoughts known. Mary had explained this all – it was part of why she left London never to return. The Ton forced women to make themselves smaller, to marry for the sake of their families and not to maintain any independent spirit that could not be squashed under the boot of their husband.

That’s why she loved Kate’s Appa so much, Mary told her – he was so content to allow her to grow into herself, to allow her to be who she truly always was. In Bombay, there were not the overwhelming aristocratic pressures of English manners.

That was not even to address her other mistakes, the heavy burden that had followed her on the entire journey. The Sheffields had promised Edwina a trust she could only access after marrying an English gentleman, the explicit purpose of their journey. Kate had not told her sister nor her mother, and if the Sheffields in all of their spite loosened their lips, it could be an embarrassment at a large scale.

Kate was surviving on scraps – from Lady Danbury’s hospitality, from the Queen’s conditional approval, from the Sheffields saving her sister’s future – and if there was anything Kate had learned from her Appa’s passing, it’s that such generosity was bound to run out eventually. As a woman, her only options for mobility were to marry well or seek a vocation. She’d planned on the latter, but to do so would be an insult to the Queen.

Kate suddenly felt rather homesick. It did not appear she would ever be able to return to Bombay, to live the life she imagined for herself. In the rush of the past week, this was a fact that was easy to overlook. But in the wake of a pointed reminder from the Queen of England herself – from the backlash her mother faced for leaving – she knows that to do so would ruin Edwina’s future forever. 

It was as if she did not realize how trapped she was until the water had risen to her shoulders, and by that point she had two options – to sink or to swim.

Mercifully, she had learned how to be a strong swimmer.

-

Kate skips her morning rides. She stands perfectly still at the modiste, tries on an endless series of gowns until the cut and shine of them satisfies both Lady Danbury and her sister. She bites her tongue with callers, so often it nearly bleeds, and she models the exact behavior she’d taught Edwina to. She is agreeable. She adheres to the rules.

And after Anthony notices during one of their promenades that she has not argued with him once, he is utterly vexed.

“Are you not going to ask if I deserved it?” he says, frustration clear in his tone.

“Deserved what, my lord?” 

(Of course he did – Eloise had every right to be frustrated with the lack of options for education for her sex, and it truly was not too much to ask to attend the occasional lecture when his younger brothers could pursue their art and travel respectively at a much greater cost. 

And well, if her elder brother had said the same sort of nonsense to her about how it looked , she too may have called him a pig.)

Anthony sighs. “I can almost hear your voice in my head, you know, even when you’re playing at demure–”

“I am not playing at anything, my lord,” Kate replies.

Anthony’s face lights up. “There, finally – a moment of disagreeableness from you.”

Kate laughs – aiming for airy and feminine rather than full-throated – and gently shakes her head. “Ah, my lord, I fear I do not understand.”

“I do wonder if every time you’re tempted to dress me down, you resort to my lord. Nothing else can quite explain the frequency.”

It’s this that does it.

“Forgive me for displaying good manners,” Kate says the words through clenched teeth. “ My lord .”

He grunts in frustration and points at her as if he’s caught her in something. Perhaps he has. 

“Fine,” she relents. “I am ill-mannered and decidedly unladylike. Does that make you happy?”

Anthony grins widely at her. “Quite. I have been wondering if you’d been replaced by someone far more –”

“Genteel?” she asks.

“Boring,” he says instead. 

Kate tries not to smile. She really does. It is only a partial failure. “Eloise was right, you know.”

“I know,” Anthony says, and his broad grin is intact. “I did tell her as much this morning, believe it or not. She’s going to take a maid along with her for her lecture trips, of course, but she has a right to go. I could nearly hear you arguing the point in my head, and I wondered if it would be close to how you would–”

“I would say I’d call my brother worse,” Kate finishes for him.

“Ah, I wondered if it’d be that or if you may just push me into the Serpentine,” he says.

“There is still time,” she says. “Fancy a row?”

“The dog is not coming,” Anthony retorts, gesturing to Newton. He’s being walked by one of Lady Danbury’s staff, leisurely enjoying the sunshine. 

“I do wonder if you are just jealous of the attention he gets,” Kate replies playfully.

“Hardly,” Anthony says, but he sounds quite cross as he says it. Kate does allow a full smile on her face, at this.

-

Lady Trowbridge’s ball is a spectacle. 

Lady Danbury informs her this is most of the point. Lady Trowbridge is a recent widow with far too much money to spend, and parties fill her with absolute exuberance. Musicians are in nearly every room, there are florals up to the ceilings, and the canapes are frequently passed and confoundingly varied. Edwina is just excited to be swept up in it, making easy conversation with the other guests, while Kate tries to figure out how on earth they got such elaborate garlands to coat the very high ceilings.

At this rate, the Queen may be irritated at being upstaged. She’s considering this as Eloise appears beside her.

“I am only grateful that I have so much to hide behind,” she says, looking up at the ceiling alongside Kate. “Do you think they harvested every flower in Mayfair?”

Kate bites her tongue to stop herself from laughing, and Anthony joins their party.

“Please tell me she doesn’t have the contortionists this year,” he says.

Eloise’s eyebrows raise. “The what ?”

“It appears you have the advantage, Lord Bridgerton, of experience,” Kate says. Before she can even finish her sentence, he’s writing in her dance card.

“In many ways,” Anthony replies, grinning.

Eloise makes a disgusted sort of expression. “I’m going to find Penelope,” she groans, leaving the two of them.

“Will I ever dance with another gentlemen during the first and the dinner set, Lord Bridgerton?” Kate asks, reading off of her dance card. 

“Not if I can help it,” Anthony counters. “You look…”

This dress was new – a brighter color than she’d opted for before, but Madame Delacroix had insisted the orange suited her skin tone quite nicely – and her coiffure was far less severe than she was used to wearing it. Anthony’s eyes linger on her face, then trace her collarbone, and she almost fidgets under such intense attention.

“Ravishing,” he finishes, holding out his arm. She takes it. At this point, it hardly even attracts stares.

“Did you know we are engaged?” she asks, voice teasing.

“Did I win a bet I was unaware of?”

“Ah, you must not keep up with the pamphlets–”

“Oh,” he scoffs. “I have no interest, believe me.”

“No interest in being betrothed–”

“I did not say that,” and he is, in fact, nearly tripping over himself to not say that. “I simply believe that when we are betrothed, I shall know.”

“When?” Kate arches an eyebrow.

“Indeed, when,” he drops his voice to a whisper, leaning into her ear. His breath brushes against her, and she squirms slightly. It is not out of discomfort, but something else entirely.

“You seem sure I’ll accept such suit,” she counters. The music begins, with pairs lining up in the ballroom, and Anthony guides them to the floor with a hand on her back.

“I simply think I can make you the best offer,” Anthony murmurs, not breaking eye contact with her as the dance begins.

“The best offer?” Kate asks. “Are you putting in a bid, my lord?”

“Surely,” he begins, just as they step away from one another in the next move. “In addition to the title, the wealth–”

“The arrogance,” Kate adds.

“A tolerable man to converse with–”

“Ah, that’s arguable.”

“I rather think we find some entertainment in the arguing,” he says, and he’s pressing her back to his front. It is part of the dance. But his breath is in her ear, again, and she’s grateful for her gloves if only to protect her gooseflesh.

“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced, Miss Sharma?” he asks, his voice a whisper. She grips his hand imperceptibly harder. “The things I could teach you…”

The gasp is a small thing, really. She keeps her composure. Kate is resolved to keep her composure.

Anthony Bridgerton is merely a rake, indulging in rakish behavior. She reminds herself of this.

“You assume I need to be taught,” she murmurs back, and he groans as if in pain.

They are being utterly indecent. Kate reminds herself of this, then straightens as they resume their earlier, face to face, dance. He does not say anything else, she is staring over his shoulder, and his eyes are burning a hole in her. The intensity of it is so sharp, as soon as the dance ends she has to find something – an empty room, a terrace, a minute to breathe. She brushes past him, and it nearly aches.

Kate tries to keep her head high, her stride lengthened to look as if she has a place to be – one that would not take kindly to an interruption for a request to take her next dance – and walks down the hallway until she finds an empty study. She closes the door behind herself, quickly, and tries to regulate her breathing. Her hand finds the shape of her ear, her fingertips trail down to where Anthony’s breath was on her neck, and she sighs.

Kate steps away from the door, pacing now, and she doesn’t have the chance to hide before the door opens again.

Anthony looks nearly as wrecked as she feels. He closes the door behind him, and his eyes are heavy-lidded. 

“I waited a few minutes,” he murmurs. Kate cannot process it having been that long. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” she says, stepping back. “You cannot be here.”

“I am a man of honor,” he says, pressing his palm to his chest. “I swear to you. I only meant to check if you were alright–”

“And that is why you had to follow me while I was alone?”

“My intentions are–”

“I do not believe anyone can accuse your intentions of being pure,” Kate says, striding forward until they’re within arm's reach of one another. 

“I am a gentleman,” Anthony says, clenching his fists.

Kate steps forward, a breath away, a dare.

He leans forward until they’re sharing air, noses brushing against one another. She inhales, shakily, just as he exhales. She can nearly feel his lips, the curve of them under her own, and –

There’s a loud crash in the hallway. Kate jumps back, and Anthony seems to find his own bearings. Anthony leaves first, saying nothing. Kate finally has the opportunity to catch her breath once more.

-

She waits a few minutes before leaving the room, peering in the hallway before she does so, and quickly strides to rejoin Edwina and Mary.

“Where have you been, didi?” Edwina asks. “Mr. Dorset has been asking after you, you know.”

“Just needed some air,” Kate replies quickly. As if summoned, Mr. Dorset appears.

“Miss Sharma,” he greets. “I hope you are well.”

“Indeed, I am,” she says, a polite smile on her lips. “I do hope there are no medical incidents to occupy you during tonight’s festivities.”

“As do I,” Thomas chuckles. “Am I so lucky that your next dance is open?”

“Indeed, it is,” Kate replies.

No sooner does Kate rejoin her party after dancing with Mr. Dorset does she find Anthony’s eyes across the room. His gaze feels as heated as it did in the study, during their dance, with intermittent glares in Thomas Dorset’s direction. She almost wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but all she can do is stare right back.

-

Kate is going to kill him, Anthony decides. 

He had intended for this to be a relaxed sort of evening. They would dance a polite two times, he would ask her and her family to join him at Aubrey Hall, and they’d have a smooth transition into a polite proposal. But she – she looked nearly indecent. It was properly indecent, to be sure, it would not cause an upset in society. But the jut of her collarbone, the contrast against her skin, the feel of her against him –

Her breath in the study, nearly cornering and consuming him against the door –

And worst of all, to have his honor hanging by a thread and to watch her entertain Dorset .

This is how Benedict finds him, fuming near the punch bowl, and the clasp on his shoulder makes him jump.

“Oh, brother,” Benedict says, cheery as ever. “I do believe if you do not make your proposal soon, you will drive yourself rather insane.”

“In that, we can find agreement,” Anthony grits his teeth. “It is an arrangement that must be dealt with post haste.”

Benedict scoffs at the word arrangement , but Anthony is already striding towards Kate. Before he can even get to her, yet another suitor is filling out her dance card, and he merely watches in frustration as Kate takes another man’s hand. 

Benedict catches up with him.

“Oh dear, better luck next time.”

Anthony gives him his most withering look.

-

Kate does not think she can make it until the dinner set.

Not because she is so desperate to dance with Anthony, but because she is so desperate to not dance with the Earl of Bridgewater. The man had trouble keeping his hands to himself and had a distasteful odour, and if she allowed him near her, he would ask for a dance courtesy would dictate she accept. So she finds Anthony, desperate to dissolve the tension from earlier in the evening, and humbles herself.

“Lord Bridgerton, I need your help,” she says.

Anthony instantly straightens, all polite manners. “What is the matter?”

“Oh, I seem to have–” Kate gives him an exaggerated look, glancing pointedly in the direction of the Earl of Bridgewater. She reaches for his shoulder, slightly leaning against it. “My ankle, my lord, it is twisted.”

“It is?” he asks, temporarily confused before he catches on. “Oh! Very well, it is – Miss Sharma, we must get you off of this dance floor.”

“Oh, but the dances on my card–” Kate gestures to her wrist, exaggeratedly disappointed. “Whatever shall I tell these gentlemen?”

“You’re injured,” Anthony insists, his voice rising in volume. “We must get you seated to allow you to recover, I am afraid your ankle will not allow you to dance the rest of the evening.”

He loops her arm around his shoulders, bearing her weight, and he can tell she’s biting back a laugh.

“I could whisk you away, you know,” he mutters into her hair.

“To where?” she asks, voice disbelieving. 

“Anywhere,” Anthony says. “Where would you like to go?”

-

They settle for the terrace, where there will be less eyes on the Diamond’s supposedly twisted ankle.

They sit on the chairs arranged outside, company still milling about them to lend the air of propriety. Anthony is grateful for this turn of events, the swell of pride in his chest that Kate had thought to ask him for help. It was not as if she leaned on Dorset, had asked him to half-carry her to safety from the attentions of other men. Anthony leans over to speak to her quietly.

“Only unfortunate bit of this is that it means we miss the dinner set.”

“And I’ve read in my books of English manners that it is quite a bit more polite to refuse all gentlemen than refuse one,” Kate counters. “At least, the one Lady Danbury rather subtly loaned me.”

“I do not believe you must accept the offers of all men,” Anthony retorts. “A woman has the right of refusal, does she not?”

“Evidently not when it comes to matters of dancing,” Kate says, a faint grin on her lips.

“What of matters not relating to dancing?”

“Then I believe refusals are more understandable.”

Anthony turns to face her more fully. “And if I made you a certain offer, would you exercise your right to refuse it?”

Kate does not need to ask what he means. “I suppose you’d have to ask it.”

For her, that veers dangerously close to a yes.

“Would you like to join my family and I at Aubrey Hall for a week before our ball?”

And she says, mercifully, “Yes.”

Chapter Text

Aubrey Hall is more beautiful than it has any right to be.

It’s an absurdly sprawling estate, so much so that she understands how nine (once ten) people and their staff could find themselves more than comfortable. The lawns are massive, extending for quite a distance before meeting the treeline. She has to wonder just how many gardeners it takes to keep it contained. The building itself is another matter entirely, all stately columns and floral arrangements and domed roofs. As soon as Kate steps out of the carriage, she is transfixed by it.

Lady Danbury, Mary, and Edwina are exchanging pleasantries with Violet Bridgerton – all three much better guests than she is being at the moment, just gaping at the home – and Anthony grins when he sees her.

“I see my plan to win you over is already working,” he says, rocking back on his heels with no small measure of self-satisfaction.

“Perhaps I am only won over by the view, which you are now blocking.”

Anthony presses his hand to his chest in mock-offense. “I suppose I shall consider myself lucky that it is my home you are won over by.”

One of Lady Danbury’s footmen brings forward Newton, as if on cue.

“I will win him over, too,” Anthony promises. He directs his winning smile to the dog in question, who merely narrows his eyes. Anthony sighs. 

“We have time,” he says.

“Are you speaking to me or the dog?” Kate asks.

“Both of you, I suppose.”

“You must be Miss Kate,” another voice interjects. Kate straightens. The woman looks to be between Edwina’s age and her own, and judging by the exasperation on Anthony’s face–

“Your Grace,” Kate greets, dipping into a curtsy.

“There is no need for that,” Daphne says quickly. “I have heard you are quite skilled at putting my brother in his place, and for that I owe you my endless gratitude.”

Anthony rolls his eyes. “Ah, wonderful. You all may team up against me.”

“Definitely in pall mall,” Daphne says, leaning forward conspiratorially. “It is a Bridgerton tradition we feel quite fiercely about, and every year when we are at Aubrey Hall–”

Anthony groans, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, “It will turn Miss Sharma into an absolute menace, to be sure.”

“All the better,” Daphne says cheerily, offering Kate her arm. Kate takes it, looking over her shoulder to her own sister. Edwina is chatting quite animatedly with Eloise, and judging by Eloise’s hand gestures they must be in the middle of a rather intense book discussion. Kate finds herself grateful that if her sister is to be dragged along for the sake of her courtship, at least she can find it welcoming.

“What is pall mall?” Kate asks the Duchess.

“A lawn game I suppose we all take rather too seriously,” Daphne replies cheerily.

Kate grins. “Ah, I’ve often been told I take games much too seriously.”

“You shall fit right in.” Daphne’s voice is warm, and she stops with Kate in the entryway. “You know, I’ve always felt quite strongly that when Anthony should marry, he should marry a woman who can…well, how do I say this…”

“Not be intimidated by the viscount?” Kate finishes, and Daphne’s eyes light up.

“Precisely,” she nods in agreement. “I know it must be quite a lot, to find yourself the Diamond of the season with all of its expectations.”

“I may need to ask you for advice, given you share the experience.”

“As did your mother, correct?” Daphne asks.

Kate pauses, just for a moment. She and Mary had barely spoken of the matter. It seemed both she and her mother were expecting a different outcome, and they’ve both been so focused on ensuring Edwina’s season faced no such interruption that they’ve been more focused on fulfilling that duty than speaking of Kate’s. Kate understood, of course. Mary did not hold such fond feelings of being the Diamond, and she and Kate rarely discussed the more difficult matters.

“Yes,” Kate says, hoping she answers quickly enough to not be conspicuous. “Nevertheless, I can appreciate your recent experience with the matter. I must confess, it was all rather unexpected.”

“Yet I have just met you, and I am not surprised,” Daphne says. 

Kate flushes at the compliment. “Your Grace, you flatter me–”

Daphne playfully swats at her arm. “To you, it is Daphne. Besides, if my brother does not make a mess of matters, we may be siblings.”

Kate laughs. “Well then, to you, I must be Kate. And as far as your brother knows, I have not made up my mind.”

Daphne joins her laughter, her hand going to her mouth in mirth, and they share a moment of amusement. “You are exactly who I would wish for Anthony.”

Eloise appears in the entryway behind them. “Ah, I still think you could do better, Miss Sharma.”

Kate shakes her head, a wry smile on her lips. Daphne nearly laughs, but stops herself and straightens to establish her composure.

“You must forgive Eloise, she is always quite spirited in the country,” Daphne says, but her voice is affectionate as she moves to embrace the sister whose eyes are already rolling.

“Then we have that in common,” Kate says. Edwina is next to enter the home, her face bright with excitement. Kate takes her sister’s arm, grin still on her own face.

-

Anthony had expected his mother to be pleased when she gave him her betrothal ring, the ring he’d asked for when he’d begun his pursuit of a wife. 

What he had not expected was for her to be on the verge of tears.

“Mother–” he starts, his brow furrowed. They’re in his study – what used to be his father’s study, as everything used to belong to his father – and his mother is blinking rapidly as she sets the box on his desk. “What is the matter? You have wanted me to marry for years.”

“These are not tears of sadness, my darling boy,” his mother says quickly, wiping under her eyes. “I know you began this season hoping to find a match that was merely tolerable–”

“Which this one is,” Anthony says, not catching what has her in such a state.

“But to see you and Miss Sharma together – it reminds me of when I met your father, when Daphne and Simon started seeing one another,” his mother continues. “It is all I’ve ever wanted for you, Anthony.”

Anthony frowns.

“Do not misinterpret, please Mother,” he replies. “Miss Sharma is the Diamond of the season, she will make a fine viscountess. But my intentions for my marriage are still as they were.”

“Yes, of course,” Violet says, her tone entirely unconvincing.

“They are,” Anthony emphasizes. “Miss Sharma is well-aware of this, before you grow concerned about the matter. We’ve discussed it quite thoroughly. Her intentions for her family are quite aligned with mine. We both seek to make a sensible match, fulfill our obligations, and be done with the matter.”

At this, Violet laughs. “Marriage is never done .”

Anthony sighs. “She desires her independence and to ensure her family is looked after, I desire a sensible sort of marriage with a capable woman to ensure my duties are fulfilled. It’s quite simple.”

“Marriage is also never simple.”

Anthony groans in exasperation. “Perhaps we may debate the reality of marriage at another time. In the meantime,” he swipes the ring box from his desk, tucking it firmly into his pocket, “I intend to follow through on the intentions I have already made clear.”

Violet only nods. Anthony narrows his eyes, expecting more of an argument from her, but she merely leaves without saying anything else. He’s sure she has gone off to conspire once more with Lady Danbury, to ensure that the plans he already had well in hand were in motion. It was a waste of their time, he is sure, but he supposed it must be entertaining to them nonetheless.

More than anything, he’s surprised his mother does not press her points more. Since he became viscount, he’s been perpetually doing wrong in her eyes. He always sees the betrayal in them, that he is not his father and never would be, and it’s a disappointment that has been so familiar that it’s almost become a background noise. It’s not one he’s ever been able to tune out completely, but it’s been persistent enough for him to accept its inevitability.

He was a scared, young boy once who cared more about what his mother thought of him. But that feeling did not last as long as Violet’s resistance to get out of bed after his father had died, so it was buried along with everything else. He did not deal with tenants in the way his mother had preferred. He tried to balance the crop yields of the season enough to keep rent raises rare and manageable, but his father used to provide baskets once a month and on holidays. He saw to it that his siblings had every tutor and need fulfilled, but did not laugh with them as he once had when they were peers. His father’s fuse was long, nothing ever bothered him or triggered his temper. Anthony’s frustrations were plentiful and his outbursts frequent.

He was never the man he was meant to be, that he was supposed to be – he was only ever playing a part. 

Anthony clenches the box in his fists. If he is only meant to play a part, to fulfill his duty to his family, then he would do it. He would not expect his mother’s understanding or his siblings’ approval. He would do what he had always done. 

Anthony would marry, see to it that his father’s line continued, and spend the rest of his likely abbreviated life a disappointment to nearly everyone around him. It was just as well.

-

Kate decides early on that she is going to quite like pall mall.

The Bridgertons are restless with excitement at the prospect of playing, even the normally composed Duchess is set on ensuring the wickets are only interfered with on her terms. Edwina looks intimidated as the Bridgertons bicker over the order of mallet selection until Daphne settles the argument.

“The only fair thing to do is to let our invited guests choose their mallets and strike first,” she says diplomatically, much to Colin and Benedict’s exaggerated disappointment. Daphne gestures to Edwina, perhaps sensing she’s much more nervous at the prospect of playing with such cutthroat competition than Kate is. “Miss Edwina?”

Edwina graciously selects a pastel mallet. Kate has no such demureness to her, however much she’s tried to train herself otherwise, and snatches the black mallet without a second thought.

“The mallet of death,” Colin says, sounding awed.

“Would you look at that, brother?” Benedict chuckles.

Kate raises her eyebrows, gesturing to a quickly-reddening Anthony with the mallet in question. “Is this yours?”

“Not at all,” Anthony mutters, sounding not at all convincing. “You are welcome to it.”

Kate bites back her smile, just barely. Colin looks at them both in disbelief.

“You threatened to beat me the last time I –”

“You exaggerate!” Anthony retorts quickly, and Kate cannot conceal her laugh. His temper is almost amusing to her, especially in such a playful context.

“Lord Bridgerton, are you the superstitious sort?”

“No,” he replies abruptly. “No, I am not.”

“I know some men cannot perform without their familiar tools. Like a child with a blanket.”

She should know better than to tease him, truly, but the way his face reddens gives her a perverse sort of pleasure. If he could brush against her at balls, swearing to seduce her, surely she was entitled to fluster Anthony if she pleased.

His siblings laugh in earnest, which only serves to make Anthony grow redder.

“I can play perfectly well with any mallet,” he insists.

Eloise has the mercy to end the conversation there, insisting that it was time to play, and they quickly disseminate onto the field. Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton are perfectly content to watch from their spot on the sidelines, sipping tea as if they were watching a most entertaining sport indeed. Kate learns a few things about all of the Bridgerton siblings as they play.

Daphne is determined to win, but mostly fair and observing of good sportsmanship. Eloise is a cheat who moves the wickets when she thinks no one is looking (which they are, and which they quickly call her out for). Colin does not knock his siblings out of contention nearly as much as Benedict does, as if Colin is determined to be the pacifist of the family and Benedict is quite determined to make everyone loosen up. And Anthony –

Well, he’s like her. Competitive to the point of being delirious with it, groaning when he misses and cheering loudly when he does not. 

Anthony knocks her ball further away on his first turn, a light and insincere ‘oops’ leaving his lips as he does.

Kate narrows her eyes at him. “This is because I took your mallet, is it not?”

“I do not know what you mean,” he replies, but his lips twitch.

She knocks him further away and herself back near the next wicket with her next round. Kate does not bother to hide her smug expression. Anthony narrows his eyes, their siblings laugh, and Kate merely keeps the smile on her face.

-

Anthony is not quite sure how playing pall mall with his siblings and the Sharmas ended resulted in him and Kate falling unceremoniously into the mud. He expects Kate to be more disgruntled by it, to curse the mud caking her dress and slippers, but she laughs. It’s a bright, full-spirited sort of laugh, and it takes him so much by surprise he laughs right alongside her. The mirth on her face is infectious, and the absurdity of the situation is settling on him now.

“How are we going to get out of this, you reckon?” he asks her, catching his breath.

Kate lifts herself up, the mud squelching around her, and her gloved hand is quite filthy by the time she offers it to him. He takes it, doing his best not to drag her down with him, and they’re both chuckling. 

“For the record,” he says, licking his lips. “I did not plan on ruining your fineries and trapping you in the mud, Miss Sharma.”

“And here I thought you might do anything to win,” she replies airly. Kate looks down at her dress, bemused. “My apologies to your maids, my lord.”

He shakes his head. “They are used to far worse from us on the field, I assure you. And it should be Anthony to you at this point, should it not?”

At this, Kate raises her eyebrows. “Might that be overly familiar?”

“Ah, but we’ve lain in the mud together, are we not long past such formalities?”

She does not redden in the way that he does, but Kate inhales and her eyes squint just so. “You are going to make us sound quite scandalous, my lord, rolling in the mud unchaperoned.”

He picks a piece of mud out of her hair, out of one of the strands that has escaped her chignon. His hands are muddy, so it may be beside the point, but she stares back at him just the same. “Are there scandalous things the two of us would be doing in the mud, unchaperoned?”

Kate exhales, and turns away to grab her mallet. “I shall never surrender to you on the sporting field.”

She spots their balls, nestled a distance away, and knocks hers away as she exclaims. Anthony follows her eyes to her ball, then the tree and the bench next to his father’s grave. His good mood turns bitter. He swallows, willing Kate not to explore, not to question – and her eyes are already inquisitive when she spots his expression.

“Anthony?” she asks, and it’s the first time she says his name. “Is something the matter?”

He hears cheers from beyond the tree-line, and he’s suddenly quite grateful he’s lost. Anthony tips his head back to their party. She purses her lips, but follows him with her mallet in hand. He hears Daphne celebrating her victory, and Kate smiles.

“She will be amusing company at dinner.” Kate gestures to his ball, then. “Do you not wish to retrieve your ball?”

He wants to snap immediately, to state that the game is over and he shall be taking his leave to lick his wounds in private. Privacy was key in thinking about all of it, to endure any of these reminders was to risk burning the hand of whichever fortunate soul was in range to grasp him. But he is courting her, and there is no malice in her voice, so he just –

“We should leave it,” he says, perhaps still too short, but it does not make her recoil. “For now. Perhaps I will return for it later.”

Kate doesn’t push it, and he is grateful for the small mercy.

At the very least, their siblings’ reaction to the mud all over them is a distraction enough.

-

“You missed a spot,” Anthony tells her.

He’s next to her on the settee, perhaps too close by ordinary standards for a caller at tea time, but they are at his ancestral home and their chaperones are mostly quite amused, so perhaps it is beside the point. Anthony grabs a handkerchief from his pocket. Before Kate can protest, he swipes quickly at a spot behind her ear. She is quite warm by the time Lady Danbury clears her throat.

“I am merely helping Miss Sharma remove a bit of dirt,” Anthony says, grinning. “My intentions are purely innocent, I assure you Lady Danbury.”

Lady Danbury narrows her eyes and makes a sound of disbelief and disapproval.

Kate rubs the spot Anthony had just cleaned as he pockets his handkerchief once more, and straightens on the settee. She sips at the offered tea, and her eyebrows raise in pleasant surprise.

“Chai?” she asks.

“Indeed,” Anthony nods, still grinning. “I do believe I once overheard you refer to English tea as bathwater.”

Lady Danbury groans.

Kate thinks of the packages she had brought with her to Aubrey Hall, the assumption that she had that if she wanted decent tea she would have to make it herself. She feels warm again, but it’s a different sort of warmth entirely. “I suppose I should thank Mr. Vu, as well.”

“You already know the cook’s name?” he asks, sounding bemused.

“I asked Mrs. Wilson for a brief overview,” she admits wryly. “I am still learning, mind you, the estate has quite the expanse of staff, and I understand Miss Ysewijn in Bridgerton House has an entirely different style entirely–”

“You may know more of our staff’s names at this point than some of my siblings. Say, are you perhaps interested in becoming the Viscountess of this estate?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “It is always wise to enumerate gratitude correctly–”

“Indeed,” he agrees, grinning. “And in this theoretical, were you to become Viscountess–”

“Theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” Anthony allows. “First order of business?”

“Asking the staff what the first order of business is,” Kate replies easily. “They know far more about the estate than anyone else, absent Lady Bridgerton,” she says, trying not to obviously look in the direction of Violet.

“And myself?” Anthony asks.

“I do not think you will have a problem expressing your opinions, my lord. Besides, I imagine you’ve executed your ideas if you’ve had them.”

“If I’ve had them?”

Kate resists the temptation to roll her eyes, but he is smirking and his tone teasing.

“You know, Lord Bridgerton, I’ve heard rumors of your interviews. Is this one of them?”

Anthony chuckles. “Ask me your questions, then.”

“What are your ideas for the estate?”

“Largely to keep it from falling apart and to keep my tenants from rioting.”

“Do they have reason to riot?”

“I imagine if they did you would discover it rather quickly. I am thinking of how to replace the concealed gutters–”

“Prone to flooding.”

“Precisely the issue, it took all of last summer to replace them.”

“Did you expense the costs to your tenants?”

“I thought about it–”

“A man of your wealth?”

“But I did not, to your point. Have you been reading my ledgers, too?”

“Hardly. What questions did you ask the debutantes of this season?”

Anthony raises his eyebrows. “I see we’ve changed the subject from tenants.”

“You did say I could ask you questions. You opened yourself to it, my lord. Did you expect them to know the details of gutter design?”

“No, my questions were far more simple – how many languages did they speak, how many children did they wish to have, any of their musical talents–”

“The Queen herself did not ask me any of these questions.”

“Well, the Queen isn’t marrying you – and besides, the questions were perhaps a bit–”

“Foolish? Rude?”

“Pointed,” Anthony acquiesces. “I confess I do not care how many languages you speak or your musical talents –”

“You wound me, my lord, I’ll have you know I’m proficient at the pianoforte and rather dreadful at the flute. What instruments do you play?”

“The quill and the balance sheet,” he replies dryly.

“Hm, how convenient that men are allowed to get away with being of few talents.”

“I assure you, I have talents,” Anthony replies, voice low.

Lady Danbury clears her throat, not even bothering to look up from her book. 

Anthony grins. Kate tries not to notice how the dimples in his cheeks stand out when he does. 

-

It’s Daphne who finds Anthony in his study later that afternoon. Anthony is rifling through his ledgers, a smile just on the corner of his lips. Perhaps Kate might get a kick out of some of it – reading the tenant letters, tracing Colin’s predictable hobbies through his spending. She’d perhaps chide him for the art school donation for Benedict’s sake, he knows, but it seemed like another invisible load he could bear for one of his siblings. He thinks of Kate and her sister, and wonders if perhaps she could relate.

“I’m pleased to see you like this, brother,” Daphne says, voice fond in the doorway. 

Anthony looks up. “Like what?”

“You’re smiling,” she says, an accusation in her voice and in her expression. “Laughing, even. Do you know how long it’s been?”

Anthony scoffs, shaking his head. “Oh, I’m well aware you all find me quite too serious. Believe me, I do have other aspects.”

Daphne raises her eyebrows. “Now, perhaps. Kate is quite the complement to you, indeed.”

Anthony looks up at her. “You’re on a Christian name basis with her, are you?”

“Of course I am,” she says lightly, stepping next to Anthony’s desk. “I had to get to know my future sister, did I not? She reminds me of you, you know. The likable parts, anyway – the competitiveness, the humor, the protectiveness before it’s turned to insanity…”

Anthony sighs. “I will never live that down, will I?”

“You shot at my husband,” Daphne replies sharply.

“I missed, didn’t I?”

Daphne rolls her eyes. “Well, perhaps being in love might soften your harder edges.”

Anthony stops, eyes narrowing. “I am not in love, sister.”

Daphne frowns. “Oh?”

“Miss Sharma and I are both clear-eyed that this is a match based on practicality. I am a viscount who needs a viscountess, and she is the Diamond–”

“You stare at her, you know. Do not think we have not noticed the deranged sniffing , either.”

Anthony’s eyes widen. “I have no idea what you are referring to.”

“Nevertheless,” Daphne says, eyes twinkling. “I have caught Kate staring too, you know.”

Anthony straightens, then looks back down at the ledgers. He pretends to pay close attention to them, though the words blur on the page. “You have?”

He places his tone as noncommittal. Daphne has the nerve to smirk at him, and his eyes dart back down to the parchment in front of him. Anthony clears his throat.

“We have an understanding. That is all.”

-

Anthony finds Lady Mary after his conversation with Daphne. The woman nearly turns as soon as she sees him. But Anthony knows how often she excuses herself from company, so he has to take an opportunity as he sees it.

“Lady Mary!” Anthony says quickly, striding to keep up with her. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

Lady Mary does stop. She turns to look at him with a weariness he was not expecting. “Yes, my lord?”

Anthony clears his throat, gesturing from the hall to the adjoining parlor. “May I interest you in tea?”

Lady Mary pauses, then nods. “I confess, I have missed English tea.”

Anthony grins. “Ah, so the opposite of your daughter.”

“She was raised in India,” Lady Mary replies, moving to sit in the parlor. Anthony sits on the opposite settee, clasping his hands together. “I lived in London for much of my life.”

“It must have been quite different,” Anthony says.

“Indeed,” Lady Mary says, eyes faraway. “I was just eighteen when I left with Milan, it was an entirely new life.”

“Miss Sharma’s father?” Anthony supplies.

Lady Mary nods. “Perhaps he would see the irony in granting Kate’s hand to the sort of Englishmen he’d swept me away from,” she says wryly.

Anthony nearly laughs, an exhale of breath from his nose. “Perhaps. Do you think he’d grant it nonetheless? Would you?”

Lady Mary looks at him carefully, sipping her tea. Her cup clatters back into its plate. “Kathani has always made her own decisions, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Do you find my intentions suspect? I assure you, as strong-willed as your daughter is, if she did she’d certainly sniff them out and refuse me at her leisure.”

“I think your intentions are quite clear,” Lady Mary says, tone level. “I often wonder what our lives would have been like if Milan hadn’t passed. I’ve crafted many stories in my head on the subject, you see.”

Anthony holds in a sigh, thinking of his mother. “Of course.”

“After he died, Kate always took care of us more than we were able to care for her. I’ve always hoped she’d find someone who could take care of her the way Milan did for me.”

Anthony swallows. “I assure you, Lady Mary, I would do everything in my power to care for Miss Sharma. She would want for nothing. Miss Edwina would be granted all of the privileges of my siblings, and I would treat Miss Sharma with utmost respect.”

“I do not doubt your wealth could care for her,” Lady Mary replies. “But would you be able to truly care for her? Kate has taken so much on for her family, and I am – well, I am well aware of my shortcomings in doing the same for her in the way she deserved. But she deserves that in a marriage.”

Anthony’s brow furrows. He leans forward. “Lady Mary, I have been caring for my family since I was nineteen. If Miss Sharma and I wed, she will become part of my family. I would do anything for them. I have done everything for them.”

Lady Mary gives him a final, examining look. She smiles, and it’s a bittersweet expression. “You sound so much like her. I suppose that’s why I believe you.” Lady Mary moves to stand, and he follows suit. “You do not need my blessing, but you have it. The affection in your family is a testament to you, Lord Bridgerton. It’s what Kate deserves.”

Anthony bows his head, and Lady Mary takes her leave.

-

Kate does return for their balls, later on.

She doesn’t understand why Anthony was so hurried in leaving to begin with. Something had clearly come over him, though he was closer to himself at tea afterwards. They were already muddied, their clothes already dirty – there would have been no harm in retrieving the balls they’d left behind. She is, to her credit, rather careful with her skirts this time. Her maid, Rosamund, had already had quite enough to be sent to the laundry.

So she wears her riding boots, lifts her skirts, and retrieves their balls almost without incident.

Kate stills when she hears voices nearby. When she realizes the voice belongs to Violet Bridgerton, calling after Anthony, she curses under her breath and ducks behind the nearest tree.

“I can take my leave,” Anthony says, in the same tone he had before. Short, to the point, with a veneer of politeness shoddily laid over it.

“No,” Violet says. “Stay, please.”

There’s a long pause that follows. Kate considers if it is enough for her to step away, to allow them their privacy, but a combination of curiosity and fear of being caught stops her. Violet says something inaudible, but then her voice becomes clearer.

“Your father would be happy you have found love, dearest.”

Anthony sighs. “I'm fulfilling my duty to this family, Mother. That is what takes precedence above all else.”

Kate isn’t quite sure how to interpret his reply. There’s resignation in it, the kind that makes her bristle, but the content of his words is consistent with all he’s told her thus far. This is an obligation they can fulfill to both of their families – not a match rooted in love and romance.

“Just because you are dedicated to this family does not mean that there should be no room left for love, Anthony. Your father took his role as viscount seriously, but he also loved deeply. I know that is what you want too. I know that, deep down, it is what you’ve always wanted. And if you just allow yourself to–”

“You're quite certain how well you know me,” Anthony interrupts, his voice sharp.

“I know how sweet and earnest you were as a boy. Always with a kind word and a joke. But then, after your father died, a wall went up inside you, as if love had become some…some weakness instead of your greatest strength. And that is not you.”

Kate’s brow pulls together. It is the strangest feeling, to wonder if she’s taking advantage of a viscount who has sworn off love, in robbing him of the opportunity. It was not as if she had such aspirations for herself – she’d let them go long ago – but perhaps the convenience of their match was where their compatibility began and ended.

Violet continues, “You deserve the feeling that I had the moment your father placed that ring on my finger. It was a promise, not just of the sacred commitment that we were making to one another, but a sacred love.”

“Love shall have no place in my marriage,” Anthony snaps.

“You cannot mean that.”

“I seek a sensible partner with whom I may share a pleasant life, untouched by heartbreak and the ravages of grief.”

Kate leans further against the trunk of the tree, as if doing so will render her invisible. 

“You were barely even there after he died. And yet, I, myself, am cursed to remember every waking moment.”

Kate thinks of Mary. The headaches that plagued her and never truly left after Appa had died, the helplessness she radiated until Kate had assured her she’d take care of all of it. Mary had let her – Kate became her sister’s governess and quasi-mother, the administrator of all family expenses, the one who had to fire their staff and arrange for their travel to London and write the Sheffields and –

She didn’t resent Mary for it quite like Anthony seems to resent his mother. But when Mary entered their lives, Kate was desperate to earn her attention. When that faded, she’d settle for her gratitude.

“I could never…I could never be the cause of such pain, no matter how cruel and hard-hearted everyone else may find me to be.”

Kate remembers the weeks after her father’s death. Mary did not leave her bedroom, and Edwina tucked herself into Kate’s bed every night until her sister’s soothing lulled her to sleep. Kate would ask her questions that went unanswered, the light gone from her eyes, and when Kate had begged – for more information, for guidance, for anything – Mary had whispered that these were all things their Appa had taken care of. She was eighteen when she moved to India, and Hindustani was not her first language.

So Kate read through her father’s records, kept diligent notes, and resolved that none of it would touch Edwina. She made herself their umbrella, sheltering them from the worst of everything. It was the least she owed them.

Kate fiddles with the balls in her hands. She feels guilty for eavesdropping on such a private conversation, however unintentionally, but she thinks she understands him now as well as she could understand herself.

-

Anthony’s eyes narrow on Benedict at dinner.

At first, he’d simply assumed that his brother was deeply in his cups. But based on Colin’s slightly panicked expression, and the size of Benedict’s pupils, it must be something else entirely. If Benedict weren’t on the opposite end of the table, Anthony would kick him. Kate, for her part, just looks amused. 

She leans over to him, seated to his left. “I do believe they mentioned a type of tea, earlier.”

Anthony raises his eyebrows. “A tea?”

“He nearly wept at the potatoes,” she notes, grinning. 

Anthony nearly curses under his breath. “Please understand that my family–”

“Is lively,” she says, voice warm. “I am sure Benedict will be well in the morning.”

Daphne is looking at the two of them curiously, and Anthony resists the temptation to remind her to mind her own business. Mercifully, she redirects her attention to Edwina, who has been mostly quiet next to Kate.

“Miss Edwina, is your sister always so competitive?”

Kate smiles, shaking her head, and Edwina laughs.

“I do believe she may fit right in with you all in that regard. My sister and I were known to be a handful growing up,” Edwina says fondly.

“Mm,” Anthony says, stroking his chin and meeting Kate’s eyes. “I can imagine.”

Kate swats at his arm.

“But Kate always has had my best interests at heart,” Edwina continues. “She bears a heavy responsibility for our family.”

Kate reaches for her sister then, her expression warm. 

Daphne’s eyes go back to Anthony. “That sounds remarkably similar to you.”

“I suppose we do have our similarities,” Kate grants. 

Anthony mimes shock. “A compliment? From you, Miss Sharma? Perhaps the country air has affected you.”

“I am in rather better spirits in the country,” she admits. “Though I do not suppose you should get used to it.”

Benedict knocks over a wine glass. Violet looks mortified, but Kate just meets Anthony’s eyes with amusement as they all descend to clean up. Colin is sweating, Benedict is too out of it to properly process what he’s done or perhaps even where he is, Daphne sighs in exasperation, and Eloise looks grateful for the entertainment. This is usually what would set him off into one of his typical tempers, glaring at the table, vowing to chastise Benedict for not being about to comport himself for one evening.

Kate looks at him like she understands, her lips curl as if encouraging his to do the same, and his irritation dissipates.

Anthony makes a decision, then, leaning over to whisper in her ear. Lady Danbury is glaring at him now – either for the impropriety or because she’s miffed she cannot hear them – but he continues all the same. “What do you say to another wager?”

“On what, my lord?”

“If Benedict knocks over his wine glass again,” Anthony says, nodding his head to his entirely out of sorts brother. “You’ll marry me.”

She laughs. “Oh, but you’ve chosen the most likely outcome.”

“Then it is yours to decide whether or not you’d like to accept.”

Kate looks at him for a long moment. Her eyes are thoughtful, her expression turning more serious. “I will accept.”

His heart is pounding in his ears. Anthony finds the ring box in his pocket. The back of his neck is damp with perspiration. “You did not even ask what you would get if you won, Miss Sharma.”

She sips at her own drink rather than replying. The staff has just set down another wine glass, this time further out of Benedict’s reach and with a much lighter pour. Kate turns her head to watch, and Anthony watches with her. They sit, for a moment, just waiting.

Colin is describing a fountain in Greece, and Benedict has grown enraptured by the candles again. Colin gently sets Benedict’s glass further from his reach, but Benedict overcorrects in attempting to lift it up once more. The glass falls over, the table groans in exasperation, Violet is telling the staff Benedict shall be in no more need of wine this evening –

And Anthony sets the ring box on the table, lifting his eyebrows. It is a question.

“Well, are you going to ask it?” Kate says lightly, as the table around them dissolves into further chaos.

“Colin, what did you –”

“Oh, you assume I did something?”

“Benedict, how much wine have you had?”

“Lady Danbury, Lady Mary I must apologize profusely–”

“Really, it is no trouble, we all find ourselves a bit out of sorts, I am sure Mr. Bridgerton will be alright, right Mama?”

“Kathani Sharma,” Anthony says her name slowly, dropping down next to the table on one knee. She raises an eyebrow at the use of her name, and he has to thank Lady Mary for letting it slip earlier. “Will you marry me?”

He opens the box.

“Yes,” she says, and he grins widely. He slips the ring on her finger, they both stand, and a sense of overwhelming relief comes over him. Anthony takes her hand, running his finger over the ring now on it, and Kate gives him a warm smile. He presses a kiss to the back of her hand, and the rest of the table turns quiet.

Violet’s eyes widen. “What just–”

“Are you quite serious?” Eloise says, nearly cackling.

Edwina’s hand covers her mouth, Lady Danbury looks exasperated and pleased, Daphne gapes, and Benedict laughs even harder than he had before.

“Miss Sharma and I are engaged,” Anthony announces, tugging Kate closer to his side. Kate laughs, and he joins her at the absurdity of the tableau. But her gaze is fond when it finds him again, and this decision felt like finally letting out a breath.

Everyone is seemingly too shocked to say anything for about ten seconds, until Benedict says,

“That is quite nice, Anthony, but would you please pass the potatoes?”

-

Kate is not giddy.

That emotion would need to be reserved for an engagement not based on practicality. Mary and her Appa were joyful and excited at their engagement, but theirs was based in a love realized almost instantly. So while her and Anthony can grin at each other at the dinner table, her feet absentmindedly kicking his underneath it, they both understand that this is a relief for them both. They will both fulfill their duties, unburdened by the complications of the typical marriage mart. Kate can pleasantly retreat from her unasked for Diamond status and leverage it into a sensible match that will provide for her family, and Anthony may finally fulfill his obligation to marry.

Edwina, on the other hand, is quite excited at her sister’s engagement. 

“It is like a fairytale,” she squeals, her hair loose from its earlier pins. She turns around from the vanity to look at Kate. “To think, when we arrived here, you did not think you would marry. You thought you’d merely return to India and become a governess, and now you are to be a viscountess!”

Kate laughs, shaking her head. She presses her palms on her legs, leaning over herself further on the bed. “There is still much work to be done, bon. I imagine we’ll see quite a bit of eligible suitors for you arriving for the ball–”

“Please,” Edwina says, holding up a palm. “You have just gotten engaged, didi! Let this one evening be about you, I beg you. You are in love!”

Kate presses her lips together. She should protest, but Edwina is so excited at the prospect she does not have it in her to explain she’s made the opposite choice of their mother. She will marry for her family, not for love.

But Edwina’s eyes are sincere, and Kate cannot dash her hopes. Edwina deserves a true love match, and if she thinks she too must make a match based more in sensibility than affection, Kate will have failed her.

So instead, she tells her. “Yes, I suppose it is like a fairytale.”

Edwina turns back to the mirror with a satisfied sigh. Kate falls back onto the bed, adjusting her head on the pillow. She stares up at the ceiling – ceilings that will, in theory, be her own – and her mind wanders.

It is not that Kate cannot see herself happy here. It is precisely the opposite – she can. She can see herself being a menace on the pall mall field, her and Anthony trading barbs all the while. She can see Edwina contented here until she finds a match of her own, pouring over a broader selection of books than they could ever afford back home. She can imagine dinners filled with lighthearted jokes, sibling hijinks, Newton scampering over the vast property.  And when she sees all of it, she sees Anthony – cursing after the dog, half-reprimanding his siblings, whispering something in her ear.

This was supposed to be a duty and an obligation. Kate was meant to make the most of an unexpected situation, to marry as best as she could for the sake of her family, to do what Mary could not when she was named Diamond.

Mary did not marry an English gentleman. She did not listen to the whispers of the women around her, she did not make such calculus to put her foot in the most advantaged door. She married her father, a man that offered her kindness and joy and love, and whose death left her family destitute. Kate can never be sorry for the circumstances that brought Mary, then Edwina into her life. She’s been grateful for the surely terrifying decision of a brave woman who chose to leave it all behind for a life in a new country.

But Kate is not Mary. She is not even Edwina. She could not afford to make such decisions. When her Appa passed, she could not refuse to leave her bedchamber and leave the ledgers to someone else. When they had to let go of their staff, she could not simply delegate the decision to someone else. She could not even ignore the Sheffields and their fortune, and she certainly could not put the burden of the situation on the shoulders of Mary and Edwina.

Edwina was meant to marry for love, to find an English gentleman to sweep her off of her feet so she would not need to suffer like Mary when and if her husband passed, so her children could be provided for, so she could experience all of the love she deserved with stability that could keep her warm if the embers of it ever cooled. 

Once Kate was named Diamond, she knew she had to make the most advantageous match possible. She had expectations to meet – of the Queen, of Lady Danbury – and they were not incorrect in setting them. Kate had to be smart, had to be level-headed, had to approach this with the most sensibility possible. Her family’s future depended,  once again, on her making the correct choice.

And Anthony Bridgerton was clearly the correct choice. He was wealthy and connected, his affection for his family clear, and Kate was fortunate enough to find someone precisely on the same page she was on. It was a sensible match. He had made clear he was not seeking a wife for the purposes of a love match, and she had written the idea of one off shortly after her father died.

So it should not make her ache to think she wants this, it should not tie her stomach in knots that she can see it so clearly, and she should not be so conflicted over the fact she quite enjoys the company of the man and the family she is marrying into.

It should not.

-

Anthony sleeps rather well.

It must be the relief of such a significant task now accomplished. He’d set out this season in search of a wife, and he’d found one. A woman that could decidedly handle his siblings, who could laugh at his family rather than running away screaming from them, and who was utterly incapable of backing down from any challenge. Really, all things considered, he’d done quite well in what he set out to do. 

.By the time he awakes, he finds his mother, Lady Danbury, and Daphne huddled over one side of the table at breakfast. Benedict looks as if he's still half-asleep, Colin is quite excited about the addition of chai to their cook’s repporite, and Eloise has already given up on breakfast entirely, opting instead to read outside. Lady Mary and Edwina are politely conversing with one of their maids, and Anthony waits politely on their end of the table with his hands clasped behind his back.

Edwina spots his patience first, eyes lighting up. “Oh, you just missed Kate! I believe she’s taking a ride.”

Anthony does not blush. He merely looks down, then up again, with some warmth in his face. “Oh, quite good. Er – I only mean – Aubrey Hall is best appreciated on horseback, I’ve long thought, so it makes sense for her to –”

It’s then that Benedict drops his fork rather loudly. “Brother, did you get engaged last night?”

Colin groans. 

“Caught that, did you?” Anthony asks dryly, just as Daphne comes to tug at his arm.

“You’ve timed this rather well with the ball, brother – perhaps it’s an engagement ball?”

“You are pitching this to me,” Anthony mutters, grabbing grapes from the table and popping them into his mouth, “as if you, Lady Danbury, and our mother do not already have this all planned out. Hm?”

He raises his eyebrows, and Daphne sighs.

“I did tell them to slow down a bit, you always like ideas better if you think they’re your own.”

“Do I?” Anthony raises his eyebrows. 

“How else did you think I got my way so often growing up?”

“Because you can be very irritating,” Anthony retorts. “What does Miss Sharma think?”

Daphne shrugs her shoulders. “She merely said we should do whatever suits the family best.”

Anthony narrows his eyes. “Suspiciously agreeable.”

“She is quite agreeable with me,” Daphne counters. “Perhaps you are just a uniquely irritating person.”

He looks to Lady Danbury and his mother again, both of whom are only growing more animated. “Please tell me they are not inviting the Queen.”

“Kate is the Diamond…”

Anthony sighs. “And yet I’ve never known a woman more averse to pomp and circumstance, may you please talk them down?”

“She likely won’t come if invited, she is never one for coming out to the country.”

“Well, make sure of it,” he replies pointedly. He grabs more grapes, striding out of the room. 

“Where are you going?” Daphne asks, stepping forward.

“To greet my future wife when she returns from her ride,” he answers over his shoulder.

He can hear Benedict’s voice once more as he leaves the room.

“I cannot believe I nearly missed that detail.”

-

Anthony paces back and forth for about twenty minutes until he sees her. 

Kate dismounts easily and gracefully, and a footman takes her horse with an immediacy that clearly surprises her. When she looks up, Anthony steps forward.

“Did you have an enjoyable ride, Miss Sharma?”

He’s suddenly aware of how eager he must look, bouncing on his heels and greeting her so immediately. She takes off her gloves, her left one more slowly, and grins.

“It is a beautiful estate, my lord.”

“It is Anthony to you,” he insists, stepping forward. “As we are to be married, I believe we can do away with such formalities, don’t you?”

“Very well,” she says, nodding. “Then I shall be Kate to you.”

“Kate,” he tests out carefully. She straightens. He then tries desperately to think of something to say, something that is not him just repeating her name over and over again. “Do you always ride astride?”

She frowns. “Do you take issue with it?”

“Not at all,” he says quickly. “It is just uncommon in England to see women–”

“Unbecoming of a Viscountess?” she challenges, chin rising. It is a sure sign that he has offended her, and under such conditions he must try to dig himself out. “You did know how I rode a horse before last evening.”

“Of course,” he replies. “I was merely asking if–”

“I would suddenly change how I ride my horse to suit what you perceive is correct behavior for a–”

“It is as if you are purposefully misinterpreting me.”

“You were the one who asked–”

“I did not – Kate!”

Anthony freezes. He hears a buzzing sound, and he registers a bee flying around Kate’s chest. She swats at it in irritation, and he nearly chokes.

“Do not move,” he says, and she palms at the air again. It is precisely the opposite of what he’d asked her to do, and the fear feels like ice in his lungs. “Stand still, damn it!”

“Do not tell me what to do!”

She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that something so small, so insignificant, could be what ruins his life once more. She did not hold his father’s corpse in these gardens, watch his throat close, stand still helplessly–

“No, no, do not!” he’s begging both her and this horrible, small creature. “Leave it!”

“It is only a bee!” she says, and he watches her flinch as it stings her. A tiny gasp of discomfort leaves her, and he is quivering. 

He had only just proposed. They were only just betrothed. He has already ruined it, already cursed her, already run out of time. He watches her and wonders how much time he has left until she can’t breathe, until there is nothing left he can do. He is at once nineteen and helpless with his father in his arms and nine and twenty with his bride felled by the same fate. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, eyes searching her desperately. Her chest is heaving. “Can you breathe?”

Kate’s brow pinches, and he’s worried it’s in pain. How much time? “What?”

“Can you breathe?” he asks again, begging. 

“It is only a sting, of course.”

There’s ringing in his ears, and he can’t breathe. “Are you certain?”

“Anthony,” Kate says, and it breaks him that her last words could be his name.

“No, no, no, do not–”

Do not say goodbye. Do not go. Do not leave me here. 

“Anthony?”

“Do not–” he pleads, unable to get the words out.

She takes his hand, presses it against her chest with her own. She breathes it, then out, her eyes on him. He feels her lungs expand and compress, feels her breath. She feels warm. She smells like lilies. Kate is still here.

“I am unharmed,” she says, voice soothing. He learns how to breathe again.

She inhales, and her fingers grasp tighter to his hand. He exhales with her.

“I am unharmed,” she says it like a promise, and it is one he clings to.

His forehead meets hers, his other arm finds her waist, and he matches her breathing as best as he can. Her hand keeps his on her chest, firm and steady.

“It was just a bee,” Kate whispers, eyes still on his. “It was just a bee.”

Anthony clings to her. 

Then her horse neighs, he realizes just how far the panic set into him, and he takes a step back. Kate looks at him in confusion – for his abrupt distance or his histrionic reaction to a bee sting, he cannot be sure. Anthony opens his mouth to say something, anything, to salvage the situation. He promptly closes it. Kate watches him, her brow furrowed, as he walks away.

-

Anthony avoids her for most of the day.

Kate tells herself that this does not bother her. There is enough to keep her busy without the viscount – her recent betrothed – and Daphne and Violet are so excited to be making preparations that she falls into her practiced, supportive script. Yes, of course the lilacs are a lovely idea. No, she does not need extra blankets in her room. If forced to choose between carnations and roses, it is always carnations.

It all makes for rather extended tea. Edwina flits in and out of the conversation to add her input. Eloise walks into the drawing room, finds the conversation is about ball planning, and leaves before sitting down. And Mary is present, but eyeing Kate rather intently. Kate bristles, unused to her mother’s close eye, and Daphne, Lady Danbury, and Violet keep the conversation going quite well enough on their own.

“Simon writes that he will finish his business at Clyvedon soon enough for him to attend,” Daphne says, tucking a letter to her chest. “I think you’ll get along quite well, Kate.”

“Oh?”

“You two share a common interest,” Lady Danbury mutters, “Getting under the viscount’s skin.”

Kate raises her eyebrows, and Daphne laughs.

“Hopefully with less potential bloodshed,” Daphne says.

Violet and Lady Danbury give Daphne a pointed look, and she quickly changes the subject.

“I do dislike when things match too much, don’t you agree? If we are to go with pink for the linens, we cannot overwhelm our guests with pink flowers.”

Before Kate can ask Daphne for further explanation, Kate’s maid appears with a jar in her hands. 

Kate takes it, puzzled. “What is this, Rosamund?”

“From the viscount,” she says, sounding as if she’s curious herself. “A salve for your sting.”

Violet’s spoon clatters in her teacup. Kate takes the jar, warily. “Has he not been in his study all afternoon?”

Rosamund only shrugs. “He caught me in the hallway, my lady.”

Ah. So he could be overcome in the gardens when she suffered an ailment as minor as a bee sting, run away from her, hide in his study, and send ointments all in the same day. Just when she thinks she is beginning to understand Anthony, there is something she must piece together once more.

“You were stung?” Daphne asks, her voice pitched higher than typical for her.

“Oh,” Kate waves to the sting on her chest, hoping to communicate her lack of concern. “By a bee, it is no bother. Our home in India had a wasp infestation of sorts one summer – compared to that, this is nothing at all.”

“And Anthony was with you?” Daphne asks, gesturing to the salve, her eyes wide.

Kate frowns. Did she see them in the garden? Was their manner truly that inappropriate? If so, Kate wonders why she’d bring it up now. Surely, it was improper by the standards of the Ton, but they were betrothed. “Yes, I –” Kate pauses. “I suppose he was rather out of sorts afterwards.”

Anthony was panicking, but it hardly seemed polite for her to bring up such a topic in front of his family. Perhaps he just had a particular fear of bees, a strange phobia, but it seemed rude to bring up if that was the case.

Violet excuses herself, quickly and quietly. Kate gives Daphne a questioning look. 

Daphne opens her mouth as if to explain, and then promptly closes it. The Duchess clears her throat. “Well, I am glad you are feeling well. Now, I do think we should invite the Queen – I promise, she will not come–”

“You cannot make any such promises, child,” Lady Danbury retorts.

“She will surely not make such a long carriage ride for our humble gathering at Aubrey Hall,” Daphne states decidedly. Then she pauses, frowning. “Oh – where would we put her if she stayed the night?”

“Her Royal Highness would not stay the night,” is Lady Danbury’s response.

“But what if she did? Would we – oh, what’s the best suite at Aubrey Hall? Anthony’s? Surely he would understand if we had to displace him for the Queen of England…”

The conversation continues on, and Kate half-listens and half-participates. 

-

Much to Kate’s misfortune, her excitement for the day does not end after the morning’s events, the long afternoon of planning, and dinner with a remarkably quiet Anthony and his family. She almost misses Benedict’s previous state, for that would be a subject of some levity and conversation, but Anthony’s responses are brief and to the point. They are not rude, necessarily, but disconnected and distant.

After dinner, it starts storming. It had been drizzling on and off since the late afternoon, but thunder booms nearly the moment her head reaches her pillow. Edwina sleeps soundly in the bed next to her. She had no such foolish fears. Her mother did not die during a monsoon.

Chandra Sharma had not been killed by a monsoon, but simply succumbed to illness during one. But for Kate, the two were inextricably linked. She could not hear a clap of thunder without remembering her Amma’s last breaths, a memory fogged by her youth. It’s a childish fear she has never managed to outgrow completely, and her Appa was no longer here to read to her anymore. 

She tries to fall asleep, tries to quiet her mind. But the thunder claps once more, and she takes off her blankets with a huff. Kate finds a shawl and lights a candle, careful to be quiet enough not to wake her sister. Though, clearly if Edwina could sleep through this thunder, Kate needn’t worry at all. She resolves to find a book – any book, at this point she’d read ledgers and search for a narrative.

Kate pads down the hallway carefully, settling for the first open door she sees. It’s a library, from the looks of it. Perhaps it may also be a study. She is nearly embarrassed by the potential invasion of Anthony’s privacy, but lightning strikes once more and she resolves to be polite while browsing. She will not go digging in his desk. She will just peruse his bookshelves.

The thunder rolls, and she selects the most familiar book she can find. Kate gently cracks the spine of it, splaying the pages open for any distraction she can find. She’s startled by the creak of the door.

It’s Anthony, clad only in his pants and undershirt. His sleeves are rolled up, his feet barefoot, and Kate flushes. She quickly closes the book in her hands, and tugs the shawl tighter around herself. “Lord Bridgerton.”

“I did not mean to startle you,” he says, lingering in the doorway. “I saw a light and thought I might have left a candle lit.”

“No,” Kate swallows, clinging to the book in her hands. “It is only me.”

Anthony hums in acknowledgement, looking down.

“Could you not sleep?” he asks, voice soft. “If your lodgings are not comfortable..”

“No,” Kate says quickly, shaking her head. “It is only the storm. I have always found them unsettling, ever since…”

She does not finish her sentence. Anthony looks up at her, face shadowed in the candlelight. 

“My father used to read to me during the monsoons,” Kate murmurs. “Now the rain makes me think of him.”

Anthony takes a step forward, coming closer to her. “This is my father’s library,” he nearly whispers, looking at the shelves. He looks at her, at the book in her hands, and comes closer. “These books were some of his most treasured possessions.”

Kate cannot help but ask him, “How did he die?”

Anthony exhales slowly, shakily. “He was stung by a bee.”

Kate understands many things at once, then. “Anthony. I am – I am so sorry.”

His reaction to the sting, the salve, his mother’s reaction, Daphne’s quiet consideration – it all made quite a bit of sense. It was as sensible for a grown man to be frightened of a bee sting as it was a grown woman to be scared of storms. It was always something else. 

“To see a great man felled by such a small creature, it was, um…humbling, to say the least.”

He looks vulnerable, like this. His shirt undone, his hair a mess, his words so earnest and honest. Kate nearly aches with it. Her hand finds his shoulder before she can think better of it, the only comfort she can think to offer. Thunder sounds, and she flinches.

His hand grabs the book from her hands, gently taking it from her and setting it on the windowsill. He looks at her, truly looks at her, and takes her empty hand.

“I am not my father,” he admits thickly. “I will never be – he was a great man.”

“So you cannot be?” she asks gently.

“Not in the way that he was, no,” Anthony replies, and Kate squeezes his shoulder before her other hand finds his. “I cannot offer you a whirlwind romance, I cannot even offer you love.”

“I did not ask for either of those things, Anthony,” Kate responds, their fingers interlacing. Anthony is now staring at their hands, his thumb tracing her ring.

“So you would accept this for what it is? Me for what I am – agitated, unloving, with a penchant for driving you mad?”

She stares at him for a long moment. “I believe I already have.”

Chapter Text

He finds Kate in the stables the next morning, patting the muzzle of a horse with gloved hands. She must not hear him approach, or assume he is the stable hand, as she doesn’t turn around as he leans against the sliding door. Kate murmurs something softly to the animal. A smile lights up her features as it leans in her direction. Her skin is a contrast to the colour and cut of her riding habit, and her hair is loosely braided. She looks much like she did when they first met.

Kate is softer, here, less guarded. He watches, fascinated, until she jolts.

“Lord Bridgerton, what are you–”

“My apologies,” Anthony says quickly, ducking his head with a flush of embarrassment. “Ah, I did not wish to intrude.”

“On myself and Daisy?” she asks, gesturing to the horse.

Anthony sighs. “I myself was considering a ride, is all. And it is Anthony to you, however many times I must remind you.”

“And need I remind you, that much of the Ton will be joining us this evening,” Kate replies pointedly. “Hardly an occasion in which it is appropriate to abandon all formality.”

“We are announcing our engagement, I hardly think a given name shall raise eyebrows.”

“You overestimate London’s limited tolerance for any deviation from its baffling norms.”

“Well,” Anthony steps forward, cocking his head to the side. “We are not in London, we are in Kent.”

“It is hardly the other side of the world.”

“Nevertheless, I did not think of you as one so rigid in their adherence to such norms,” Anthony says. “Or else shall I grab a side-saddle for you? And a maid to chaperone your ride?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “Did you come to ride, or merely to lecture me on my riding habits?”

“Do you interpret everything I say to be a lecture?”

“It must be your manner of speaking that turns all of your words into such.”

Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose. Kate just smirks.

“I do believe you owe me another match,” Kate says. “I requested one at Lady Danbury’s soiree, and yet we have yet to race one another.”

“We are currently evenly matched,” he points out. “I’ve won one, you won the first.”

“It is untenable, such a tie must be broken.”

“And I intend to break it.”

-

Anthony does, of course, by losing.

Kate enjoys a victory lap as he returns his own horse to the stables – even Jack seems to be amused by their shared loss, a betrayal from an old friend. Kate’s hair is windswept by the time she returns, a smile wide on her lips. Anthony removes Jack’s saddle with some dramatic flair, which only makes her happier at his expense.

“Perhaps over the course of our marriage,” Kate says cheerfully. “I shall widen my lead.”

“Or perhaps I shall catch up,” Anthony replies, moving to help Kate unsaddle her own horse. She does so before he has a chance, eyebrows raised pointedly, and he sighs as he takes it from her.

“Where is Charles?” Kate asks, looking around for their typical stable hand.

“The day will be chaotic enough,” Anthony replies. “I suspect much of the Ton might be demanding in their requests for such a,” Anthony rolls his eyes, “long and punishing journey of less than a day’s carriage ride. I gave him the morning off.”

“Oh,” Kate murmurs, raising an eyebrow. Much of her hair has come undone over the course of their ride, her curls escaping. Anthony steps forward, hardly even registering that he’s moving at all, and tucks a curl behind her ear. She looks up at him, and his hand remains on her face.

Anthony inhales. She has no right to smell like this, so floral and fragrant, after such laborious exercise. His imagination runs wild, for a moment, with his hand on her cheek and the scent of her and the way her chest heaves after riding – he closes his eyes. Anthony exhales, steadying himself, and Kate’s forehead presses against his. They are betrothed and alone and she is temptation itself.

Their lips ghost, and the damned horse neighs again. Kate steps back, turning away from him and composing her hair with her fingers. Anthony directs his frustrated eyes to Daisy, the horse who is seemingly determined to prevent him from the simple pleasure of kissing his soon-to-be wife. 

“I should go change,” Kate says quickly, reeling back around. She hurriedly brushes past him. “Pardon me, my lord.”

Anthony sighs.

He glares at the horse in question once more. The horse glares back. 

-

After a particular bracing morning bath, at his request, he joins Kate and her sister at the tables set on the lawn. The festivities would begin in earnest soon, food and beverage and activities to welcome their newly arrived guests – and he realizes with some disappointment that he and Kate will spend most of the day apart. He is due to head for the hunting trip shortly, and she likely will quickly be ensnared by the obligations of ladies in the Ton. It’s a disappointment he does a poor job of concealing.

“Didi,” Edwina says cheerfully, filling in the gap of Anthony’s silence. “Are you excited to be joined again by the other ladies?”

“Of course,” Kate says, voice carefully neutral. “I know the Duchess and Lady Bridgerton have put in quite a bit of work arranging all of this.”

She says this in a tone that implies she’d much rather not, but a desire to avoid the perception of rudeness prevents her from saying as much. Anthony’s frown deepens.

“What are you up to this afternoon, Lord Bridgerton?” Edwina asks.

Anthony can already see Benedict approaching. “A hunt with the other gentlemen, the party is to leave quite soon.”

Edwina’s eyes light up. “Did you know Kate is an excellent shot?”

Anthony’s eyebrows raise. “Really?”

Kate almost scowls. “Don’t sound so surprised, Lord Bridgerton.”

“I should not be,” he says, the corners of his lips turning.

“I’ll have you know, I am sure I could have a better shot than many of the–”

Benedict approaches, his hand slapping on his brother’s shoulder. “All set for the hunt?”

Anthony grins. “I do believe we have an extra rifle. Do you think Lady Danbury could spare one of her maids to act as chaperone?”

Kate turns her head to her sister. “Bon, are you sure you want me to leave you–”

“I know you well enough to know you’d be much happier hunting than gossiping with the rest of us,” Edwina says, voice warm. “Besides, I did promise Daphne I’d ensure no lawn game incidents occurred this year.”

Kate’s brow furrows, while Benedict and Anthony nod in grim acknowledgement.

“Incidents?”

“Something about a window and a–”

“I do believe the Featheringtons still owe us in repair costs,” Benedict notes, peering up at the window in question. “To her credit, the eldest Miss Featherington can throw remarkably high.”

Anthony frowns at the memory.

“I suppose I will join the hunt, then,” Kate says, tone playful. “My risk of injury may be lower there than here.”

‘Depends on how much brandy has been consumed by the gentlemen beforehand,” Anthony replies.

“Remember when Lord Fife shot Lord Cho in the–”

Anthony clears his throat pointedly, glaring at Benedict until he closes his mouth.

“Best not for polite company,” Benedict agrees. “Their friendship endured, it is quite touching all things considered.”

“Shall I be worried I may too be shot in the–”

“Not at all,” Anthony says quickly. “I will give everyone my usual rifle safety lecture, as I have since–”

“The Incident of 1810,” Benedict finishes, nodding. “As much as I typically resent Anthony’s lectures, it has been a remarkable improvement since their institution. We also told the gentlemen drinking was no longer permitted during, but we cannot be sure of their compliance.”

Anthony purses his lips. “I shall put myself between you and Lord Fife, just in case.”

Kate laughs, shaking her head. “How noble of you, Lord Bridgerton.”

Edwina just watches the exchange with a dreamy expression. She must have missed much of their discussion of men shooting one another in the arse, or else they’d effectively shielded her from it.

-

Kate does prefer shooting over socializing, much of the time.

Anthony is regaling her with the full, infamous story of the Incident of 1810, a moniker Benedict evidently came up with. It was more of a graze than a full shot, and the men within earshot of them groan at the recollection. They complained through much of his safety briefing too, to be fair, but she couldn’t help but be amused by it. Even the guide must have thought the third reminder of the location of the rifle’s safety, the importance of never aiming it unless planning to shoot, and the obvious implications of the trigger were perhaps over-emphasized.

And Anthony does, pointedly, put his horse between her and Lord Fife’s. Lord Fife’s cheeks turn pink in mild embarrassment. Their guide calls ahead for their party to turn right, and Kate frowns.

“Where are they going?” she asks, turning to Anthony in confusion.

“Toward our camp, I believe,” Anthony answers, much in the same tone he delivered his safety lecture in. Kate bristles against it.

“There are tracks going off to the left, look,” Kate replies, pointing to the tracks in question. They are clearly elk tracks, and they are headed in the opposite direction of their party. “In the moss, you can see the cloven shape. If we go to our camp now, we may miss our quarry entirely.”

Anthony’s eyes dart between the tracks and the party. “Let us stay with the group. If we find nothing, I shall offer myself up for your target practice.”

Kate sighs. “Very well.”

A beat passes between the two of them.

“Where did you learn–”

“It is a rather–”

They both laugh, having interrupted the silence at identical times. Kate answers Anthony’s presumed question first.

“My father was a secretary for a royal family in India. A family gracious enough to let me hunt with them, even as a young lady.”

Anthony nods. “It seems you’ll manage quite well, then.”

Kate lifts her chin. “Did you doubt me?”

“Hardly,” Anthony says, tilting his head to one of Lady Danbury’s maids behind them. Rosamund was busy with ball preparation, so poor Mildred was the maid available for the task of chaperoning this expedition. “Much better than your maid on her horse, let us hope.”

Kate feels a bit bad, the woman is struggling. But Anthony laughs, and she joins in before she can help herself. “Really, this business of a constant chaperone is–”

“At the very least, now that we are betrothed it should–”

Their guide announces their arrival at camp, and they’re still smiling.

-

Kate feels the frustration growing in her as another hour passes with no sign of their prey. It was just as she had suspected, and the guide may be worse than useless if what they are pursuing is an actual hunt. The men do not seem the least concerned about it, merrily trudging to nothing.

Kate sighs.

Anthony quirks an eyebrow at her.

“The men out enjoying the sunshine. A sign of a great hunt,” Kate mutters. Benedict and Lord Featherington exchange a look, stepping to join the rest of their party, but Anthony lingers.

“Would you prefer the darkness?” he asks.

“What I would prefer is to be allowed to follow my own instincts on this hunt instead of blindly following the guide.”

“You are still convinced that we’ve lost our prey?”

“I am convinced that deer prefer the edge of the forest. This is much too open out here,” Kate retorts. Anthony offers her a hand to step over a log, which she does not take. She merely lifts her own skirt, and accomplishes the task just fine by herself.

Anthony does not speak for a moment, but she’s already striding ahead. For all of his sermonizing on the matter of rifle safety, his barrel had been aimed directly at his head.

“Uh, yes, well, perhaps you are right, but we should carry on. Certainly there'll be other deer on other paths. They do not always keep together. And if there are not, then…”

Anthony is trying to keep up with the rest of the other gentlemen, throwing the words over his shoulder, but Kate decides it’s best to abandon the prospect of this failed hunt entirely. If they were on a hunt, truly, then they had to understand that following the guide was a waste of their time. 

She follows the track of the stag – a simple, basic task – and she is not a ten minute walk away before she is rewarded with a rustling in the brush a short distance away. Kate finds a nearby log, and sets up her rifle.

Much like English tea, she cannot say she cares for English rifles. She frowns at the unfamiliarity of it. After a moment, she can hear Anthony striding in her direction.

“Kate!”

“Shh,” she responds instantly. At this rate, he was going to scare off every creature on the estate. 

“Are you quite serious?” Anthony asks. “Your maid – the party –”

“And you said I was too concerned with formalities,” Kate mutters.

“There’s formalities, and then there is a woman wandering off from a hunting party–”

“So the problem is that I am a woman?”

Anthony huffs. “That is not what–”

“Oh? So if a man wandered off without a maid, he’d be subject of such pontification?” 

“You sound remarkably like Eloise.”

“And you sound remarkably–” Kate stops, spotting more movement in the brush. She leans in, trying to get the right angle. It is all off, this rifle, and she finds herself frustrated that she has to recalibrate such an established skill. This truly was her race with Nectar all over again.

“Have you held a British gun before?” he asks.

“Of course I have,” Kate mutters, lying.

She sighs, resolving to figure it out herself. 

Anthony sidles up next to her, arms wrapping around either side of her. She opens her mouth to argue with him, but his hands are firm on her arms as he adjusts her shoulders. “Here,” Anthony says, voice gentle.

His breath is hot on her neck, the weight of him broad across her back. 

“Just hold it,” he whispers, hands ghosting over hers. His finger over hers on the trigger, his hands tracing hers on the barrel. “Like this.”

Do you know all the ways a woman can be seduced?

He inhales. Kate lets her eyes flutter close, another loss for being safe with rifles. If she arches her back, if she leans against him –

Then the gentlemen’s voices boom. They evidently both found the tracks and ensured that the prey had plenty of warning to run away. Kate and Anthony jerk apart – for the fourth, fifth, or sixth time now – and Kate has grown frustrated at such tension allowed to fester. Judging by Anthony’s grunt, he does not fare much better.

“There the two of you are,” Benedict says cheerily. “Well, you better rejoin us before the rain ends our pursuits.”

Anthony looks at her. Kate straightens. Benedict is striding to catch up with the rest of their hunting party, but Anthony lingers.

“It will likely storm,” he notes, looking up at the clouds. The wind is picking up, and Kate can feel the condensation building in the air.

Kate works to ensure her face remains impassive. “So it may.”

Anthony steps closer to her, still a careful distance away. “Meet me in the library this evening?”

This should scandalize her. The house is full of guests. Any sign of the two of them alone together could result in scandal, betrothed or not. But perhaps she’s grown tired of tension, of waiting, of propriety – so she just says, “Perhaps.”

Anthony inhales as she strides past. She exhales.

-

Dinner is a crowded, busy affair indoors. Compared to when it was just her family and the Bridgertons, the halls nearly echoed. Now the sound bounces, there is a flurry of activity, and Kate is shepherded from conversation to conversation. Daphne finds her early in the evening, much to her gratitude, and it is her that gracefully steers Kate through any remaining introductions.

When Lady Cowper steps away to avoid greeting her entirely, along with her daughter, Kate keeps her head held high. Daphne looks at her, some pride in her eyes, and leans over to whisper, “You should know, they never liked me much either.”

“I do question if they like much of anyone,” Kate replies. The idea of rejection in the Ton stung. Not because Kate earnestly cared what any of them thought, but because she was not ignorant to the consequences of their scorn. Her mother bore the emotional scars of it – of her parents’ rejection, of London’s judgement – and Kate knew she could not afford to be on the receiving end of more of it than she already was by nature of her birth and age. But the Cowpers, of all families, did not intimidate her.

“And I question if anyone likes them,” Daphne adds, laughing. Kate joins her, unable to help herself. 

“Keep going,” an unfamiliar masculine voice says, “If you keep her laughing for long enough, she may snort.”

Daphne’s eyes light up. She instantly embraces the man, who Kate deduces must be the Duke. 

“Simon! Did you bring–”

“Augie is upstairs, already in bed, but I am sure he will be eager to see his mother,” the Duke replies, voice warm. Daphne presses a kiss to his cheek, and Kate can’t help but smile at such unbridled affection. It was a rare thing to see in the Ton, but the two were clearly infatuated with one another.

“Forgive me,” the Duke says, a smile on his own face and his arms still around his wife. “I meant to introduce myself, I’m Simon, Daphne’s husband.”

“Your Grace,” Kate curtseys. The Duke quickly shakes his head.

“Ah, there’s no need for that – such a greeting still makes me think of my father, and the less said of that the better. I’m Simon to you,” he says, and Daphne squeezes his arm. “Besides, I believe we are the only two thus far brave enough to marry into the madness of the Bridgerton family.”

“Not quite yet,” Kate replies easily. “There is still time for the viscount to scare me off.”

“He’d better not,” Daphne says.

In the same breath, Simon laughs, “Ah, you were right Daph.”

“About what?” Kate asks, her eyebrows raising. 

“Anthony has finally met his match,” Simon answers. 

As if on cue, Anthony appears beside her. Kate turns her head to face him, her expression accusatory. “Where have you been?” 

“I’ve been in my study this entire time,” Anthony replies defensively. “Hastings. I see you’ve made it.”

“So I have,” Simon says, smiling. Anthony is tense for reasons Kate does not fully understand.

“And you’ve met–”

“Miss Sharma,” Simon nods, and Kate realizes she did not even introduce herself. It appears she did not need to. Daphne’s letters must have been quite detailed, indeed. 

“How was your journey?” Anthony asks, oddly formal.

“The rain was not too bothersome. I suppose we’ve both had worse in such dreary conditions,” Simon remarks. Daphne’s fists clench, and Kate looks between the three of them in utter confusion.

Anthony turns to Daphne. “My sister has been a better sibling to me this season than I was during hers. I owe you both an apology for that.”

“And yet, we are still family,” Simon says glibly. “I’ve had worse.”

Kate wants to ask for some measure of context, but Daphne noticeably softens and Lady Danbury approaches to greet the Duke. Anthony takes her arm, steering her away from the exchange, and before she can open her mouth to ask him what that all meant, he admits–

“I was a bit of an overprotective sibling, one might say.”

“Your sister mentioned your relationship with the Duke involved potential bloodshed,” Kate counters. “I do believe that goes beyond what –”

“You would do for Miss Edwina?” he finishes. “Ah, perhaps. If you caught your sister in a certain compromising position with a man who would not marry her, I suspect you may be a better shot than I was.”

Kate grasps his arm so tightly she may very well bruise him. “You what ?”

“It all worked out in the end,” Anthony says, his other hand loosening his cravat. 

“You nearly shot the –”

“Careful,” he whispers. “We are in polite company.”

He gestures to the guests around them. Kate groans, then lowers her voice accordingly. “Perhaps I cannot meet you later this evening, Lord Bridgerton.”

He stops. “If you are concerned–”

“If someone were to catch us, I’m afraid they might duel you at dawn,” Kate murmurs, smirking as she says it. “It sounds rather dangerous.”

He leans in closer to her, then, his breath on her ear. “No they would not, for we are already to be wed. There’d be no satisfaction to demand, really.”

Kate raises an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Only yours.”

Kate schools her expression carefully. “Our engagement has not even been announced yet, my lord.”

She looks to her hand, and the glove that covers the ring on her finger. His eyes follow, and trace slowly upwards until meeting hers again.

“And yet, the situation would so easily be explained by your bare hand and the testimony of all witnesses of our betrothal. Not to mention my dedicated, public pursuit of you up to this point.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “So the rumour may be that the Queen’s choice is –”

“So irresistible that I simply could not stay away,” Anthony murmurs. “Besides, it will not matter. We will not be caught.”

“Your home is filled with half of the Ton–”

“We will not,” he emphasizes once more, the words a whisper in her ear. “Be caught. We’ve been interrupted enough times, I do not intend to be interrupted this evening. Do you?”

He’s so close his scent envelops her. Kate inhales slowly, deeply. The impatience she’s been fighting has not gotten easier to manage. “I suppose I do not.”

-

Thunder continues early in the evening, and it does not stop. The rain hits the windows sideways, a constant patter, and Edwina’s breath evens out in sleep. Kate grabs her shawl and candle carefully, mindful that the house is more occupied than it was before. When she pads down the hall, the light from the inside of the library is already illuminated. She opens the door with caution, trying to minimize the squeak of it, and he stands at the desk as soon as she does.

He’s down to last night’s state of undress – his undershirt pulled to his elbows, unbuttoned nearly to his sternum. Kate closes the door behind her carefully, setting her candle aside on a side table. She looks at him, and his pupils are blown wide. He takes a step towards her, and grasps for her hand. One of his curls around her palm, the other around her elbow.

“We do not,” he murmurs, voice low. “We do not have to do anything, Kate. It is merely a moment alone for you to do what you wish, for us to finish a moment without being interrupted.”

He brings her palm up to his lips, and presses a kiss to it. 

She tugs him closer. “And you assume I wish for a moment alone with you?”

He smirks. “Don’t you?”

It’s a small, infuriating thing. Kate’s hand finds his collar, tugging him closer, meeting his lips with her own. At first it’s an awkward mash of desperation – teeth and lips and crashing – but they settle into a rhythm and her hands embed themselves in his hair while his find her waist. 

“Anthony,” she gasps, and he groans. 

He grasps her tightly, his hands searching her back, then her shoulders. “I will stop,” he swears, as if trying to convince himself.

“Do not stop.”

“I will stop,” he says again.

“Do not stop,” she demands, tugging him closer still. She does not know where this ends – this want, this endless hunger. She’d read, surely. She was more advantaged than most of London’s debutantes in that regard, for she was not completely ignorant to the consummation of passion and its consequences. She knew they’d well-past the line of what was suitable and appropriate for a betrothed couple, let alone one so rooted in sensible arrangements, but if faced with another interruption she fears she might just ignore it out of frustration regardless. 

Theirs was not a match based on love, but sensibility and passion need not be so distinct. Her mind goes through the counterarguments, as it has been all night – if they were caught, what it would mean for her reputation or for Edwina’s prospects. But she’d become betrothed to a man nearly as impatient as she was; it was yet another one of their commonalities. At this rate, they may be pulled to one another in the middle of a ballroom with far more disastrous consequences.

His hands trail up her arms, ghosting until they reach her shoulders, and he traces her collarbone with his fingers.

“Touch me,” Kate sighs. Anthony backs her up, carefully, against the desk.

“Sit,” he says, voice tight. She complies, nearly crossing her legs out of habit, but he stops her. He then drops to his knees. His hands rub up and down her legs, slowly and torturously. “Tell me when to stop, Kate.”

He presses a kiss to the inside of both of her knees, open-mouthed, and her hands find his hair again. 

“Do not stop.”

Anthony grins against her thighs.

-

Anthony had spent much of the season – really, his life – dreading the idea of a betrothal and the marriage that followed.

He’d become viscount far before he was ready to, and while he was pushed into all of its associated duties he’d ignored the one for as long as reasonably possible. He’d had his myriad of reasons. Mistresses and paramours were an attraction that came far more easily and frankly than the idea of pursuing any debutantes, he avoided deeper connections as if they were a plague after seeing their symptoms rendered so horrifically in his mother, and of course there was the matter of his inevitable death. Try as he might – the half-cocked idea to run away with Siena last year, his brief considerations of abandoning his title altogether, the years he spent postponing courtship – it was not an obligation he could avoid forever.

A part of him could shake the hand of the man he was a year ago, or even a few weeks ago, and assure him that this really was not quite so terrible.

Perhaps he could get engaged – to the Queen’s Diamond, no less – and have an enjoyable sort of time indeed. 

He ponders this the morning after their tryst, palming the space beside him in bed and suddenly wishing it was not empty. Their interlude in the study was abridged and his pants remained on until he was by himself – truly, the last thing he needed Kate to worry about was a pregnancy before they were wed and a pregnancy timeline that would no doubt be inspected by the Ton’s gossips. For either of them to be in each other’s bedchambers would be scandalous, betrothed or not, and he knows Kate well enough to know that while she detests society’s unrelenting standards she binds herself to them for the sake of her family. Much like Anthony is doing now, he supposes.

He’d nearly forgotten that Aubrey Hall was filled with people, including a number of people he did not particularly care for. Once he realizes that breakfast is not a private affair in the dining room, but a large feast, he sighs. Getting in and out will not be a quick or easy affair. Mrs. Wilson spots him, and pats him on the shoulder. “I shall send a tray to your study, my lord.”

Anthony gives her a nod of gratitude. “Just tea will do, it is appreciated Mrs. Wilson.”

Nelson has already arranged today’s business in order of least to most recent. Anthony eyes it wearily, considers that perhaps he’s been procrastinating, and gets to work. There are repairs that need to be done, crop rotations that need to be approved, and –

“How on earth did Colin spend that much in Greece?” he asks himself, brow furrowing. He adds it to the stack of correspondence that needs further follow up, and checks his father’s pocketwatch. The ball will begin in earnest in hours. It would, of course, be nice to see Kate beforehand – before she’s circled by wolves, perhaps they may be able to catch a moment of privacy – but Nelson returns with another stack.

“Apologies, sir, these are forwarded from Bridgerton House.”

Anthony nods his reluctant assent, foot tapping, and compiles the paperwork into the previously established system – priority, recency, follow-up necessary. He barely picks at the tray brought in for lunch, and just as he’s balanced the most conservative estimate of crop yields against the budget for improvements, he realizes he’s used estimates from last year. He groans, crumpling the parchment, and starts anew. He checks his pocketwatch again, and realizes the ball is within an hour.

As if on cue, there is a knock at the door. Daphne pokes her head into his office. “Can I trust that you will be attending your own engagement ball, brother?”

Anthony looks up, fiddling with his signet ring. “Yes, of course, I was just about to get dressed.”

“Good. And clean yourself up, while you’re at it,” Daphne replies, shutting the door quickly. Anthony looks down at his ink-covered hands, and sighs.

This has been the least enjoyable day of his engagement thus far, and it is largely because he has yet to see Kate once.

-

His day gets considerably brighter when he sees her in the ballroom.

Her hair is only half-up, her curls framing her face. She’s dressed in mauve tonight, evidently in keeping with his mother’s theme, and he’s relieved to see her expression lighten when she sees him. Daphne and Simon are next to her, and she’s in the middle of a conversation with Eloise. A conversation that could be going better, he gathers by the petulant look on Eloise’s face.

“I thought I would forewarn you,” he can hear Kate tell his sister. “I knew how you’d likely feel about it.”

“I appreciate the forewarning to run away,” Eloise scowls, but Kate’s arm catches her before she can run away. It’s a practiced move, he can tell, one she’s likely used with Edwina in the past.

“And then I will have to explain to Lady Bridgerton why her daughter knew to run,” Kate says, voice light. “It is one dance, Eloise, and then perhaps you’ll be left alone.”

“Perhaps? Oh, that’s reassuring.”

“For a moment, I might entreat you to wonder how the other debutantes might be feeling at balls like this,” Kate says, her voice deceptively light. “For they might be pushed by their families into more than a dance with a gentleman who seems well-enough, but a marriage. Which one seems worse to you?”

Eloise gives her a withering look, but relents. “Coming from a woman pushed into a marriage herself, I suppose.”

Kate laughs, and meets Anthony’s eyes. He’s tucked paces away, behind Eloise, almost offended. 

“I could never be pushed into anything, as you well know. I did suffer through some unpleasant dances, and I survived nonetheless.”

“None with me, I hope,” Anthony mutters, making his presence known. Eloise nearly hits him in surprise.

“Are you both just accosting me with tales on the benefits of a good match, then?” Eloise grumbles, sliding her gloves up her arms. “My compliments to our mother on changing her approach, but I am not convinced. Why would I waste my time with these men who do not think I have anything in my brain, who cannot even engage in meaningful conversation?”

Anthony snorts. “I believe if Miss Sharma did not think I respected her mind, she’d push me into the Serpentine.”

“And you so respected the minds of women in the Ton as to interview them incessantly?” Eloise asks pointedly. Kate laughs.

Anthony gives Kate a look of betrayal. “It is not as if I interviewed you!”

“She has a point, I’m afraid, my lord,” Kate says, and now they’re both laughing at his expense. Anthony huffs.

“Perhaps,” Kate suggests archly, “the key is finding a match quite content with being put in his place from time to time. It is a matter of respect, after all.”

“Mother talks of it all as if it’s a grand affair of rainbows and butterflies,” Eloise replies sardonically. “Do any of these men respect me? I am dubious they’re even capable of respecting my sex.”

“Demand respect,” Kate suggests. “Do you think the Queen merely asks for it? Or Lady Danbury? I am not saying you need to suffer fools, Eloise, but,” Kate’s hands go to her elbows, gently, “you do not have to be powerless in this or anything else.”

Eloise sighs heavily. She looks at Kate, then at Anthony. “If you try to arrange any sort of marriage for me, I will suffocate you in your sleep.”

At that, Eloise walks away. Kate looks quizzically at Anthony.

He groans. “I will tell you about it later, if Daphne does not. Let’s just say I was rash in many ways last season.”

“I’d hope that is left in the past, my lord, or else you may find yourself swimming in the Serpentine after all if your sister does not get to you first.”

Anthony sighs, shaking his head. “Rest assured, there is no need, my lesson has been learned.”

He offers her his arm, which she takes. Guests have already started filtering into the ballroom. The musicians have begun playing. Kate tips her head to Edwina, who is deep in conversation with a young man across the ballroom. “What do you know about Mr. Bagwell?”

Anthony almost snickers. “And here you were, giving me a hard time about how I handle my siblings’ affairs–”

Kate gives him a look. “Please, I am being quite reasonable. I am not marrying Edwina off, I am merely inquiring after the first man I see her having an enjoyable time with.”

“Was I just the first man you had an enjoyable time with?”

“In my life?” Kate asks. “No, you were not the first.”

Well, that cannot be good for his imagination. Anthony frowns. “What is that to–”

Kate merely pats his arm. “It is beside the point, my lord–”

“Anthony,” he corrects once more.

Kate sighs. “We are in polite company, are we not?”

“And our engagement is to be announced this evening, is it not?” Anthony says, grabbing two glasses from a nearby tray. It is actual alcohol, mercifully. Wine would have to do this evening. He hands a glass to Kate, who gives him another slight eye roll and sips at it. “Rohan Bagwell is inoffensive. I haven’t seen him at White’s, which can only be a good sign, though his elder brother is quite a character.”

“Ah, so like you,” Kate notes wryly.

“I’ll have you know, by the Ton’s standards for gentlemen I am nearly a bore,” he retorts. “He is a second son, like Benedict in that regard I suppose, though his brother Amir already has two children. I believe Amir and I were a couple of years apart at Oxford, and Rohan does…” Anthony squints, “something scholarly there, I believe.”

“Something scholarly,” Kate echoes. “How helpful.”

Anthony sighs. “If you wish to know if I would be concerned if one of my sisters spoke to a gentleman like him, my brief answer would be no.”

He then reaches for the dance card at her wrist. He frowns, noting it has already been filled out. 

“Dorset took your first dance?” he asks accusatorily.

Kate laughs. “He did ask first, I believe that is custom–”

“We are to be wed,” Anthony says, nearly stomping his foot in frustration. Dorset had the nerve to take advantage of his slight, paperwork-induced tardiness, and he quite wants to throttle the man. “Does he know that?” 

“No one knows that apart from our families yet, as we’ve yet to announce it.”

Anthony curses under his breath. “Well, perhaps Dorset will find out, when he…” Anthony takes a pencil and crosses out Dorset’s name, replacing it with his own, “is relegated to…” Anthony squints. “He can have the third dance of the evening.”

Kate gives him a disbelieving look, taking her arm back. “You cannot simply cross another gentleman’s name off–”

Anthony sighs, and then gently grabs Kate’s card once more to fill his name in two more dances. “Dorset, if he so desires, can talk to me himself and I will be quite happy to explain the matter–”

“And what of my desires? What if I wished to dance the first with Mr. Dorset, as requested?” Kate challenges, chin raising. 

Anthony makes a disbelieving sort of sound, redness coming to his face, and steps closer to her. She keeps her chin raised, and he keeps his hand on her wrist. “Would you tell me you desire a man other than your betrothed? Do you think,” Anthony leans in closer, inhaling, “that he could make you feel a fraction of what I can make you feel? Would he–”

A throat clears pointedly. Anthony and Kate jerk apart. Lady Danbury gives them both a truly unimpressed look.

“Just because you are betrothed does not mean the two of you can,” she places her cane between the two of them to illustrate her point, “express your ardour in polite company, let alone the ball where you are announcing such an engagement.”

“Right, Lady Danbury, I apologize–”

“Just when are we announcing, again?” Anthony asks, shifting his weight. 

“I believe that is up to you, Lord Bridgerton, so long as it aligns with your mother, sister, and betrothed’s idea of the evening,” Lady Danbury replies.

Anthony is already striding over to Daphne and Violet, who are in the middle of a conversation, and Kate follows at his heels with some exasperation.

“I am sure they–”

“Mother, Daphne,” Anthony greets the two of them, and they both jerk their heads to look at him. “Given this is Miss Sharma and I’s engagement ball of sorts, when is appropriate to announce our–”

“Dinner is the best time for announcements,” Daphne says decisively. “It is when the most people are gathered, when late arrivals can be accounted for, and–”

Anthony frowns. He thinks of the other men still foolish enough to attempt to compete for Kate’s attention. “That is much too late.”

“Oh? Well then perhaps you may have had an opinion on the matter days ago, when this was settled–”

“Daphne,” their mother interrupts gently, "It is sweet that Anthony is so enthusiastic, is it not?”

Kate is not as convinced. “It is as if you are convinced I will accept another offer should you not share the news as quickly as possible,” she mutters.

“No,” Anthony says instantly and defensively, “I rather just don’t see the point in–”

New laughter joins the group, Simon having returned to his wife’s side with Lady Danbury. “I hear Bridgerton has gone from swearing off marriage to not being able to announce his engagement quickly enough, is that right?”

Anthony sighs. He turns to Kate. “Do you have any objection to an earlier announcement?”

“I confess I can scarcely understand the pomp and circumstance of when it is announced,” Kate mutters. Anthony nods, developing a plan. He grabs Kate’s hand, and her pencil for good measure, and leads her up the staircase in the middle of the room. 

“What are you–”

“Trust me,” Anthony says, shooting her a grin. Kate shakes her head in exasperation, but follows him nonetheless. 

The two of them reach the top of the stairs, and Anthony taps Kate’s pencil against the glass in his hand. Kate temporarily looks spooked by the display, but her expression has practiced polite neutrality by the time the guests in the room look up. Anthony wraps an arm around Kate’s waist – in the most gentlemanly fashion possible, of course – and clears his throat.

“Good evening,” he greets the room, grinning. Kate is cursing in a language he does not understand under her breath, but no spectators would notice. For the Diamond of the season, she detested attention. And Anthony, well, did not enjoy it, but it was a means to an end. “Our sincerest thanks are with all of you who traveled to join us this evening. It is a happy occasion, indeed, and I am grateful to all of those whom we may share it with.

“My mother, of course, hosts the Hearts and Flowers Ball every year. As my siblings and I both will attest...” Anthony’s eyes flicker to Daphne, who may or may not have stomped her foot as soon as he began speaking, and his mother, who looks to be on the verge of tears. “Well, our mother has been keen on the idea of all of us being wed over the years – perhaps the moment we were of age to. I myself for some time was not keen on the idea, until…”

He pauses, looking at Kate. She’s blinking quite rapidly. “Until I met Kathani Sharma. Ka– Miss Sharma is intelligent, kind, quick-witted, beautiful, a menace on any sporting field–” they both laugh at this, and there is some intermittent laughter from the crowd in turn. “And I cannot wait to marry her.”

Kate squeezes his arm. There’s some cheering, something he’d normally determine overly saccharine, but it’s Hastings that starts it which somehow makes it even worse. 

“Oh, and–” he adds quickly, searching the crowd. “Where is Thomas Dorset?”

Kate tugs at his arm as if he is a particularly bad actor she must drag off the stage.

Anthony meets Dorset’s eye, who is looking up at him from below with his arms extended on both sides of him as if to ask what the meaning of his mention was. “Ah, good man. I do believe I have the first dance of the evening with my intended–”

At this, Kate does tug him down the stairs. 

-

Kate feels incredibly warm.

She cannot determine if it’s because of the embarrassment at the attention and Anthony’s deranged announcement, the effect of his words, or because it is just unseasonably warm. It perhaps is all three, but primarily the former two. It’s almost a show of sentimentality for the two of them – out of the ordinary for any couple in the Ton in its affection, and a romantic enough notion that Edwina is in tears when she embraces Kate.

“I am,” she hiccups, “so happy for,” Edwina sniffs, “you.”

Kate laughs, shaking her head. “You will tell me all about Mr. Bagwell, yes?”

Before Edwina can respond, the music starts in earnest. Anthony catches up with her, offering his hand, and Kate cannot help but laugh while taking it.

“I’ve seen less subtle displays from animals, you know,” Kate remarks, just after they bow to one another.

“Oh?”

“Usually such territorial behaviours are coupled with, well–”

“I did not–” Anthony blusters. “It is not–”

Kate laughs, as she’s been doing much of this evening. Anthony’s face is still indignant.

“Did I offend you with that? I trust you would tell me if I did, but if you would rather be dancing with–”

“Poor Mr. Dorset has done nothing to deserve such ire from you,” Kate says, shaking her head. “He is a perfectly nice man, who has been a remarkably good sport in the face of your manners.”

“My manners?” Anthony asks, eyebrows raising. “You find fault with my manners, then?”

“Frequently.”

“And yet,” Anthony grins, as they take a step apart and come back together, “you still agreed to marry me. Having second thoughts?”

“I knew what I was agreeing to,” Kate grants. “I suppose I cannot say your competitive nature has ever come as a great shock to me.”

Anthony pauses. “Ah, yes, that is what I suppose it is.”

“Though you’ll notice I have a competitive nature myself and am not so driven to absurdity, but I suppose a woman’s comportment is much more–”

“You hardly have to fight much of anyone for my attention,” Anthony retorts. “Meanwhile, I must fend off half of Mayfair’s eligible bachelors for the Diamond’s time. It is quite the exertion, I’ll have you know.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “And you? The first night I saw you, you could hardly fend off the dance cards being shoved under your nose.”

“So you were watching me,” Anthony replies, sounding smug. “That first night, you were–”

“You knew I was watching you, it’s how you caught me behind the column,” she mutters, trying to hide her embarrassment. She’s had quite enough of that feeling for the evening.

“If you had just given me your name when we first met, I may have simply announced my intentions during our first meeting rather than our second.”

Kate gives him a disbelieving look. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

Anthony grins. “Oh, but I am.”

“When we first met, you thought it appropriate to lecture me on –”

“It was an unfamiliar sight, I was merely curious!”

“You sounded remarkably like Lady Danbury, which in that moment was not a trait I found particularly attractive,” she huffs. “And you questioned my sense of direction–”

“But your sense of direction was, in fact, wrong.”

“Yet I still managed to best you in our race.”

“I’ve won once, you’ve won twice, it is hardly an unconquerable gap–”

“A maintained gap nonetheless. There has been no point in which you’ve been ahead–”

“Yet.”

The music stops, their dance ends, and Kate is still smiling when she returns to the rest of the party. Anthony goes off to find them more drinks, and she nods her assent. She tucks her hair behind her ears, nearly spinning around as she does so, and finds Edwina looking at her with a knowingness a younger sibling should never possess.

Kate straightens. “What is it, bon?”

Edwina merely grabs her arm, smiling. “It is such a joy to watch my sister be so in love, that is all.”

Kate has to remind herself that she is keeping up that facade with Edwina, for now. She has such romantic sensibilities, it would be a shame to see her sister lose them. “Ah, perhaps you’ll understand soon enough.”

Rather than protest, Edwina looks off at Mr. Bagwell with fondness. “I suppose I might. Did you know he has an entire library – of poetry in English and Sanskrit, and novels the size of my head. It even has one of those rolling ladders, didi, just like–”

Kate chuckles, shaking her head. “Edwina, Aubrey Hall’s library has a ladder as well, they are not so unique–”

“What is rare is a man that has actually read them all, and more than that,” Edwina says excitedly, “wants to know what I think of it, too. He doesn’t just ask me what I’ve read, he asks me how it made me feel . It is a rare thing, indeed.”

Kate smiles, happy to see her sister so excited. This is precisely what they came to London for, for her sister to find this kind of happiness. It’s then a different realization comes to her.

Mr. Bagwell was a gentleman, but he was not titled. A man of good English breeding was the Sheffield’s condition, but she flinches when thinking of the other implications. Mr. Bagwell was English, but his mother hailed from India much as her parents did. He was not set to inherit a title, something that the Sheffields did not specify. Their terms were not incredibly specific, something Kate took some relief in at the time. But word of the Queen’s choice of Diamond for the season could have got to them, and they were likely to be far from impressed. 

If she wed a viscount while she asked them to honor a dowry asked for in secret for the sake of her sister’s courtship with a second, Indian son…she cannot say she knows for sure what their reaction would be. It could be relief at the idea of them both avoiding marriages of low status, a thought that twists her gut and feels like a terrible betrayal to the memory of her Appa. Or it could be even worse – Kate could be playing a game that is impossible to win, and they could have other motivations than class status alone to spurn her sister’s choice. 

Mr. Dorset appears, expression sheepish, to claim her next dance. She takes his hand, distracted the entire duration.

-

“What’s wrong?” is Anthony’s instant question upon seeing her.

Kate does not know when she became so transparent to the man, but she does not like it. “Why would you think something is wrong?”

“Has Dorset done something to–”

Kate lifts her hand. “Please, do not harass Mr. Dorset. He has been a gentleman, I assure you.”

Anthony frowns, hand finding her shoulder and then her lower back. “Then what is it?”

The music for the next dance starts, yet another one that Anthony has written his name alongside, and Kate takes his hand to the dance floor. It is a waltz, which is likely precisely why Anthony has claimed it. She is hoping it is enough of a distraction from him continuing this thread of conversation.

Unfortunately, it is not.

“Who upset you so?” Anthony asks. “And before you can say you are not upset, while you have many skills you truly are not a gifted liar.”

“Will you keep prodding until I say something satisfactory to your examination?” Kate asks, her annoyance clear from her tone.

“Yes,” Anthony answers, unrepentant. “I am told – by you – that I am particularly skilled in pestering you, so it is an endeavour I shall be glad to pursue.”

Kate sighs. She stares at a spot above Anthony’s shoulder, rather than meeting his eyes directly. She should come up with something else – perhaps she twisted her ankle earlier and it was bothering her (except she’d already used that excuse a few balls ago, in a different context) or she was feeling poorly (a claim that needed, at least, some measure of physical symptoms). For Edwina or her mother, she would. They did not need her burdens, they did not need to suffer their consequences.

“If you don’t tell me I suppose I’ll have to retrace all of your conversations between our first dance and this one to discover who has you so perturbed. You didn’t hear the Cowpers earlier, did you? Rest assured, between Daphne and Simon there was plenty a lesson learned for them, and had I been present for that–”

“I don’t care about the Cowpers,” Kate interrupts. “It’s Edwina’s dowry.”

Anthony pauses. “Oh.”

Kate takes a moment to consider her next words. Would she tell him their entire storied history with the Sheffields? How she was only eight when she met them initially and had the door so summarily closed in her and her Appa’s face when they tried to do something as innocuous as leave flowers at Mary’s home? How she could hear them through the door, the words they’d said burned into her mind, and afterwards she tried to do everything in her power to convince Mary that she was worth –

“I assure you, it’s already been considered,” Anthony says quickly. “I’ve already arranged it with my solicitor, since you did not have a dowry I only assumed Miss Edwina’s was the same. I planned to bring this up with you, later, but I am still waiting on some counter-signatures–”

Kate looks up at him with complete astonishment. “You did what?”

“Your sister’s dowry,” he says easily. Anthony remarks upon it like he has simply noted the weather. As if he had not, in the flick of a quill and in a meeting with his solicitor, settled what had agonized Kate for years at this point. “After we became betrothed, it was quickly added to the list – in addition to budgeting for your trousseau, some funds to refurnish the viscountess chambers at Aubrey Hall and at Bridgerton House, and some other items I thought we might go through later.”

Kate gapes at him.

She may genuinely, for the first time in some time, be at loss for words.

“I meant all of this to be subject to discussion, of course, not merely me making decisions regarding such – that is to say, I know how you would feel about such decisions being made without your input – that is, I suppose, I could guess–”

Kate realizes he’s misinterpreting her silence. “It is both unexpected and most generous of you, Anthony.”

He softens at her use of his given name. “Hardly unexpected, I should say. When we are wed, your family is as much my responsibility as mine.”

Kate is so overwhelmed with affection for him she can hardly stomach it. She has been carrying so much on her own for so long, she did not realize what it could feel like to shoulder such burdens accompanied. Suddenly, she’s overcome with the need to tell him everything. 

“The Sheffields,” she says, breaking their brief silence. “They are Edwina’s grandparents, not mine. When my father married Mary, they were quite upset she did not marry an English gentleman of their choosing. They cast her out, and she has not spoken to them since.”

Anthony frowns. “They sound cruel. Rest assured, I have no expectations for whomever Edwina may choose to marry; I am sure your protective nature alone acts as quite the sieve for any truly unsuitable characters.”

“That is not all,” Kate admits. “Once our father died…I did my best to hold our family together, to maintain the house, to ensure Edwina could have everything she could need or want. But my father’s coffers ran low, so I–” Kate grimaces. “I wrote to the Sheffields. I asked them for their help out of true desperation, if I thought I had any other options…well, they were not my first resort. We came to London…”

She stops, just for a moment. Anthony is staring at her, but there’s no judgement in his eyes. Yet.

“In the hopes of Edwina finding a match they would approve of – a man of good English breeding,” Kate says the words almost sardonically, “so she may get a dowry provided for by them and she and my mother could live comfortably.”

“And what about you?” Anthony asks, his grasp tightening.

“What about me?” Kate asks, confused.

“They would provide for Lady Mary and Edwina, but you were not mentioned.”

“I would not be in the picture. In this situation, I would have gone back to India and found work as a governess.”

Anthony pauses. Kate wonders if she may have lost his good opinion forever, if he will be as repulsed by her scheme as she feels with herself for falling into it.

“I am glad that has not come to pass,” he says instead. “That you do not need to rely on their fickle nature. That you are here – with me, with your family, and not alone in India.”

Kate blinks quickly. She is not going to weep in front of Anthony Bridgerton, she swears. She clears her throat and nods. “As am I.”

-

They’re in the library again that evening, laughing between the bookstacks long after the party has ended. Kate is in her nightdress, her hair freed from its evening pins, and Anthony is leaning over to press his lips intermittently against hers. 

“I’ll have you know,” she says, as she’s leaning against the ladder, “Edwina is most impressed with the idea of a library with ladders.”

“Well,” Anthony replies, nipping at her bottom lip. “Given until she marries, she’ll join our household, she is welcome to visit the library at any time–” he kisses down her neck, “that we are not in it. After we are wed, I can imagine this room might free up quite a bit in the evenings.”

“You know, it’ll take weeks to read the banns,” Kate notes, as Anthony keeps his lips trending downwards. “And I’ll return to Lady Danbury’s after tomorrow. I do not imagine we will be able to keep sneaking away to this library for long.”

Anthony’s head comes up, and Kate feels a rush of affection at how tousled his hair looks. The brown of his eyes has honeyed tones in the candlelight. “Damn it,” he murmurs, as if he simply had not considered the matter. “You know, we could–”

“We will not request a special license,” Kate says instantly. “Neither one of us wants the scandalous undertone that would follow.”

“Fine, then. You’ve contracted an illness it’ll take you weeks to recover from,” Anthony mutters, gripping her hips. “It will conveniently disappear on the day of our wedding, but you will have to stay here at Aubrey Hall with me in the meantime.”

Kate laughs, and they are kissing once more.

“I do not imagine we can sell that story.”

“And I cannot sell being in rooms with you and ceaselessly adhering to propriety,” he says, laving at the side of her neck. She moans. “When we could be alone, doing much more exciting things – our duties to one another, to our families, really. And I,” he kisses lower, near her shoulder, “intend,” his mouth is on her collarbone, “to be quite,” Anthony moves her nightdress off her shoulders, “dutiful.”

Intelligible conversation ends soon after.

-

Kate did not imagine departing Aubrey Hall would feel so bittersweet.

She’s left it in a much different situation than when she arrived. She is betrothed, her relationship with the Bridgertons has grown much stronger, the weight of the albatross hanging around her neck with the Sheffields has lightened considerably, and the business of sorting through suitors as the Diamond has finally ended. It was not as if there was any true competition. 

Anthony helps her into her carriage, despite her protests that she does not require any such assistance, and presses a kiss to her hand before he – not the footman – closes the carriage door. Kate looks at him with a wry sort of fondness, and he doesn’t stop looking at her until she’s out of view. She knows, because she too does not stop looking at him.

When he and Aubrey Hall are finally out of sight, Kate turns back to Edwina, Mary, and Lady Danbury in the carriage.

“Well,” Lady Danbury says, “I’d say that was a rather successful country visit, was it not?”

Mary, next to her, smiles. “I’d say the two of them are quite in love, indeed.”

Lady Danbury and Edwina express their agreement with hums, and Kate tries not to frown in front of them. It was one thing for Edwina to subscribe to such romantic notions. She had always loved tales of sweeping love in novels, and she had never felt such feeling herself. Neither had Kate, of course. There were stolen kisses she could count on one hand with boys from the palace, but those whirlwind fantasies ended shortly after her father’s death.

For Mary to say it – someone who had found such love, who had been so deeply injured by it – was another matter entirely.

Anthony had been clear he had one primary objective in his marriage – he was opposed to falling in love. His father’s death had hurt him immensely, and Kate cannot say she was not similarly scarred in her own way. Kate did not come to London to seek a romance, she had done so to ensure a future for Edwina. A future that was now possible, to whomever her sister decides sweeps her off of her feet, because of what her and Anthony’s mutual agreement had set into motion.

If the Ton thought them in love just because they happened to share some passion and affection for one another, that was one matter. But for her mother to misunderstand so entirely was another. Kate supposes she perhaps has no other template by which to evaluate the situation – Mary’s options when she had debuted were either to fall madly in love or to choose a loveless marriage with an Englishman. Kate has chosen the latter for the sake of her family.

Perhaps Mary would be so disappointed at the mere prospect of Kate choosing the other path, that it is easier to imagine that she hasn’t at all. Kate sighs, and adds it to the list of deceptions she keeps to herself for the sake of her family. If it made both Edwina and Mary more comfortable to think of Kate besotted, of her betrothed to a deeply romantic man, then Kate supposes she must maintain the lie of omission.

Mary beams at her from the other side of the carriage. Kate feels guilt swell in her chest.

Chapter Text

There is a version of events in which Kate does not receive a letter from the Sheffields.

In this version, Kate returns from Aubrey Hall betrothed and relieved. Her betrothal isn’t the sole reason for her relief, of course, but it plays a decided part in it. She’s fulfilled her obligations – to sustain her family with a well-off match, and to please the Queen with a titled one. She had not imagined that Anthony would resolve the quagmire that brought her to London in the first place – her sister’s dowry and all of the long strings attached to it – but he did so without her needing to ask or even think about it.

It’s a strange sensation for the woman who has always had to see down every corridor, around every corner for her family. She is the one who solves problems without her mother or sister asking why or how, but simply accepting that she just does. Kate has not been on the receiving end of such gestures since her father died, and yet Anthony settles it like it’s of no concern at all.

Kate supposes it must be a byproduct of tremendous privilege, to spend life-changing sums of money without thinking of it. But then she thinks of the likelihood of similarly privileged gentlemen doing the same, considering the same, and she finds the odds quite slim. She’s usually rather good at betting.

If a letter had not greeted her immediately, her thoughts would have room to wander and consider the viscount’s motivations at length. But it does, and they don’t.

“Hm,” Lady Danbury says, tapping the correspondence brought over to her by her footman. They’d just settled in for tea after their travel brought them back to Lady Danbury’s home, and Kate tries not to grow too nostalgic for the chai at Aubrey Hall. She gives Kate a pointed look, then clears her throat. “It appears Lord and Lady Sheffield issue their congratulations, Miss Sharma.”

Mary and Kate both stiffen. Mary’s teacup nearly topples over. Edwina looks between the two of them, confused.

“What lovely news,” Edwina says, blissfully unaware. Mary and Kate share a look – it is just as they intended for her to be so insulated from their cruelty. “I know they were quite rude to you, Mama,” Edwina says, in a tone that reflects the blurriest of depictions of the severity of it, “but I think it is quite a relief indeed that they have changed their tune and wish to reconcile, is it not?”

Kate licks her lips. She finds her grip along the handle of her teacup, and a sliver of her nerve. “We won’t be needing anything from the Sheffields.”

Lady Danbury raises her eyebrows. It’s a clear question that Kate does not answer. The last she and Lady Danbury spoke of it, she’d arranged them to pay Edwina’s dowry. Now, she did not have to stoop quite as low. 

Mary, for her part, looks relieved. She did not know Kate’s plans, but it seems Kate’s refusal is a comfort to her nonetheless.

Edwina frowns. “But didi – they are family, are they not?”

Kate swallows her immediate response – that they are not hers.

“They are,” she acknowledges, trying not to sound so stiff, “but perhaps we can make their acquaintance at another time.”

“They’ve invited you, the viscount, Lady Mary, myself, and Miss Edwina to dinner,” Lady Danbury replies, eyeing the letter thoughtfully. “It appears they’re back in London. Though you may not have any need or want of their assistance–” she draws the word out, looking in Kate’s direction, “To turn down an invitation could be considered rude.”

Edwina looks at Kate, and her eyes are full of hope. “Surely, we can hear them out. They are family, after all, and perhaps they’ve learned from their mistakes.”

Kate can’t conceal her frown or the deep furrow in her brow. She should shatter this hope for her sister early, for doing so may be kinder than forcing her to see matters for what they were. But she sees a glimmer in Mary’s eyes – the same idealism that she’d instilled in Edwina for so long – and Kate carefully sets down her tea. She rubs her thumb over the back of her other hand, her foot tapping. Kate sighs. 

“I suppose it would be rude if we were to deny them, yes?”

Lady Danbury makes a sound that sounds like her assent. Edwina claps her hands together excitedly. And Mary’s gaze goes to a spot in the wallpaper, and Kate is not sure she could read her stepmother very well after all.

-

Anthony finds her in the park the next morning.

Truthfully, Kate did not expect him to be back in town until the following day. That was the plan as she understood it, that the Bridgertons would be two days behind their guests in their return to Mayfair. Anthony, she expected, would have other business to keep him there for longer. But when she rides at dawn along a well-worn path to clear her mind, she hears the familiar cadence of his horse’s gallop.

“Miss Sharma,” he greets, tipping his hat and grinning. He looks quite proud of himself.

She shakes her head, biting back her smile. “Lord Bridgerton, it is a surprise to see you here.”

“Is it?”

“I thought you were not due to return until Monday, my lord.”

Anthony does look mildly sheepish at the reminder. “Ah, but the banns had to be presented in time for the Times today.”

“And your staff could not have handled it?” Kate asks, unable to hide her laugh. 

“I prefer to handle some matters of import, myself,” Anthony replies. He dismounts his horse, tying it to a nearby tree. Kate looks around for a sign of anyone else in the park, someone who might catch them, but it’s early enough that their path is quiet. He offers her his hand for her to dismount, but she ignores it and slides right down without any fanfare.

“I’m told we’re to meet the Queen tomorrow morning?” he asks, striding after her. “Quite a social calendar already.”

“It may have been prudent to wait for her formal approval before rushing to print the banns,” Kate replies. When she turns around to face him, Anthony presses her against a tree. She laughs, grabbing at the collar of his coat. “It would be prudent to wait for a number of things, my lord.”

The way she tugs at him until his breath intermingles with her contradicts her caution.

“I was not about to let a very long three weeks turn into an unbearable four,” he says, grin wide enough that his dimple is a noticeable divot. “Besides, I do believe the Queen will be amenable.”

“Only because she enjoys dramatics,” Kate hums. 

“And you and I are quite dramatic from time to time,” he counters, chasing her lips. She ducks away, playfully, and he very nearly growls. “You are most definitely quite dramatic.”

“I fear you must be looking in a mirror, my lord.”

He clicks his tongue. “As I’ve said, I fear you use my title while cross–”

“Anthony,” she says instead, and his lips are on hers in an instant. She laughs into it, and his hand winds in her hair. She turns their open-mouthed kisses into shorter, closed mouth ones. “Lady Danbury will be quite irritated to find me disheveled.” 

“Mm,” Anthony murmurs, kissing a path down her chin. “We shall give your maid a generous raise if she wishes to join our household.”

She warms, in spite of herself. “I fear Lady Danbury will already go through enough chaperoning the two of us over the next three weeks, I do not think we can add stealing her household’s maid to our list of transgressions.”

“On the contrary, she will be so relieved to be rid of chaperoning such ardour that losing a member of her staff is quite the small price to pay, indeed.”

Anthony kisses her again, and Kate sighs. She nearly forgets what had troubled her so much to need the ride in the first place. When she remembers, she pulls back, looking up at him. “I fear we may have other obligations – well, I do.”

“Such as?” Anthony is now idly playing with a loose strand of her hair.

“The Sheffields,” Kate mutters, looking down. “Edwina’s grandparents, they invited us for dinner.”

“So do not accept,” Anthony replies simply. “From what you’ve said, they hardly seem worth your time.”

Kate sighs. She steps sideways, withdrawing from Anthony, and wraps her cloak tighter around herself.

“Edwina’s face…” she trails off, an incomplete explanation.

“Ah,” is Anthony’s soft response. “She has different hopes.”

She does not know how he so instantly understood what she meant with such few words. Kate looks up at him, a helpless shrug on her shoulders. “I have always tried not to crush her hopes.”

“And if they end up crushing them?” he asks, stepping close to her once more.

“I do not know for sure they will,” she says. Anthony nearly snorts at her uncharacteristic charitability, but Kate shakes her head. “Can I say that I do? They sent their congratulations–”

“That was quick, the banns have yet to even be printed.”

“I suppose they might be avid Whistledown readers. I confess I do not know more of them than their mercurial nature. Perhaps they have other tendencies that may be reserved for my sister. She has already lost enough family. I cannot bear for her to lose the rest.”

Kate says the last words sadly, gaze focused on the floor. Anthony’s hand comes to rest under her chin, his eyes meeting hers.

“So we will go to the dinner, then.”

It is unnerving, how he is able to take these things that make her nervous to the point of nausea, and offer her a hand before she has a chance to even ask for one. She is notoriously bad at asking for help. But to Anthony, such gestures are a reflex.

“And if they say a word out of line,” he adds, voice light, “then we shall take our leave and you never have to speak to them again.”

“You say that as if it is truly that simple.”

“It could be,” Anthony says. 

Kate wants to believe him.

-

Anthony is in quite cheerful spirits when he returns from his extended morning ride.

Francesca, of all siblings, is the one who points this out. Anthony works in the drawing room, his correspondence laid out before him and his sister playing the piano behind him. The rest are elsewhere – Eloise has suddenly found herself busy with errands, Colin is off God knows where, Benedict is at school, and the children are spending time with the Duke and Duchess now that they’ve returned to London until the wedding. Fransesca and Anthony are the only two in the room, and he finds his quietest sibling and her bright instrumentation lovely sort of companions.

Fransesca’s fingers pause on the pianoforte, and Anthony looks up at her with confusion.

“I am sorry you ended your lessons in Bath on my account. Truly, the wedding will not be for–”

Fransesca shakes her head softly. “Do not be ridiculous, Anthony.”

Anthony presses his lips together and nods. It is all he expects to hear. Fransesca is not one for many words.

“It is reassuring,” she says, her voice carefully breaking the silence. “Sometimes I worry about you.”

Anthony frowns. “Whatever for?” 

She does not answer for a moment, so he sidles over to sit on one of the chairs nearest the pianoforte. “Are you alright, Fransesca?”

“I only mean,” she pauses, finding her words. It has sometimes taken longer for her to find them, and there’s been many times Anthony has had to ask their other siblings to shut up so he may hear her. “You’ve been quite serious, all the time. I myself am hardly the picture of joviality the way –” she stops, biting her lip, “but I notice you’ve carried yourself differently as of late.”

“You’ve hardly been back in London for long,” Anthony says lightly, teasingly.

Francesca shakes her head. “That is not it.”

Anthony swallows. He feels he is nearing the precipice of something that he cannot understand, that such levity of spirit is dangerous to maintain. Buoyancy could not last forever; all ships must eventually sink.

“I am glad for it,” Fransesca says, with a decisive sort of nod. “I am glad I am here to witness it. That is all.”

“Hm,” is all Anthony says. He spots a pattern in the carpet, and his gaze unfocuses on it “What do you suppose it means?”

“I believe you’re meant to tell me that,” is Fransesca’s response. “But I would guess it’s a good thing.”

She goes back to playing, and Anthony says in that spot, staring at the rug, for longer than is necessary.

-

Anthony does not dwell for long on that feeling of uncertainty, that tendril of panic in his chest. He instead sends estimates to the modiste for Kate’s trousseau, meets at length with his solicitor to ensure Edwina’s dowry is solid, and reviews the fall crop rotations until his eyes blur. He sighs, rubbing at his eyes, and checks his pocket watch. Kate had said after their morning ride that she was quite busy that afternoon, and he tried not to be disappointed by it. She had a number of affairs of her own to attend to – leaving one household, entering another, and he wonders if she’d find a sort of briefing meeting as boring as one of his siblings might. It was commonplace in Parliament, but it would be an entirely foreign thing to do in the context of marriage.

Then again, their understanding might already be an uncommon sort.

He then remembers the two of them are due to meet the Queen, and while he cannot imagine her approval, he does not look forward to her scrutiny. He sighs, considering the paperwork in front of him.

Colin peeks his head in the door, having evidently returned from his misadventures.

“Brother, good to see you, I don’t suppose you–”

Ah, this was how his brother typically asked for money. Anthony just stares at him, unimpressed.

Colin clears his throat. “Well, I do believe congratulations are in order.”

“And yet you did not lead with them,” Anthony notes wryly. “Care to tell me why you exceeded your budget in Greece threefold?”

Colin looks anywhere but at Anthony. “Have I mentioned you are looking quite well? Miss Sharma is a lovely–”

Anthony sighs. He could lecture Colin further, could remind him the only reason their funding was so flexible was because of careful and constant maintenance of their lands and generations of relationships with their tenants. He could remind him that galivanting as a third son is a privilege few got, certainly one Anthony did not get when he was suddenly granted his father’s title and when he was the only one of his family who held Hyacinth the week she was born. Instead, he bites his tongue.

He hears Kate’s voice in his head,

I could not bear for her to lose the rest.

So Anthony swallows his lecture and just looks up at his brother warily. “If you’ve come here to ask for additional funds, perhaps spend some time at Aubrey Hall with the tenants before jaunting the continent again this summer. Fair enough?”

“Two weeks,” Colin offers.

“Six,” Anthony mutters.

“Four,” Colin counters.

“Five,” Anthony says. He shoots Colin a look. “That is final. And if this is about Lord Featherington’s latest scheme–”

“Scheme? Brother, I trust Penelope with–”

“They are not Miss Penelope’s mines,” Anthony mutters, putting his quill to paper once more. “Always beware of men offering you quick gold, Colin.”

Their father’s portrait hangs between them. Anthony wonders if his younger brother even knows the words were originally his. Colin sighs, and nods.

“Truly, I was just seeking more inform–”

“I’ll grant you what you can afford to lose to learn your lesson,” Anthony grunts.

Colin seems to accept this. “You know, I half-expected you to be worse about this.”

“Linger, and I might be,” Anthony says, and Colin only scoffs on his way out.

Anthony gives a disbelieving sort of snort, shaking his head. It occurs to him how much he wishes he could tell Kate of the exchange. She’d see through it immediately, he knows. She was even more wary of exaggerated promises than he was, and he suddenly finds himself wishing to ask for her risk assessment of all things. They’d made playful wagers, but she was shrewd. 

Anthony loosens his cravat.

-

Kate skips her morning ride. Though her nerves could use it, she knows any residue of dirt on her person will result in a quick lecture from Lady Danbury on her etiquette before royalty. She’s more restless than usual as a result, and she paces the floor of the parlor before they depart. Edwina is still getting ready upstairs, and Mary has cited a headache as reason to stay in her rooms.

“You are going to wear a hole in my floorboards,” Lady Danbury says disapprovingly.

Kate stills, her hands flexing. “Forgive me, La–”

“Hush, child,” Lady Danbury retorts. “You have nothing to fear, you know. Your Majesty is formidable, but this match should have her approval. We can only hope that the viscount’s–” she sighs, “overeagerness is charming to her rather than an overstep.”

“You are referring to the banns.”

“I am referring to quite a lot of things,” Lady Danbury replies wryly. “I am glad to see your dress is not muddied this morning, Miss Sharrma. It is wise.”

Kate smooths her dress, slightly self-conscious. 

-

Mary does join them for their palace visit. She sits next to Kate on the carriage ride, and Kate squeezes her hand in gratitude. Then she remembers Mary’s words from their last carriage ride, and the weight of guilt returns to her gut. Kate just inhales, steadying herself.

What was important is that she and Anthony were being truthful with each other. What their families, Lady Danbury, and even the Queen assumed could be considered almost inconsequential. She was given the opportunity of a means to finally provide for her family – with a young, handsome viscount, no less – and she knows that this has to be the right thing to do. 

Kate takes her hand back from her mother, and twists the ring on her finger absentmindedly.

Lady Danbury gives her an appraising look, as she often does. “You will do just fine, Miss Sharma.”

Kate sits up straighter still. “Indeed,” she agrees, nodding to Edwina. It’s the best reassurance she can offer her younger sister. “Do you suppose Her Majesty will insist on including the zebras in the ceremony?”

Edwina laughs, but Lady Danbury only says, “Do not give Her Majesty any ideas.”

-

“My Diamond,” the Queen says in greeting, her voice cheerful. Kate curtseys immediately, grateful the woman is in good spirits. 

“Your Majesty,” Kate returns, and she can see Anthony and Violet approach out of the corner of her eye. She resists the temptation to look at him immediately. “It is an honor.”

The Queen turns her eyes expectantly to Anthony, which gives Kate enough of an excuse to look at him. He’s wearing a velvet suit today, his cravat tied and laid perfectly. It is far more neat than the manner she left it in yesterday, in the park –

She schools her face as the Bridgertons make their greeting before the Queen can look back at her. Anthony’s eyes catch hers, just for a brief moment, and she can feel his eyes still on her when she looks away.

“Sit,” the Queen says, gesturing to the tea already meticulously arranged. Kate complies. Mary, Edwina, and Lady Danbury sit next to her. Anthony and Violet sit opposite them. The Queen frowns. Kate stills, unsure of what she could have done to upset her so quickly.

“Next to each other,” the Queen says, looking at Anthony, then Kate, then the settee on Kate’s right and Anthony’s left. 

Anthony stands instantly, hands politely behind his back, and Kate follows. They both, slightly awkwardly, take the two steps to the settee. They lean closer to one another, her eyes on the buttons of his waistcoat, and then sit with a polite distance between them. Kate’s smallest finger, without her real control of it, reaches to close the gap between them. Anthony’s reaches in turn, his signet ring shining in the daylight.

“Ah, yes,” the Queen says, sounding rather proud of herself. “You’ll have beautiful children – with strong jaws. I suppose I really do have quite the foresight with these matters. And I suppose the gossips were right – it is a true love match indeed.”

Edwina had read the words from Lady Whistledown this morning, aloud and excited, and Kate only nodded politely. She does the same now, and Anthony mirrors her. They share a brief look – the acknowledgement of a mutual farce – and then turn their heads back to the Queen.

“Your majesty, I hope you may forgive our eagerness to wed–”

The Queen sighs heavily, interrupting Anthony. “I do hope you’re referring to your over eagerness to submit the banns, Lord Bridgerton, and not requesting a special license.”

“The former,” he assures her immediately. 

“Good. I shall need time to plan the nuptials of my Diamond,” the Queen says, sounding rather satisfied with herself.

Kate’s eyebrows raise. “Your Majesty, we could not possibly–”

“A small affair at Aubrey Hall,” Anthony adds, quickly. It seems he has no desire for an extravagant wedding, either. “With our families, of course, that is what–”

The Queen tuts. “Ah, but the Ton will have no option of questioning my taste in Diamond if they’re all invited to such a beautiful wedding. I insist. I do not need to remind you that this is quite an honor.”

Kate holds her tongue. She looks, sideways, at Anthony – his expression reads that this is a gambit they’ve already lost. He is probably right. She does not sigh.

“How incredible,” Edwina says, her voice excited. “Can you believe it, didi? It is like a fairytale come true.”

At that point, Anthony and Kate cease to be very relevant to the conversation at all. The conversation becomes a volley between the Queen and Lady Danbury, suggestions on a guest list that seems to include just about every member of the Ton. Brimsley is occasionally instructed to write one of the Queen’s ideas down, lest it be forgotten. Mercifully, no one mentions zebras. The Queen, unfortunately, does bring up peacocks. Kate schools her expression, and instead reaches for tea.

Anthony gives her a look – his arched eyebrow asking ‘But I thought you hated English tea.’

Kate’s sideways head tilt answers, ‘This is the polite thing to do.’

She rubs her nose absentmindedly, after noticing the traces of a substance on the monarch’s.

Anthony leans over to her. “Did you know you have a freckle there?”

Kate stops, and whispers back. “What?”

“On the tip of your nose,” he says, voice low. “It’s a small thing, thought it was a trick of the light.”

“You have a mark on your chin,” she returns before she can think better of it. He rubs at it immediately. “And when you laugh, you have a dimple just –” she resists the urge to press her fingers to his face. 

Anthony ducks his head, and she could swear he is blushing. Kate sips the tea she hates and hides her smile in her cup.

“Some might even say I brought them together,” the Queen continues her verbal train of thought, gesturing to the two of them again. It appears Kate and Anthony have become relevant to their own wedding once more, and they both straighten. Anthony’s hand is closer to hers, now. Their hands touch, just barely. 

-

“I was wondering,” Anthony says, after they’ve gone down the steps of Buckingham Palace, their families conversing ahead of them. “I suppose we don’t get much of a say in the wedding…”

Kate half-shrugs, half-sighs. “I do not believe either of us are in the position to deny the Queen of England, my lord.”

On this count, she is correct. “At this point, it may be considered treason.”

Kate doesn’t laugh, but she exhales through her nose in a way that conveys amusement. Anthony grins and nods, satisfied enough with this expression. 

“We do, however, get some say in the marriage,” he continues.

“Only some?” she says, lifting an eyebrow.

“Ah, if only we could be so exempt from the expectations of English society,” Anthony mutters. If that were not the case, he could whisk her off to his bachelor’s quarters in peace. But alas, propriety is required. “Should we start negotiations?”

“Negotiations,” she repeats, not quite catching his meaning.

“I assume that’s what it will come to, knowing the manner in which we tend to–”

“Argue?”

“And here I was about to characterize such exchanges as finding agreement.”

“Oh, then I fear you do not characterize them very accurately at all, my lord.”

Anthony does snicker, then, unable to help himself. Kate is smiling. 

“Do you find yourself free for the rest of the afternoon?”

“For your negotiations? I fear I can only say so if you can define the terms of such negotiations.”

“Marriage,” he says simply. “Where would you like to live? Would you like to debut my sisters?”

“Ah, so my interview has finally come,” Kate says, voice teasing. “I suppose you may be a little late for it, Lord Bridgerton.” 

He sighs. “It is hardly an interview, I am genuinely asking for your thoughts.”

“And yet you define such discussion as a negotiation.”

“Only because I am well aware of how it will end up. Unless, of course, you’d be content with me merely telling you what is to happen–”

“Hardly.”

“Ah, so then it is as I suspected,” Anthony rocks back on his heels, and Kate tilts her head. “We may not get any say in the wedding, after all, but perhaps–”

“We do get a say in the marriage,” Kate finishes, nodding. “I understand your meaning now, Lord Bridgerton.”

-

They end up in Anthony’s office, as the conversation seems less well-suited to the Bridgerton drawing room and Edwina and Lady Mary are entertaining Mr. Bagwell at Lady Danbury’s. Lady Danbury and Violet are all too happy to chaperone, and Anthony would be uncomfortable at such a full room – in his place of stress and refuge, no less – if Kate was not currently pouring over his ledgers in a seat pulled next to him.

“These modiste numbers are far too generous,” she says, eyeing her trousseau budget with skepticism. “Is it not customary for–”

“Ah, that was not the question,” is Anthony’s response, pulling away the parchment with a smirk. Kate makes an attempt to grab after it, but the page escapes her fingertips. 

“For that sum, you could replace the shingles on–”

“Ah, but that will happen regardless. As will this. The question was, if you insist on staying in Bridgerton House–”

“Which I do.”

“Despite a perfectly good townhome with far more privacy–”

“And what if I am needed here?”

“In the middle of the night? You also were quite opinionated that my mother and siblings should stay here–”

“Their relocation would be nonsensical, in India it is custom–”

Anthony raises his eyebrows. “And what if I should like a measure of privacy?”

Kate rolls her eyes. “Then you may sleep alone in your lodgings, my lord.”

“I do not think I shall be doing much of that.”

“Besides, if we are to have children, Bridgerton House and Aubrey Hall would be the perfect place to raise them,” Kate says decisively. 

Anthony softens. He can picture it, for a moment. It seems so blissfully simple. A daughter, perhaps, who inherits her sharp tongue, born with a full head of hair just like–

He inhales, thinking of Hyacinth, and how dreadfully empty that nursery was. He thinks of being nineteen and terrified, holding her, apologizing for not being his father. He should have never been the first one to hold her, but he was always meant to be the first one to do it. Journeys back and forth from Oxford, his mother locked in her chambers, and –

This is what he had resolved for this marriage to be so sensible, after all. When he died, Kate would not fall apart. He sees it in the lift of her chin, in the fact she had already done so much for her sister with so little while Lady Mary alluded to her own absences, and he knows – he knows – she would not leave their children to a similar fate. Anthony trusts her, he realizes. 

“Yes,” he agrees. “Yes, it will be.”

Anthony can only hope those children might forgive him for his unwilling absence. He hopes they can understand that this is their best chance, the best hope he could give them. 

-

Kate does go on several trips to the modiste.

She brings Edwina with her, of course, having negotiated that part of the budget for her trousseau should go to her sister. She’d argued they’d violated much of the tradition of it anyway, with Anthony’s payment of an offering typically provided by the bride’s family, and after she’d pointed out she had no need for four more riding habits, he agreed. She had a lifetime for more clothing as it was needed, and anything more would be wasteful.

Another matter is her wedding dress. Madame Delacroix brings out a swatch of white fabric, satin and lace, and Kate frowns at it. She attempts to put a polite expression back on her face – this is what the Queen of England would want, after all – but Madame Delacroix notices.

“It does not speak to you,” she notes. “It makes sense, you are not a conventional debutante. Why should you wear their colour?”

Kate feels a flush of gratitude for the modiste. “It is no matter, truly, I know white dresses have been the fashion in England since the Queen–”

Madame Delacroix merely tuts. “ One of the fashions, Miss Sharma, not all of them. As you well know, wedding dresses come in many colours. I am not so predictable as to only offer one.”

Kate imagines her mother’s wedding saree. She had to sell it long ago, but the crimson fabric and gold embellishments are imprinted on her mind. It’s a foolish thought. She is marrying in England, to a titled Englishman, in a church setting decreed by the Queen herself, and this is not a Hindu ceremony. She has already long accepted this.

It’s Edwina who asks, “Perhaps we might see the red fabric, then?”

Kate gives her a surprised look, but Edwina merely takes her arm. “It is custom in India,” Edwina continues proudly. “And I think my sister would look quite beautiful in the colour, don’t you?”

“I could not agree more, Miss Edwina,” Madame Delacroix says, disappearing to the back of her shop. 

Kate squeezes her sister’s arm, a lump developing in her throat. She cannot trust herself to speak, to enumerate her gratitude and affection for her sister.

“I do believe the Queen will end up approving,” Edwina says simply. “She picked you for who you are, Kate. As did the viscount.”

Kate’s eyes well, but she blinks back her tears and nods. Edwina, ever well-mannered, does not call her out for it.

-

The Sheffields have a London residence just outside of Mayfair.

Lady Danbury notes that they are no longer in the fashionable part of London, a small amount of satisfaction sneaking into her voice. Mary looks as if she may be facing the gallows, and Kate feels regret gnawing at her already. Edwina is just pensively gazing out the window, and Kate is rigid. She remembers when they were in Mayfair, after all. 

When her father had left flowers on their doorstep, when they’d called their staff to shoo them both away, when Mary had pulled back the curtain to look at the street below her, as her parents–

It did not matter what her parents said, then. It should not matter what they say, now.

Lady Danbury meets her eyes, and nods once. Kate takes it as a vote of confidence and tries to breathe.

It’s an overcast day, and they arrive after a fairly brief journey. When they do, the Bridgerton carriage is already there. Anthony steps out as soon as their carriage comes to a stop, helping his mother out and brushing past his footman before he has a chance to offer any assistance. Anthony at least waits for Lady Danbury’s footman to open the door before offering the women inside a hand out. Lady Danbury nearly whacks him with her cane for his overeagerness, but it’s a nearly affectionate gesture. Mary looks like she could use assistance with balancing. 

As could Kate, and Anthony’s hand lingers on her lower back as she insists on being the last one out. They’re behind the rest of their party, and his palm flexes before he removes it.

“It will be fine,” he assures her, before she can say anything. “I am sure they know better than to–”

Before he can finish the sentence, the Sheffields’ footman opens the door. 

-

It’s a quiet start to the dinner.

The Sheffields are much older than she remembers them, of course. Lord Sheffield seems the more soft-spoken of the two, and Lady Sheffield alternates between pleasant small greetings and glaring daggers at her daughter. Kate bristles every time she meets the woman’s eye. But Anthony and Lady Danbury are proven correct, at first.

“It has been too long,” Lord Sheffield says with a soft hum. “My, look how you have grown.”

This is directed to Edwina, who uncomfortably rotates her napkin. They had never met before, of course. The Sheffields would never deign to make the journey to India.

“You must accompany us to the opera, we have a box that has been gathering dust,” he says, once again mostly to an audience of one.

“I do enjoy the opera. Kate is the one who introduced me to it,” Edwina says, her eyes going to her sister, as if trying to include her in the conversation.

Kate would almost prefer not being included at all. In fact, hiding underneath the table sounds more appealing. So she simply nods, taking a long drag from her wine glass.

Lord Sheffield’s eyes go to Anthony, next to her. Kate is seated between him and her sister, and the evasion is obvious. “And, of course, you must be our guests at the Sheffield manor. It is nothing compared to the estates at Aubrey Hall, to be sure, but I think it a most pretty part of Hertfordshire.”

Anthony nods, the gesture uncomfortable on his own face. It is quite enough that most of the noise is the clattering of cutlery.

“Do you shoot? We have a fine stock of birds, and you are always welcome,” Lord Sheffield continues, undeterred.

“Thank you for the invitation. I do enjoy shooting,” Anthony replies stiffly.

“Well–”

“As does Miss Sharma,” Anthony adds, looking at Kate. 

Edwina nods. “The two of them almost bagged a stag on our trip to the country.”

Kate shifts, suddenly wishing her dinner companions were as keen to ignore her as she was to be ignored. 

“How… unusual,” Lord Sheffield replies, laughing without mirth. “Do they teach young ladies to shoot in India?”

“Only the fortunate ones,” Kate answers dryly. She can sense the discomfort radiating off of Edwina to her left, and the fist-clenching frustration of Anthony to her right.

It’s Lady Danbury who breaks the silence that follows. “Uh, Lord and Lady Sheffield, how long do you plan to remain in town?”

“Oh, we shall stay for the wedding,” Lady Sheffield says, her wine glass sloshing. “Imagine. The queen herself overseeing the nuptials, if only they were–”

“It is quite exciting,” Lord Sheffield interrupts, and Kate knows how the sentence would end if he had not. Mary is on her third glass of wine. Kate is tempted to follow her.

“Her Majesty is kind to be so forgiving after everything that has happened,” Lady Sheffield continues. Kate’s eyes go to her mother, her forehead creasing, as Mary looks everywhere but at her parents.

“Now, now. We are all family here,” Lord Sheffield tries, but his wife is undeterred.

“Oh, yes, of course we are. Even after our daughter so callously rejected the match we had found for her.”

“My dear, we agreed–”

“An earl, no less, with 12,000 acres. Any other young lady would've fallen to her knees in gratitude that her parents were showing such care.”

“Has anyone tried the chicken?” Violet attempts, trying in vain to stop the tension from escalating. 

“The chicken is lovely,” Lady Danbury agrees quickly. “The sauce enhances it even moreso. I do believe gooseberry is in season, Lady Sheffield, I recall you have quite the–”

“And all for what? A mere clerk, was he? And with a child from a previous marriage to God-knows-who. It is telling that child has more sense to marry wisely. Tell us, Miss Sharma, how did you pull off such a feat?”

“I imagine it helped that my manners could not be influenced by yours,” Kate snaps, unable to help herself. 

“You have no right to speak to my wife–”

“We could not show our faces in society for years. Not that she should care. She simply sailed away from all of us with that man, robbing us of our grandchild,” Lady Sheffield continues, undeterred by both Kate and her husband’s interjections.

“Grandchildren,” Mary says, finally speaking. Kate’s head snaps to her with a rush of gratitude. “I have two daughters with whom you have had every opportunity to form a connection. But the choice to shun us was yours alone.”

“I beg your pardon–”

“And do not think I took it lightly, being cast out by the only family I had ever known. I was heartbroken, indeed. But in time, I came to see that, in your cruelty, you did us all a great service.”

“I hardly think this a proper dinner conversation,” Lord Sheffield interrupts.

“When you cast me out, what you did was set me free. Free to raise my daughters far from your constant judgment and craven demands that they should chase wealth and titles above all else.”

“Oh, you are one to talk,” Lady Sheffield snarls. “With one of those daughters engaged to a viscount, writing to us to beg for a dowry–”

“Kate has no dowry,” Mary points out.

“Oh, but Edwina needed one, did she not? You speak of scorning riches, and yet you have come crawling back to snatch at our fortune. The trust fund we have set up for her. The condition of which clearly states that she must marry a man of good English breeding to inherit. You did not think we would allow another generation to pollute the Sheffield name, did you?”

Edwina turns to her, and Kate hates the look of betrayal on her face. “Didi, what are they talking about?”

“It is no longer the case,” Kate says quickly. “The trust fund, you shall have no need of it Edwina–”

“So it was?” Edwina asks. “You made a deal with–”

“It is no longer,” Kate emphasizes again. She turns to look at the Sheffields. “We do not need their help, bon. You are free to marry whoever you wish, you do not need–”

“Ah, what a change of tune,” Lady Sheffield mutters. “I suppose you had other help, did you not? It is no matter, we could not approve a match for Edwina to a second son–”

Kate glares at her. “I doubt that is the only reason for your disapproval.”

“I have no idea what you could mean,” is Lady Sheffield’s cold response, her hand tightening on her dinner knife.

Their talk of pollution , the shade of her and her father’s skin they remarked on through that cursed door, Mary did not know a word of her grandmother’s language on her mother’s side, Kate had to serve as her translator for years–

“I suppose you may have inherited your father’s penchant for lying and scheming–”

“That is enough,” Anthony growls, interrupting Lady Sheffield and moving to stand. “I can only think you've been exiled from good society because of your deficient manners rather than any other sin. Since the moment you arrived, you have failed to show the proper respect for the Sharma family, and I will not stand for it.”

The Sheffields gape at him. “I declare–”

Anthony interrupts Lord Sheffield, this time. “I will not stand for it. Lady Mary has done admirably in raising her daughters. They are intelligent, kind, loyal women. And a credit to both their parents. And since you clearly do not wish to jeopardize your social standing by associating with such company, I suggest you do not. We shall take our leave.”

Anthony offers Kate his hand, and she takes it. She looks up at him, half-awe and half-gratitude, and Mary stands next. Lady Danbury and Violet get up next, having given up on a polite dinner along with the rest of them. Edwina sits, still shellshocked.

“This is beyond the pale–” Lord Sheffield says.

“I agree,” Anthony says, gripping Kate’s hand. “Do not trouble yourselves for an invitation for the wedding, for you shall not receive one.”

Edwina stands, shakily, and Kate grasps her sister’s arm with her other hand. “Come on, Edwina, we should–”

“You didn’t tell me,” Edwina replies, her eyes welling. 

“I will tell you everything,” Kate promises.

They make an incredibly awkward party, striding out of the dining room and into the parlor as the Sheffields gape in their wake. Anthony lets go of her hand, striding outside to call for their carriages. It has begun to rain outside, judging by the patter on the windowsills.

“You should have told me,” Mary’s voice interrupts. She, too, wears an expression of betrayal. Kate’s heart sinks. “You never should have–”

“What was I to do?” Kate pleads, “You were – I had to. What other path was there?”

“You should have told me,” Edwina says, echoing their mother’s words. “Kate, I had a right to–”

“You would have married the first man that met their conditions so we would not worry.”

“And is that what you have done for yourself? Bartering yourself in place of your sister?” Mary asks.

Edwina gasps. “Kate, do not tell me you…you love the viscount, do you not?”

Kate feels nauseous. She feels Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton’s eyes on her, and she cannot stand to be in the presence of any more judgement. Kate extracts herself from her family, and rushes outside. There is no overhang to seek refuge under, just the downpour of the outside.

“Kate,” Anthony jogs over to her, his voice confused. He’s as soaked as she is about to be. “Why are you not inside–”

“I cannot be,” Kate says simply. Anthony gestures for his footman to bring over an umbrella, but Kate shakes her head. “Save it for them,” she says, gesturing to their families inside.

“And is that what you always do, Kate? Save all the shelter for your family?”

“You are not one to talk,” is her rebuttal, and she feels a swelling at her temples. She had already argued with and angered her family, she could not bear his judgement on top of it.

“No,” he agrees. “I am not. I am sorry, Kate. The Sheffields – well, they may be even worse than you described.”

“If only I was so candid with my own family,” Kate mutters, shaking her head. The rain is soaking her hair through, her dress too. Anthony takes off his coat, and drapes it around her shoulders.

His hands linger on her arms. “We should get you inside a carriage.”

“I do not imagine my family is keen to be locked in an enclosed space with me at the moment.”

“Then ride in mine,” he counters easily. “Lady Danbury lives but paces away.”

Before she can protest, he’s ushering her inside of his carriage. “Umbrellas for my mother, Lady Danbury, and the Sharmas, please,” he requests to the footman – Gerald is his name, she remembers.

“Anthony, this is–”

“Do you recall Benedict is at the Art Institute?” Anthony asks, and Kate blinks at the rapid change of subject.

“Are you suggesting we go–”

“No,” Anthony says quickly, shaking his head. He’s waterlogged, the white of his shirt and cravat clinging to his skin. He sits across from her in the carriage, staring at her. “I paid his way, I’m afraid.”

Kate’s bafflement only grows. “His admission, you mean.”

Anthony nods.

Kate finds herself defensive on Benedict’s behalf. “Did he not deserve to know if he could–”

“I know.”

“On his own skill and aptitude?”

“I know,” Anthony says again. “But for family, you’d do anything. I know you understand this as well as I do, Kate.”

She makes the connection, brow furrowing. “It was Edwina’s best chance,” she replies, reverting back to defending herself.

“I know,” he says, again.

“It’s not the same.”

“I did not say it was. I only mean to say I understand. And they,” he cocks his head to the outside of the carriage, where their families are being escorted, “will understand in time.”

Kate remembers Mary’s words from inside.

Is that what you have done for yourself? Bartering yourself in place of your sister?

And is that not what Kate had done for the length of her sister’s life? Traded the remnants of her childhood so Edwina could have a semblance of one? Traded her own debut and courtships for her sister’s happiness? Kate would give anything, had given everything, for her sister and her family’s sake. It was the thought that filled her with guilt, before – Mary’s judgement, the fact that Kate had made such a different choice. But Kate did not have the luxury of choices like her mother, like her sister, even like Anthony did.

But she looks at Anthony, his wet hair sticking to his face and his chest heaving after his outburst inside, and she knows she would not want to make any other choice.

Edwina will be furious, but she did not question her dowry before. Neither did Mary – when Kate was the one pouring over accounting, when Kate sold most of their belongings, when Kate declared they’d received word from Lady Danbury that they would have a place for Edwina to debut in England. They just accepted it without question. Kate would figure it out. Kate had figured it out. Kate would always do everything that needed to be done.

For them to question it, now, after everything –

“Will they ever truly understand it?” she asks.

He does not need to ask what she means. He gives her a simple, helpless shrug of his shoulders. “I cannot say any of them do.”

But he does , is the implication. Kate nods.

On the surface, marrying him was a selfless decision. Kate swore she wanted nothing more than her independence. It was what she’d told Edwina when she’d asked why her elder sister had never debuted. It’s what she told Mary after informing her she’d used her dowry to pay their staff. It was her defense with Lady Danbury. Then, when the Queen had declared her new status, Kate had to deviate from her long-held plans. It was what was best for Edwina, at that point. She was marrying for the sake of her family, and Anthony was the most eligible and affluent of her suitors.

Kate kisses him suddenly. He returns it with some surprise, then vigour. It is not until the footman taps on the door, an announcement of Violet’s presence, that they pull themselves apart.

Violet clears her throat as the footman helps her inside, Kate and Anthony seated on the same side of the carriage. They’re not quite a respectable distance apart. Lady Bridgerton has to notice their rain-soaked state, but she doesn’t comment on it.

“My father always hated the Sheffields,” is all she says, voice wry.

Kate clasps her mouth to conceal her laugh, and Anthony grins next to her.

“Ah, Grandfather Ledger would have, wouldn’t he?”

“My mother, well…I suppose they ran in similar circles. But my father, and your father,” Violet adds, biting back her own smile. “Ah, they probably would have done the same as you did, Anthony.”

Anthony shakes his head, then turns to Kate. “Are you alright, Kate?”

Kate decides she will be. It’s a selfish feeling, when she knows her mother and her sister are still so angry with her. They have a right to be, in their own way, but she feels a bit more righteous in her actions. Two months ago, she’d perhaps be groveling for their forgiveness.

“Edwina and Mary…”

“Are in some degree of shock,” Violet finishes. “But they will be alright.”

She looks at Anthony like he’s already ensured it, and in many ways he has. The dowry, his passionate defense of them, his defiance of the Sheffields’ status and cushioning of the Sharmas’ with his own.

It does not feel as if she’s trading one deal with the devil for another. Anthony is not the Sheffields. Mary will have her daughters looked after, Edwina is free to choose who she’d like to spend her life with, and Kate already has. This is not an arrangement she made while completely desperate, but a decision she made with full knowledge. Mary is not likely to see it this way, and Edwina is going to be upset that her rose-coloured impression of their courtship has faded. 

But she’s being selfish, for a moment. So instead of dwelling on what her family must think of her, she takes Anthony’s hand and squeezes it.

Chapter Text

The four of them make an odd tableau in Lady Danbury’s parlor. Kate’s hair is still wet, sticking to her face, even after a change of clothes renders her drier than she was before. She’d tried to return Anthony’s jacket to him, only for him to insist that she should keep it. It lays, still water-logged, on the back of one of the chairs in Kate’s room, left from where Rosamund assisted her with changing shortly after she’d entered the house. Kate is almost missing the sense of protection that came with his coat, for it was thick and starched enough to act as armor. 

Lady Danbury’s expression reads more I told you so than sympathy. Mary is shaken from the argument with her parents, then her back and forth with Kate. And Edwina wears the worst expression of all three of them – betrayal.

“May I explain from the beginning?” Kate asks.

“I think it’s best that you do,” Lady Danbury answers.

“We were essentially out of funds in India by the time I was desperate enough to reach out to them. We had enough for a ticket here, and not much else. Lady Danbury’s offer was generous, but other urgent matters had already consumed our dowries – food, the leak in the roof, the clothes on our backs. Even if we stripped down to bare essentials, it all became impossible. The books were my responsibility to keep, and it was the only path forward I could see.”

Silence is thick in the air.

“You could have told me,” Mary says, her voice cracking.

“What could you have done?” Kate asks simply. “You did not know our ledgers like I did–”

“I should have.”

Another beat of quiet passes. This time, Edwina is the one to break it.

“You lied to us,” Edwina murmurs.

“By omission, but I know it does not help,” Kate replies, her hand covering half of her face. “I knew, bon. I know you. You would have felt responsible for us–”

“Like you do?” Edwina asks curtly. “I would have married the first titled man that would have met the Sheffields' standards, is that it? Is that why you have done it, so you believe it would save me from the same fate?”

“At first it was,” Kate admits. “I never…I have not had the time nor the energy for romantic pursuits, I did not wish to be named Diamond, I only wished, my only wish – I wanted you all to be taken care of.”

“So you arranged for the viscount to pay my dowry?”

“It is not so transactional, bon. He offered, and it was unexpected. All of him,” she waves her hand, frustrated with them and herself, “has been unexpected.”

Mary’s expression softens. “My dear, you do not have to do this. You should not have had to do any of this. I know you’ve always longed for your independence.”

Kate shakes her head. “It is the oddest thing; I have it. Truly, Anth– Lord Bridgerton and I, we understand one another. We both are betrothed for our families, for the sake of their futures, and it is what we both wish. I shall have more independence as a viscountess than I could ever have as a governess, and – he does understand, I know this because I understand him as well as I could understand myself. He is vexing, and maddening, and – well, I suppose in many ways, he is just like me.”

“You love him, then,” is Edwina’s response.

Kate bites her lip. She does not wish to lie to her sister anymore. “It is not a love match, bon.”

Edwina, typically the picture of grace and composure, rolls her eyes.

Mary sighs. “Kate, darling, the viscount is in love with you.”

“No,” Kate replies pointedly, “he is not. And that is quite alright.”

Edwina’s eyes narrow. “Perhaps it is not us you have been lying to, didi.”

Kate huffs. “I am being completely honest. I regret that I was not sooner, for I never wish to lie to you – either of you.”

“It has been an eventful night,” Lady Danbury declares with a thump of her cane, breaking her silence. “But I do believe we’ve all gotten quite a bit off of our chests, have we not? I confess the…events of the evening have quite tired me, and I assume the same could be said for all of you. We should retire.”

There’s an uneasy acceptance of this declaration, but Lady Danbury moves to stand like it’s already been decided. Kate lingers, uncertain of how to proceed. 

“I am quite cross with you for not telling me earlier,” Edwina says, as she moves to stand. “I only wish you would trust me.”

“I do, bon–”

“And yourself,” Edwina adds, her hand finding her sister’s shoulder. Kate tries to take it, but Edwina steps away. 

“I love you, Kate,” Mary adds next. “I only wish you could realize love is not something that has to be earned, my darling girl.”

Kate frowns as she watches her mother follow her sister out of the room. 

-

Lady Bridgerton invites Kate for tea the next morning. Kate is surprised by the invitation, but also admittedly relieved. The matron of the Bridgerton House did not seem to be judging her as her mother and sister were, and while Kate forged a quasi-peace last night, she still detects her sister and mother are shorter with her than usual at breakfast. 

At the very least, Lady Bridgerton has questions for her that have nothing to do with the Shefields or any dowries.

“I know the Queen can be quite…intimidating in her demands,” Violet says, sipping from her cup across from Kate in the drawing room. “But do know that we can perhaps talk her down from the more extravagant plans – peacocks can be quite unpredictable, and Lady Danbury and I are quite well-versed in letting the Queen down gently.”

Kate blinks. “Peacocks?”

“I believe that is now part of the discussion,” Violet winces, setting her teacup down. 

“Indoors?”

“I do believe Brimsley is wise enough not to introduce potential…” Violet pauses uncomfortably. “Messes indoors, if only to avoid the Queen’s ire.”

“Ah,” Kate nods. She’s pleasantly relieved to taste chai in her cup. “I suppose so long as they’re outdoors…if I’ve learned anything from Lady Danbury, it is the importance of not wasting political capital with the Queen. There could be worse scandals to bear than extravagant birds.”

Kate grimaces, thinking of the Sheffields and the night before. 

“The Queen never cared for the Sheffields,” Lady Bridgerton says, as if reading her mind. “Rest assured, I do not think they are listened to as much of a source of anything in the Ton, and their favor is unnecessary.”

Kate straightens, feeling reassured. She glances at the doorway, half-expecting Anthony to walk through it, before she remembers he is at Parliament today. He’d muttered something about the Insolvent Debtors’ Act, a vote that could not be missed, and a commissioner that needed to be appointed post-haste. They were both still dripping with rainwater, next to each other in the carriage, and he’d sounded a bit mournful at the thought of being apart from her the next morning.

Kate had reassured him, of course, that she could handle her own with her family – truly, she’d much rather those in debt did not remain imprisoned – and she realizes how much Violet likely overheard in that same carriage. It’s very likely Anthony’s absence is the reason they’re having tea today at all.

“I appreciate your kindness, Lady Bridgerton,” Kate tells her honestly. She takes her reticule from next to her, pulling out a leather-bound journal and a quill. “I did wish to ask – less about the wedding, more about the household and what duties would make the most sense…well, which are your favourite tasks as viscountess and your least favored? Perhaps I could take the least favoured. I’m rather adept at the administrative side of things.”

Violet laughs. Kate blushes, just for a moment, before joining her.

Kate swears she hears Lady Bridgerton say ‘just like Anthony’ under her breath.

-

When Kate returns to Lady Danbury’s, she’s relieved to see Mr. Bagwell and Edwina in the drawing room. Mary is chaperoning, embroidery on her lap, and when Kate moves to sit next to her the corners of her lips flit up.

“Visiting Lord Bridgerton?” Mary asks, tone deceptively light.

Kate shakes her head. “Lady Bridgerton was kind enough to invite me over for tea. An– Lord Bridgerton is at Parliament this morning.”

“I suppose that’s something you’ll get used to.”

“Really, a court for insolvent debtors should have been established long ago, it seems barbaric that debt alone results in imprisonment in England of all places, when nearly one in ten lords carry gambling debt,” Kate mutters.

“I assume your betrothed agrees?”

“If he did not, he would by the end of the conversation,” Kate nearly snickers, air leaving her nostrils, but she softens looking at Edwina’s countenance. Her sister seems besotted with her choice of partner.

A choice that the Sheffields would not have let her have, as it turns out.

“You’re right,” Mary says, her voice quiet.

Kate straightens. “About what?”

“Your independence – you keep it with him. I always thought the idea of marrying an English lord would be like heading to the gallows for you as it was for me. But you and Lord Bridgerton both bear it differently. You seem happy, Kate. Content, even.”

“Content,” Kate repeats. Her lips twitch, unsure whether to frown or laugh. “I suppose. It is a relief that everything has sorted out as well as it has – Edwina’s prospects, mine. Lady Danbury could not have arranged matters better if she tried. Though, I suppose, she likely has,” Kate mutters the last part, thinking of her most unusual status of honor. 

It had Lady Danbury’s fingertips all over it, her friendship with the Queen pointing her in the most unexpected directions. Perhaps Lady Danbury got a laugh out of it, Kate swearing she would marry for her family if she could but resigned to the fact that she could not. Then Lady Danbury, plucking her out of obscurity into marriageable status and a wedding put on by the Queen. 

“I wish you had told me about the awful business with my parents,” Mary says, and continues despite Kate opening her mouth to try to apologize and defend herself once again. “Not just so that dinner could have been avoided, but because most of all, I wish you didn’t think you have to do everything alone.”

Kate told Anthony. She’s not sure why she found it so much easier to tell him than the people who knew her best for the longest. But she had to keep so much from Mary and Edwina – for their own sakes. They were too busy grieving to bear the burden of how to keep their family afloat. She supposes she never had to take care of him in that way, he had no such expectations of her, and that was the difference. She did not expect anything from him in turn, and yet he freely gave regardless.

Perhaps it’s because he knew exactly what it felt like to be in her position, to have everyone looking at him for what to do. There was no presenting of the problem and waiting for Kate to solve it, no avoidance of the matter at hand. There was just the thing that needed to be done, and the people that needed to do it. She supposes that’s what they both were, to both of their families. 

And that, more than anything, is what helps her feel less alone.

-

The wedding is fast approaching.

Except for the fact that the waiting period is agonizingly slow. Anthony is suddenly uncertain why they did not seek a special license; it could be no more improper than pinning his future wife against a tree, tugging on her braid, and sucking on her neck. Their morning rides, in lieu of the library of Aubrey Hall, were one of few moments of relief for either of them.

“No marks,” Kate instructs firmly. “I do not wish to issue any more explanations to the maids.”

“We shall double Rosamund’s salary,” Anthony murmurs against her collarbone.

“It is not just Rosamund I’m concerned about – Lady Danbury has been asking why my hair is styled half-down so often as of late. There’s only so much creativity a maid can have to cover such marks.”

“Ah, but I quite like your hair down.”

Kate tugs at his hair, then, and he makes a pleased sort of groan. His hat and walking stick have long gone by the wayside.

“We’re going to look incredibly obvious,” she says, but there’s a smile playing on her lips and her eyes are twinkling.

“Hm,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Shame, people may know I’m quite fond of the woman I’m to wed.”

“Are you? Quite fond?”

“Well, you can be quite aggravating–”

Kate pushes him by his lapels, and he groans.

“But I do suppose multiple things can be true at once, can they not?” he sidles back up to her, and his hands find her waist under her cloak. “You are the bane of my existence…”

He whispers the words in her ear, and she would never admit to shivering. But she does, nonetheless. Anthony grins, and Kate raises her eyebrows. 

“And the object of all of my desires,” he says, his hand slowly creeping up her skirts.

Kate’s eyes go heavy-lidded, and he relishes in the noise she makes as he noses against her neck. His hand creeps higher, and she leans her head to the side. Anthony inhales.

“You smell…that scent is imprinted on my mind.”

“Anthony,” Kate murmurs, and he sears his lips over hers.

-

Afterwards, after he’s thoroughly wiped his hand with a handkerchief and Kate has righted her skirts, she says something he nearly misses while handing him his hat. He brushes the top of it off, and tries to help right Kate’s hair.

“Hm?” he asks, looping a stray curl back into its braid.

“I said I’m quite fond of you, as well, Anthony. Even if you do, on many occasions, vex me.”

Anthony softens, his hand lingering near her cheek. He grins, shaking his head. “Ah, we’ll see if you feel the same after the other sensations have worn off, hm?”

Kate chuckles. “I suppose we’ll see if they do.”

She’s the first to climb atop her horse and take her leave, as is tradition at this point. It’s a bit less suspicious when staggered, and Anthony always takes a different route back to Mayfair. Such unchaperoned trysts are best done early in the morning, before much of the Ton has awoken, and with their proper precautions. It was not as if such compromising would change their plans, but Kate deserved to avoid the gossip that would come with it if nothing else.

Even if Anthony goes quite insane in the meantime.

He is quite fond of her; it is rather difficult not to be. He’s been fond of her since they met, truthfully. Kate was sharp and quick and beautiful, and he feels a gratitude towards her he can’t quite identify. It was as if they were both adrift at sea, making the most of their journey with a sense of camaraderie. They both had their duties to their families, rather magnificent sexual chemistry, some shared interests, and that was enough.

They’re both too sensible, really, to fall in love with each other and become enamored with such romantic notions. Kate is no naive debutante seeking a man to sweep her off of her feet, but a grown woman with her feet firmly planted underneath her. And Anthony is not evading his responsibilities and running off with a woman he fancies as an escape, but held taut in his duties.

Rather uncomfortably taut, at the moment, but dutiful nonetheless.

-

Daphne and Simon come into town a few days before the wedding. Daphne is almost offended by Anthony’s surprise at seeing her.

“As if I would miss your wedding!” she sniffs, rather indignantly, with Augie in her arms in the Bridgerton House’s entryway.

“You are days early,” Anthony reminds her. Daphne transfers his nephew to his arms, and Anthony can’t help but smile at him. Augie smiles back, and Anthony offers his pinky for the future Duke to tug at at his leisure. “From the way Hastings speaks, you would think Clyvedon’s responsibilities insurmountable.”

Simon rolls his eyes. “Ah, you could never be accused of being buried in your responsibilities, could you?”

“I have eight to worry about, soon to be eleven, and you have two”

“More tenants,” Simon counters.

Anthony sighs. Augie coos on his shoulder.  “I suppose. You cannot laugh at us, by the way.”

“Laugh at you? And Miss Sharma?”

“We’ve been avoiding the Queen’s plans, I fear. It will become too embarrassing the second they are real, and the spectacle is…”

Anthony grimaces a bit.

“Well, the good news is we are to be wed by the end of it.”

“Good news,” Daphne echoes, her tone approving. “Well, I do have to say it is a relief to have the older brother who dreaded his nuptials for so long refer to them as good news.”

“The marriage – the wedding will be survivable, I am sure.”

Daphne waves her hand. “Weddings, honeymoons…you have it right, the marriage is the most important piece indeed. It is vital to not put too much pressure on anything being perfect, and merely loving things the way that they are.”

She’s staring at Simon as she says this, and Simon slides his arm around his wife affectionately.

Anthony narrows his eyes. “Right, well. Shall we make up a guest room for you?”

Simon shakes his head. “That won’t be necessary, we still have our London lodgings. We merely wished to say hello – it seems Augie is glad to see you, at the very least.”

Anthony softens as he looks down at the boy in question. He’s rather content in his uncle’s arms, Anthony likes to think. Hyacinth was much the same with her eldest brother, and he wonders idly how his children – with Kate, of course – might feel. He and Kate discussed this, of course. They’ll have no more than four children, more than that feels rather unreasonable. They both should like to be rather active parents, after having been so active in raising their siblings it only feels right.

Anthony just hopes, hopes he can linger long enough for his children to have fond memories of him as he does his own father.

Anthony swallows the sudden lump in his throat, handing Augie back over to Simon’s waiting arms.

“You’re going to be a great father, Anthony,” Daphne says, uncharacteristically sincere, and he turns away so neither of them see his eyes moisten.

“Right, then, I suppose you should greet the rest of the family while you’re here.”

-

It is a rather crowded haldi ceremony.

Anthony supposes this may be the result of having seven siblings, and he’s tempted to apologize for all of them. Eloise muttered that they’d all dressed so brightly that they might be confused with the Featheringtons, until Colin and Anthony both gave her a fervent glare in the carriage ride over. She’d slumped in recognition of the offense, and Anthony nearly felt kinship with Colin until he started declaring his familiarity with turmeric in an utterly oblivious sort of tone.

“You’ve never even been to India,” Eloise muttered, still slouched.

“Turmeric was one of the first spices imported to England from India, in fact–”

“I beg of you, all of you,” Anthony groaned, head in his hands. “Please do not embarrass me – Miss Sharma is already agreeing to an English ceremony at the Queen’s behest, so can we all just do her at least this simple favor of respecting a tradition of hers without looking like utter fools?”

Eloise, Benedict, and Colin – his carriagemates – all gaped at him.

Benedict was the first to clear his throat. “Of course, brother.”

So that carriage of Bridgertons, at least, was slightly more well-behaved than the latter. Violet is politely nodding, clearly uncomfortable with sitting on the lawn after decades of lessons in English noblewomen manners. Fransesca is quiet, but at least this is typical for her. Daphne is nearly sitting in Simon’s lap, an act of impropriety that does not seem to bother either of them. And Hyacinth and Gregory–

“Newton!” Kate calls, looking resplendent in a marigold dress. “Please, do not get into–”

The dog sniffs into the turmeric paste, Hyacinth and Gregory at his heels, but is mercifully uninterested.

Kate sighs in relief, and Anthony follows. She meets his eyes, and pats at the space next to her. He fills it immediately, settling into the grass next to her on Lady Danbury’s lawn.

“I am sorry for their unruliness, and in fact, you are best off not listening to a word they–”

“They are perfect,” Kate replies instantly, eyes warm. The yellow brings out the dimension of her eyes, he realizes, and they’re honeyed in the light. Anthony braces himself on his hands, forearms flexed to keep him from leaning forward. Her hair is down, for the most part, and he resists yet another temptation to brush it off her face with his fingers.

“I trust you wore clothes you do not mind dirtying?” she asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Did you forget I fell into the mud with you?”

“I suppose I did not know you so much as possessed anything in these shades,” Kate murmured, fingering his mustard waistcoat with interest. 

Anthony nearly flushes. “Ah, I may have had it made.”

Kate’s eyebrows raise. “Quite an expense for something you’ll only likely wear once.”

“It’s important to you,” is his answer. “Anything important to you is an expense well-worth it.”

Kate stares at him for a long moment, her eyes softening. It’s not until Edwina starts commanding Bridgertons – something she’s unsettlingly good at, she nearly sounds like her sister – to arrange them around the haldi. Everyone obeys, and Anthony is suddenly incredibly grateful at his family’s rare good behavior. Colin has not mentioned his apparent turmeric expertise once, and Eloise has stopped scowling at the shade of her dress.

Edwina and Mary both say a few words in a language Anthony does not recognize, and he wonders if he could find a decent Hindustani tutor in England. Latin was a dead language, after all, and his wife’s native tongue is very much alive. He’s pondering this, trying to sort through which avenue might be best to explore for a recommendation – perhaps Mr. Bagwell might have an idea, with his scholarly knowledge? – when he feels a wet smear on his face.

Daphne is grinning widely at him. 

“I do believe you’ll have an auspicious marriage, dear brother.”

He’s tempted to seek revenge, but Daphne tuts. “Oh, this is for the married couple!”

Simon applies the paste directly to his ears with both of his hands, and Anthony does his best not to grimace. All of his family, it seems, take some pleasure in their participation. Eloise smears the haldi atop his head, Benedict gives him an artful sort of mirror of his typical forehead lines, Colin applies it to his chin, Fransesca bashfully puts haldi on the back of his hand, and his mother just gives him a small streak on his cheek.

Anthony looks over at Kate, who has had her share of well-wishers with haldi. She looks radiant, laughing as Hyacinth and Gregory both give her sleeves-full of the paste.

“I fear we may have too many blessings,” Kate says, beaming. She takes some of the haldi, applying it to the tips of both Hyacinth's and Gregory’s noses. “There, now we share them.”

“Wait,” Anthony says. “I thought this was only for the betrothed couple?”

“You can apply it to unmarried friends and family, perhaps it may help them find their own matches,” Kate replies. Anthony meets Benedict’s eyes. Benedict, of course, promptly gets up and runs. It is no matter, he may be long-limbed but Anthony is the far better sportsman. He is far faster.

Anthony chases after him, bringing his brother down with him as he catches him by the waistcoat, and they laugh on the lawn. It’s a scene they have not made together since long before their father passed. 

“Boys!” Daphne scolds, laughing, and that much is familiar too.

-

“Stop moving,” Edwina instructs, holding Kate’s arm intently. “You will ruin your mehndi, and all of my hard work will be for naught.”

Her sister has taken the task seriously, her brush moving slowly and methodically. After they’d washed themselves of haldi, Edwina and Lady Mary got to work on preparing for her mehndi. The last she’ll see of Anthony before they wed is him laughing, covered in haldi, and that’s a pleasant enough memory to keep her warm until the morning.

There’s something incredibly special about this, too. Her mother and sister – the two people in the world she’d do anything for – giving her their undivided and careful attention. Her chest swells with gratitude. Edwina’s brow is furrowed, her tongue nearly sticking out of her teeth in concentration, and Mary contentedly stirs the paste.

“I can do her other arm, Edwina,” Mary offers.

“I have a plan,” Edwina insists. “I’ve been practicing with henna, mind you.”

Kate laughs affectionately, trying not to jostle her arm as she does so. “Thank you,” she says gently.

“For your mehndi? You may thank me when I’m done, didi.”

“For everything,” Kate replies. “It’s been a strange season, and you’ve been a wonderful sister, bon.”

Edwina pauses, her lips twisting down. “I’m sorry for my reaction with the Sheffields, didi.”

“That was not my intent. I just want to say how much I appreciate my sister,” Kate says fondly. “And whichever of our traditions you’d like to do for your own wedding, I’d be most glad to do everything I can for them.”

Edwina looks up at her, expression warm, before concentrating on Kate’s mehndi once more.

“How did you feel?” Edwina asks, turning to Mary. “Marrying Appa?”

Mary smiles wistfully. “Oh. I suppose it felt like coming home. A real sense of home, not whatever I had thought it was before.”

Edwina and Kate exchange looks, both thinking of the Sheffields.

“It did not matter that we married and immediately set sail for a country I’d never been to, in a language I did not speak, mind you. Every piece of it – even all of the new things, the long journey – felt like home, how home was meant to feel,” Mary says.

Edwina hums contentedly. “Yes, that does sound just how marriage is meant to be.”

Kate exhales. “Yes, it does.”

-

Benedict and Colin nearly escape with Anthony to White’s, before Daphne and Violet stop them. Daphne tuts at a rate that could nearly be described as violent. Anthony did not know such a thing was possible.

“Wait for Simon,” she insists. “He’s putting Augie to bed, but I am sure he’d want to join you.”

Her brothers all give her a wary look, but she rolls her eyes and gestures to the settee.

“Sit!”

Colin is the first to do so, crossing one leg over the other. Benedict slouches next to him, and Anthony sits on the edge of the settee with a resigned sigh.

“It will be nice to chat before you’re married, regardless,” Daphne says cheerfully. “Colin and Benedict can know all they have to look forward to.”

At this, they both nearly move to stand, but Anthony’s arm stops them.

“If I am to hear this, I believe you lot are too. How long does Simon typically– wait, you are not even staying here, are you?”

“It’s a short carriage ride,” Daphne replies innocently. “He will return at any moment, I assure you.”

Anthony sighs. He thinks of his old friend, of the friendship he nearly put in tatters last year, and figures he at least owes Simon this.

“Anyway, Mother was just telling me how she felt on her wedding day,” Daphne says, propping her chin on her hand. Benedict gets up to pour a drink, and Colin follows at his heels. Anthony half-considers joining them, but Daphne’s glare keeps him solidly in place.

Violet just looks amused. “Ah, I’m sure Anthony will be resolved to feel much the opposite as we did, darling.”

Anthony bristles. “Do you truly find me that contrarian?”

Daphne and Violet both give him a look that answers his question rather quickly.

Anthony sighs. It had been a trap. Now he was cursed to remain seated, as proving either one of them wrong was its own incentive.

“I was incredibly nervous. Not for the marriage – I’d never been as certain about anything as I was about Edmund – but for the wedding. Weddings can be such protracted negotiations. What did his parents want, what did my parents want? What colour were the bouquets, what church would we marry in? But your father and I did not care, truly, so long as the end result was the same.”

Daphne smiles softly, and stretches a hand out to meet their mother’s. “I was nervous, too. It is quite the change for a young woman, to find yourself removed from your family’s house and suddenly thrust into an entirely new world. I suppose you do not have that to worry about, do you Anthony?”

Anthony frowns. “Are you saying there’s more we could do to make Miss Sharma more comfortable–”

“Not my intent,” Daphne clarifies quickly, “but I did not truly know how much I did not know until I became Duchess. I did not understand a number of traditions – of the house or the tenants.”

Anthony bites his tongue to keep from telling Daphne about Kate’s rather detailed journal, her constant teas with his mother, and how she was perhaps more prepared to be a viscountess than any woman in London. Instead, he pretends to be agreeable. He nods.

“It is an adjustment, but not an impossible one,” Violet says, tone reassuring. 

“I believe Miss Sharma’s hardest adjustment may be living with Anthony,” Colin grunts, taking a swig of whiskey.

Anthony rolls his eyes.

“Perhaps we should count ourselves lucky that he’s found a woman so ready to disagree with him,” Benedict says. “I do not think she fears his temper, a most formidable bride indeed.”

“I am perfectly agreeable–”

Daphne snorts.

“In agreeable company,” Anthony finishes, rolling his eyes. “If Miss Sharma found me too disagreeable to marry, I trust she would have thrown the ring in my face before accepting my proposal.”

“As I said,” Benedict nods. “Formidable.”

“If anyone is prepared to be viscountess, it is surely Miss Sharma,” Violet says, and Anthony nearly preens. She’d vocalized his earlier thoughts, a rare moment of total agreement between the two of them.

“Likely even more so than I was, in fact. Before the ceremony, right after I was fitted into my gown, my father took me aside. He said, I know you’re besotted with this Bridgerton boy, but if you have any doubts whatsoever you can tell me. I will come up with any excuse necessary, by any means necessary, for all that matters to me is that you are happy . Of course, my mother said, he is a viscount, and you will pass up the opportunity over my dead body. ”

Daphne laughs, Benedict and Colin chuckle, and Anthony finds himself grinning.

They’d all rather disliked their mother’s mother. Often, Violet thought ill of criticizing her, a tendency to respect dead elders they could understand. But when she let the rare jibe at her through, it amused the eldest Bridgertons that could remember her to no end.

Simon walks in, as promised, a spring in his step.

“Forget White’s,” he announces. “I’m sure the privacy of Mondrich’s will be more well-suited, anyway.”

Anthony, rather than arguing the point, merely nods.

-

Mondrich’s is mostly empty, which at least does afford them privacy. Benedict and Colin spend the night mostly lightly ribbing him, as Anthony has come to expect. Colin wonders aloud just how much excess could be expected at a wedding hosted by the Queen, and Benedict is instantly amused at the thought.

“I do hope you’re not seated behind her, dear brother,” Benedict grins. “For I do not know how you will see over her grandest wig.”

Colin throws a handkerchief at him. “Better that than to stand at the altar as a vicar insists how very successful Anthony has been at resisting his carnal lusts and appetites. I would not be able to do so without laughing.”

Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Neither one of you are allowed to laugh.”

“Do not worry,” Benedict says, grinning. “I’ve gotten rather good at posing for portraits – I assume standing soberly is much the case in either event.”

“ Ordained for a remedy against sin, and to avoid fornication ,” Simon quotes from The Book of Common Prayers, shaking his head. “Ah, I suppose it’s not meant to be so laden with irony.”

“Don’t you dare talk about fornication with our sister,” Anthony groans.

“We are wed! What shall you do, shoot at me again?”

This causes both Benedict and Colin to laugh harder, hopelessly lost in their cups.

“If nothing else,” Simon says, raising his glass in cheers, “I hope you learn from my mistakes.”

“What? Refusing to marry after compromising my sister?”

“No,” Simon replies pointedly, glass still lingering midair. “Letting your demons interfere with your marriage. A marriage bed is no place for ghosts, and the future needn’t be determined by the past.”

Their glasses clink. Anthony frowns, unsure of what to do with Simon’s attempt at well-wishes.

-

Mary and Edwina both cry when they see her. It touches Kate more than words can express. 

Her wedding dress is not quite the saree of their home. It’s cut much in the nature of the fashion of London, but its crimson hue and gold accents remind her enough of her amma’s dress that it feels like a tribute to her. Her amma’s bangles – one of the few things she could never bring herself to sell – sit on her henna-stained wrists. They’d debated a veil – Madame Delacroix had held up swatches, and they both agreed that none were quite right. Instead, Lady Danbury was kind enough to loan her a delicate, ornate headpiece. 

Anthony’s name is hidden, curled on the inside of her wrist, underneath one of her mother’s bangles, and she rubs her thumb over it often enough for Edwina to scold her for it through her tears.

“Do not ruin my handiwork!” she exclaims, embracing her sister tightly. “Oh, Kate, you make such a beautiful bride.”

Mary presses a handkerchief under her eyes. “Look at you, Kate.”

“Getting married in a palace,” Edwina coos. “To a dashing viscount. You would have never guessed you’d end up here, months ago. You should have listened to me more about your prospects!”

Kate feels something curl in her chest. It should be hers, she almost says. Edwina deserves all of this and more. But Edwina is content in her rapidly developing courtship, and there’s no trace of bitterness in her tone.

So instead Kate just squeezes her hands. “I am the luckiest woman in the world because I have you as a sister, bon.”

Edwina’s face turns into a pout. “It is not fair for you to make me so tear-stained at the biggest event of the season.”

Kate laughs, and embraces her sister once more. 

-

Mary and Edwina briefly leave the dressing room, leaving Kate alone for a moment before the wedding. A familiar knock comes at the door – sounding as if it comes more from a cane than from a fist. 

“Come in, Lady Danbury,” Kate greets.

Lady Danbury does not do a double-take as she sees Kate as her family did. But she does grin, in that knowing way. “Miss Sharma. I don’t suppose I have to reassure your nerves?”

“Ah, calming nerves is not one of your favourite tasks, so I wouldn’t dare to ask such a favor,” Kate replies readily.

“Perhaps we have gotten to know each other quite well over our acquaintance. Though I cannot say I mourn the departure of your dog to Bridgerton House.”

“I do think Newton is warming up to you.”

“I am not warming up to him.”

Kate laughs. “I suppose you are getting the final word once again, Lady Danbury.”

Lady Danbury only raises an eyebrow at her. “I do not know what you mean, Miss Sharma.”

Kate looks at her wryly. “I recall the night I told you I would not marry, that I would seek no such match for myself.”

Lady Danbury does smirk, though it is hardly noticeable. “Ah. Did you say that? I do not recall.”

“I do not think much gets past you.”

At this, Lady Danbury does laugh. “Oh, child. It was laughable indeed, a girl of only six and twenty and swearing she would remain a spinster. All the while turning the head of half of the men in the Ton, the viscount and your now-groom included, without so much as noticing. I do hope it is you that shall have the last laugh, after all.”

“I assumed that to marry would be resigning myself to a life of misery for the sake of my family,” Kate admits, fingers running over the henna on her arms. 

“I do doubt you’d be miserable with the viscount. You may drive one another quite mad, but not unhappily,” Lady Danbury decrees. “Not all marriages in this Ton can attest to that, that I can tell you.”

“Is that your fondness for matchmaking then, Lady Danbury? Avoiding such marriages?”

Lady Danbury exhales, her eyebrows raising. Kate is worried she’s overstepped. But the woman merely tips her fashionable hat.

“Perhaps, Miss Sharma.”

Then she turns, and leaves. Kate watches her go through the mirror, and wonders just how much of her fate she owes to Lady Danbury. She’d always assumed herself alone in responsibility, if not in the world. That door is opening, bit by traitorous bit, and she’s beginning to realize the load need not be so independently borne.

Kate looks at herself in the mirror, and raises her chin.

-

Anthony wants it noted that Colin is able to see over the Queen’s wig, just barely. He does have to strain slightly in his seat to see overtop it. Benedict must notice the same, next to him at the altar, and does a decent job of masking his snigger. He checks his father’s pocket watch out of force of habit, and faintly smiles at it. 

He is right on time.

The room is ornately decorated, and Benedict did mutter something to him about competition in the posing department on the lawn. Truthfully, apart from scanning the crowd for his family, Anthony hardly notices much of anything. His eyes are firmly fixed on the door, where he expects Kate to walk through at any moment. It is not as if a bridal procession is a surprise – the music will cue, Edwina will be first, and if the Queen’s appetite for theatrics are still in effect rose petals may fall from the rafters of the palace church. But he stares, hands behind his back, waiting.

The music starts, and all he can think is finally .

Edwina is first, as predicted. She’s wearing a deep shade of purple, unlike the lilac her sister usually prefers. He gives her a nod of greeting, and she has a wide smile on her face as she walks to her place on the altar. Then the music shifts, the crowd stands, and –

The first thing he notices is that she’s wearing red.

Red is not an out of question wedding gown colour, but he’s suddenly unsure of how anyone wore the shade before her. Her skin gleams against it, and he’s overcome with the urge to touch her. She looks radiant, curls framing her face, and her journey down the aisle seems to take an eternity before she is within reach. Her hands are gloved, one tucked into Lady Mary’s arm, but he can make out faint outlines where the gloves end on her arms.

He lets out his breath as Kate makes it to the altar, his eyes looking everywhere they can so long as they are looking at her.

“You look…” he murmurs. 

Kate smiles, and it’s an earnest thing.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony,” the vicar begins. 

It’s about all Anthony catches as he’s staring at Kate. He can infer where the vicar may be at in his extended introduction, by her amused exhales – perhaps at the vicar’s mention of men’s carnal lusts and appetites, of which she was of course already familiar – and long-winded references to propriety he has quite resented over the course of their courtship. He grins, slightly, and she shakes her head imperceptibly as if warning him against making her laugh.

The vicar makes a reference to impediments, and Anthony straightens when they finally get to vows.

“Anthony Bridgerton, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour, and keep her in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?

“I will,” Anthony answers readily.

“Kathani Sharma, wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all other, keep thee only unto him, so long as ye both shall live?”

“I will,” Kate says, with a firm nod. “Except for the obey bit, of course.”

Kate mutters the last part so it's audible only to him. Anthony grins so widely it aches.

Lady Mary takes Kate’s bouquet, and Anthony grasps her hand in his. His right thumb runs over her right hand’s knuckles, and she grips him tightly enough that he wonders if he’s keeping her upright. He repeats after the vicar without missing a beat.

“I, Anthony Bridgerton, take thee Kathani Sharma to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

The vicar gives the same instruction to Kate, their hands parting and rejoining, and she repeats:

“I, Kathani Sharma, take thee Anthony Bridgerton to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and–” she nearly coughs, and he hasn’t stopped grinning, “to obey, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.”

The vicar and the clerk bring the wedding ring forward with its book. 

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship,” he pauses, winking just a bit, and she bites back her laugh, “and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

They both kneel, and Anthony slips the ring on her finger as instructed. His hand lingers enough for the vicar to clear his throat, and he pulls back only slightly chagrined at the admonishment. Kate shakes her head again, her laugh sneaking its way out, both of them trying to find their composure through the extended prayer that follows.

Anthony doesn’t think either one of them is paying much attention to it. At the very least, he isn’t. He’s raising his eyebrows at her, trying in vain to make her break. Kate remains steady, eyes narrowing, and he refuses to be the one to do it. He hadn’t fully processed how long the Church of England’s ceremonies were until he was the one kneeling for it.

And finally, they are pronounced man and wife. Fireworks go off outside, much to the delight of their spectators and the chagrin of the vicar.

“I shall never obey you, let it be known,” is the first thing Kate tells him after the ceremony, whispering the words in his ear as everyone else is too distracted by the spectacle.

“I expect nothing less, wife ,” he replies teasingly.

-

The wedding breakfast is extravagant. The peacocks nearly destroy an elaborate patisserie display, but the Queen’s servants handle it before disaster strikes. It is nearly extravagant enough for the two of them to duck out, Anthony attempts to argue, but Kate is unconvinced.

“I am sure the Queen would notice our absence, if no one else,” Kate retorts. Anthony has his arm wrapped around her waist, seemingly relishing in the prospect of physical affection no longer being so strictly governed by propriety.

“Perhaps it’s a sign of a wedding well done, hm?” Anthony presses the words into the crown of her head, and she laughs. “Could we light more fireworks and make an escape?”

“It is not even midday, hardly a wedding night,” Kate argues.

“Oh, we shall make very good use of our time into the evening,” Anthony murmurs, his grip tightening on her waist.

“It is as if you did not listen to the vicar’s warnings of–”

“Carnal lusts and appetites?” Anthony finishes, eyebrows raising. “Oh, Kathani Bridgerton, I believe there is room for both of those things.”

Anthony kisses her before she can argue, and she laughs into his mouth. She should argue for the sake of propriety, on palace grounds no less. But she doesn’t have the spirit to, and her new name sounds so pretty coming out of his mouth.

-

It is hours before they get to Anthony’s former bachelor lodgings, a fact he presses rather insistently down her neck in the carriage ride over. It is their overnight stop before traveling to Aubrey Hall for the week – a short honeymoon – and Kate is not entirely sure they’ll make it there before consummating their wedding vows.

“You look divine in this colour,” he groans, stripping her of her gloves. Her right hand is first, and he slides the bangle back on her wrist when he is done. Next comes her left. He carefully places her wedding ring back on her finger, then sucks it wantonly into his mouth.

“You,” she mutters, dragging him up by his lapels to her lips, “are utterly,” she nibbles at his lower lip, and he moans, “incorrigible.”

“You have no idea,” he says. “Just imagine how incorrigible I can be with a bit of privacy.”

“I won’t have to,” she says, kissing him again. “ Husband .”

“ Wife ,” he returns, and they’re both laughing against each other’s lips.

-

Later that evening, Anthony is solidly wrapped around her. His fingers are laced around her wrist, where his name lies in her mehndi – he’d promised, after Kate had mentioned the tradition, to examine every inch of her to find it. He did not have to look long, but his pursuit continued regardless. For all of his earlier urgency, they were slow and unhurried for much of the evening. They’d barely even eaten, save for a tray left outside the door for dinner they’d both laughed at. Kate buried her face in her hands, embarrassed at the thought of what Anthony’s poor servant may have overheard, but Anthony merely said,

“I suppose they’ll have to get used to it.”

As if matters were as simple as that. And perhaps they were. Anthony is sleeping now, looking younger and more rested than she’s ever seen him. Their bodies have cooled, the sheets pooled around them, and Kate’s head is on his chest as it slowly rises and falls.

If every night is to feel like this, it is hardly the worst outcome. 

She thinks of her mother’s words, of finding home in a person, and props her chin up to look at Anthony thoughtfully from below him.

Kate was foolish for thinking it could ever be anything else, really.

She loves him so much it aches.

It’s not how things should be, perhaps. Anthony had been clear earlier of his avoidance of a love match, his fear in his conversation with his mother in words Kate was never meant to overhear. He’s terrified of leaving a world behind that looks like what his father did, she knows. She knows it because she feels it, too, that terror. It's what's driven her ever since her father died, trying to use that fear to protect the family that remained.

But she knows – in her gut – that they could never do what their mothers did. She trusts him, and that realization is what finally makes her acknowledge to herself that she loves him. They would not abandon their responsibilities to the families, to their children, even in the worst of all worlds. They never had. Kate supposes she just has to prove to him that they never will. 

It’ll take some time, but they have it.

In the meantime, she settles for tracing the words into the skin of his chest.

I love you , her fingertips say.

And they don’t need a response. Not yet, anyway.

Chapter Text

Kate has never imagined her honeymoon before.

The idea of her spinsterhood after her Appa’s death seemed like a foregone conclusion.  The single thread of hope she’d held onto for so long was her sister’s happiness, her sister’s stability through marriage. It was the reason they’d come to England in the first place, their only candle in the dark. Even when she’d been named Diamond, it was too baffling to consider for long. None of the past four and twenty hours felt real in the slightest.

But Anthony is all warm skin, leg tucked between hers, his shoulder in her palm. His hair smells like soap, his nose nestled in her neck. And she loves him. Of course, she loves him.

Despite all of her anxieties surrounding marrying into foreign aristocracy, she’s never felt more herself than when she’s with him. Anthony has never asked her to be anything different other than who she is – she hasn’t needed to be his tutor or his guide in the way she has with Edwina, she did not need to be his solid ground as she’s had to be with Mary. Her sharp comments do not need to be dulled; her thoughts are echoed in his eyes before she even verbalizes them. Half of the time, he’s able to conjure even her admonishments before she can even assemble them into sentences.

Of course, there’s the matter of his lingering existential dread and his refusal to fall in love. Embarrassingly enough, these are both things she can understand in her own way. 

Anthony stirs, his face nuzzling further into her as morning light filters through the curtains.

“Good morning, viscountess,” he murmurs, all soft and slow.

Her fingers curl into his hair. “Good morning, my lord.”

Anthony pulls himself up on his elbows, hair mussed and eyelids heavy. He tuts. “That will not do.”

Kate raises her eyebrows. He tilts his head. She tilts hers back, a mirror.

“Surely after all we’ve done in this bed,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss her. “After we are wed, no less,” he says, against her lips, “We have no more need for titles.”

“You started it,” she accuses.

“Mm,” Anthony hums, nipping at her bottom lip. “I suppose I’ll have to end it.”

Kate laughs, and so does he.

-

Anthony knew, at some point, a wedding and its aftermath would be expected from him.

It was a prospect he’d spent much of the start of the season dreading. Finding a suitable bride – one who could, perhaps, engage in tolerable conversation – and wedding and bedding and–

Well, it all seems a rather indecent proposition, now.

Anthony has to wonder, idly, if himself from a few months ago could appreciate his current circumstances. The most beautiful woman he’s ever met in his bed, his ring on her finger. Would he merely be pleased enough he’d succeeded in his pursuit of marrying the Diamond? Would he be satisfied that he’d married a woman with whom he could share such enthusiastic, passionate coupling? Both propositions make him want to strangle his past self, just a bit, because the man could not possibly understand.

He would not know the way Kate’s skin gleams golden in sunlight, he would not know that Kate makes his jests before he can even form them, he would not know that he married a woman who could beat him in two out of three horse races, he would hardly have affection for her face when she concentrates or that she hates storms and has a soft spot for country dances.

It is fondness, Anthony knows, that has settled over him like a thin sheet. That was what was missing in his estimation of marriage, the idea that he would marry a woman who could also be such a passionate friend. 

He’s considering this, at length, over breakfast.

Anthony does not realize he’s been staring until Kate clears her throat.

“Is there something on my face, my lord?”

His title is said so teasingly, he knows she means it to vex him. 

“Charles, could you leave us?” Anthony asks, and he swears his staff breathes a sigh of relief. “For the rest of the morning, actually.”

“The rest of the morning?” Kate replies, as Anthony strides over to her chair and starts pressing his lips down her neck. “You are ambitious.”

“You have no idea, viscountess,” he says, finding the buttons on her dress.

-

They do leave the bed, sometimes.

This becomes a pattern over the next several days – long, lazy mornings with ruffled sheets and late lunches. Kate looks over the ledgers, carefully recorded history, with Anthony’s chin propped on her shoulder murmuring bits of context. They race, of course, and Kate is slowly reconciling the maps in Anthony’s desk drawers of the property with the earth under their horses’ hooves. But inevitably – even with business, riding, conversations with staff, meals – late mornings do not prevent them from taking early evenings. 

(“Are there preventative measures you’d like to take?” he’d asked her, that first night, trailing his lips down her abdomen. His back was molten under her fingertips, and she’d arched hers in a desperate attempt to get him closer. 

She did not ask what he’d meant – she’d read enough, heard enough in conversations that weren’t deemed scandalous to be overheard by a spinster – she merely shook her head. 

Anthony moaned against her stomach in response. “Are you sure?”

“You heard the vicar,” she’d answered, tone teasing and hips only slightly bucking. “We have a duty to procreate, do we not?”

“Damn the vicar,” Anthony replied, pressing the sacrilege into her skin. “What do you–”

“I want you,” Kate huffed, and that was that.)

Since then, Anthony was eager to adhere to his duties. Kate had heard a range of stories from married and widowed women – husbands who only took their own pleasure, women who viewed marital duties dispassionately as a chore to be tolerated, the expectation of some degree of pain and carelessness. Anthony is none of the above, single mindedly pursuing her pleasure until his knees bruise and groaning as if every gasp she gave him was his own feeling. 

It is, in other words, a very successful honeymoon.

It remains that way for six days.

-

On the sixth day of their honeymoon at Aubrey Hall, they each receive correspondence. Kate’s is from Lady Danbury’s house – an engagement announcement she cannot help but grin at. Edwina is to be Mrs. Bagwell, and the banns will begin to be printed in the paper before Kate and Anthony return. They’ve set up two desks in Anthony’s study, at his insistence. Hers faces opposite his, and there’s already been more than one occasion where Anthony has tucked himself underneath her desk as she sits at it.

Anthony, though, is frowning at his letter from Bridgerton House.

“Edwina and Mr. Bagwell are betrothed,” Kate announces, sliding her sister’s letter to his desk. “Cannot say I am surprised, but it is happy news indeed.”

Anthony does not so much as look up, his brow still furrowed. Kate pauses, head cocked in concern.

“Anthony? What is it?”

It’s then she realizes that a Lady Whistledown missive has been included in the letter sent from Bridgerton House, and his concentration is dedicated to running over the words of gossip he typically avoids reading. Kate stands, walking over to his side of the desk. She rubs her hand up and down his arm absentmindedly, reading over his shoulder.

She makes out Eloise’s name, mentions of cavorting unchaperoned with political radicals, and she understands at once Anthony’s white-knuckled grip on the parchment.

Kate winces in sympathy. “Poor Eloise.”

“Poor Eloise?” Anthony repeats humorlessly, the first thing he’s said since opening the letter. “Poor Eloise ? Kate, she could ruin the entire family in her–”

Kate retracts her hand. “We do not even know if there is truth in this scandal paper.”

“According to my mother,” Anthony holds up the letter in question, “Eloise has been dragging our footman to the printer’s shop. I cannot believe she’d be so thoughtless, so selfish–”

“You have not even spoken to her, Anthony, you cannot know–”

“She’s always felt the rules did not apply to her,” Anthony mutters, burying his face in his hands.

“What rules?” Kate replies, growing defensive. “The rules that dictate the world in which you move about so freely remains closed off to her?”

“I did not make this world,” Anthony protests. “And I do not expect you to understand, given how resistant you are to thinking any such rules could apply to you–”

“You think I think myself exempt from the rules of this stifling society because I ride astride and push my way into sport?” Kate counters, stepping away from him in frustration. “Eloise has had privileges that other women have not, to be sure, but I have not. Do you think I relish having to bargain myself into this world, that my only way to provide for my family is to–”

“Marry me? Is that it?” Anthony asks, his voice sharp. 

“That is not what I said." Kate's nostrils flare as he stands and steps closer to her. “You are purposefully twisting my words–”

“That you said.”

“I do not regret my choice, my lord,” Kate replies, lifting her chin as he draws closer to her. “But Eloise has clearly resented the choices available to her, and instead of blaming her for that, could you–”

“And if it were Edwina in printer’s shops, cavorting with political radicals–”

“Edwina has wanted this life,” Kate protests. “She’s long been a romantic, and the comfort of this life has always appealed to her. Eloise never has, that much is clear.”

“So it’s my fault, then? For not re-arranging society for Eloise’s–”

“Once again, you misinterpret,” Kate retorts, and now they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “I am merely asking that we try to understand–”

“Understanding will not save the family from being stained,” Anthony argues. “Understanding will not protect Fransesca’s season, or–”

“You’re telling me this is the most scandalous thing to ever happen to a family in the Ton? This is hardly even the most scandalous thing to be printed in Whistledown.”

“It is easy for you to say when it is not your family.”

Kate flinches. Anthony seems to realize his error quickly, but she’s turned away before he can reach for her successfully.

“Kate, I–”

Kate straightens, composing herself. She blinks rapidly, and she does not turn around to look at him. She can feel his hand hovering near her waist, an apology to follow, but she doesn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll call for a carriage,” she says, voice level. “We’ll return to London and settle this, and you’ll listen to your sister.”

There’s another protest, perhaps an apology, on his lips, she can hear it in the rasp of his breath, but she walks out of the room before he has a chance to say it.

-

The unfortunate thing, really, is that the longer Kate stews in her anger the more it has a chance to build.

She’s polite and smiling in her requests – to the footmen, to the valet, to Rosamund, to every staff member she reassures. They were ending the honeymoon just a tad early, there were matters in town they had to attend to. She swears she sees Whistledown peeking out of pockets, but she does not acknowledge or scold anyone for it. Kate does what she’d long taught Edwina to do – smiles serenely, paints a picture of reassurance, and allows herself the mercy of screaming into her pillow and rearranging her hair appropriately afterwards.

It appears she’d finally found the marriage she’d prepared someone for. Kate cannot say she much likes it, at the moment, but an irritating reminder lingers.

She loves Anthony – regardless of how stubborn, short-sighted, and downright irritating he could be. She does, in between folding her trousseau back into her trunks, idly wonder if her response would be much better if Edwina had sent her scandal rather than an engagement announcement. It was not a fair comparison – the Sharmas were in a much more precarious situation than the Bridgertons could ever be – and she’s resolved that she would have reacted proportionately.

(Even if the thought of Edwina’s name appearing in the Queen’s favourite scandal sheet alongside words like ‘political radicals’ sends a chill up her spine – it was different .)

She has the right to be mad at him, the right to be frustrated, the right to avoid him for as long as possible.

-

Anthony doesn’t see her again until they’re both in a carriage in the early afternoon, headed for London.

Kate spends the first fifteen minutes of the ride stubbornly silent. He opens and closes his mouth several times. He’s torn whether to apologize or ask for her apology. Surely, he’d said some things he’d regretted – the comment about family was uncalled for and untrue – but she had to understand his frustration with the matter at hand. 

Eloise had always been willful. Kate did not know how many grey hairs his mother attributed to Eloise’s antics alone, and she could not know so much of his sister’s confidence was only a veneer. Eloise, for all of their butted heads and her outspoken nature, was quite sensitive. She was going to be devastated by this, no matter how much she’d say she did not care what anyone thought of her.

It was a balancing act with her, it always was. He doesn’t know how to tell Kate Eloise had demanded to learn to shoot, and then cried shortly after not immediately being perfect at it. Anthony doesn’t know how to tell Kate how patient he had to be with Eloise, a long rifle in her hands, and how quickly she’d grown smug when such lessons led to her being a better shot than any Bridgerton. Eloise could put on a mask, could act like all of her bluster was sincere – but she cared as much as he did about all of it.

Instead of saying any of this, he breaks the silence with:

“You are a Bridgerton, of course.”

It’s almost an apology.

“What?” Kate turns to look at him, her brow still furrowed.

“My comment – it was badly done, it was not meant – of course you are a Bridgerton, Kate.”

She hums, but says nothing else. At the very least, the tension is dialed down slightly within the carriage. Anthony sighs.

Kate’s hand comes down on her lap, face up. He takes it, hesitantly. She allows it. He squeezes.

“I am just…worried about her,” he admits.

“I know,” Kate replies, voice softer. She squeezes his hand back. “We will find a solution, Anthony. We always do.”

He doesn’t hate the sound of that.

-

Eloise slumps in the opposite chair in Anthony’s study, her arms crossed and her lower back far separated from the back of her seat.

Kate, standing, shoots her a look she hopes is sympathetic. Eloise does not notice, merely glares at Anthony.

“Have you summoned me here and come back early from your honeymoon to yell at me?” she asks. She’s trying to sound bored, Kate notes, but her tone has some genuine sensitivity buried in it.

Anthony sighs. “Would you just…explain it to me?”

Eloise narrows her eyes. “I assumed we’d just venture straight into telling me how I’ve ruined my prospects, the Bridgerton name–”

Anthony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Eloise. Please. From the beginning.”

It seems he’s taken Kate’s advice, after all.

“Do you think less of me?” Eloise asks, and Kate is surprised she’s looking at her when she says this. “I did not mean to ruin – well, I did not expect to…”

She trails off. 

“We’ll figure this out, Eloise,” Kate reassures her. “Between us and your mother and Lady Danbury, I do not believe there’s a storm in Mayfair we cannot weather.”

Anthony reaches for her hand from his seated position. Kate takes it, and their fingers thread together.

“Fine,” Eloise mutters, rubbing at her temples in a way that reminds Kate terribly of Eloise’s eldest brother. “Well, it is kind of all Whistledown’s fault. Predictably, I should have stopped – I suppose now I’ll have to keep chasing after this woman –”

“You will not,” is Anthony’s instant response. “Truly, has that not gotten us into enough–”

Kate tuts. “Let her speak, Anthony.”

“Regardless, I have not found her. But I did believe I found her print shop, and I cannot help myself but to try and uncover such a mystery. That’s what brought me to the shop, and Theo–”

“Theo?” Anthony asks, eyebrows raising.

“He works at the print shop – we did not, there was no–” Eloise huffs. “It was a friendship, brother.”

“An unchaperoned friendship,” he says, unsmiling.

“It does not matter, he does not even wish to speak to me anymore,” Eloise says morosely. “I’ve ruined that, too. He was the one person who I could – he leant me books that said what I’d always tried to put into words. He listened to what I said not because of my so-called marriageability, but because he wanted to hear what I had to say. I didn’t have to be Eloise Bridgerton, debutante, mother of some Lord’s children,” she mutters, worrying her lip between her teeth, “I could just be Eloise. My ideas could stand on their own, and he quite liked poking holes in mine as much as I his.”

“You cannot see that boy again,” is Anthony’s instant response.

“I told you, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t even want to see me.”

Eloise hangs her head, and Kate frowns. She drops Anthony’s hand, and strides over to rest one on Eloise’s shoulder. For all of her disdain for romance, the girl seems heartbroken.

“It’ll be alright, Eloise,” Kate says, patting her arm reassuringly. “Did you…did you have feelings for this Theo?”

Eloise looks up at her, eyes red-rimmed, and Anthony immediately says, “It does not matter if she does.”

Kate looks over her shoulder at him, disbelieving. “You cannot be serious.”

“He is a printer’s apprentice, from the sounds of it,” Anthony counters, “They’ve been caught unchaperoned–”

“Which is often an excuse to marry, not an excuse against it.”

“He’s right,” Eloise mutters. “It would not matter if I did have feelings for Theo, it’s already been ruined.”

At that, Eloise stands, giving her brother one last withering glare before slamming the study door shut behind her. Kate turns back to her husband.

“What do you mean it does not matter if Eloise–”

“It’s as I said,” Anthony retorts. “She cannot marry him, he’s a–”

“My father was a clerk, or have you forgotten?” Kate counters, her voice hard. “The Sheffields treated us much the same, the idea of a woman marrying below her station–”

“Do not compare me to them, I am not–”

“But you are acting in a much similar manner. Surely, you are not blind to this.”

“You cannot be either, as you hardly married a printer nor a clerk–”

“Back to this,” Kate rolls her eyes. “Of all foolish arguments, this is one of your most thoughtless. Eloise has not so much as tolerated a dance with a titled gentleman, and she is near tears thinking of a boy that listens to her. You cannot be so foolish as to throw her happiness–”

“Is that what you’ve done? Thrown your happiness–”

“I married you because I love you,” Kate nearly shouts, and Anthony freezes. “So do not accuse me of sacrificing my happiness as I beg you not to squander your sister’s.”

She’d not meant to say that. She definitely did not mean to say it now, in the heat of an argument, but it slipped out of her as things tended to when they found themselves in a row. It was usually a sport, their bickering, but the sincerity of this one led to her saying things she should not, not yet, and Anthony’s expression has gone slack.

Kate should probably deal with this.

But she does not have the nerve to deal with it now, and she can’t walk the words back. So instead, she sighs heavily and leaves the room. At the very least, her sister will be happy to see her.

-

Edwina and Newton are both quite elated at Kate’s presence when she arrives at Lady Danbury’s.

“You’re back so soon,” Edwina cheers, her arms instantly going around her sister. Newton sniffs at her feet in the parlor, and Kate leans to embrace him next. “Oh, didi, did the honeymoon go well?”

“Quite well,” Kate replies, speaking more of every day except for this incredibly long one. “I received news of your engagement and could not contain my excitement in returning.”

“But that’s not all of it, is it?” Edwina asks, her voice knowing.

“No,” Kate admits with a sigh, squeezing her sister’s hand. “That is not all. Now I happen to have eight siblings to worry about.”

“Which the Bridgertons are quite lucky for,” Edwina replies. 

“Where are Mama and Lady Danbury?”

“I imagine helping Lady Bridgerton plot in the same direction, though they claim it’s a visit to the modiste,” Edwina says, voice amused. “There appear to be endless weddings, as of late.”

“And now that I have the experience of one, I am all the more suited to help with yours,” Kate says cheerily, moving with her sister to sit next to her on a settee. 

“Will Eloise?” Edwina asks, eyes going conspicuously to the copy of Lady Whistledown on a nearby table.

Kate frowns. “Not if Anthony can help it.”

“A printer,” Edwina says, sighing in understanding. “I suppose that’d be impossible, wouldn’t it?”

“It wasn’t for our parents,” Kate counters.

“And Mama was cast out as a result,” Edwina says, for once the sensible counterpoint in their conversation. “I imagine Anthony would not want his sister to have the same fate.”

Kate’s frown deepens. “What have you done with my sister who was so convinced of fairy tales?”

“She is still here,” Edwina insists, “but who is to say the love is true? True love is worth it, surely, but – are you not the one insisting your marriage is not a love match?"

“Do you not love Mr. Bagwell, bon?”

“Of course I do! No one else could possibly keep up with me in philosophical discussion, especially not while looking so handsome. Do you love Lord Bridgerton?”

“Yes,” Kate answers automatically, before she can think better of it. Edwina’s eyes widen, and Kate just sighs. “Would you believe it’s the second time I’ve admitted it today?”

“I would say that admittance has come rather late,” Edwina snorts. “I believe we’ve all known it longer than you have.”

“We all?”

“Every living soul in Mayfair. I believe even Newton knows.”

Kate shoots Newton a look. He cocks his head. It feels like a betrayal.

“Shocking news,” Kate mutters defensively, “I love my husband, we may never recover from the scandal.”

“I assume you’ve told him?”

“Mid-argument, then I came over here,” Kate groans. “It was all rather accidental.”

“Sounds like your way,” Edwina hums, more amused than she has a right to be. “Did he…”

“I left before he could say anything at all,” Kate admits. “But I know he would not say the same.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“Anthony is an incredibly stubborn man–”

“And you are not prone to your own bouts of stubbornness?”

Kate huffs. “He has always been quite resolved not to fall in love.”

She thinks of he and his mother’s conversation next to his father’s grave, and frowns. “I could never be the cause of such pain,” rings in her head.

“As I remember, you were resolved not to marry when we arrived here. Clearly, things change,” Edwina says, as if this is the simplest and most elegant of summaries. “You are married and in love, hardly a spinster only looking to spoil her nieces and nephews.”

“I will still do so–” Kate mutters, but Edwina interrupts her.

“He is clearly rather madly in love with you,” Edwina exclaims.

“We share affection, this is true, but,” Kate exhales, clenching her palms. “I believe he has his own mind to sort out, and any such pressure from me will make matters more complicated than they need be. It’s bad enough I’ve already admitted more than I meant to.”

“You love your husband, we may never recover from the scandal,” Edwina repeats dryly.

“Truthfully, we are quite cross with one another,” Kate mutters. “I may have only made matters worse.”

“You two adore arguing. It’s the strangest thing. I hardly think this warrants concern.”

“Somehow I think it was easier when we were…” Kate quickly stops herself, glancing at Edwina, who only chortles.

“I suppose I have much to look forward to on my own honeymoon.”

“Let us hope yours does not end with another Bridgerton embroiled in scandal,” Kate groans. “At this rate, Benedict may run off with a royal to Gretna Green in your absence.”

“I look forward to giving my well-wishes,” Edwina grins. “Perhaps one of your maids? Wouldn’t that be exciting?”

“I believe we’ve had enough excitement,” Kate says. She glances at Newton, who has settled near her feet. “I may take him back with me.” 

Newton, in his canine way, nearly smiles at the thought. Anthony’s rivalry with the dog almost made the idea better. 

“Has your husband warmed to him?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” is Kate’s glib response.

-

“You’ve been pouting by the door, brother, has your honeymoon ended on a sour note?” Colin asks, and Anthony stills in his pacing only to glare at him.

“I am not–”

“For a moment I wondered if Kate’s dog had arrived,” Colin continues, undeterred. “For fewer creatures might look so pathetic waiting on the doorstep.”

Anthony scowls. “Perhaps instead of asking about my marriage, you should worry about finding your own. Was it too much to ask for you and Benedict to keep the family from scandal for an entire week in my absence?”

Colin holds his hands up, defensively. “I’ll have you know, I believe I’ve uncovered another scandal of my own–”

Anthony groans. “Please, no more–”

“It is not ours, brother, in fact it may get attention away from Eloise’s,” Colin says, sounding quite proud of himself. “You see, I did my research as you suggested. Now I must figure out the best way of uncovering the news with minimal damage to innocent bystanders, and I believe Whistledown may have more interesting things to write about than Eloise’s–”

Eloise storms in from the drawing room. “Do not talk about me as if I am not here.”

“You are omnipresent, how could I?” is Colin’s response, and Eloise glares daggers at him before returning to the other room.

“Please do not do anything foolish,” Anthony says the words over his shoulder, following Eloise into the next room before Colin’s indignant response. 

“Come to lecture me more?” is Eloise’s greeting. She is already back on the settee, a book unread in her lap. “I much prefer when Kate was here to soften the–”

“What sort of political radicals?” Anthony mutters, fiddling with his sleeve as he sits opposite her. 

“Oh, the sort that view women as more than mere cattle,” Eloise retorts, but her voice doesn’t have nearly as much bite with her sniffling. “With their own thoughts and feelings and–”

“If you want to see this boy,” Anthony sighs, checking his pocket watch for the time. Kate has been gone over an hour now. “What’s his last name?”

“Theo?” Eloise asks, her brow furrowing in suspicion. “If I give you his name, will anyone have hope of finding his body? I am not falling for it, brother.”

“You think I have little better to do than–”

“Surely, you do, or you wouldn’t even be asking his name. I know of your history with duels,” Eloise says, and Anthony groans.

“I am asking because if you insist on courting this boy, we need a name and address for an invitation to tea,” Anthony replies sharply. 

Eloise’s eyes widen. “An invitation for tea?”

“I am hardly going to allow you to drag our poor staff on carriage rides in London’s roughest neighborhoods for unchaperoned visits where you could be–”

“You want to invite Theo over for tea?” she asks, utterly befuddled.

“It doesn’t have to be bloody tea, but it has to be something chaperoned and proper and–”

“Are you suggesting a courtship, brother?”

“This seems to be the only one you’ve had a slight interest in,” Anthony sighs, pressing his fingers to his temples. “Of course, it’ll have to be approached the correct way. I best not see any anti-monarchist writings under his name, or we’ll have hell to pay with the Queen. No more sneaking into the print shop, if you’re to speak to him it’ll be with proper chaperoning and in our own home. Perhaps the occasional ball or promenade or–”

Eloise stares at him, and he’s a tad unsettled by it.

“What?”

“Is this a trap?” Eloise asks, eyes narrowing.

“What trap would it be?”

“Did Kate perhaps swap you out with an identical twin none of us have found before now? Have you fallen ill? Are you dying, perhaps?”

Ideally, not too soon, but inevitably. He does not say that, but instead sighs once more. “If you – if you truly care for the boy–”

“Theo,” she corrects.

“Give me his last name, and I shall address him by that.”

“Sharpe,” she relents.

“If you truly care for Mr. Sharpe, if this is the future you desire – we will figure it out,” Anthony says. “It is as Kate said, between our family and Lady Danbury we shall find a way to present the information in the least scandalous manner possible. If anyone asks, you have always been chaperoned by at least your maid. If he’s compromised you, I will have to duel him. Perhaps some sweeping romantic notions will be more palatable than the idea of political radicals–”

“You would do that?” Eloise asks, her voice soft.

“Duel him?”

“I have not been compromised,” Eloise says, rolling her eyes. “Everything else you said, brother.”

“Your dowry is enough to make a modest life, as you see fit. Not enough for anything extravagant, and I beg if your husband does make any investments that he make wise ones, but,” he leans over, his elbows meeting his rather sore knees, and looks Eloise in the eye, “your family will not abandon you for making a different choice, Eloise.”

Eloise’s eyes are brimming with tears. Anthony is embarrassed his own are rather watery.

Kate had a point, of course. He’d been more than happy to call the Sheffields out on their ill manners and scorn for those they deemed beneath them, and he hates that for a moment Kate saw the same in him. He hates that Eloise saw the same in him, that any of this comes as such a surprise to her. It was scandalous, and could have several domino effects he’ll tear his hair out thinking about later. But worse is the thought of Eloise miserable, and of him nearly ruining yet another sister’s happiness. 

He had not even processed Kate’s other declaration, the one he still cannot find the words for. Anthony knows he does not deserve it in the slightest, and perhaps that makes it easier to keep it at arm’s length. But she said it, and it lingered in the air, and she left before he could even form a response. He’d like to think he’d have one, eventually, but in thinking about it now he’s not sure he would at all.

Before he can dwell more on either topic, Eloise stands and her arms wrap around his shoulders. Anthony stiffens, surprised by the hug, but returning it nonetheless.

Anthony clears his throat, his face in Eloise’s hair, “You are a Bridgerton, Eloise. We always find our way with these things, do we not?”

“We do,” another voice says, and he turns around to see Kate in the doorway. Eloise quickly leaves him, and moves to embrace Kate.

“What am I?” he asks, under his breath, “Redundant in my own home?”

“What is this about?” Kate says, cautiously returning Eloise’s out-of-character affection and wrapping her arms around her.

“I am sure Anthony did not come up with this on his own.”

“Come up with what?” Kate asks, pulling back to look at Eloise, her eyes flicking to Anthony.

Anthony moves to stand. “Ah, I merely told Eloise that if she wishes to see Mr. Sharpe she should do so properly and chaperoned.”

Kate’s eyebrows raise.

“I do not know if he’ll even do it,” Eloise mutters. “Theo, that is, this world is so…”

Kate’s hand rests on Eloise’s shoulder, her expression gentle. “If he is worth it, he will.”

At that, his mother and Lady Danbury enter the drawing room. Anthony takes a step next to Kate and Eloise.

“Anthony, Kate,” Violet greets, surprise in her voice. “I did not expect you both back until–”

“We had to be here for Eloise,” Anthony says quickly. “Once we received the news, we departed for London.”

“We could not be away while Eloise was hurt,” Kate adds immediately, and he feels another rush of affection for her. 

“I believe we might invite Theo over for tea,” Eloise says, nearly stammering on the words.

“Mr. Sharpe,” Anthony mutters under his breath.

“Mr. Sharpe,” Eloise corrects herself.

Violet sits down so immediately it appears she may be on the verge of fainting. Lady Danbury’s eyes narrow on the three of them.

“The printer’s apprentice?” Violet asks, rubbing at her head.

“After Eloise has spent all season scaring the rest of her suitors away, I do not know if we have better options,” Anthony quips.

“But he is–”

“The only man who truly listens to anything I have to say,” Eloise interrupts their mother. “Does that mean nothing?”

Violet looks at Anthony, then at Kate. Anthony only shrugs. Lady Danbury is suspiciously silent.

“It was Anthony’s idea,” Eloise says, crossing her arms defensively.

At this, Violet only looks more surprised. Kate takes his hand, and threads her fingers through his. He knows then, undoubtedly, that this is the right choice. His grip on her hand tightens.

“There go our plans,” Lady Danbury mutters. “We were going to categorically deny all counts, but I suppose this may work better. Better a chaperoned but scandalous romance than political mutiny in the eyes of the Queen.”

Anthony isn’t sure when he started thinking like Lady Danbury. He eyes Kate, who nods. Perhaps it was her influence at play, Lady Danbury’s political instincts filtered down through her ward. Really, he should ask for both women’s help at Parliament if nothing else. 

“We’ll increase your maid’s salary, Eloise,” Anthony mutters. “Please, see to it that she holds fast if asked if she’s been chaperoning you at the printer’s shop. Don’t worry, it’ll come from your pin money.”

Eloise scowls. “I’ve already been bribing the footman with my pin money to say nothing.”

Anthony frowns. “We should–”

“We are not firing him,” is Kate’s pointed response. “He ensured Eloise remained safe, did he not?”

Anthony sighs heavily. “Point stands on the pin money, then, I believe your maid will be much more responsible with the additional income than you will.”

“Are you sure this will work?” Violet asks, looking back up at the four of them.

“I daresay it may even work better than our plan,” Lady Danbury says, satisfied. “Good work, Bridgertons.”

At that, Lady Danbury takes her leave.

“Oh! And please do not return this mongrel to my home – he is yours, Lady Bridgerton!”

A dog barks. Anthony turns to look at Kate, who merely shrugs her shoulders.

“Yet another reason we cannot fire the footman,” is her answer to the unasked question.

-

Dinner passes by more amiably than he expects.

Eloise is in better spirits, for one, japing as her old self. She asked Kate how she’s enjoying the prison of marriage, and Kate laughs while she asks her to pass the rolls. She’s elected to sit next to him rather tha at the end of the table, still saving the seat for his mother despite her instant offer. Benedict is cheerful – not nearly as jovial as he was during another dinner, and Colin swears he has no such teas left – and Hyacinth insists on taking Fransesca’s seat given she’s returned to her lessons in Bath. Gregory, for his part, spends some time bartering what pieces of the meal might be appropriate for Newton – none of them, is Anthony’s instant answer – and Kate looks at home.

It fills him with warmth, the sight of her at his family home, eating dinner with his family as if she’s always done so. 

The words rattle around his mind, but he’s too terrified to curse her and name them. He’s scared further still that the lack of returning her words will alienate her, that he’s doomed to either lose his wife’s affection by not properly naming his or lose her to an unnamed curse he cannot outrun. He feels that familiar rush of panic, eyes glazing over the damn potatoes, and Kate’s hand is on his thigh before his breaths get too close together.

Kate looks at him, her chest rising and falling slowly – demonstrably, even – and she’s so perfect it wounds him. His breathing slows; she gives him an imperceptible, encouraging nod.

Anthony returns the gesture.

-

Readying for bed is almost an awkward affair.

It is their first time sleeping at Bridgerton House together. Anthony had offered, before they married, refurbishing his bachelor quarters or setting up a separate home for the rest of his family, and she’d refused both counts. Bridgerton House was home enough, Kate had said, and being so close to her family and Lady Danbury’s home was another benefit. Of course, he’d only followed that with an offer to get Edwina and Lady Mary their own cottage, but given Edwina’s likely upcoming – now rather definitively upcoming – nuptials, it seemed best to wait to allow Lady Mary to make that decision for herself.

Nonetheless, it leaves them here – lingering at the staircase after dinner, his mother behind them.

“The viscountess chambers,” Violet says, nodding at the two of them. “I shall clear out of them by the end of the week, we were expecting you back a bit later–”

“There’s no need to rush,” Kate reassures her immediately. “I’m sure the viscount can tolerate me in his bed a while longer, and I him so long as he stops being such a blanket thief.”

Anthony’s cheeks flush, both at the insinuation – which his mother laughs at, of all potentially improper things – and at her ease. They’d argued nearly all morning, she’d told him she loved him while he said nothing back, and yet still returned to the normalcy of their honeymoon as if neither event occurred. He is not sure what to do with it, partially convinced his idiocy would leave his bed cold and his heart trapped on the other side of the door.

“I hardly steal anything,” he counters, instead of saying any of it, and both his mother and Kate snicker. Violet takes her leave, disappearing up the staircase, and Anthony leans on the bannister.

“Well, viscountess,” Anthony says, gesturing up. “After you.”

“Did I mention Newton quite enjoys a cuddle?”

Anthony blanches. “Not in our bed, he does not.”

And Kate laughs again, and that at least dissipates any remaining awkwardness without much trouble at all. He’s behind her all the way up the stairs, nearly stepping on her skirts before he corrects himself with a pause.

“Do you know which room is–”

“Yes,” she answers, and he swears he hears her bite back a laugh.

He wants to ask how she knows, but he remembers she’s had her share of tours over the course of their engagement so he bites his tongue. He manages to get enough ahead of her to open the door of his room, their room, as she follows. They’ve never needed help undressing at Aubrey Hall – they were quite enthused to do so for each other, her fingers tugging off his cravat and making quick work of the buttons of his waistcoat, his sliding off her dresses of velvet and chiffon and silk. But he pauses at the door. 

“It was kind,” Kate says, her voice soft. “What you did for Eloise, that was kind.”

Anthony swallows, closing the door behind him. “I do love my siblings.”

“I know,” is her response, eyes warm and knowing.

He steps closer to her, unable to help himself, the back of his hand ghosting along her collarbone.

“What you said, earlier–”

“We do not need to speak of it, Anthony,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “There’s no need to speak of it.”

His fingers move up to press against the curve of her cheek, and he swallows.

“You know, I…”

“You do not have to say anything, Anthony. I do not expect it.”

She silences him, her hand finding his cravat and tugging until his lips are on hers. His other hand finds the other side of her face, and he tries to keep it gentle, reverent. The pads of his fingers ghost along the hollows of her cheekbones, sweeping until they lift her chin to meet his. He tries to slow the speed, to ensure it’s languid rather than urgent. But she meets his attempts at honorable veneration with hunger and thirst, nimbly divesting him of his waistcoat and sliding her tongue into the contours of his mouth, and he groans.

“Darling,” he murmurs, even as he can’t help crushing her to him. “Sweetheart, I–”

“Do not speak,” she insists, her hands mapping his back after untucking his undershirt, her open mouth against his. Her hands keep sliding, her fingernails digging along his skin.

Anthony relents, as he’ll always give in to her.

-

The next few days continue in a similar fashion. 

He sends an invitation to a printer’s shop that Eloise waits with bated breath to hear back from. She tries to hide her disappointment when she pokes her head into Anthony’s study and he gives a shake of his head. He tries to reassure her, but all he sees is her turn away before he can make any such attempt. Kate is quickly pulled into other obligations – her sister’s upcoming nuptials, his mother’s well-meaning if needlessly long conversations on the transfer of the responsibilities of viscountess, and even Gregory’s Latin tutor seems to have stopped complaining. 

Anthony, for his part, is buried in his study once more. Kate stops in, in between her journeys back and forth from Lady Danbury’s house and a multitude of conversations with the staff of Bridgerton House and his mother, and presses a quick kiss to his head and a passing comment on the reading in front of him, and she’s gone before he can truly reach for her. Their evenings remain much the same, a solace in a time when he’s not sure if he’s feeling tethered or not, reassured or anxious. 

She still kisses him before he can say much at all, but she falls asleep on his chest every night after tracing patterns into his skin and that is something.

“Kate is settling in so well,” Violet tells him, beaming as she stops by his office – as all of them seem to, as if he is stuck there for determined intervals of time, and perhaps he may be. 

And she is not wrong. Kate makes Eloise laugh at dinner, even if she grows more morose the longer she does not hear from the printer’s apprentice. Benedict is delighted that Kate shares some of his knowledge of less popular artists in London. Colin opens his mouth to ask for something to be passed to his side of the table, and Kate has begun doing so before he can even get the words out. Hyacinth learns a fraction of patience just from teaching Newton to stay in one place, and Gregory adores her. Anthony never finds himself sleeping at his desk, anymore, the thought of precious time alone with her enough encouragement to leave tomorrow’s tasks for the morrow.

“I don’t deserve you,” he tries to say, Kate straddled in his lap in their room.

“Nonsense,” she murmurs into his shoulder, and his grip on her tightens.

“But I will try to,” he says, and that is as close as he can get to a promise.

He settles the bill of Edwina’s trousseau at the modiste, relents and orders no less than three dog beds for her damn dog (one for their room, one for the drawing room, and one for Hyacinth’s because at this rate she and Kate will have to fight over the creature). He spots her journal on the side of her bed when she’s resting beside him, and scribbles here and there additional information about the staff and tenants she’s so diligently learning in dim candlelight. Edwina’s dowry is settled with his solicitor, and when it storms he drops everything altogether.

It’s only happened the once, over the course of these days. He can hear the rain coming down more heavily on his windowsill, so he drops his quill and strides over to the drawing room. Kate is in the middle of a conversation with Mrs. Wilson. He can see a slight furrow in her brow, her thumbnail pressing into her palm. No one else in the room would know she was the slightest bit uncomfortable, but he hears thunder and she shows the smallest flinch.

“Kate, darling,” he says, the words rolling off his tongue. “Would you join me in the study, for a moment? I have something I could use your eyes on.”

She looks up at him, confused then relieved; he relishes in the relief in her features as he leads her back to his study. He closes the door behind him, pours them both a glass of brandy, and grabs a book before tucking her into his side on the settee.

“You don’t have to,” she protests, but he steals from her actions and cuts her off with a kiss.

“I want to,” Anthony murmurs, pressing his forehead to hers. “Let me take care of you, sweetheart.”

Thunder rolls, lightning flashes, and he reads to her until it stops.

-

He’s due back at Parliament, and traditionally an occasion he meets with little fanfare feels lonely.

Simon is next to him as a lord prattles on about carriage tolls in Scotland, the two of them ensconced in the larger Whig contingent, and instead of thinking the slightest bit about tolls for carriages with more than two wheels he is thinking about his wife. His wife who loves him, his wife whom he doesn’t deserve, his wife whom he’s scarcely apart from yet misses terribly.

“All of this prattling makes me wish I remembered whiskey,” Simon mutters, but Anthony is lost to him entirely. Perhaps Kate would be more attentive to the fees associated with carrying mail in Scotland, but that is as far as his attention to the subject at hand gets.

There’s a dull roar of thunder outside, the second day of storms in a row. Anthony’s agitation only grows. Whereas before he was simply impatient, now he is white-knuckled with the need to leave.

Oh, he loves her so much.

It’s what this has always been; he’s been so foolish to think it anything different. While he was waxing on to himself about fondness and passion and companionship he’s fallen so deeply in love with her he is drowning in it. He’s been drowning since their very first race in that park, pretending as if he’d never run out of oxygen at the bottom of a sea. Kate is Kate – she’s perfect and infuriating and his best friend and his wife and the only one who could truly outmatch him in an argument. She annotates on the margins of his life, solving problems he could have, would have, spent years trying to sort. Anthony dreams of her, he breathes for her, and –

Suddenly, nothing is more important than arriving home from Parliament on time. The moment debate ends, the moment it is clear a vote will not come to day, he is out the door.

“Bridgerton!” Simon calls after him, half-laughing as Anthony half-runs from the House of Lords. “This weather is much too disagreeable for a carriage home – the winds alone may rock your carriage over. Perhaps it is another point in favor of the carriages with many wheels, but–”

“My wife,” Anthony replies, nearly plaintively. “Kate doesn’t care for storms, Hastings.”

Simon chuckles as he clasps a hand on his shoulder. “She will like them even less if you’re foolish in one. Come, have a drink as we wait it out together.”

“A horse,” Anthony says, nodding to himself. “Perhaps you’re right, best not to risk the carriage, but a horse–”

“You cannot be serious,” is Simon’s response.

But it is storming, and he has already waited this long to come to terms with his feelings, and upon realizing he’s always loved her it seems unfair to wait a moment longer to tell her. He could tell Simon this, but the longer he does so the longer he robs Kate of a chance to hear it, so instead he just says, “I shall see you tomorrow for the vote, Hastings.”

Simon merely shakes his head, shouting after him. “Lovestruck fool!”

Anthony does not argue the point.

-

Simon had sought out an entirely ordinary day.

Parliament had begun another session, of course, but debate today was unremarkable. There were no highly controversial, hot-blooded issues. Perhaps he’d even get to catch up with his brother-in-law, collect any amusing anecdotes Daphne might enjoy hearing about her older brother and how utterly besotted he was with his new wife. If he was lucky, he could make it home in time for dinner and to tuck his son into bed and have his wife tug him by the cravat to theirs.

As it happens, today is not his lucky day.

Debate drags on entirely too long for an issue as boring as carriage tolls, Anthony alternates between staring off into space and moping – something Simon had not seen since their Oxford days in the aftermath of one horrible summer – and it seems less and less likely he will be home in time for dinner by the time the thunder starts. He sighs, and resolves tomorrow must be better.

It is, but only relative to how dreadful this day turns out to be.

If he were superstitious, he would call all of this a harbinger of something. But he’s been working on his superstitions, really, trying to train himself out of it as much as he did his stutter once upon a time, so he resolves to think nothing of the crack of lightning and the foreboding rumbling outside. Daphne would reassure him there was nothing to be worried about. She, too, would be amused at how quickly Anthony wishes to get home to his new wife. 

After the wind has died down a half-hour later, Simon is on the carriage ride home. He peers out the window absentmindedly, wondering how entertaining Daphne might find the story. He frowns when he sees a horse, alone, that looks remarkably like Anthony’s. He does not see Anthony. 

He realizes that today is a very dire day, indeed.

“Stop the carriage,” he tells his footman, and the man instantly complies. Simon runs to Jack, and sees a jacket with a truly absurd amount of buttons on its back. He finds Anthony, splayed out next to a quite loyal horse, and curses.

“I will kill you if you’re dead,” he insists, even as he does not get a response. It’s pouring rain on both of them. He presses his fingers to Anthony’s neck, and breathes again when he finds a pulse. Simon tugs his arms around his neck, and lifts Anthony before his footman can offer to lift a finger.

“Your grace, I–” his footman offers, but Simon only shakes his head.

“We must not waste any time, we need to get to Bridgerton House as quickly as possible.”

“Hastings?” slurs a confused voice, and Simon exhales in another sigh of relief.

“My wife is going to kill me, and your wife is going to kill you, and our duel will seem rather quaint,” Simon mutters. He waits for a response, but Anthony has fallen back into unconsciousness.

Simon curses, depositing him into the carriage. Anthony is limp, more ragdoll than viscount, and he hates the sight of it. There’s a reason he would have rather thrown away his shot than risk killing him, and he refuses to believe that this – of all things, at all times – is going to be what does Anthony in now.

“Tell Kate,” Anthony mutters, half-here and half-elsewhere, and him speaking at all is another positive sign if nothing else is. “Tell Kate I love her. Tell her I’m sorry.”

Simon resists the urge to kick him, after considering how much head damage the man has already likely suffered.

Anthony is lost again, pallid and unconscious. Simon counts backwards from one thousand, a soothing technique he’s taken up in the past year, and steels himself to stride into Bridgerton House with an unconscious viscount in his arms and beg for a doctor as quickly as possible. 

The eighth viscount Bridgerton died of a bee sting, he knows. Daphne’s voice still breaks when she speaks of him. Anthony had spent that year at Oxford in a miserable daze Simon found more relatable than alienating. Simon resolves to not let the ninth viscount die in a manner so ridiculous as an ill-conceived romantic horse ride home in a storm. It would be too tragic, too ridiculous, even for the Bridgertons.

“Tell her yourself,” Simon mutters. Anthony may not be able to hear him, but Simon is resolved he’ll do it all the same. There is simply no other alternative.

Chapter Text

“My footman has already called for a doctor. Where should I put him?”

“Simon? What are you – oh, God – Anthony, my boy!”

“What has happened? Please, get him to his chambers – up and to the right. Is the doctor far? What happened to him?”

“Fell off his horse, he’s alive, I promise. I came as soon as I–”

“Colin, take Hyacinth and Gregory to the other room, please, he wouldn’t want them to–”

“I’ve got it, Kate. He will be just fine, we just need to be out of the way, yes?”

“I’ll prep the room, Lady Bridgerton. Is it his head?”

“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Wilson – Simon, is it–”

“His head, I think so. Knew a gent at Oxford who took a rough fall in the same fashion, he woke up. Took him a bit to get back to his studies, but Bridgerton is too stubborn to–”

“Don’t say it, please. Mrs. Wilson, please call for our doctor as well–”

“Already done, Lady Bridgerton. 

“I saw the commotion on the street, what the devil is going on?”

“Benedict, please, let the doctor in behind you.”

“Please, his head, please be–”

“There’s no bleeding, Kate, I think it was just a hard knock. He will wake up, he was speaking for a moment when I found him.”

“You said no bleeding? Please, clear the room so I may–”

“Let Kate stay, the rest of us will be in the hall

“Cool towels, I put the rest in the icebox for a moment, you said it’s his head?”

“I’ll be back with Daphne, it’ll only be a moment, she’d want to be here.”

“After the doctor is done with his assessment, yes, thank you Mrs. Wilson.”

“And dry clothes for the viscount.”

Kate clings to Anthony’s hand as the doctor surveys him. His head lolls, his hair sticking to his face, as the doctor gently turns him to his side.

“Do not move his neck,” the doctor instructs gently. “Ensure your staff keep him stable, please, Lady Bridgerton.”

She nods, blinking back tears. She does not let them fall. Anthony needs her – everyone in this house needs her, the chaotic frenzy beyond the doors of these chambers – and she resolves she will not fall apart now. 

“No break in the vertebrate, if he wakes up he will walk again. But the skull,” the doctor frowns, padding his thumb along the back of Anthony’s head. The hair she’d grasped at so often – and she cannot think of if . “The viscount has a small fracture in the skull, I believe. No dislocation – would you mind drying his face so I might see if we have any other liquid than water to be concerned about?”

Kate doesn’t ask for details, she just complies. She pats at his face with a towel, gently, still holding his hand with her other. 

“Just a small fracture, I believe – that does not mean he is out of these woods, but this is quite a better prognosis than the alternative. I’ll leave behind laudanum for the pain – just a few drops at a time, please. Broth will have to do in the meantime, we must keep the viscount’s strength. His head should not move more than is absolutely necessary – prop him up on pillows as needed for the sake of mealtimes – and if he wakes up he should take it very slowly and consult me immediately. If he does not within the next few days, I also ask that you consult me and we can make arrangements as needed.”

The doctor carefully sets Anthony on his back once more, gently grabbing an additional pillow to prop underneath his head. Kate’s eyes glaze over, trying desperately not to catalog all of the man’s ifs .

Vertebrae are not broken, he will walk. It’s a small fracture. She keeps these reassurances for his family, leaves the ifs and arrangements as a horrible taste of poison for her only.

“You understand, Lady Bridgerton? I’ll give this same instruction to your staff, do not worry.”

“Of course, doctor. It is a small skull fracture, we should do our best to keep his strength and allow him rest, and call for you with any developments.”

She says the words carefully, levelly, but she cannot look the man in the eye as she says it. Mercifully, he does not ask her to. He merely sets a hand on her shoulder.

“He is young and resilient, Lady Bridgerton, with some of the best care in England and a devoted family. Please, be well.”

He leaves. She hardly processes the opening and closing of the door, Anthony’s hands clasped in hers.

“Meri jaan,” she whispers, pressing his hands to her lips. He twitches, pale, and she gently wipes his hair off his brow. She rests on her knees beside the bed, memorizing him – the curve of his nose, the way his hair curls in his face, the sharp jut of his chin, the weight of his hand. She does not cry. She refuses to weep.

There’s a knock at the door that she doesn’t acknowledge, still staring at Anthony as if imprinting him into her mind will be any balm. 

“Kate, sweetheart, he’s going to be alright.”

It’s Violet’s voice. It shakes, as if she doesn’t quite believe it herself. It’s not a reassurance that helps. She sounds like Mary, murmuring soothing words into the crown of her hair as Appa got sicker and sicker. All is well until it is not.

Kate should respond, but the words are stuck in her throat.

“It is unimaginable, seeing someone you love like this,” Violet says, and Kate hears rather than sees her tears. Kate cannot look away from Anthony. She presses his fingers to her mouth again.

“He looks so much like Edmund.”

Anthony’s father is dead, long dead, buried at Aubrey Hall. She keeps this to herself, too. 

(Would Anthony want to be buried next to him? The viscounts interred in the same plot, close to where their Pall Mall balls landed?)

( “I could never be the cause of such pain,” he’d said, and she wonders if the ground underneath him when he said it would become his grave.)

“Whatever you need, Kate, we can…”

She needs him to wake up. She needs to stop thinking like this. She needs to stand. She needs to stay here, wrapped around him until his eyes open or –

“I know when Edmund…it’s horrible to even think of it, so I’ll refuse. I could hardly get out of bed, the pain was so unbearable.”

Kate stands up.

“We should make sure he’s changed out of his wet clothes. The bedding, too. The doctor said we should be careful of moving his head. We should make sure he eats, too – I’ll ask the cook to prepare broth. The doctor will have left behind laudanum. I’ll look at his ledgers, make sure there’s nothing pressing.”

She’s halfway out the door when Violet calls after her.

“Kate, it’s–”

The maids are already there, dry clothes and sheets in hand, and she murmurs gratitude to them as she strides down the hall where Benedict, Eloise, and Colin are huddled together. Benedict is biting at the corner of his thumb, Eloise’s arms are wrapped tightly around her middle, and Colin is pacing.

“Hyacinth and Gregory?” she asks, and Colin’s feet pause.

“With their governess,” Colin answers. “Is he–”

“He’s going to be alright,” Kate reassures him. She sounds confident, she thinks, and it’s what they must need right now. Benedict slumps against the wall, Eloise’s eyes shut in a visible sigh of relief, and Colin nods. “It was just a hard fall, a small fracture. He just needs to rest. That’s all.”

(She is a liar, projecting a clear answer in what is only a sea of grey.)

(But they believe her, and that should be enough practice for telling the children.)

She is calm and collected. She is not Mary or Violet or the wilted widows – she is not a widow, her husband is alive, he is not dead – and if he was –

She shoves the thought down, past her ribcage to her stomach. She strides down the hallway, down the stairs, and ignores the sympathetic looks from staff. Gregory and Hycianth are in the drawing room with their governess, and they look so small. She crouches next to where they’re sitting. Gregory is tear-stained and Hyacinth is silent.

“Anthony is going to be alright,” she tells them. Her voice is not thick. She does not fumble on the words. She is clear and decisive. “He just took a hard fall, that is all.”

“Can we see him?” Hyacinth asks.

Kate pats at her hair, unable to help herself, smoothing where she’s loosened her braid. “He’s resting now, but I am sure he will be very happy to see you – to see both of you – when he wakes up.”

They ask more questions she mostly answers, gives him answers that will go down easily and not unsettle them, and moves to the – his, it’s his, he’d just held her the other night in that corner, just taken her by the hand and settled her into the curve of him – study. She sits down, the correspondence he has not opened yet sitting at the edge. She notes the existing piles – sorted for urgency, he’d explained it to her after rearranging what they’d knocked onto the floor at Aubrey Hall when he’d set her atop his desk there. He’d told her she was the most urgent of all, pressed the feeling into her skin, and the parchment was a long foregone conclusion.

She taps her fingers against the desk. She breathes. And she calls Nelson into the room.

“Who signs in the viscount’s stead? You or Benedict?”

“Mr. Bridgerton, ma’am, but surely this can–”

( “You were barely even there,” Anthony’s accusatory words to his mother, on a grave, and she bit her tongue so many times with Mary.)

“I’ll settle what I can and we can go from there,” is Kate’s answer. It’s not short, not clipped like Anthony’s gets when he’s agitated. It’s dull.

Nelson gives her a solemn nod. “Very well, Lady Bridgerton. I’m afraid some repairs are needed after the storm. I believe Lord Bridgerton kept his budget in the second drawer. I’ll have estimates ready by morning from the tenants.”

-

Kate checks at his bedroom door every hour, ink stains on her palms. Daphne and Simon sit with them for a few hours, Augie cooing in their lap, and she ducks in the hallway before they notice her. It’s another reminder –

(“Are you sure this is what you want, Kate?”

“Is this not what honeymoons are for, my lord? Making an heir?”

“Then I suppose we’d rather be thorough, shouldn’t we? I know we both could be accused of being rather competitive when issued a challenge–”

“How dare you!”

They’d laughed, then, under the safety of their sheets in their room at Aubrey Hall. His body was so warm, his smile spread across his cheeks, her fingers mapped out his shoulder blades. Kate feels like she’s taken such a recent memory for granted, taken the assumption that they’d get there for granted, taken and taken –)

She turns around. She doesn't comes back until they leave.

-

Kate falls asleep on his desk, cheek pressed against the wood and candle dripping wax. She composes herself. Rosamund is waiting for her in the hallway. Kate gently chides her for staying up at such a late hour.

“Go to sleep, please,” she insists. “Take care of yourself.”

She could swear Rosamund murmurs, “You too,” but she’s disappeared before Kate can interrogate it. She pads into his room – their room – and sets her candlestick on a nearby dresser. She undoes her own stays, takes out her own pins, and grabs the first nightgown she sees. He doesn’t move or murmur. She curls around him, head on his chest, and at the very least his heart is still beating. She clings to the sound. It’s here, Anthony still unconscious below her, that she lets herself weep. 

-

She awakens later than she means to.

Anthony is still solid, still breathing, still sleeping. She presses a kiss to his cheek. Rosamund is waiting for her when she opens the door.

“There’s tea and breakfast downstairs, my lady,” she says. “Could I help you dress?”

Kate goes through all of the motions. She’s dressed as typical, she’s not too brittle at breakfast, and she reassures everyone’s nervous looks with all of the graciousness she can muster. 

“He will be fine,” she says, when Violet asks. “He just needs some rest, that's all.”

“He will be alright,” she tells Gregory, finger tapping his chin.

“Anthony will be joining us in no time,” Kate tells Hycianth and the servants and the cooks and the letters and –

Someone else is at Anthony’s desk by the time she gets to the study, a quill in one hand and a fistful of grapes in the other. Kate frowns.

“Benedict,” Kate scolds him gently. “Shouldn’t you be at school?”

“Ah,” Benedict shrugs, tossing another grape into his mouth. “I quit, and now I happen to enjoy quite a bit of free time.”

Kate gapes. “You did what?”

“Come to find out, Anthony paid my way in,” Benedict continues, and before Kate can open her mouth to defend her husband, he waves her defense away, “It really is quite like him, to want to make our lives as easy as possible. I know how he is in that way, and it only makes sense that he’s married someone with quite similar tendencies. Ever since our father died, Anthony has been all too eager to absorb all of this family’s hardship. I beg of you that in his momentary absence that you are not tempted to do the same.”

Kate’s immediate instinct is to reject this and tell him to go back to his studio, but Benedict merely raises his eyebrows.

“Believe it or not, I can do some simple calculations, dear sister. It is not only art that these hands can produce. Now, where are Anthony’s budgets for repairs?”

Kate feels an overwhelming surge of affection for the Bridgertons, for the family that has come to be her own. “I do believe we can take the funds set aside for some later improvements – next year’s harvest should cover them, and they were not truly time-sensitive – and appropriate them to roofing and barn repairs.”

Benedict sits opposite her at the desk, gesturing for her to pass the parchment. “I’ll take a look and check in with Nelson to ensure everything fits the needs of the tenants. And you,” he says pointedly, taking the quill from next to her. “Will rest.”

“I can help, surely –”

Benedict tuts. “You are not sleeping in this study again, Kate. Perhaps that’s what’s caused my brother to be so tense all of these years, I cannot imagine we need others to suffer from the same malady.”

Kate’s hand goes, quite self-consciously, to her spine.

-

When Kate reluctantly leaves the study, she goes next to the drawing room. Surely, the children will need some reassurance. She pauses in the doorway, confused by the discordant sound. Colin is already amusing them, poorly playing the pianoforte as Hyacinth mocks him relentlessly.

“I see why you’re always going places,” she says, and she’s smiling. “Trying to find somewhere that will put up with this.”

Gregory laughs. Colin’s intensity only increases, and he sticks his tongue out at his siblings. They’ve rallied, it seems. Kate takes a step back, resolving to check in with her own family – in all of the chaos of yesterday, she forgot to send word to Lady Danbury’s house, and Edwina will be crushed if –

Kate stops. Daphne is in the hallway, matter-of-factly sorting through letters and invitations. She looks up at Kate, smiling.

“I just stopped by Danbury House to inform Edwina and Lady Mary about Anthony’s injury. They send their best wishes, and everything related to wedding planning this week has already been rescheduled.” she says, by way of greeting.

“They can’t– the wedding is in two weeks–”

“Mr. Bagwell has no objections to a slight delay, and Edwina could not get married while her sister is distraught,” Daphne replies matter-of-factly. “Oh, and Simon already spoke to Benedict about sorting matters with the tenants, the storm damage was minimal in Clyvedon.”

Kate blinks. “Nelson said he would survey–”

“He left this morning, but we can handle it, Kate,” Daphne’s hands go to her shoulders. Her smaller stature doesn’t prevent her from being assertive, her grip firm. “You did not just marry Anthony, you have family to help you.”

Kate blinks back tears, determined not to let them fall. Her lip protrudes, a betrayal, and Daphne gets on her tiptoes to embrace her.

“Simon told me he asked for you, when he found him,” Daphne says into her hair. “I imagine that’s what he’d like to see when he wakes up, don’t you?”

Kate’s embrace of her sister-in-law only tightens. 

-

Violet had cleared out of the viscountess chambers quickly, the linens replaced with crisp, neutral whites and Kate’s wardrobe moved in. She has not been able to bring herself to sleep in them once in the past three days. Instead she curls herself around her unconscious husband. She wakes up constantly throughout the night, checking his breathing, hoping that somehow he’ll join her in the waking world. The most she gets are his occasional murmurs, lost to laudanum and his injury. 

She swears when she tucks herself in next to him, interlacing their fingers together, that he hears her. So she tells him of Benedict’s sudden decision to leave his schooling and take more responsibilities in the household, tells him the tenants will be just fine, tells him she’s even managed to get Nelson to crack a smile, however hard won. 

On the fourth night, she settles next to Anthony, running her finger along the curve of his cheek. He’s on the border of the waking world, murmuring more often in his sleep. It’s not intelligible, it’s barely audible, but she feels his breath on her face. She leans forward. 

If this were one of Edwina’s fairytales, she would kiss him and he would wake up. But it is not, and his lips are unyielding beneath hers.

She tucks herself into him, all the same.

-

Breakfasts are a little more tense the longer they go with Anthony still asleep. The doctor is due to visit today for another check up, and while Anthony has twitched and muttered he’s remained unconscious. Edwina and Mary visited the day before, and Kate had put on the bravest of faces for their sakes. She doesn’t weep in front of them. It’s a habit she’s held onto after Appa’s death – the urge to protect them from her weaknesses.

(Daphne has seen her cry thrice just in the past days – in the hallway that next morning, at decaying tulips in the drawing room, at Augie when he clenched her smallest finger in his small fist.

Even Benedict and Colin caught her sniffling, tracing Anthony’s signature on his desk, and Colin brought her over a tray of biscuits and Benedict gently patted her shoulder.

Eloise trades off with her – they read to him next to his bedside, pulling Hyacinth into one of their laps.)

She still dresses herself, still makes sure things are settled, but they don’t expect more from her. When she tries to take on a load again – an issue with the tenants, correspondence, an invitation – Daphne or Benedict or Colin or Eloise are quickly taking it from her. Even Hyacinth reads the words on the page for her when her throat grows raw, and she loves them all so much it hurts.

When breakfast is finished, Kate is expecting the doctor or Daphne and Simon knocking at the front door of Bridgerton House. Instead, there’s a stranger.

“Oh,” a young man says in the entryway, with a bouquet of tulips in his hands and a jacket that does not quite fit his shoulders. “My apologies, I–”

Eloise’s face lights up. “Theo!”

The boy shuffles awkwardly, embarrassment in his cheeks, but Eloise is grinning from ear to ear. Kate can’t help but smile softly at the sight, at the exuberance in Eloise’s steps as she strides over to him.

“I got a letter from the viscount,” Theo says, still pink. “He wrote to me that if I wanted to court you, I had to do it properly. I ignored it at first, of course, but…I suppose I saw some books that made me think of you.”

Eloise rocks on her heels, back and forth, so much like her brother it makes Kate’s chest ache. “You’ll have to tell me more about them.”

-

Anthony wakes up to Kate’s voice.

“The prince said joyfully, "You are with me." He told her what had happened, and then said, "I love you more than anything else in the world. Come with me to my father's castle. You shall become my wife." 

“It dislodged from her throat ?” he hears Hyacinth say, half-laughing. “Why does it always sound like it’s from a kiss when people tell this story?”

“You’ll have to ask the Grimm brothers, jaanu, I’m only reading your book,” Kate teases, and she continues. “Snow-White loved him, and she went with him.”

Anthony coughs, coming to the surface from the bottom of a deep slumber. He feels her touch instantly.

“Anthony?” Kate asks, hands on his face. He opens his eyes. Her hair is loose, hanging on her shoulders, and she’s half-seated on the bed. He tugs her closer, grasping for her with desperation, and she half-sobs and half-laughs. “You’ll hurt yourself, your head–”

“I love you,” he murmurs into her hair. He squeezes his eyes shut, breathes her in, and she smells like lilies and spring. “I’ve always loved you, darling.”

The words rasp out of him, but they have to be the first thing he says. He inhales, she exhales. His shoulder is damp, and he grasps her ever closer, clutches her shoulder and presses his fingers into bare skin.

“You gave us quite the scare, meri jaan, I love you so much.”

He opens his eyes, and Hyacinth is clutching the book they were reading to her chest. 

“Brother?”

“C’mere,” he waves, and Kate embraces her between them. Hyacinth is crying now, too, and he wipes away both of their tears while Kate catches his with her thumb. “Everything is alright.”

“I knew it would be,” Hyacinth hiccups. “Kate promised it would be.”

Anthony rests his chin on his sister’s head, and curls Kate’s hair behind her ear. “She was right, of course. She’s always right.”

-

Anthony had hoped that he’d be able to get right out of bed. But as soon as he moves to stand, his ears start ringing, and Kate is instantly and gently pushing him back down. He blinks, more dazed tha he’d like to be, and the back of his head throbs its discontent.

“You need to rest,” she says, and he squeezes her hand as it presses him to the mattress. “Hyacinth, do you want to tell the others your brother has woken up?”

His youngest sister nods eagerly, already racing to the door. Anthony presses a kiss to Kate’s hand, and her eyes are still shining. 

“How long?” he asks.

“Five days,” she replies, her voice thick.

He pulls her closer. “I’m so sorry, Kate. I’ve been so scared – so terrified of leaving you–”

She shushes him. “You have not left me, Anthony. You’re still here.”

“And one day I will not be, and I do not know how soon–”

“I will treasure every moment we have together,” Kate says, intertwining their fingers. “All of them will always be precious to me, Anthony, but we can make more. We will make more. And whenever our day comes – me first or you, no one can ever know,” she bites her lip, and he brushes her tears away once more. “We have more family than we can even comprehend.”

He thinks of Hyacinth, small in his arms and he’s the first one that ever held her, and he says, “It’s so much Kate, I know, it’s–”

She presses a finger to his lips. “It is a good thing. Some loads are meant to be shared. We are not our mothers. And if we were, your siblings would drag us out of our grief just as we did them. It wouldn’t be our children to do it.”

Anthony is weeping, now, more than just a few idle tears. Kate presses her forehead against his. “It is alright, meri jaan. I promise. I’m always right.”

He laughs and they kiss and they both taste like salt and exhaustion and hope.

“I’m glad to see a little head injury won’t stop you two from needing a room,” Benedict says from the doorway. 

Kate slides off of him, and he manages a glare in his brother’s direction. “Now look what you’ve done.”

“No strenuous activities,” Colin chuckles from behind Benedict, and they’re both looking at him with far more warmth than he’s seen from them in some time. “Did I tell you I made very large purchases in your absence?”

“No, he did not,” Kate says, rolling her eyes.

“I can confirm he did not,” Benedict adds, “For I have been keeping the books, much to your likely horror, but a Cambridge education has suited me just fine.”

Anthony raises his eyebrows. “What about your other schooling?”

“I think I rather like numbers, instead,” Benedict clucks. He then shakes his head, snickering. “Ah, I do look forward to handing your ledgers back over. Not to worry, I caught Kate checking my work.”

Kate flushes. “Just the first–”

“Nelson knows to run them by you for final approval, you know,” Benedict chuckles.

Kate gives him a fond look of exasperation, while Colin pretends to look offended. “Could you perhaps not have asked me for–”

“I believe the goal was preventing us from insolvency, not causing it,” Benedict says, and Colin huffs exaggeratedly.

“Oh, and Eloise has a suitor,” Colin adds. “So, you missed that. Guess who has had chaperone duty?”

“Once, and that was only because–”

“You were busy checking Benedict’s work, of course,” Colin retorts. Kate glares at both of them.

He loves them all so dearly it presses on his chest. He used to wonder if that feeling was just a manifestation of his impending doom. The pressure, the way it made his eyes lose focus, the tightening of his throat. He felt it holding Hyacinth, small and tiny and breakable in his arms. He felt it with his family constantly – the hum of concern and affection and the urge to protect them above all else. He felt it with Kate too many times to count – when she was stung by that bee, when she soaked-through and shivering was in his carriage outside of the Sheffields, when she’d find his arm and his heart and his lips. 

He’s realizing now that that feeling is something else entirely. 

“I love you all dearly,” Anthony tells them.

“Oh dear,” Benedict says. “He really has hit his head rather hard, hasn’t he?”

“Perhaps we should call for the doctor again, have him checked if an entirely new personality got into him.”

“Oh, or the fall jostled something that was lodged rather firmly–”

Kate shoots his brothers a stern look. They snicker, still, but quiet.

“We’re glad to see you well, brother,” Benedict says, his voice uncharacteristically earnest. “I imagine chaos will descend to inform you as soon as–”

“Anthony!” his mother sounds out of breath, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re awake!”

“They return from the modiste,” Colin finishes dryly. “Eloise has suddenly decided she quite–”

“Brother!” Eloise’s voice comes next, and she’s tugging Gregory by the hand beside her. Hyacinth rounds out the picture, peeking between her siblings once more. “You scared us half to death!”

-

“And then he looks up at me – as if I’m his final last will and testament, like this man is going to die rather dramatically in this rainstorm – and says ‘tell my wife I love her!’ before promptly passing out.”

Benedict, Colin, and Eloise snicker at Simon’s dramatic retelling at the dinner table of his dashing rescue, and Daphne pats at her husband’s leg. Judging by her reaction, she’s heard this story before. Judging by Kate’s reaction, the way her hand reaches for Anthony’s underneath the table, she hasn’t.

“You didn’t tell her,” Anthony says, accusatorily.

Simon only snickers. “If you’d stayed awake long enough, you’d remember I told you to tell her yourself. Did you?”

“As soon as he awoke,” Kate nearly whispers, her voice fond, her chin on her other hand. Anthony squeezes the hand on his thigh, then brings it to his lips to kiss.

“I love you,” he tells her. 

“I know,” Kate replies. “And I, you.”

Daphne and Violet look teary. Simon smirks. 

“Colin has been practicing pianoforte,” Gregory says, breaking the brief silence.

Kate snorts next to him.

“Questioning my skill, are you?” Colin asks, clutching his hand to his chest in offense, but he’s laughing as he asks. 

“Alas, I think your brother will have been glad he slept through it,” she replies, grinning, The rest of the table falls into easy conversation. Despite Anthony’s absence, his family pulled through without him. It should be a thought that fills him with unease – he’s a man that has long structured himself around how needed he is – but instead it relieves him. For so long, he’s been terrified of what his family would be without him. And while surely they’d missed him and worried for him, they’d persevered in ways that they did not in his father’s absence.

He looks at Kate, at the smile still on her face. Then he turns to Benedict, who is animatedly describing the briefest of tenant disputes, an argument over placement of fence posts after the storm felled them. His gaze moves to Daphne, grinning widely behind her handkerchief, who has been here every day according to his mother. Colin pulls the occasional face to humorous effect in response to whatever Benedict is saying, and Hyacinth and Gregory laugh. Then there’s Simon, the man who has become another member of his family, dragging Anthony home in his carriage and ribbing him for the conscious and unconscious duration of his injury.

He knows, then, that without him they’d all manage. It should be a thought that makes him feel bitter, but it tastes like relief. It’s not that it would not be without its difficulties – they loved him and he them, and he does not wish to leave any of them any time soon. But they’d survive.

Kate’s thumb runs over the back of his hand, and he smiles back at her.

-

Edwina gets married on a Saturday.

It’s a lovely, quiet, intimate reception – the kind that Kate almost wishes she and Anthony had, but when she holds his hand she’s more grateful for her choice of groom than anything else. Edwina and Rohan stand on the altar, just as the two of them. Kate returned the favor of her sister’s mehndi, and her mother’s bangles are on Edwina’s wrists.

(“For the most fortuitous of love marriages,” Kate told her, after she gave them to her just the hour before the ceremony. Edwina embraced her while they both cried.)

The ceremony has English and Indian poetry alike, flames that the Queen would have raised an eyebrow at if she were here (before accepting them as a novel sort of spectacle, like fireworks or wild birds), and most of all the bride and groom don’t stop staring at each other. Edwina’s smile stretches from one ear to the other, and she’s glowing. Kate puts her handkerchief to her eyes, again, and Anthony just squeezes her hand harder. 

“She’s all grown up, now,” Kate says, voice happy and sad all at once.

Anthony leans over to whisper in her ear. “Don’t tell Daph I cried after hers.”

She laughs, all watery, and he presses a kiss to the back of her hand.

“I love weddings,” he tells her.

“Ours was perfect,” Kate replies. She wishes it could have been more like this – with a smaller venue and the lack of so many eyes – but she knows what was important would have stayed the same. His eyes at the end of the aisle, his fingers rubbing against her ring, them laughing while kneeling. He doesn’t disagree with her, just pulls her closer to him in the pew. 

Rohan and Edwina Bagwell are announced as husband and wife, and Kate’s eyes well with tears again.

“They’re going to India, after,” Kate tells him. “For the honeymoon.”

“Oh?” Anthony raises an eyebrow. “Would you…would we…”

Kate presses her palm against his cheek, shaking her head softly. “I’m where I want to be, meri jaan.”

Perhaps before she would have followed her sister or led the way. Maybe even if she was settled, she’d insist that her sister needed her looking out for her. She was nearly tempted to say it, after Edwina told her, but she didn’t and Edwina never asked her to. Edwina was ready, she said, to turn the page on her new life. Kate already had.

India was her home before, with her Appa and her Amma the turtles and the feel of the sun on the back of her neck. She’s found a new one, where wisteria grows and Gregory puts glue in Benedict’s shoes (a joke that Anthony and Gregory both insist has context, but Kate doesn’t ask) and she races her husband in the mornings and wins at least seventy-five percent of the time. 

“Home,” she says, forehead pressed to his.

-

Edwina leaves the next week, bringing Mary with her, and Kate watches them go. They’re at the docks. Kate doesn’t take her eyes off of the sails as they take her family away.

“They’ll be alright,” Anthony tells her, his arm wrapped around her waist. Her head is on his shoulder, and he presses a kiss to the crown of it.

She nods, watching the ship get smaller and smaller on the horizon. She believes him. They go home when the sails are no longer in sight. She thinks of her family, all twelve of them, and her heart feels safe inside of her chest.

-

Anthony spends less time in his study, and they both spend less time worrying. It’s not that they are without any worry – Anthony paces the length of the hallway when Theo visits, Kate frowns when Benedict tells her he has no plans to resume art, and they both cannot decide to be confused or proud when Colin announces he’s chased off the new Lord Featherington. 

Anthony grows frustrated when staring at parchment for too long, his injury leaving him foggier than he’s used to, but Kate sets up right across from him and softly murmurs gentle suggestions. He stops her from trying to fix everything in the house – from sewing up a rip in Eloise’s spencer to trying to make sure the pianoforte is tuned before Franseca’s return from Bath – and insists she’s done enough, that she’s enough, that they’ll all adore her even if Eloise ruins all of her spencers and Fransesca has to tune her own pianoforte and she doesn’t ever step foot in the study again.

(It’s the last one she protests against – at this point, it’s their study.)

They spend hours a day in bed or on horseback or finding a quiet patch of private grass for activities typically reserved for bed. Anthony’s work – even with his injury – goes by faster with two quills attending to it. Nelson brings Kate’s chai to the study every day with the correspondence – despite the fact he’d never brought Anthony any sort of refreshment, that was not within his job description in the slightest – and they both laugh over the fact that his steward seems to prefer the viscountess over the viscount these days.

-

“We are going to get away,” he tells her, pressing the words into her shoulder during one of their long, lazy mornings. “We’re going to abandon all of our responsibilities for at least a month.”

She shakes her head. He nips at her, playfully, hand splayed over her stomach.

“And what of–”

“Benedict spent five days looking after the accounts–”

“With help.”

“Nelson is still here, is he not? He had quite the time with me at nineteen, trying to finish at Oxford and hardly skilled–”

“You’re plenty skilled, my lord–”

“Where do you want to go? It could be anywhere, Kate.”

Kate pauses, biting her lip thoughtfully. 

“India is a six month journey,” she says, thinking out loud.

“Then we’ll make sure Benedict has a few lessons beforehand. Wherever you want, sweetheart.”

-

They settle on Paris.

It’s a cliche trap for two contrarians, but they’ve both never traveled for leisure. War is over, the Second Treaty of Paris was signed, Napoleon exiled to Elba – she doesn’t know why Anthony snickers when she makes simple observations of current events – so it felt timely. Anthony had never had the grand tour of his peers while he was trying to patch his family together, and Kate’s travel only extended from exhausting journeys back and forth from India to England. She doesn’t miss ships, but the steamboats are quick and the pale cliffs of Dover are stunning.

They pace through the museums of Paris and Kate is enraptured by the watercolours, dine out of doors in the bustle of the city and its new arrondissements, and Anthony murmurs bits of his Oxford education in her ear at the Notre-Dame – he’d studied history, he informs her, and she teases him mercilessly by asking for the history of nearly every building in Paris.

She laughs. She feels the youngest, the lightest she’s felt in years – a feather in the breeze, water between her toes.

(Not that they go in the water – the Seine is filthy, Anthony is eager to note – but they practice their French and spend two days exploring the Louvre and when anyone asks they’re just two young married lovers honeymooning.)

-

It’s not entirely a surprise when they return and Kate’s courses stop.

She’d hardly noticed, at first. Travel had always had her out of sorts, and the time doesn’t pass in its usual way without the grounding of routine. But she notices, two weeks after their return to London, and her hand settles over her stomach. She keeps the secret for just under a day, palm resting against her midsection when no one is looking. Kate remembers her fear from before, that they wouldn’t get to have this, and the tenderness Anthony always shows around his youngest siblings.

She tells him that evening, once they’ve retired to their chambers. Anthony falls to his knees, his lips already pressed to a stomach that hasn’t rounded yet.

“What if I’m not…” he trails off, unable to say the words. Kate catches his meaning.

“You will be,” she promises. “They’re going to love their father, Anthony.”

“You’re going to be an incredible mother, darling.”

She thinks of their mothers – of her Amma and Mary and Violet. How they shaped both of them – Kate’s fear of storms and abandonment and the panic of what will happen if either one of them falters in their duties for a moment . Mary, unable to leave her chambers, and you were hardly even there .

Kate waits to feel panic, but she doesn’t.

She slides her hand to Anthony’s hair. He cups her stomach, reverently, and she knows – she knows neither of them are their mothers and their children will not inherit their fears if they can help it.

“They’re going to be so happy ,” Kate says, voice thick with unshed tears, and Anthony clutches her closer. 

“We’re going to make them happy, Kate. I swear it.”

And she knows he’s promising the same thing he is. They’re going to be here and present and no matter what – if one or both or neither of them leaves too soon – they will all be okay. 

-

Chandra Bridgerton is born on a Wednesday. It doesn’t storm, but there’s rain rapping on the windowsill. Anthony doesn’t leave the room, despite the doctor’s protests, and he stays the entire seven hour labor until Kate is screaming and sweating and crying and the baby is so small in his arms. He’s the first one to hold her, and he weeps.

“She’s perfect, Kate,” he tells her, pressing his lips to her forehead. He hands the baby over to her, gently, and wraps himself around both of them. “Just like her mother.”

Kate smiles. “She has your ears.”

“She’s lucky she has your hair to cover them,” is his response. She laughs, wetly. The rain doesn’t intensify. Instead, the sun languidly filters through the curtains. 

They are exhausted and incandescently happy.

-

It’s not easy to have a newborn, even with a full staff.

This Anthony remembers well enough. The last time their household had a baby in the house, they were all still in mourning colors – Hyacinth a vibrance their eyes struggled against – but baby Chandra is enveloped in warmth almost every second of her new life. Her uncles and aunts dote on her endlessly, even Eloise muttering her commitment to radicalizing her niece – finally, a girl , she says. Daphne and Simon are just excited their children can play with their new cousin, and Colin and Penelope visit while Penelope wraps her hands around her own stomach.

But they’re greedy, Anthony and Kate, and they’re eager to have the baby to themselves. The nursemaid hardly gets much to do at all, but she’s paid the same either way so it must hardly matter to her. Kate is exhausted, and so is he, but they’re too glad to imagine any other alternative. When Chandra cries, in the bassinet next to their bed – unfashionable but they’d imagine nothing else – he’s the first to lift her in his arms.

“Papa’s here,” Anthony reassures her with a voice so gentle it is hardly audible. He brings her to the rocking chair in the corner of the room, shushing gently. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Their daughter wraps her small hand around his pinky, and it’s a promise.

Kate murmurs from the bed, and he shushes her too.

“I’ve got her,” he murmurs. Kate pats next to her, and Anthony pads over with Chandra still in his arms. “You should rest.”

“Mm,” is Kate’s response, shaking her head and barely visible in the darkness. “I want to remember this.”

“Go back to sleep,” he reassures her, as Kate’s hand wraps around Chandra’s tiny foot. “We’ll have plenty of memories.”

“I’m just so happy,” Kate slurs, her eyes already drooping. Anthony pushes her hair back from her face, as tender as he is with their daughter, and her breath evens out.

“Me too,” he says, to both of them.