Chapter Text
Anthony stood on the altar and tried not to let his anxiety overwhelm him. He inhaled deeply and slowly breathed out, reminding himself that this was always the plan. Marrying Miss Edwina was the correct choice. She would make a proper viscountess, bear him an heir, and he would be able to live the rest of his short life knowing that he wouldn’t leave a broken woman behind when his time on earth ended.
So why, then, should he feel anxious at all?
Daphne’s words returned to his memory.
You can choose to be happy. To follow the desires of your heart instead of pushing away any feeling that comes to the surface. It should not be a luxury, but a right to choose. To fight for the family that you want.
What Daphne did not understand – what none of his family understood – was that he was not a man who could follow his heart. Indeed, he was so unused to listening to his heart, he was not sure if he even knew what it was speaking to him.
Liar.
If Anthony were truly honest with himself, he knew what his heart longed for. Or, rather, whom. But he was not a man who got what he wanted. As the firstborn son of a firstborn son eight times over, his course was set before him, and that course became even more entrenched the day his father died. Every action taken, every decision made, every longing denied was in service to his family and the Bridgerton legacy.
The processional music continued, and the audience quieted. Anthony stared at the back of the church, bracing himself, knowing that as the bridesmaid, Miss Sharma would walk down the aisle first.
He had not seen her since the morning in the woods when she begged him to go through with the wedding. Every time he had visited Danbury House, Miss Sharma had been absent. She was walking that infernal dog of hers, or she was convalescing from a megrim, or she was at the modiste. Any excuse would suffice. Anthony’s emotions had swung between rage that he was denied her presence to relief that she had removed herself, only to swing back to rage that he could not gaze upon her beauty or inhale her lily scent.
She haunted both his waking and sleeping hours, driving Anthony to the edge of madness.
Soon, she would be on a ship to India, and he would be free from this torment. Free to finally fulfill his duty to his family.
He had decided.
The moment Miss Sharma stepped through the curtains, however, all thoughts of duty and family left his mind.
She stepped toward him resplendent in lilac silk, soft tendrils of hair caressing her face. His mouth opened slightly as he exhaled, her beauty having stolen his very breath, but he did not notice, nor did he notice his mother and Daphne observe his reaction.
Miss Sharma steadily approached the altar, her face a stoic mask, and although she avoided looking at him, Anthony could see her eyes. Eyes that could not hide her true feelings. Instead of the usual flashes of anger or passion they had previously displayed in his presence, her eyes now looked dull and lifeless. It was as if she had closed herself off and placed a wall between them.
Anthony’s eyes tracked her as she turned and curtsied before the queen and then stepped onto the altar opposite him. He could not resist looking at her and turned his head toward her, heedless of the audience.
Please look at me.
As if she heard his thoughts, Miss Sharma turned to him, but she quickly recovered and once again faced the congregation. Anthony refused to acknowledge the loss he felt.
He hadn’t acknowledged many things lately.
As he looked down the aisle, he saw Miss Edwina approach on her mother’s arm. A nervous, yet joyous smile graced her features. He could admit that she was a lovely young lady, but his heart remained untouched as he watched her walk forward.
He forced himself to smile, not wanting to appear unaffected. Miss Edwina stopped in front of the queen, curtsied, then moved to stand across from him. Again, he forced himself to smile.
“Miss Edwina, you look lovely.”
Did the words sound as hollow to her as they did to him?
“Thank you, my lord. I am happy you are pleased.”
Miss Edwina continued to smile as she looked at him, at the archbishop, at the congregation. Anthony tried to ignore the feeling of dread rising within him.
The archbishop began the ceremony, but Anthony did not hear his words. Instead, he looked past Miss Edwina, focusing on her sister, who after a moment, met his eyes. He quickly looked back at Miss Edwina, but he could not resist looking at Miss Sharma once more.
As Anthony gazed upon Miss Sharma, the world around him grew quiet. He no longer heard the archbishop’s voice, no longer saw Miss Edwina before him. To his amazement, it was Miss Sharma standing before him now, dressed in white with a veil trailing behind her.
She was everything he had not allowed himself to want, regal in her bridal attire. Anthony looked into the congregation to see if anyone else saw her, but the room was empty. It was only himself and Miss Sharma, whose eyes were no longer dull and lifeless but full of joy and adoration for him.
The hollowness he had felt in his chest was now filled with an indescribable peace, and as Miss Sharma smiled at him, he felt his lips upturn in response.
“My lord? My lord?” The archbishop’s voice recalled Anthony to himself. Confusion flooded his mind as he saw Miss Sharma in her lilac gown, Miss Edwina standing between them. Anthony again looked into the congregation only to see that everyone had returned.
What had happened?
Anthony felt utterly bereft by the loss of his vision. He was not, in fact, at his wedding to Miss Sharma, but instead to Miss Edwina.
The wrong sister, his bitter mind supplied as a heaviness set upon him.
He glanced at Miss Edwina before returning his gaze to Miss Sharma, trying to make sense of all he had seen, or thought he had seen.
Miss Edwina turned from him to also look at her sister, whose wide eyes flashed a warning at him.
Miss Edwina faced him and said, “The archbishop would like you to repeat, my lord, after him.”
“Yes, of course,” he replied, but he could not force himself to say the words. Could not force himself to look away from Miss Sharma. His vision of her as his bride had filled him with such elation, and his return to reality such desolation, it made him dizzy.
He loved Miss Sharma.
Kate.
He loved Kate.
In that moment, Anthony could not deny the truth before him. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he bound himself in matrimony to Miss Edwina, it would be the greatest mistake of his life. He would not only ruin his own life, but Kate’s and Miss Edwina’s too.
He continued to stare at Kate as his mind frantically tried to think of an escape. His heart beat so loudly, he wondered that nobody else could hear it. He dug his nails into the palm of one hand, hoping the pain would help him focus.
Looking Kate in the eyes, he whispered her name ever so softly.
Miss Edwina again looked over her shoulder at her sister before facing him, drawing his attention away from Kate and back to her. A myriad of emotions flashed across her countenance before she gasped, turned, and fled back down the aisle without saying a word.
Anthony stood stunned, mortified for a moment before a wave of relief washed over him. Again, he looked at Kate, only to see her horrified expression before she, too, fled down the aisle after her sister.
Chaos erupted. He vaguely heard the queen bellow, “What has happened to my wedding?!” amid voices coming from the congregation, but he could only bask in the feeling of freedom.
“Come, Brother,” he heard Benedict say as he clapped a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. Anthony turned away from the ensuing mess and returned with Benedict to the room set aside for his family.
Of course, his family followed him.
“Does this have anything to do with our dinner with the Sheffields the other evening? Or perhaps some even greater issue has come to pass that we must discuss, Anthony?”
He heard his mother’s worried voice as if from a distance, but his mind could not focus on her or his siblings’ comments. He was briefly distracted by thoughts of his aborted wedding, of what the queen would think, but he found he could not care at the moment. Instead, he thought of Kate. Where was she? Was she angry with him? Would she understand? Would she, once the scandal died down, allow him to court her? To prove himself worthy of her devotion?
“Perhaps we should allow Anthony a little respite. Brother, is that what you need?” Benedict asked, touching his shoulder and bringing him back to himself.
Anthony looked at his family surrounding him, feeling a measure of guilt over the scandal he knew his actions would bring upon them.
“What I need is to speak with Mother and Daphne. Alone.”
A chorus of dismay came from his siblings, but his mother stepped in.
“You heard your brother. Why don’t you go see the queen’s peacocks? Or maybe you need a refreshment?”
They retreated, Benedict closing the door behind him, and Anthony was left alone with his mother and sister.
“Anthony, will you please tell me what is happening?” his mother pleaded.
Instead of looking at her, Anthony turned toward Daphne and said, “You were right, Daph. I cannot marry Miss Edwina. I can no longer suppress my greater feelings.”
“Anthony.” Daphne’s voice was soft, her eyes shining with pride.
“Feelings? What feelings, Anthony?” Violet demanded.
Terrified that he would disappoint his mother yet again, Anthony kept silent.
Violet turned toward her daughter and said, “Daphne, what do you know?”
Daphne hesitated, but Anthony nodded. “Anthony is in love, Mama, but not with Miss Edwina.”
“Anthony, is this true?”
Not wanting to give voice to his feelings for the first time to anyone other than Kate, he simply nodded.
“Who?”
“Mama, do you truly not know?” Daphne’s expression showed exasperation, and were he in any other situation, Anthony may have laughed.
Realization crossed Violet’s features, and she gasped, “Miss Sharma? Anthony, please tell me you have not completely taken leave of your senses.”
“Mother, I do not blame you for being angry with me. In fact, I’ve grown rather used to carrying the weight of your displeasure, but please do me the courtesy of believing me when I tell you I am in complete control of my faculties.”
“Are you?” his mother asked, ire lacing her voice. “Anthony, if you choose to abandon Miss Edwina at the altar, it will bring a scandal upon our family like we have never seen. And for what? A passing fancy? A dalliance? Tell me, Anthony, what are you thinking?”
“Mother, do not.” Anthony’s voice held the sharpness of a well-tempered blade. “Do not make light of my feelings for Miss Sharma. She is neither a dalliance nor a whim. My feelings for her will not pass. Do not dishonor her by suggesting otherwise.”
Looking as if she might collapse, Violet quickly walked to the settee and sat down. “Then why did you propose to Miss Edwina? Why hold fast to the engagement when your feelings were toward Miss Sharma all along? I do not understand you, Anthony.”
He sat across from her, took a deep breath, and said, “Do you not? Mother, I was not lying when I told you I did not want a loving marriage at Father’s grave. After everything that happened after Father’s death, love became something I wanted no part of. I refused to allow what happened to you fall upon my wife.”
“Anthony, no,” Violet gasped.
“My feelings for Miss Sharma could not be permitted to flourish. All I could see ahead of me was grief, pain, and loss. I saw my children, desolate without their mother to care for them.” Anthony cleared his throat before he continued, “I do not love Miss Edwina, nor does she love me. Miss Sharma, on the other hand… Mother, I could not.”
At this proclamation, tears began streaming down his mother’s face. “I am so sorry, my darling. It was not right that you had to bear such a responsibility, and after losing your father too. I can never go back and change my actions then, but you must know I regret them every day.” She reached across to him and took his hand in hers. “But I know that regardless of the pain I felt, if given the chance to do it over, I would choose to marry your father every time. Real, true love is worth it.”
Anthony recalled the feeling of joy at his vision of Kate as his bride. Perhaps his mother was right. He replied, “I want to believe that, Mother.”
“Well,” Daphne’s voice rang out, breaking both Anthony and Violet out of their reflections. Anthony had forgotten Daphne was even in the room.
She walked to the beverage table, looked over its offerings, and asked, “Would either of you like a glass of brandy?”
“Yes,” they said at the same time.
Daphne poured a finger into three glasses, then delivered them before taking a seat next to their mother and raised her glass. “To Anthony, who is finally following the desires of his heart.”
Anthony raised his glass in return, and they all took a deep sip.
Violet sighed. “Dearest, I think you should start at the beginning.”