Chapter Text
Anthony Bridgerton knew he was not destined for a great love story.
He had never wished for one, though he remembered vividly how his father had spoken of a bond that would one day be fulfilled like a promise. Growing up, everything Anthony did had been for Edmund–every accomplishment, every task, every ambition. His father was the greatest man he had ever known, and all Anthony had ever wanted was to be like him.
When Anthony was eight and ten, everything changed in the blink of an eye.
His father was gone.
And perhaps, with him, so too had gone the blessing.
Now, at nearly thirty and with no sign of it, Anthony had all the confirmation he needed that it would never happen to him.
Naturally, his mother did not agree with him.
“Every Viscount Bridgerton is destined to find a soulmate, Anthony. Are you Lord of this house or not?”
Her words echoed in his head, pounded really. As if it were not enough to be under the unimaginable pressure of taking care of his family, the Bridgerton estate, and its affairs, he was also responsible for his entire family’s ability to find everlasting love and happiness.
Until he found his soulmate, none of his siblings would. Only when that bond was accepted would the rest of the family’s soulmate paths awaken.
It was an incredible burden to carry, one he had no control over, which made him even more frustrated. For some Viscounts, such as his father, it happened at twenty. For others, not until they were standing in front of the person.
Nobody could predict when or how.
For a long time, Anthony tried to ignore that piece of family history, but now that Daphne was about to debut, the consequences of not having a soulmate became painfully real.
He would be the first Viscount Bridgerton in centuries not to have received the blessing. And his dear sister would never move out of the house, nor would any of his siblings, for that matter.
Violet Bridgerton would not let any of her children marry if it were not for love or fate, or some combination of both.
—
Anthony was right on time for Daphne’s presentation, much to his mother’s chagrin. He always had a feeling she was counting on him to be late so she could call his attention to it. But he had his commitments well timed, from his personal indulgences to family matters. He was extremely organized.
He was standing with his siblings in the overly decorated hall, patiently waiting for the presentation of the debutantes to begin. He kept fidgeting with his pocket watch, playing a silent game of counting the time, so when the first announcement began right as he finished his countdown, he was oddly proud of his precision.
“Miss Prudence Featherington, Miss Phillipa Featherington, and Miss Penelope Featherington,” Lord Chamberlain announced. “All presented by their mother, the Right Honorable Lady Featherington.”
The tall white double doors opened, and the three Featherington girls stood side by side in a manner that meant they could not pass through the doorframe at the same time. The audience gasped in surprise; it was not common for three daughters to be presented at the same ceremony. It was similarly not that common for a family to have three daughters in the first place.
As the three young ladies made their way down the aisle, followed by their mother, the not-so-subtle reactions only intensified among the audience. Anthony could make out bits and pieces of what was being said, and he felt suddenly protective and irritated by the whisperings.
The Featheringtons had been their good neighbors for several years now, and as much as Anthony and Lord Featherington were often rivals at the game tables, and as little as he agreed with the citrus-colored, exaggerated gowns Lady Featherington favored, or the small-mindedness of Prudence and Phillipa, Penelope was a dear friend of the family and of his sister Eloise.
She deserved better than being docketed with her peculiar family and being the victim of less than favorable comments. He was looking at her as she admired the chandeliers and the intricate ceiling above. He thought the feather all debutantes had to wear in their hair was rather ridiculous, but the white and gold gown suited her well and accentuated her features.
Features he had not noticed until now.
He started to feel hot, and it was quite embarrassing. He glanced up at Penelope, and she looked at him with confusion, as though she had noticed that he had not been looking at her in a respectable manner.
So he smiled, trying to recover.
To his surprise, she smiled back.
And that was when he felt it.
The heat from moments ago became more intense and began to burn his skin. He winced and shut his eyes, tilting his head down to hide the pain etching across his face. He felt it so deeply, with the certainty of being branded with a fire-heated iron.
When he opened his eyes, his heart was beating fast, and he instinctively glanced around the room, looking for Penelope. When his eyes found her, his pulse slowed down.
It was a strange feeling. He was never this calm, not since Edmund’s death.
Then it dawned on him—the unexpected burning, the even more unexpected peace.
Anthony’s hand shook as he slowly lifted his sleeve. There it was, clear as day on his wrist, a mark he had never seen before.
LW
—
At nine and twenty, it had finally happened to him. He had a soulmate.
If only he knew who she was.
Anthony was in his study, pacing back and forth as he brushed his thumb over his wrist, making a list of things he needed to do—part ways with his mistress, find his soulmate, and activate their bond.
The first one was already heavily implied since their last encounter, but to leave no room for expectations, it was wise to make it final. It was never a matter of wanting to live a great love, but simply that he had always intended to fulfill his responsibility. Anthony had merely been waiting for a compass to point him in the right direction, and now he had one permanently marked on his skin.
If only it had come with more instructions. He could not think of a single woman with the initials LW, so inevitably, he had to employ his mother’s help.
Violet knocked and opened the door to his study. “Anthony, we are on our way to tea with Lady Danbury. What are you…”
“I have a soulmate,” he declared with his hands planted on his hips.
Violet let out a surprised gasp and brought both hands to her mouth.
“Or rather, I have a soulmark.” Anthony clarified. “Which should mean there is a soulmate.”
“Of course it has,” Violet chuckled. “Who is she?”
He smiled and clicked his tongue. “That is precisely where you come in.”
“I… I do not follow.” She raised a brow.
“I need the name of every woman in the Ton with the initials LW.” He went around his desk and took a seat, dipping his quill into the ink pot. “Go.”
Violet let out a dry laugh, folding her arms. “So now my expertise interests you.”
“Yes, very much. I would like to get this done as quickly as possible.”
“The list?”
“Everything.”
“My darling boy,” Violet said, approaching the desk. “This is not the way to go about it.”
“I thought you were the most invested in this. For the family, for Daphne.” He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. “I have waited years to receive the blessing, to be able to fulfill my duty. But it appears that fate enjoys chafing me, and my only sign came in the form of an enigma.”
Violet studied him, considering his words. “You think fate is playing the wag, but I believe it is trying to teach you something. You have been waiting all this time for the blessing to arrive and change your life, but you still need to apply yourself.”
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. All he ever did was apply himself. This was supposed to be far simpler—find and marry your soulmate. How much more work his mother was implying there was to it, he was not sure, and he did not want to ask.
“Fine. Fate wants to give me more work, I am successfully at work.”
“Very well. Let us see…” Violet started counting on her fingers. “Miss Lucille Wallace. Miss Louisa Weaver… And Miss Lillian Wilding.”
Anthony wrote down each name, but none caused any intense feelings as he repeated them in his mind, or any feelings at all except disdain. He tried saying the names aloud, but he felt as though his tongue were refusing to speak them. He was not particularly interested in any of them, certainly, but he had not expected his body to physically reject them like that.
“Do you feel anything?” Violet asked. “Any of these names light a fire in you?”
“Mother,” he groaned. “I appreciate your help. Truly. But I reserve my right to not openly discuss what lights my fire or not with you.”
Violet rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Unfortunately for you, those are all the names that come to mind. So perhaps fate believes you can do better than that.”
—
It has been said that, of all bitches dead or alive, a scribbling woman is the most canine. If that should be true, then this author would like to show you her teeth.
My name is Lady Whistledown. You do not know me, and rest assured, you never shall.
But be forewarned, dear reader, I certainly know you.
Yours truly,
Lady Whistledown
LADY WHISTLEDOWN SOCIETY'S PAPERS
—
“You absolutely sparkled, sister,” Hyacinth said to Daphne with a giggle.
Violet and all four girls had gathered in the drawing room, deliberating over the presentation to the Queen.
“Come, now. I merely simpered and minced in a pretty dress like everyone else.” Daphne blushed.
“Not exactly like everyone else,” Francesca corrected.
“Oh, I shall need to go and visit with Penelope,” Eloise sighed. “Her presentation was anything but… What was it the Queen called you again?”
“Flawless,” Daphne beamed. “Or some such thing.”
Eloise rolled her eyes.
“You should be pleased,” Daphne defended her excitement. “My success on the marriage mart influences all of your prospects. We will all need to find love one day. Indeed, a love as pure as what Mama and Papa once shared, if we are so fortunate.”
“Which shall not be an issue, given the compliments from the Queen and Lady Whistledown,” Francesca added.
“Do we know a Lady Whistledown?” Violet raised a brow, wondering why she had not thought of that name when Anthony had asked earlier.
“She’s a new author,” Eloise explained, handing a copy to her mother. “The papers were distributed across town without charge.”
“Without charge? What kind of author–” Violet gasped then chuckled as she read the piece. “Well, that is a lovely compliment, Daphne. You shall bring great fortune upon your sisters with your love match.”
Eloise narrowed her eyes, “is it not on Anthony that we place the hope that we may continue such a grand tradition?”
“Well… yes, but no one knows about the blessing besides our family, Eloise,” Violet whispered aggressively. “To everyone else, they will be looking at Daphne and who she marries.”
“It feels a lot like cheating to make people think we have all these true love tales in our family when it is all because of magic and fate.” Eloise shrugged.
“Trust me, there is nothing easy about this ordeal,” Anthony murmured as he walked into the room, looking for his newspaper.
“Anthony!” Hyacinth ran to him for an embrace.
“Hi, princess.” He put his arms around her and she glanced up at him.
“Have you heard what Lady Whistledown said about Daphne?”
“Who is Lady Whistledown?” He asked, glancing at Violet for her reaction, but she simply shook her head.
“She has a gossip sheet,” Francesca explained.
“And she wrote that Daphne is the Incomparable of the season. A ‘diamond of the first water,’” Hyacinth said with excitement.
“Lady Whistledown,” he repeated, now whispering.
“Surely that cannot be her true name,” Daphne chuckled.
“I would definitely adopt a pseudonym if I were listing subjects by names like she is,” Eloise offered. “Mary Edgecombe, now the Countess of Fulton, apparently spent the last year living in a cottage hundreds of miles away from her earl.”
Anthony raised his brows at that and reached for the pamphlet in Hyacinth’s hand, but dropped it the moment it touched his fingers, a burning sensation shooting through his hand.
“Are you all right, dear?” Violet asked.
“Yes, I…” He bent down to pick up the pamphlet again and began to read. “I want to know what else she has said about our family.”
“She loathes the fact that we’ve been named alphabetically, oldest to youngest,” Francesca said evenly.
“Your father and I found it orderly,” Violet defended.
“She finds it banal,” Eloise cleared her throat, drawing a mix of chuckles and gasps from her family.
Personally, Anthony liked the alphabetical order too, but he could not ignore that the writer was entertaining to read.
“Well, this was enlightening, but I am on my way,” Eloise announced, standing up from her seat.
“Where are you going?” Anthony asked.
“Visiting with Penelope across the street.”
As soon as she said Penelope’s name, Anthony felt the mark on his wrist burning again, followed by that same wave of protectiveness he had felt the morning of the presentation.
“What is the meaning of that? Is everything well with Penelope?” He blurted out, a bead of sweat running down his forehead.
All the women stopped their chitchat at that, and Eloise furrowed her brows.
“Are you truly that blind? She was completely humiliated at her presentation. She is certainly not well,” she scoffed.
Anthony winced as another sharp pain shot through his head. He put both hands to his temples. He remembered clearly seeing Penelope walking down the aisle to meet the Queen, even the details on the front of her dress. But beyond that, it was all a blur once the pain in his wrist started.
Violet watched him with careful eyes. “Anthony… You should have a seat.”
“I’m… fine,” he grunted.
“Girls, I need a moment with your brother.” Violet directed them toward the door.
“No, wait.” He let out a groan. “Eloise, I’m coming with you.”
“To Featherington House?”
“Yes.” He glanced at his mother, and Violet simply nodded once.
—
“Please do not be embarrassing,” Eloise huffed as they crossed the street together.
“When am I embarrassing?”
She sighed, looking up at the sky. “I would rather not answer that.”
“I am genuinely curious.”
“If you insist… It is not so much what you do or say. It is how you react. You are terrible at hiding your disappointment, disgust, discontent…”
“You are one to say,” he huffed, fixing his hair.
“…And there is a great deal in Featherington House that could provoke you into reacting in… unpolitical ways,” Eloise reasoned. “You will only make Penelope feel worse if you cannot control your face.”
“Impossible. I could never cause her any pain. I must protect her.”
He said it so naturally that he did not realize why Eloise had stopped walking. He turned to find her staring at him as though he had sprouted a second head.
“What is the matter with you today? Where is this sudden interest in Penelope and protectiveness coming from?”
He did not reply. He did not know how to, honestly.
Everything he had learned and prepared for throughout the years told him that what he was feeling meant Penelope was his soulmate. Everything except the actual mark on his wrist, which was the most tangible proof he had of who he was destined to be with.
“Anthony.” Eloise stopped at the top of the front steps, waiting to knock. “Is Penelope your… soulmate?” She whispered.
“No, I… I do not know. As I have said before, it is not as straightforward as it seems.” He sighed, closing his eyes tightly.
“Perhaps it is, and you are simply complicating it,” Eloise shrugged.
—
“Lord Bridgerton, what a marvelous surprise,” Lady Featherington greeted as they entered the Featherington drawing room. “You must be here for our dear Prudence.”
Anthony was about to make one of his infamous facial expressions Eloise had warned him about merely moments ago when he felt his sister’s bony elbow puncture his side.
“Ah…” He forced a smile instead. “I am afraid not. I am here for Miss Penelope.”
“We both are,” Eloise added, forcing a smile of her own.
“I see.” Lady Featherington glanced between the two of them in confusion. “She is otherwise occupied at the moment, but Prudence—”
“Penelope is in the garden, is she not? Reading a book?” Anthony cut in. “I am sure she would make time for a couple of… old friends.”
Both women snapped their heads toward him in surprise. He had said it with such certainty that, once again, he did not realize how peculiar his knowledge sounded until they simply stared at him.
“I assumed,” he cleared his throat. “I believe I saw a flash of red hair from my study. When I opened the drapes, of course. For the sunlight. Not to…”
“I believe you are right, brother,” Eloise came to his rescue. “Now that you mention it, I saw her as well.”
”Of course.” Portia said, perfectly pleasantly before turning to Varley. “Would you fetch Penelope from the garden?”
—
Anthony sat next to Eloise as they waited for Penelope, his hands wrapped around the cup of tea he had been offered. He had to yet again stop himself from showing just how dreadful it tasted. In the corner, Prudence attempted to play the pianoforte while Phillipa was either trying to sing or recovering from choking–he was not entirely sure.
His sister usually exaggerated, but he had to agree that Featherington House was painfully stimulating.
Suddenly, his discomfort vanished, replaced by a sense of calm and the heightened awareness that Penelope had arrived.
“Pen!” Eloise exclaimed, standing to greet her, and Anthony found himself doing the same.
“El,” Penelope said, before looking at him. “Lord Bridgerton. Is everything well?”
Anthony could not reply for a moment. His mind went completely blank when she said his name, and when his thoughts finally returned, they were confusing, as though he had forgotten how words worked.
“Of course,” Eloise replied. “We came to check on you. After everything.”
“Both of you?” Penelope asked shyly.
“Anthony insisted. He was concerned for your well-being.”
“My lord?” Penelope asked, glancing up at him.
He looked into her eyes, and the fire that had been running through his veins ceased burning for a moment, becoming something softer, something warm. There was something about her presence that grounded him while making him forget what he had come to say.
“Hello,” he finally managed.
Eloise let out a frustrated sigh, but for some reason, Penelope smiled gently back at him.
“Hello,” she replied. “We can have a seat if you like.”
“He was on his way out. Extremely busy, this one.” Eloise tapped his shoulder, but he could not take his eyes off Penelope.
“I would very much enjoy sitting down,” he answered awkwardly. “Thank you.”
After sitting down again, Penelope looked at them.
“See, you have nothing to worry yourself about.”
“I am glad,” Eloise smiled.
“Then why are you troubled?” Anthony said at the same time.
Eloise raised a brow, and Penelope swallowed.
“It has been busy, that is all.”
“I do not know how you can keep up with all the commitments, truly. Daphne is all over the place,” Eloise said.
“Daphne certainly has a lot more attention and suitors to manage.” Penelope smiled faintly.
“Have you had any callers?” Anthony asked, the mere thought of Penelope speaking to another gentleman turning the warmth in his chest into a raging fire again.
“Anthony!” Eloise hissed at her brother.
Penelope was speechless, and not in a pleasantly surprised way. She looked disappointed, and the raging fire burned through him, mirroring her pain.
“I have not,” Penelope said quietly.
It was unbearable to see her defeated. He needed to do something.
“I am glad to be the first, then,” he said with a smile.
Eloise grimaced at that, but Penelope chuckled shyly.
When their eyes met again, his heart was warm once more.
“Thank you for the laugh, my lord.”
He furrowed his brows. “I am serious.”
“I do not want your pity,” Penelope said firmly.
He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He had been so sensitive and responsive to her feelings, but now it was confusing. A cold front seemed to be pushing the warmth away, and he felt her slipping from him.
“Then you do not know me at all, Miss Featherington. I do not take pity on anyone, nor do I lie simply to make them feel better.”
“That I can concur with,” Eloise murmured.
It was hard for him to read her expression. He was neither feeling any colder nor any warmer than before. So he cleared his throat and tried something else.
“May I call on you tomorrow?” He tilted his head. “Without my sister?”
“What for?” Penelope raised a brow.
“To prove you wrong.”
—
Anthony could not sleep. He kept tossing and turning in bed, unable to find a comfortable position. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw a dark alley and heard the heavy breathing of someone who was on the run. There were flashes of a cloak and hood, but he could never make out who was beneath them.
He tried to think of something else, anything that might steady him. Riding his horse at dawn, swimming in the lake behind Aubrey Hall, the smell of dirt just after the rain.
Penelope.
He inhaled a deep breath and let slumber take him.