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Chapter Text

So that’s what it looks like, she thought.

Kate had never seen her sister quite like this. Of course, Edwina smiled often and laughed prettily, she was rarely unhappy. But she had never seen such joy emanate from her, the way her shoulders shook with mirth when she laughed, how she couldn’t take her eyes off the man escorting her around the park.

And how he couldn’t take her eyes off her.

But even all this paled into insignificance when she saw Bagwell take his leave of her sister. Rather than bending subserviently over her hand, he raised it up to his mouth and looked straight into her eyes as he kissed it.

Kate had to look away, as though she was witnessing something private.

Once Bagwell left, Edwina came bounding up to her eyes dancing, chatting away. Did Kate know Mr. Bagwell had recently written an essay on Kantian philosophy, and she couldn’t wait to read it? That he had returned the books she had leant to him only a week before with insightful and funny comments? That he had…

Kate’s mind drifted away as she considered all she knew of Bagwell.

He had never been on the list of suitors Kate had drawn up for Edwina. He was the second son of an earl. His older brother had two sons (so unlikely to become an earl himself) and a younger brother in the army.

The earldom was relatively impoverished so while it was a point to Bagwell’s favour that he had taken his studies seriously and was making a name for himself in academia, he was unlikely to overlook Edwina’s lack of dowry.

“He wants to ask you, Didi,” Edwina said, her voice cutting across Kate’s thoughts, “I know of your concerns and I share them but I love him. And he loves me, he told me so.”

Kate bit her lip. She wasn’t sure she could grant Bagwell the permission he wanted.

But at the same time how could she not? How could she ask Edwina to sacrifice her happiness to take care of all of them? This was not Edwina’s job, it was Kate’s job to make sacrifices. Edwina’s happiness had always been the goal, how could Kate deny her now?

Kate scanned the families promenading around them until she saw a familiar figure, taller than the others around them, dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. He turned suddenly and caught her eye, as though he could feel her eyes on him. As though she had called out to him and he heard.

As they walked back towards Mary and Lady Danbury, Kate separated herself from them, pretending to admire some flowers by the edge of the lake. She didn’t look up until his shadow fell across her.

“Miss Sharma,” he said, touching his hand to his hat.

“Lord Bridgerton,” she answered as politely as she could manage.

There was a pause as she gathered her courage. She could not imagine what Bridgerton was thinking.

“Call on me tomorrow,” she said, before she could lose her nerve and raced back to her family before she could see the look of surprise on Bridgerton’s face.

~*~

When Anthony arrived at Danbury house, he noticed it was remarkably quiet. Certainly there were servants bustling about but it still took him a moment to realise what his subconscious had noticed; there was no queue of suitors lining up for the diamond.

Anthony smiled. Had Bagwell finally offered then? About time.

The butler showed him into the main drawing room. He had been here before, accompanying his mother for a surprisingly entertaining afternoon tea. Then, the room had been bustling, chatter and laughter echoing from the high ceilings. Now it was quiet, empty save for himself, Miss Sharma and a footman that Anthony knew for a fact was profoundly deaf.

Miss Sharma rose and Anthony nodded politely at her, taking a seat opposite her at her invitation.

“I trust your family is in good health?” he enquired politely as she poured tea.

“They are well, thank you,” Miss Sharma replied, handing him his cup and pouring her own, “Lady Danbury, my step-mother and my sister are visiting the modiste. Else they would also be here drinking this… tea.”

Anthony would bet his life that Miss Sharma had arranged it so that they would be out when he visited.

What was going on here? He had often thought of Miss Sharma as being guarded but this was secretive even for her. She was not the type to trick another into compromising her- and she would not have allowed the footman to remain if so- but what could she possibly want from him? And what did she want that had to be so secret?

As though sensing his unease, Miss Sharma replaced her teacup in its saucer and placed it on the table in front of her.

“My lord, perhaps I should speak plainly. I am of the belief that we should marry.”

Anthony dropped his tea.

Even before the cup smashed on the ground, Miss Sharma was on her feet calling for a maid to clean up the spillage and to bring a new cup. Anthony barely noticed the sudden bustle around him. His mind was whirling. This was not a position he had ever expected to encounter, although he had to admit that breaking yet another rule of society was quite in keeping with Miss Sharma’s character.

He had met her, early morning, unchaperoned, riding astride a horse in Hyde Park. She had raced him, bested him and laughed with him, then rejected him at the Danbury Ball only days later. He had chalked her up to being one of those naïve women who believed men only married for love and never had both a wife and a mistress. No wonder she was unmarried at six and twenty, he had thought unkindly.

But surely this was not the case here. She was contrary but not stupid. She could not believe them to be in love now- could she?

When the staff had finally departed- all save for the deaf footman, now he understood why him!- Anthony regarded Miss Sharma with his best intimidating-Viscount stare.

“Explain,” he said.

Miss Sharma was not cowed. He did not think she would be.

“We both have goals that could be achieved if we were to marry each other,” she said, “You wish for love to be absent from your marriage, in addition to a wife that would make a good Viscountess, bear your children and all the rest of it. I do not love you and will never love you. I have been managing my own family's affairs for a number of years now, although I realise it will be quite a jump from my own small family to yours, not to mention a Viscounty. Furthermore there are no ladies equal to the task. Your own investigations have concluded that.”

Anthony ignored the barb at the interviews he had conducted early in the Season. He had also come to the conclusion that none of the ladies were suitable.

“And what of your goals? What do you get out of this… arrangement?”

Miss Sharma sipped her tea. He found himself watching her pursed lips with interest.

“I am of the belief that Mr. Bagwell intends to propose to my sister.”

Anthony fought to not let his impatience show. The whole ton knew Bagwell had designs on Miss Edwina, the only news here was that he had not already proposed.

“My sister has no dowry.”

Ah. It was beginning to make sense now.

“In addition to this, I do not believe Mr. Bagwell has the means to support Mary, especially as she gets older.”

“Nor you I should imagine,” said Anthony unthinkingly.

“I am not worried for myself,” said Miss Sharma softly, “I would find a way to support myself either here or in India. But it is unlikely to be enough to support Mary, even if Bagwell would marry my sister without a dowry.”

“So your plan to support your mother, to provide your sister’s dowry, is me?”

“That is correct.”

Anthony was not romantic. He knew what he brought to the table. He had scoffed at Daphne’s books of princes who had hidden their identities until a fair maiden had declared her love for him and not the crown or the throne or whatever rot it was.

Still, there was something a little disconcerting about how unapologetically mercenary Miss Sharma was.

“We hate each other,” he pointed out. She did not appear to take offence. It was a truthful statement after all.

“You want a loveless marriage, my lord.”

“I was hoping for indifference, at least.”

Miss Sharma placed her tea down on the table. He found his eyes tracking the movement instinctively.

“If this is a refusal my lord, I understand. I only ask that you tell no one of this conversation-”

“It is not a refusal.”

Miss Sharma looked at him with confusion in her eyes but not hope. Anthony looked away. Heavens, is this what it was like for women? When a man proposed to them, were they also in turmoil? Did they feel unbalanced? Trying frantically to weigh up pros and cons but then tripping over their thoughts and having to start again?

He had never felt more sympathy for women in his life.

“May I have a few days to consider?” he said, rising to his feet. He could not think in the same room as Miss Sharma, he had to be alone.

“Of course,” said Miss Sharma, also rising, “My lord, I will not be offended if you refuse. I only ask for your discretion.”

“You have my word.”

And with that, Anthony bowed his head and left.

~*~

She did not see him again until Ascot.

Kate’s group was walking through the crowd, Bagwell and Edwina in front, followed by Mary and Lady Danbury. Kate brought up the rear, the spinster sister walking by herself.

Until Lord Bridgerton sidled up to her and said, “I accept your proposal, Miss Sharma, with stipulations.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Stipulations, my lord?”

He smirked and she felt as though the ground shifted beneath her. It was a strange experience. She knew she had him on the back foot last time they had met and she did not relish the reversal.

“We will court publically for three weeks. After those three weeks have elapsed, you and your family will visit mine at Aubrey Hall where our engagement will be announced at the ball my mother hosts there every year. We will marry after the banns are read.”

Kate bit back an impolite reply. Bridgerton was not saying anything she had not thought of herself when considering how this all might play out, but there was something arrogant about the way he said it, declaring how everything would be, without considering anyone else.

“In addition to this-”

“There’s more?” Kate suddenly broke out, her determination to stay quiet forgotten.

“This was your idea, Miss Sharma.”

“I spoke of it in a private drawing room, empty save for a man who could not hear! You speak of our ruse openly where we might be overheard.”

Bridgerton looked at her as though he was contemplating what to say.

“It is not a ruse,” he said, finally.

“What?”

It was only now that Kate realised they had stopped walking. The crowd around them ebbed and flowed as people met their friends, went to find seats, went to place bets. In the middle of it all stood the two of them, completely still. At least, until Bridgerton leaned in slowly and spoke quietly enough that she would acknowledge that no one would hear.

“I was under the impression that despite our lack of romantic attachment to each other, that this would be a real marriage, that we would be joined together in law and before God. Is that not the case, Miss Sharma?”

Kate was finding it difficult to breathe. He was standing much too close, his broad shoulder blocking her view of anything else, his lips inches away from her skin. She felt surrounded by him, engulfed, even though all she had to do was take a step back and she would be free of him. She did not.

Bridgerton leaned away and regarded her with a raised eyebrow of his own.

“Well Miss Sharma?”

Suddenly air filled her lungs again. As she inhaled and exhaled, she looked at Bridgerton with narrowed eyes.

He had done that deliberately.

She had almost forgotten he was a rake, that he would know how to manipulate women with the feel of his breath on her ear. She would not fall for it again.

“The marriage will not be a ruse,” she agreed, “but the courtship? Unless you mean to tell the entire ton that I am only marrying you for your money or that you are only marrying me because no other lady would have you, then you have to admit our courtship of each other would indeed be a ruse.”

She wondered maybe if she had pushed him too far, if the unbalanced feeling she had around him had made her ruder than she really needed to be but he grinned at her and said, “There are many other ladies that would have me, Miss Sharma. But perhaps I am the only man that can handle you.”

Do not fall for it.

She turned away from him, not just her head, her whole body, and looked out at the track. The race would not start for another half an hour but she found herself anxious for it to start, for something to distract her.

“Which is your horse?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see this had thrown him. This pleased her.

“My horse?”

“The one you have placed your bet on. That is what one does at Ascot is it not?”

She was being very obvious but Bridgerton did not seem to mind the radical change in conversation. In fact he answered.

“Nectar.”

Kate snorted, all her nerves banished.

“What is wrong with Nectar?” he asked, sounding amused.

“You must have agonised over that decision my lord, to pick the same horse as everyone else.”

He shrugged. “I have a good feeling about him.”

“The house has a good feeling about your money.”

“Is that so?” He had moved closer to her now but Kate found that she did not mind, she could keep her wits about her as long as they spoke only of the race.

“Which is your horse, Miss Sharma?”

“Ladies are not permitted to place bets, my lord.”

“But if you could?”

“High Flyer.”

Bridgerton snorted, sounding not unlike a horse himself.

“Nectar’s victory at Doncaster gave him a shine that every man here mistakes for certainty that he will win here- or a ‘good feeling’ as you put it- but it is illogical.”

“Is that so?” Bridgerton said, “And why is High Flyer the logical choice?”

“The colder weather and firmer ground was beneficial to Nectar at Doncaster. However, it is a warm day and the rain last night has made the ground softer. Nectar’s size will be disadvantageous to him, he will overheat and lose headway, that is if he even finishes. The race will be won by a lighter, less bulky horse.”

“Thus High Flyer,” Bridgerton murmured, “you’ve given this a lot of thought, Miss Sharma.”

“I give all decisions I make a lot of thought,” Kate said, looking back at the track. The conversation was going back to dangerous waters and the way Bridgerton was looking at her was tilting the ground beneath her again.

“We should find our seats, my lord.”

The Viscount offered Kate his arm. She hesitated only for a moment before taking it. They walked together up the stairs to their seats, Bridgerton nodding occasionally at people he knew. Kate could feel the curious- and sometimes hostile- looks she was getting from the mammas. Escorting her here was only a step down from openly courting her. The plan was already in motion.

As Kate sat down, Bridgerton greeted her party politely, said “Excuse me,” then turned around.

“You aren’t staying?” asked Kate in surprise.

“I will return momentarily,” he replied, giving her a warm smile.

Then he left.

Kate watched him leave then, and made the acquaintance of the gentleman sitting to her left. His name was Thomas Dorset, he was attending Ascot on Lady Danbury’s invitation. By the way Lady Danbury was eyeing them meaningfully, Kate rather thought she was being set up with him.

But Dorset was a third son. He supported himself on his own wages, rather than an income from an estate or old family money. He would need a wife with a dowry.

He would not be able to provide for Kate’s family so he would not do for Kate.

“How well acquainted with Lord Bridgerton are you?” Dorset asked.

Kate considered her answer carefully but quickly. Bridgerton had claimed to accept her proposal but she still did not know what his final stipulations were, if he had requirements she could not meet.

Still, they were not known to be courting. If Kate could not continue with Bridgerton, there was no need to think of this day as any more than simply being escorted to a public event by an eligible bachelor, a one-off occurrence that led to nothing.

“I was introduced to him at Lady Danbury’s ball at the beginning of the Season,” Kate replied. It was close enough to the truth. “You know him as well?”

“We were students together at Oxford. We read different subjects but we often ran in the same circles.”

“What was he like then?” Kate asked curiously. She was wondering if her dislike of him was because he vexed her personally. How did he come across to others?”

“He was rather quiet.”

“Quiet!” Kate would not have been more surprised if Dorset had said Bridgerton had an apple for a head and danced round maypoles naked. “I would never have called Lord Bridgerton quiet.”

“He was then,” said Dorset thoughtfully, “There was a sadness to him. I believe he had only recently lost his father. But time heals all, Miss Sharma. He certainly appears more exuberant these days.”

Was there not still a sadness about him now? Kate thought back to the Danbury Ball, how she had watched him as he danced. There had been no joy in his movements, even with the lively country dances. He did not smile, unless it was tightly at the end of a dance. It never reached his eyes.

Kate was contemplating how to reply when a shadow fell across her. She looked away from Mr. Dorset and up into Lord Bridgerton’s eyes.

There was an emotion that passed across his face, something like anger? Or hurt? But surely that couldn’t be right. Whatever it was she must have imagined as when he sat down next to her, he chatted easily with Mr. Bagwell on his other side.

Finally the race began.

As soon as the starting gun went off, Kate was on her feet cheering and hollering for her horse. Next to her, Bridgerton had also risen to his feet, shouting “Come on! Come on!” The atmosphere was exhilarating, Kate was having the time of her life. Out of sheer joy, she put two fingers in her mouth and whistled.

She cried out with delight when High Flyer crossed the finish line in first place. She caught Bridgerton’s eye and saw her joy mirrored on his own face. She only just stopped herself from throwing her arms around him.

~*~

After Kate, Edwina and Bagwell had congratulated the winning jockey (and the winning horse), Kate went to the refreshment stand for a cup of lemonade. Before she reached the stand, however, she caught sight of Lord Bridgerton.

She hadn’t seen him since the end of the race half an hour earlier. He had rushed off suddenly and she was unsure if he had gone home altogether. Seeing him now, walking towards her with a grin on his face, she was suddenly glad he hadn’t left.

He thrust a small silk bag at her. Kate took it curiously and gasped as she looked inside.

“My lord, what-”

“Your winnings, Miss Sharma.”

“But I did not place a bet,” said Kate in confusion.

“I decided to take your advice and place a bet on High Flyer instead of Nectar. Jolly glad I did too.”

“You changed your mind?” said Kate, still confused. She never changed hers. Once she decided on a course of action, she saw it through to the bitter end.

Bridgerton smiled. “You made a convincing- and logical- argument.”

Kate weighed the bag of coins in one hand. Then held it back out to the Viscount.

“I cannot accept this.”

“Yes you can,” he replied as easily as though they were talking of the weather.

“I did not place the bet!”

“Consider it a cut then,” said Bridgerton, “You gave me a tip, I give you a cut of the winnings I would not ordinarily have won without you.”

Kate looked back at the bag of coins. It was very generous of him. Slowly, she put the bag in her reticule.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

“Was that so hard?” said Bridgerton, smiling at her in an infuriating way and offering her his arm. She rolled her eyes and linked her arm through his.

They walked for a while in comfortable silence, ambling in no particular direction. Whereas before the curious looks she had received had made Kate feel uneasy, now she held her head high. She had every right to be on the Viscount’s arm.

“What are your other stipulations, my lord?”

Bridgerton stopped suddenly and turned to face her. A dark, slightly angry look came across his face, making Kate shiver.

“No lovers. You will be faithful to me.”

He could not have said anything more insulting. She knew what was expected of her. She knew the role of a woman in a marriage. She also knew that men had no requirements to be faithful.

“Of course,” said Kate shortly.

“In return,” said Bridgerton, his face more relaxed now, his lips turning up at the corners slightly, “I will have no mistresses, no lovers of my own. I will be faithful to you.”

“That will not be necessary, my lord.”

“Miss Sharma-”

“Do not make promises you cannot keep,” said Kate, unable to hide her anger, “You forget I heard you outside Lady Danbury’s ball. You said you saw no reason for a man to forgo a mistress unless he was in love with his wife.”

Bridgerton stared at her, his mouth slightly open.

“There is, and will always be, no love between us,” said Kate quietly, “There is nothing to stop you taking a mistress.”

Bridgerton grabbed Kate’s hand suddenly. She inhaled sharply, she could feel the warmth of his hand even through her glove, even as he held her hand so tightly.

“Love has nothing to do with it. It is only fair. I will not take another. Only you.”

Something strange happened to Kate’s heart, as though for a moment there was an extra beat. She looked away from him, his gaze suddenly unbearable. She flexed her hand slightly and Bridgerton dropped it, as though he hadn’t realised he’d been holding it.

“As you wish, my lord,” said Kate. They started walking again. She did not take his arm again, nor did he offer it.

They walked for a little longer. After a few moments, Kate realised they were heading towards the carriages where Lady Danbury, Mary, and Edwina were waiting.

“What are you going to do with your winnings?” said Bridgerton lightly, as though the brief, tense moment between them had not happened.

“I might treat Edwina to an ice from Gunther’s. Or take her to the modiste, there is a new pale pink silk that would look lovely on her-”

“No.”

Kate gaped at his interruption. “Excuse me?”

“No,” he said, softer this time, “You should not spend your winnings on your sister. You should do something for yourself, Kate.”

She had nothing to say to that. When they reached the carriages, Bridgerton touched his hat and bade her farewell. As she watched him go to his own carriage, she felt as though her heart had an extra beat again.

Chapter Text

She had sent word to Bridgerton House that, rather than calling on her at Lady Danbury’s, could he instead meet her in town.

Anthony was perfectly happy to oblige Miss Sharma, although she had sent him a curious address. Rather than the well-worn haunts of Mayfair where courting couples often went to see each other- and of course to be seen- it was for a tea shop in Bloomsbury.

He rarely frequented Bloomsbury. Its inhabitants were wealthy although not of the same social class as himself. As he looked around, he found he was rather taken with the area. There was a pretty green square in the middle surrounded by glossy white buildings- some of them residences, some of them shops. Anthony paused outside one shop, a modiste, and admired the vibrant red material in the window made of a fabric he couldn’t put a name to, the way it draped over a dressmaker’s mannequin in a style he had never seen before. He briefly imagined how Miss Sharma would look wearing that garment and had to quickly look away, his breath catching in his throat.

He made his way back to the tea shop and fortunately did not have to wait long until the Danbury carriage pulled up. An eager footman bounded up to open the door but Anthony quelled him with a stern look and opened the carriage door himself.

“Miss Sharma,” he murmured, holding out a gloved hand to help her alight from the carriage.

Miss Sharma was already standing inside the carriage when the door opened and Anthony wondered for a minute if she would shun his offered hand to jump down herself. It would have been in keeping with her nature after all.

She didn’t. She gave him a small half-smile and allowed him to guide her down to the street. He kept her hand in his for just a moment before dropping it and looking at the tea shop Kate had mentioned in her note.

“What is this place? It looks unlike anywhere I’ve seen in Mayfair,” he said.

Her half-smile grew to a full one as she looked at the building in front of them.

“You’ll see, my lord.” And with that she went inside.

They settled at a table upstairs by a window looking out over Russell Square. Kate ordered for both of them in language Anthony couldn’t identify from a man with a similar complexion to her own.

“I did not know this place existed,” said Anthony, mostly to fill the silence.

“Slightly too far from White’s,” said Miss Sharma and Anthony wondered if he was being made fun of, although Miss Sharma seemed to mean her comment seriously.

She continued, “Someone on our ship from Bombay mentioned there was an Indian tea shop in Bloomsbury. It is only now that I have had a chance to come here.”

“Do you miss India?”

“Every moment of every day,” she sighed. Anthony was about to make a comment that she had not been in England long when he remembered that the journey took six months. He wondered if perhaps they could visit together one day, once they were married, then quickly realised that this would never happen. The round journey alone would take a year, and add to that any time spent in India itself. He would never be able to take that much time away from his Viscounty duties.

Something unpleasant clenched inside him as realised that, as a consequence of marrying him, Kate would never visit India again.

This also reminded him of a question he had been meaning to ask her.

“May I ask you something?” When she acquiesced, he asked, “Why did you choose me? For this scheme? I know you needed someone with wealth and all the rest of it, but there are other gentlemen who would meet your requirements.”

She did not answer for a few moments, and when it seemed as though she would, a teapot and two china cups arrived.

“Do not misunderstand me,” said Anthony, as Miss Sharma set about pouring the tea for them both, “This is not me breaking my word or suggesting that you should have asked someone else. I am merely curious.”

“How do you know I did not ask someone else?”

Some ugly emotion erupted within him, the same one that he had felt when he had returned to his seat after changing his bet and saw Miss Sharma gazing into Dorset’s eyes. Anthony knew what it was, he refused to name it.

“If you had, I doubt the gentleman would have been as discreet as me," he said, trying not to growl, "It would have been in Whistledown within hours."

She nodded thoughtfully and passed him a teacup. He took what he thought was going to be a perfunctory sip but the scent of the tea inflamed him and he found himself gulping down the entire cup before setting it back in the saucer.

She watched him, cup only halfway to her lips, one eyebrow raised.

"Good?"

"Incredible," he breathed, "If this is tea in India, I do not know how you ever left."

Anthony regretted the comment immediately when he saw a hurt look cross Miss Sharma's face. He was an ass. Hadn't she just said how much she missed India? And had he not just worked out that she would likely never return?
"Forgive me. I did not mean-"

She waved him off and poured him another cup from the teapot.

"I am glad you like it. To answer your question, my lord, the main reasons were that you had openly declared your intention to marry this Season-"

"My mother declared," he muttered.

"-and that you did not wish to marry for love," she continued, a small smile the only indication that she had heard interruption. "I thought, rather than you trying to convince starry-eyed debutants that they do not want love either, I could put everyone out of their misery by…" she trailed off as though she did not know how to complete her sentence.

"Sacrificing yourself?" he offered.

"Precisely," she smiled, taking a sip of her tea.

Anthony looked down at his fresh cup, frowning.

"Has your tea gone cold, my lord?”

"Hmm?" he said looking up, "No, no, it is only… did you not wish to marry for love yourself?"

Miss Sharma snorted. "I am no starry-eyed debutant."

"You don't believe in love?" asked Anthony, curious.

"It is not that," she said, and she was looking away from him now, her eyes unfocused, as though looking at something far away or remembering something long ago, "Mary and my father were very much in love until his death some years ago. And I realise it may be too soon to say but I know Mr. Bagwell and my sister are in love."

She paused and took a sip of her tea.

"I have always assumed it would never happen for me."

Anthony mirrored her, sipping his own tea. His mind was racing as he considered her words.

In some ways, he could relate to what she was saying. His own mother and father had loved each other deeply, desperately, and he thought his mother would never recover from his death. It was the chief reason he shunned love himself. He never wanted to feel that pain, nor cause it.

But after that they differed. He did not believe himself incapable of love. Love was something to be avoided, as though it had claws that reached out, ready to clutch someone unawares.

Miss Sharma, it seemed, thought love was for other people and not for her.

Something about that struck him as heartbreakingly sad. He had to resist the impulse to reach out and grasp her hand.

"I have never really been the one men showed interest in," she was saying, her mouth twisted in a half-smile that did not reach her eyes, "Edwina is the beauty, the charmer. I've never worked out how to flirt like other people-”

“Like other people?” said Anthony, his heart picking up in speed, “How exactly do you flirt? How do other people flirt?”

“They say one thing and mean another."

"Is that what flirting is?" said Anthony, before he could stop himself. He was gratified to hear Miss Sharma giggle.

"I have watched men and women flirt at balls. I’ve seen women drop fans on the ground, stand in such a way that a man can look only at her bosom, or bat her eyelashes.”

“I have seen these too,” said Anthony, “I thought once all women read the same book. Still, I would not say that flirting is not saying what one means.”

“The ladies deliberately drop their fans. They do not mean to.”

“Even so,” said Anthony, unwilling to concede but unsure what his argument was.

“I have heard a woman say it looked like it would rain later and a man reply that she would be wet later, rain or shine."

Anthony choked on his tea. "Miss Sharma, you have heard no such thing!"

"It was Miss Goring and Lord Cho if you must know," Miss Sharma said, idly fiddling with her teaspoon. Anthony could not tear his eyes away from her hands, "They were both absent from the ballroom for several dances before returning separately. And now Miss Goring will be Lady Cho before the month's end.”

"That is not flirting, that is seduction," said Anthony, "A proposition, if anything. I would argue Lord Cho knew exactly what he meant and perhaps Miss Goring did too."

"Well I did not know what it meant!” said Miss Sharma, ducking her head. Anthony wanted to cup her face, feel the warmth of her skin, "I propositioned you, did I not? I was straightforward."

"I thought you proposed to me," said Anthony, "You did offer marriage after all. But perhaps you are right. Perhaps the straightforwardness is the difference between the proposal and a proposition."

"What about the difference between flirting and seduction?"

Anthony, ninth Viscount Bridgerton, blushed.

"Forgive me, my lord," she said hurriedly.

"There is nothing to forgive, Miss Sharma," said Anthony, looking back at the teaspoon in her hand, "But I am not convinced you do not know how to flirt like other people.”

"I do not know what you mean," she said.

"What you said was…" Anthony trailed off as he considered her. He felt he was on the precipice of understanding her suddenly.

"That was a flirtatious question, Miss Sharma, unless you genuinely desired an answer."

Miss Sharma rolled her eyes. "Of course I desire an answer. I would not have asked otherwise."

"Well," he said, deciding to take her seriously, "I would argue the difference is the desired outcome."

"Go on," she said, cup at her lips, large brown eyes gazing at his. Did she really not know what she was doing?

"Well, flirting does not always have a desired outcome. It can be harmless. One may flirt with another without expectation. It may be for the simple enjoyment of flirting itself or as a way to explore feelings without truly knowing what those feelings are. Or sometimes to put out one's own desires for another, whilst still keeping a foot back in case of rejection."

Miss Sharma nodded at this, putting down the spoon and picking up the cup. "I have noticed your last point. Plausible deniability in case of rejection from the other. Perhaps that is why flirting is never saying what you mean."

Anthony looked at her in wonder. He had never thought about it like that before.

Miss Sharma swallowed and he watched the bob of throat in anticipation. He knew what she was going to ask next.

"And seduction?” she whispered.

"Much less plausible deniability," he whispered back, "One risks much more for a specific desired outcome.”

"Which is?"

His eyes dropped to her lips.

"Making love, Kate."

Miss Sharma swallowed again, her hands shaking as she lowered her teacup back to its saucer. Anthony clenched his first under the table. He knew what he had done. He had crossed the line from flirting to seduction, he had not kept one foot back, there was no more plausible deniability.

The silence between them stretched out like a length of golden thread. He imagined it getting tighter and tighter until it snapped.

“Forgive me, Miss Sharma," he said, trying to put some slack back in the thread, "This is not an appropriate conversation to have in public.”

“And in private?”

Anthony let out a bark of laughter. He was relieved to see Miss Sharma give a genuine smile, the tension between them eased, the line crossed back.

She signalled for the bill, laughing quietly herself. Anthony wondered, with a sudden rush of anticipation, if she genuinely meant to continue their conversation in private, but then he caught himself. Of course an unmarried woman- even if they were technically engaged- would not talk to a man in private, about seduction or anything else for that matter.

He was relieved. There was something about Kate Sharma, and the way he felt about her, that was starting to unnerve him.

He did not notice that, for this to make sense, Kate would have said something she did not mean.

He fumbled a little with the coins when the bill came but Miss Sharma was faster. To his surprise, she laid down the money- her own money!- and the waiter whisked it away.

"You- Miss Sharma, I cannot let you pay!"

She turned her large brown eyes to his with something like scorn.

"Whyever not, Lord Bridgerton?"

Anthony struggled to find the words. He was more than capable of paying for himself, for her, for everyone in this damned building if he so chose to. Furthermore, this was the way it was done, a man always paid for a lady, he was the provider.

That said, there was something quite… nice about what Kate had done. And something quite attractive about the way she had acted without preamble, simply paid for him as though that was the done thing, as though she had done so every day, as though she would for the rest of their lives. It made him feel cared for.

In the end he simply said, "Thank you."

She seemed to soften, the scorn melted away.

"In a way, it is your money. You told me to spend my winnings on myself."

There was a beat before Anthony realised what she meant.

"I meant on yourself. You did not have to spend them on me as well!"

“But I wanted to. It was my pleasure, my lord,” she replied, a warm smiling spreading slowly across her face.

And Anthony wondered if his heart could ever return to its usual rhythm.

Chapter Text

She surveyed the crush below from a relatively safe vantage point of an overlooking balcony. Edwina was standing next to her, eyes like saucers as she peered over the edge.

Below them gathered the guests of the Hartside ball, drinking, dancing and generally having a merry time. Only Lady Hartside had made the dancing area too large and so anyone not dancing was crushed together. Perhaps this was Lady Hartside’s way of ensuring everyone was dancing at all times.

Although it did not look as though a certain chestnut-haired gentleman was currently dancing. So that was something.

"How will I ever find Mr. Bagwell in this?" Edwina sighed.

"Perhaps we should stay here and allow Mr. Bagwell to find you," said Kate, "If he is down there, he will surely spot us."

"The Viscount will spot us too," said Edwina slyly.

Kate allowed herself a small, private smile. It had been a risk, going to Bloomsbury rather than the more common haunts of Mayfair but she could not resist the tea made in the same style as home.

But it had paid off. Whistledown clearly had spies all over London as only the next day, her column had dedicated three whole paragraphs to her excursion with the Viscount, including speculation as to when he would offer for her. It was going perfectly.

"Let us make a wager," said Edwina suddenly, "Whichever of our paramours finds us first owes the other…" Edwina trailed off, considering.

Kate was stumped too. There was nothing of Edwina's that she wanted and nothing she would not give her if she only asked.

"Mary's tiara," said Edwina, with reverence.

Kate stilled.

"Neither of us should own that outright, bon."

They called it 'Mary's tiara,' as she had worn it on her wedding day to their father but it had originally belonged to their father's mother. It glittered with diamonds and pearls, and was one of the few valuable things they had inherited from their father.

It was the only valuable thing Kate had not sold to fund their journey to England.

"I do not mean one of us should take possession of it, Didi," said Edwina, "Rather the victor gets to wear it at the next ball."

"Something so precious should not be worn to a mere ball," Kate muttered.

"It is not consumable! Wearing it once does not mean it cannot be worn again!" laughed Edwina and Kate cracked a smile, "Besides, you never know. The next ball could be to celebrate your engagement."

Kate swallowed. It was not impossible, but she had never imagined wearing it herself. It was mostly unspoken but the belief was Edwina would be the one to marry well, to save them all. Bagwell’s lack of fortune had thrown a spanner in the works but only slightly. Kate wanted her sister happy above all else. She had imagined the tiara atop Edwina's curls as she married a rich man she loved.

"Oh look," said Edwina softly, "You win, Kate."

Kate spun around. She had somehow missed him even as she scanned the crush below but there he was, Lord Bridgerton was approaching them, eyes fixed on her, smiling softly.

He greeted her sister pleasantly, hoped she was well, told her that he thought he had seen Mr. Bagwell around somewhere. Joy flashed in Edwina's eyes and she rushed back to the balcony railings, again scanning the floor below.

Bridgerton chuckled and turned his attention back to Kate.

She shivered as he took her wrist and examined the dance card tied to it.

"I was hoping you might dance with me," he murmured, almost shyly, "Have you a pencil?"

Not trusting herself to speak, Kate nodded and withdrew a pencil from her reticule. Bridgerton took it and wrote his name twice, once next to a country jig in a few dances time, and next to a waltz.

"Thank you," he said, returning her pencil and taking his leave of her.

Slightly disappointed he had left, Kate returned to her sister's side on the edge of the balcony, regretting it when Edwina gave her a knowing smirk.

"What theme might there be for the next ball, Didi? Something bridal perhaps?"

"Hush," said Kate but she found she could not stop smiling.

Anthony was starting to realise he was in very big trouble.

Miss Sharma was attractive, intelligent and simply magnetic. He could not stay away from her. He could not keep his mind in his head around her.

He was not in love. He knew that much. But he was taking a risk in wanting to dance with her twice.

Not that there was a societal issue in dancing with her twice. If anything, it would help with their scheme, and they had laid the groundwork with their tea visit already.

But when he found that there would be a waltz that evening… well he couldn't resist writing his name next to it.

He still had some hours before the waltz. He considered taking himself off to the Serpentine in the meantime- surely it would be sufficiently cold this time of night?- but instead he made his way around the dancefloor until he reached Benedict, who was chatting to a nervous-looking Francesca.

"Miss Sharma's on the balcony," said Benedict cheerfully.

Anthony shot him a look. "I know."

"Oh you do, do you?"

"I have just returned from engaging her for a couple of dances," replied Anthony in what he hoped was a bored, unaffected voice.

"Planning on engaging her in anything else, brother?”

Anthony bit back a retort. It was strange, he should be encouraging what Benedict was saying. He may as well announce his intentions to his brother in a public place and hope Lady Whistledown picked it up.

But he instead wanted to deny everything and keep her to himself. He supposed if he really did love her, he would be coy about his feelings. Perhaps he should lean into his instincts.

The country dance was lively, but not so lively that they could not converse. They spoke of light topics- books, plays- and Kate whirled around until she was dizzy.

When the dance was over and they left the floor, Lord Bridgerton stayed by Kate's side.

"Bagwell seems quite taken with your sister," he mused, "I noticed at Ascot that he talked of her constantly."

"Did he?" asked Kate eagerly, "Oh, that makes me so happy."

"Has he made any promises to her? Or said anything to you?”

"Not in so many words," said Kate, an anxious pit starting to form in her stomach. He would though, wouldn't he? Had she jumped the gun in offering for Bridgerton so quickly? Was he only toying with her sister and nothing more?

No, surely not. He called every day. He danced with her twice at every ball and none with anyone else- that alone was as close to a declaration of marriage as any proposal.

And Edwina had said Bagwell wanted to speak to Kate. She explained this to Lord Bridgerton.

"He may yet speak to me," said Bridgerton.

"To you?" she asked in astonishment, "Why?"

"In a little more than a month, you and I will be wed," said Bridgerton, dropping his voice low so as not to be overheard, "I will be Miss Edwina's closest male relative."

"Not yet, my lord," said Kate sharply.

She felt his lips move closer to the shell of her ear.

"No, not yet."

He stepped away from her then but Kate still felt warm. Looking at the Viscount, she could see that he also looked a little flushed.

"Refreshment, Miss Sharma?”

She nodded and Bridgerton departed. The crush started to build again and Kate found herself being pushed back, closer to the wall and almost colliding with a young girl trying to hide herself behind a plant.

"Oh! I beg your pardon!" Kate exclaimed, slightly mortified as she realised who the girl was.

"Think nothing of it," said Miss Francesca, looking a little harried, "Are you enjoying the ball?"

"For the most part, except for the crush," said Kate. She was gratified to see Francesca let out a giggle and relax slightly, "And yourself? Have you danced?"

"Ah, no I-" Francesca began, then cut herself off, in the same way her oldest brother did sometimes.

"I think Fife wants to dance with me," she whispered, "I heard him talking to Lord Lumley but he did not see me. I have been hiding and avoiding him ever since."

"I see," said Kate, half-considering finding Fife and throwing him off the balcony.

"I know I could decline him or throw away my dance card," Francesca continued, "But then I would have to forgo dancing entirely and I do not want to do that."

Francesca was blushing and Kate suddenly realised what was going on.

"Who is he?" she asked. She wondered if Lord Bridgerton knew about him.

"The Earl of Kilmartin," said Francesca, her face now a bright red, "His name is John Stirling. I have not seen him yet but he said he would be here."

Kate did not ask when Kilmartin had said this. She did not know him particularly well but as he was an eligible gentleman, she certainly knew of him. He had been on the list of possible suitors for Edwina (how long ago that seemed now!) but he had never made their acquaintance and had never called on them.

Perhaps because he had already made the acquaintance of Francesca Bridgerton.

"What does he look like?" said Kate, standing on her toes, "Let me see if I can spot him."

"My God, Miss Sharma, get down, do not be so obvious!" said Francesca, pulling Kate back to a normal standing position and looking so mortified that Kate had to laugh. She was never like this with Edwina, she had been a mother figure to her for so long, and her prospects were too important for the whole family, that they never teased or bantered about men. She supposed soon that she would become that for Francesca as well, that she would have to guide her almost as a mother would.

Still, it was nice to be sisterly for now.

Suddenly an idea came to Kate. It would allow Francesca to avoid dancing with Fife or anyone else, but would not remove the possibility of dancing with Kilmartin.

"Give me your dance card," she commanded. Looking confused, Francesca surrendered it then smiled when she saw what Kate was doing.

Kate was writing names next to as many dances as she could. False names, taking care not to name anyone actually in attendance. Putting 'Lord Byron' was a risk but she did not think anyone would look closely enough to notice.

She left one blank. The waltz.

"I assume you have permission?" Kate said, suddenly feeling foolish. Bridgerton seemed the type to not let his sisters waltz in case they might fall in love or some such nonsense.

"I do," said Francesca nodding, "Oh!”

Kate turned around at Francesca's gasp to be greeted by an adorable young man wearing a kilt and a shy smile.

"Evening, Miss Franny," he said.

"Lord Kilmartin," said Francesca back, "This is Miss Sharma."

He barely glanced at Kate, clearly unable to take his eyes off Francesca.

"Do you have any dances left for me?" he asked and Kate thought she might die from how darling they were together.

Francesca held out her card and Kilmartin wrote his name next to the waltz, just as Kate planned.

"I will come find you when it's time. Please give my regards to Lord Byron." And with a rather scandalous wink, he disappeared back into the crush.

He found her just as the violins were tuning up in preparation for the waltz.

Anthony had spent the evening both dreading and desiring his waltz with Miss Sharma. He wondered if he had done the right thing in claiming that dance, if instead he should have left it blank. But he had been with enough women to not lose his head just because one was in his arms. He could do this. He could hold her close by the waist, hold her hand in his (thankfully she wore gloves) and remain unaffected.

Besides, he could not risk leaving the waltz blank on her card. He knew he would not be able to bear seeing her dance with another.

She smiled at him as he took her hand. He inhaled as he put his arm around her waist.

And then they moved together.

It was the most exquisite torture Anthony had ever endured. Whenever they stood in one place, he could feel her breathe beneath his arms, whenever they danced across the floor, her hand seemed to tighten in his. Far from being relieved that she wore gloves, he wanted to peel them down her arms and off her hands. He wanted to rip her dress off her body and send it to the ground with her corset, in order to leave her bare before him.

Paradoxically, this image calmed him. This was not love, this was lust. This was the same thing he had felt for most of the women he had fucked. Given that he was practically engaged to Miss Sharma and all that he was imagining would soon come to pass, it made sense that touching her in this way would bring forth feelings of desire.

This was nothing to be alarmed by. This was not love.

If she was being entirely truthful, Kate was slightly affected by him. Her arm rested along his broad shoulders, if she wanted to, she could snake her hand around to the back of his head and bring it down to crash his lips against hers… she could do more than that.

She could press herself flush against him, feeling every inch of his body against hers. She could lean her head against his chest. She could ruin herself and her sister too, unless she pulled herself together.

Kate pulled herself together. This was nothing, just a fleeting infatuation brought about by a man in close proximity and the heat of the ballroom. She could not ruin Edwina, she was more important. Everything was more important.

So when the orchestra played the last bar and they bowed and curtsied to each other, Kate did not look him in the eyes. She turned from him, her gaze resolutely at the floor and promptly collided with someone else.

"Oh! I do apologize… oh hello again Miss Francesca."

“Miss Sharma,” nodded Fran, but her eyes were looking nervously at something beyond Kate. Kate turned, but it was only Lord Bridgerton, his eyes narrowing. Turning back, Kate saw Fran drop something quickly- Kilmartin’s hand.

Kate’s heart sank. She was beginning to see the problem.

“Allow me to make introductions,” said Francesca. Her face was visibly nervous but her voice was smooth and calm, “Anthony, this is the Earl of Kilmartin. John, this is my brother, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton."

"John, is it," said Bridgerton, his voice pleasant but his eyes cold.

"Brother…" said Francesca, at the same time that Kate was saying, "My lord…", both with nervous voices.

Kilmartin nodded at the Viscount. "The pleasure is all mine."

Kate heard Fran emit a quiet gasp. Bridgerton's eyes narrowed and he took a step towards Kilmartin.

"My lord!” exclaimed Kate, fanning herself with her hand, "It is frightfully hot in here, would you not agree?"

Bridgerton stopped bearing down on Kilmartin and looked at Kate, confused. Kate did not understand why, it really was hot in the ballroom.

"You do look flushed, Miss Sharma," said Fran, opening her reticule. "Here, take my fan. Anthony, why don't you escort Miss Sharma outside for some fresh air?"

Kate rather thought Francesca might be laying it on a bit thick but Bridgerton looked at her (genuinely flushed) face and offered her his arm. She took it and together they left the dancefloor for the cooler garden air.

Anthony’s mind was whirling as he escorted Kate outside into the garden. He could not keep his thoughts straight. He could not decide if he wanted to haul Kilmartin outside and bloody his nose or lock Francesca up in her room for the next decade or two.

Breathing heavily, Anthony tried to centre himself. He tried to focus all his attention on Miss Sharma, standing next to him, looking at him with concern in her eyes.

“She has to marry eventually," Kate said, "And from what I know of Kilmartin, she could do worse.”

Anthony mulled over his thoughts in silence. He wanted to disagree with her, to protest that Kilmartin was not good enough for Francesca, to remind Miss Sharma that his sister’s marriage prospects were none of her concern. But that wasn’t true, was it? He was as good as married to Kate, his sisters would be her sisters, Fran’s marriage prospects would concern her.

But not as much as they concerned Francesca herself.

Finally he said, “I wasn’t like this with Daphne. I was more desperate for her to marry than she was at times. As though marrying her off successfully would be a reflection of me as the head of the family. I was as single minded as any mama.”

Miss Sharma still said nothing but she gave a quick glance at their surroundings. Anthony did too but they had nothing to worry about. They were far away enough from other groups that they could not be overhead but close enough to the main house that they could not be accused of impropriety.

“Francesca just feels too young. I should not have let her come out this season. I should have waited another year.”

“I know how you feel,” Miss Sharma whispered, looking at something beyond him. He turned around and followed her gaze to a group of young people laughing and talking near the French-style doors. He recognised most of the group but he knew Kate’s attention would be focused on only one of them.

“Miss Edwina?” he said, just to confirm. When she nodded, he asked, “Is she Daphne or Francesca for you?”

“Both,” said Kate, giving him a little smile, “On the one hand, she has to marry. Because of her beauty and temperament, she was our great hope. She would be the one to land a gentleman wealthy enough to take care of all of us. But sometimes I think we should have waited another year. Or three.”

Anthony thought Kate was rather downplaying her own beauty. Why was Edwina the great hope when Kate Sharma looked the way she did? But then Kate was going to be one to support her family through him. Whatever her family had thought at the beginning of the season, it would be Kate that saved them.

This was what Kate did, she sacrificed herself for the people she loved. She had already given up India for her family, did they know she was giving up love for them too? Or did they believe his courtship of her was genuinely romantic? If Edwina ever knew that Kate was entering into a loveless marriage so that she could marry a poor scholar, would she give up Bagwell?

Anthony looked back at Edwina, laughing and chatting with her group which he now saw contained Mr. Bagwell. He tried to see if he could detect any affection between them but he found it too difficult. There were too many other people with them, and in any case, how would he know what to look for? What did he know of love, other than he did not want it?

“Do they really love each other? Your sister and Mr. Bagwell?”

“Yes,” said Kate and the certainty of her answer surprised him.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Well, Edwina’s told me she loves him. Sisters talk you know,” Kate said, turning her laughing eyes towards him and his heart gave a strange leap, “And as for Bagwell, he certainly has not confided in me. But-”

She broke off. Anthony waited quietly, returning the favour she had given him earlier, when she had allowed him to organise his thoughts. Besides, he was curious about what she would say. What did love look like to Kate Sharma?

“I can tell. It’s the small things, you know? The way he looks at her. The way he dances with her. The way he kisses her hand. Small ways in how they interact. The way that even in a crowded room, he finds her somehow.”

“What about Francesca?” he asked, not knowing if he really wanted to know the answer, “Did you see her with Kilmartin? Did they look in love to you?”

“I saw them very briefly, when he signed her dance card.”

“And?” he asked, desperate for a reason he could not name.

“She loves him,” said Kate and there was something almost sad about the way she said it, as though she was imparting some terrible news. He supposed she was in a way. “That much is obvious. She hid behind her plant because she wanted to dance only with him. She blushes whenever he is nearby.”

“And him? He would not be the first charming man to play with the emotions of a young lady who fancies herself in love for the first time.”

“It is possible I have him all wrong. But the thing that convinces me that he loves her is that he noticed Lord Byron on her dance card.”

“Byron?” said Anthony, in complete confusion, “I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”

“She did not want to dance with anyone except Kilmartin but she did not want to decline dances as she would have to forgo dancing altogether. So I filled out her dance card with false names.”

“Such as Byron’s,” said Anthony, still confused, “But what does this have to do with Kilmartin noticing- oh!”

Kate nodded, pleased. “He checked, my lord. He wanted to see who else wanted to dance with your sister. He wanted to know who his competition was!”

Anthony nodded, mostly to himself. He could relate, he remembered the relief he had felt when he had seen Kate’s unblemished dance card earlier even though the night had been young.

Even though he did not feel love for Kate Sharma, he reminded himself.

“Do you think I should apologise to Francesca?”

“Viscount Lord Bridgerton apologises to his baby sister?” said Kate grinning, and it was so infectious that Anthony could not help but grin back. “It would be a nice gesture, my lord. But what about Kilmartin?”

Immediately Anthony felt the smile slide off his face, like butter off a hot potato. Something about the abruptness of the change must have been amusing because Kate suddenly laughed.

“She does not have to marry this season. You can decide she is too young, that she should wait another year. But I think you’ll find that, if you do, Kilmartin will wait for her.”

Anthony sighed. He reached out and gave Kate’s fingers a quick squeeze before releasing them.

“You are far wiser than me, Miss Sharma,” he said softly, “I won’t stand in their way. And if Kilmartin has any sense, he will offer for her soon. I say!” he said and turned to Kate quickly, grinning broadly, “Perhaps they will be amiable to a double wedding?”

And with that, they both burst into laughter, loud enough that they caught the attention of everyone outside.

Chapter Text

He rarely felt this good the day after a ball.

Usually Anthony would awake not long after he had left whichever ball it was, unrested and unhappy. He had spent most of his life as the Viscount waking up at the same time every morning regardless of what time he had gone to bed the night before, awoken perhaps by his sense of duty or the crushing responsibility he had as the head of the family.

However, the morning after the Hartside ball, he had awoken slowly and gently under the light of the mid morning sun. He felt refreshed and energised, as though all he’d needed to permanently banish the cobwebs from his mind was a dance with a beautiful woman and a conversation with her in the fresh air.

Smiling slightly to himself, Anthony reached for his pocket-watch on the bedside table and cursed when he saw the time. The barber was due to visit Bridgerton House in less than twenty minutes. Anthony did not bother to call for his valet, surmising that it would be quicker to wash and dress himself. He was correct and made it downstairs with minutes to spare.

Benedict was, of course, patiently waiting for both him and the barber, reading an old copy of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. He threw it aside when he saw Anthony and by the smug expression on his brother’s face, Anthony could only assume Benedict had been pretending to read it whilst coming up with ways to rag on him about last night.

“Enjoy the ball, Brother?”

“I did, actually,” Anthony replied, “Danced, drank, debated. How about you, Benedict? Dance much? Did any debutant catch your eye?”

Benedict’s grin widened and he nodded his head to Anthony as if to say touche. He was saved by coming up with a witty rejoinder by the arrival of the barber and he did not speak again until they were leaning back in barber chairs and lathered up.

“So… Miss Sharma,” said Benedict in an aggravatingly knowing tone. Anthony tried not to clench his jaw too much, not with the barber’s blade so close to his skin.

“What did you speak of in the garden?”

“Our sisters mostly.”

Benedict snorted, earning himself a tut from his barber. “How romantic. Or were you gossiping? I saw Francesca dance with that Kilmanock or something.”

“Kilmartin,” Anthony corrected.

“Kill Martin, did you?”

“John Stirling lives to see another day,” said Anthony drily, “I actually was hoping to speak to Francesca this morning, I was a bit… unfriendly to Kilmartin.”

“She left this morning with mother, last minute alterations at the modiste or some such,” said Benedict, “She left whilst you were catching up on your beauty sleep.”

Anthony ignored the jibe. “It's the morning after a ball. She should be awaiting callers. Or a particular caller perhaps.”

Benedict looked at him curiously. “Well, she’ll be at the lecture tonight, along with half the ton. Kilmartin too, most likely. You can challenge him to a duel there.”

It felt like a block of ice had lodged itself in Anthony’s gut. It was not right that Benedict should refer so flippantly to one of the darker days of Anthony’s life, when he had challenged the Duke of Hastings to a duel.

Anthony did not regret it, as such. He made a difficult, but necessary decision. Simon may have been his friend but Daphne was his sister, his family. He would protect them at the expense of everything else.

“I'm not going to kill Martin- kill Kilmartin, I mean,” snapped Anthony, annoyed that he was stuttering over his words, “I'm going to apologise to Fran. She- oh!”

Anthony never finished his sentence, Benedict had jumped so violently, he sent the bowl of shaving cream clattering to the floor, much to the displeasure of his barber.

She was bored out of her mind.

The topic of the lecture was something to do with letter locking in the time of the Elizabethan era, something Kate was expecting to be interesting. And perhaps as a subject it was, however the lecture itself was dull, the lecturer droning on, occasionally holding up examples of intricately-folded letters but Kate was too far back to see properly.

Next to her, Edwina was listening with rapt attention. Kate would be inclined to believe Edwina was playing her false except nowadays Edwina was a prolific letter-writer to only one address. Kate was almost worried that Edwina would be ruined if it was found out that she had been writing to an unmarried man and was greatly relieved when she'd see Bagwell had written back to Edwina.

For her part, Kate had never received a letter from a gentleman. Lord Bridgerton would perhaps be the only man who would have cause to write to her now but he'd had seen her nearly every day since the beginning of their false courtship. She supposed that once they were married, he might have cause to be away and would write to her then.

Kate turned her head as discreetly as she could to look at him. Bridgerton was sitting with his family on the other side of the lecture hall from her but only a row or two behind.

He was quite striking at this angle. She indulged herself for a moment, admiring the sharp angle of his jaw, the aristocratic nose. Every inch of him could be mistaken for arrogance, and Kate herself had made this mistake early in their acquaintance. Now she knew him better. Now when she looked at him, she could see the softness of his hands that had held her when they had danced, the way his mouth still turned down at the corners- but she had made him laugh only the night before-

Suddenly, Bridgerton’s eyes snapped to hers, as though she'd called his name and he'd heard. Kate spun back around to look at the front so quickly that there were whispers around her. She counted to fifty before she dared to look back at Bridgerton.

When she did, his eyes were facing forward again, the corners of his mouth turned very slightly up.

The lecture served two purposes only, neither of which was to actually educate London's fashionable set.

The first- so the ton could smugly congratulate themselves that they were not completely hedonistic, that they had interests outside of balls and dances.

The second- and most important- so they could be seen, not only actually at the lecture but at the reception after.

Anthony had not paid attention to the lecture. He had arrived slightly late, slipped into the chair his mother had saved for him, and tried his damnedest not to stare at Kate throughout the whole thing. He had done remarkably well, only being caught by his future fiancée once, which had given him such an energised jolt that he almost started paying attention.

Now he stood in the reception room next to the lecture theatre trying not to look like he was still bored. About him the ladies and gentlemen of the ton mingled and flirted with each other and pretended to look at the letter-locking examples the dull lecturer had brought with him. Anthony was unsure how exactly it had happened but he was trapped in a conversation with Bagwell and Miss Edwina.

Or rather, not quite a conversation, but instead a second lecture. Bagwell was rhapsodising enthusiastically about Plato or someone, the younger Miss Sharma hanging off his every word. It reminded Anthony of his conversation with Kate the previous day, about how she knew her sister and Bagwell were in love. Certainly now he could see for himself the way Miss Edwina gazed up at Bagwell with sheer devotion on her face. Bagwell wasn’t quite staring back, choosing instead to gesture wildly and talk loudly as though he was trying to attract a larger audience.

But perhaps Kate had seen something else. Almost involuntarily, Anthony looked over to where she was standing with Elosie, looking at the display examples of letter-locking. He smiled to himself, just watching her, enjoying the glimpses he got of her face when she turned her head.

He watched her until someone elbowed him painfully in the ribs. He gave out an ‘oof’ and looked round to see Benedict grinning at him and proffering a glass of brandy. Next to him, Francesca was standing, face stormy, arms folded.

“If you are going to moon over Miss Sharma, perhaps be less obvious?” said Benedict, smiling as though he thought he had said something funny.

Anthony took the glass. Judging by the way Bagwell was still going on, he had not noticed Anthony lapse in attention or indeed the arrival of two new people.

“I was not mooning,” Anthony muttered, taking a sip of his brandy.

Francesca rolled her eyes.

“I say, Bagwell,” said Benedict loudly.

Bagwell broke off mid-sentence at Benedict’s interruption.

“Someone was asking me about your most recent paper… what was it now…”

“My re-examination of Socrates’ ontological argument?” Bagwell said excitedly, looking around wildly, “Who was it? Do you know?”

Benedict gestured vaguely in the direction behind Bagwell and Bagwell hurried off excitedly for a new captive audience.

Miss Edwina looked at Benedict curiously.

“Who were you talking about, Mr Bridgerton?”

“No one,” snorted Benedict, “But both you and my brother looked like you needed saving.”

Miss Edwina looked disappointed, then indignant.

“On the contrary, Mr Bridgerton, I did not need saving. I was greatly interested in what Mr Bagwell was saying.”

“Indeed?” said Benedict, raising an eyebrow, “And- ah- what was he saying?”

“He-” Miss Edwina broke off hesitatingly and Anthony pursed his lips together. Even Francesca looked as though she was trying not to laugh.

“Perhaps I should go after Mr Bagwell. Allow him to expand on his last point.”

“Perhaps,” Benedict murmured as Miss Edwina hurried away, putting Anthony in mind of an excitable puppy.

“Did you enjoy the lecture, brother?” said Benedict.

“Riveting,” Anthony replied shortly.

“I'm glad it appealed to you,” said Benedict, the sincerity in his voice almost convincing, “I myself am no great letter writer and found the last five hours entirely useless.”

Anthony hid his grin by taking a sip of his brandy. Benedict could be humorous sometimes but it would not do to let him realise it too often.

“We have not been here as long as five hours.”

“Bloody felt like it,” Benedict muttered and Anthony did laugh at that.

“Why on earth did we attend this wretched event?”

“For this. The real event,” said Benedict, discreetly indicating the crowd around him with his brandy glass.

“Looking for someone to lock your letters to?”

Benedict made a strange, strangled kind of sound, as though he was trying to suppress a laugh. Francesca let out a burst of air through her nose, catching Benedict’s attention.

“Did you and Kill Martin enjoy the lecture?” asked Benedict, giving Francesca a knowing wink.

Francesca looked mortified.

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Leave her alone. Go hobnob with Penrose or something.”

Benedict grumbled a bit but at Anthony's stern look, seemed to remember their conversation from this morning. He nodded at Francesca, then left.

“Thank you,” Francesca muttered, not meeting Anthony’s eye. She tried to leave but Anthony touched her on the arm.

“One moment sister,” he said, “I wanted to speak to you about last night.”

Francesca looked as though she was bracing herself for some horrible onslaught. Anthony realised quickly that he needed to clarify.

“I wanted to apologise for how I spoke to you and Lord Kilmartin. You should be free to make your own choices.

Francesca looked at him stunned.

“Thank you, brother. I was not expecting you to apologise.”

Anthony frowned at his brandy glass. Was he that much of a brute? Had Francesca thought he'd snarl at Kilmartin until she ran to Scotland with him? Or challenged him to a duel, as Benedict had joked about? That said, it was not much of a joke...

Francesca was looking over his shoulder, looking slightly nervous. Turning around, Anthony saw Kilmartin approaching, then stopping when he caught sight of Anthony. Perhaps from the back he looked like one of his brothers.

“Good afternoon Kilmartin,” said Anthony, offering his hand, “Enjoy the lecture?”

“Bridgerton,” said Kilmartin, taking Anthony hand in a firm grasp, “I would say I almost enjoyed it.”

Anthony grinned. “I must make sure my mother invites you to our country retreat next week.”

“That's very kind of you,” said Kilmartin, and Anthony pretended not to notice the look of surprised joy he exchanged with Francesca, “I confess I was not expecting this.”

“I apologise if I did not make the best impression at the ball,” said Anthony, and this time he smiled at Francesca's look of alarm in order to reassure her, “I’ve had a change of heart.”

Without his willing it, his eyes drifted across the room, looking for Kate and finding her when he said heart.

They looked more impressive up close, in her opinion. In front of her were the display letters that the lecturer had brought with him, intricately folded pieces of paper, cut and folded in such a way that it would be impossible to read them without violating them somehow, leaving it obvious that the letter had been read. Kate used and trusted sealing wax, but she was not so naïve as to claim it impossible to carefully remove a seal and melt it back to the paper.

But as Kate looked further, there was one letter that bothered her. The locking mechanism, although complicated, seemed to be more about artistic expression than security, relying on a now-broken seal to protect its secrets. But now, the letter lay open, its secrets bare for Kate to read.

The letter, dated some thirty years before, was from a man to his wife. The writer was clearly besotted with his wife, rhapsodising on her beauty, her wit, the features of her the writer saw in their children. But as Kate read on, something clenched in her chest. About half-way down the page, the writer spoke of the loss of his parents, the grief he was drowning in before he'd met his wife and how her patience and love had healed him.

It was not difficult to be reminded of a certain sad-eyed Viscount who shunned love out of grief. Had she done the right thing in offering for him? She had only offered what he wanted but what if there was another destiny for him? What if there was another young woman out there who could love him, who could heal him the way the letter's recipient had mended the writer? What if, by roping Lord Bridgerton into this ruse, she had condemmed him to never find love?

Or worse, what if he found it and came to resent her from stopping him from persuing it?

"You know, up close these letters are rather remarkable," said a female voice to her right.

Kate looked up. Next to her was a young woman with bright blue eyes, a friendly smile and rather familiar chestnut curls.

"I consider myself a rather prolific letter writer. Perhaps I should employ some of these letter-locking techniques in my own correspondence," said the girl.

"I could not follow the steps myself," Kate admitted, "Nor do I write secret letters to queens. Else I might as well."

"Nor I to both, but I reckon I could work out how."

Kate smiled at her, still shaken from the letter she'd just read but cheered by new acquaintance's demeanour. "You are one of the Viscount's sisters are you not?"

"Eloise Bridgerton," she said, grinning back, "You are Miss Kate Sharma. I understand my brother danced twice with you at the Hartside ball last night. He does not often dance you know."

Kate felt her face grow warm.

"Does he not," she said faintly, trying and failing to stop herself from looking around the room to seek him out. When she found him she felt heart stop. He was looking right at her.

"Heavens, he's coming this way," groaned Miss Bridgerton, "What did you have to look at him for?"

But Kate did not hear her. She was distracted by Lord Bridgerton, tall and imposing, walking slowly towards her, a small smile adorning his normally serious face. Kate felt her lips growing into her own matching smile. Heaven help her, but she was glad to see him.

When he reached them he said, "Eloise, Francesca was looking for you."

Eloise raised an eyebrow but did not protest, bidding Kate goodbye and going off to look for her sister, leaving Kate and the Viscount alone.

"What did you think of the lecture?" asked Bridgerton. It must have been the most commonly asked question in the room that night, a clichéd way to break the ice. Yet Bridgerton was looking at her as though he was genuinely interested her answer.

"I thought it rather dull."

Bridgerton looked surprised, as though he had not been expecting Kate to answer quite so honestly. Then he relaxed and dropped his face close to Kate and whispered, "So did I."

Kate giggled. Bridgerton smiled at her, clearly pleased he'd amused her.

"Forgive me my lord, I should not be so impolite."

"There is nothing to forgive," said Bridgerton, smiling.

Not yet, Kate thought, and something of her inner turmoil must have shown on her face because Bridgerton's own face dropped as he regarded her closely.

"Are you alright?" he said.

How could she even begin to explain herself? This was not like her, to hide her mind to not say exactly what she was thinking. She should show him the letter, take him through her thoughts, set him free from his obligations, his stipulations.

"Do you think we are doing the right thing?"

Bridgerton did not ask to what she was referring to.

"Are you having second thoughts?" he asked.

Kate did not answer. She prided herself on always meaning exactly what she said but now she could not explain what she meant. How could she explain to Lord Bridgerton that she did not want to stop him from loving someone, even though he had made it clear he desired a loveless marriage?

"Do you wish you had chosen someone else?"

"What? No," said Kate, surprised. That had not been what she had been thinking. She had not been thinking of herself at all.

Bridgerton exhaled and his posture seemed to soften slightly but not entirely. Kate wanted to reach out, smooth the furrow between his brows, reassure him with her skin, if she could not with her words.

But she could not do that either.

"What were you and Eloise looking at?"

Kate gestured at the display letters. Lord Bridgerton frowned deeper as he looked at them.

"These are much too complicated for me. I think I'll stick to the usual way of folding letters. Could you imagine receiving a letter like that?" he said, indicating a rather intimidating-looking letter with a edge that looked like sharp teeth, "It would look like a threat."

"Maybe from a bank," said Kate, thinking of the months after her father died and it was up to her to settle her family's bills and manage their finances. She could quite imagine a bank sending a letter with sharp teeth.

"A bank, yes perhaps," said Bridgerton, watching her carefully, "But a friend? Or a gentleman?"

Kate felt heat rising up to her face. She avoided Bridgerton's gaze as she answered, "No gentleman has ever written to me. It would hardly be proper."

"I suppose not," said Bridgerton thoughtfully,"But perhaps I might?"

Kate did look at him then. She was struck by the nervous, almost wistful look in his eyes.

"Yes," she said, "Perhaps you might."

There was a letter for her when she came down to breakfast the next morning.

She picked it up, trying to hide her astonishment. This was no bank letter. The paper was of excellent quality, her name on the front- Miss Kathani Sharma- written with a confident hand in dark ink. Unlike the letters from the previous day, this letter was folded in the usual way, no complex letter-locking.

She turned it over and gasped when she saw the seal.

It was blood red and perfectly circular. She ran her fingers over it, tracing the initials reverently.

AB

Kate did not own a sealing-wax stamp with KS. She, Mary, and Edwina shared a stamp with a tulip impression but she had not had much cause to use it. Would she have her own when she married? One with KB perhaps?

Suddenly impatient, she tore open the letter and read it.

She found herself blinking back tears as she read. The letter was not a long one but still, as she read it, as she traced the letters of her name and his with her fingers, she could not doubt the sincerity in every line.

My Dearest, Miss Sharma,

I hope you stand by what you said at the lecture yesterday when you said you would welcome a letter from me. But even as I write this, I realise I am forgetting what you have told me since early on in our acquaintance, namely that you never say one thing and mean another. Let me follow your example and tell you this, I am very glad that I am the one you chose for your plan.

Yours,

Anthony Bridgerton

Chapter Text

She was on her way to his ancestral home and trying desperately not to panic.

During the entire carriage ride from London, Mary had been needling Kate on how to act and- more importantly according to Mary- how not to act.

"Do not fight with him, Kate. You know how you get. Just because you have an opinion, it does not follow that you have to express it, especially if it contradicts the Viscount's."

Kate forced herself to breathe evenly. She reminded herself that Mary was just anxious, the security of their family, not to mention Edwina's happiness, relied on Kate charming Lord Bridgerton into marriage. They did not know he and Kate were already in agreement, that everything was a lie, a story being told to the ton so that their later marriage would make sense. She could not burden either of them with the truth.

Kate had considered confiding in Lady Danbury, then rejected the idea. She had been worried that Lady Danbury would talk her out of it, would tell her to save her heart for someone who would exchange it for his. But that would leave her a spinster, Edwina heartbroken and Mary destitute. The best way forward was for Kate to do what she had always done and take care of everything.

"Come now Mary," Lady Danbury said, "The fact that we have been invited to Aubrey Hall a few days ahead of the rest of the ton is a very good sign indeed."

It was not a sign, it was a stipulation, as set out by Lord Bridgerton himself only three weeks ago.

Kate tuned out the rest of the conversation as she wondered what Bridgerton had told his own family. Did they know? Did they have copies of the script she and the Viscount were acting from? Did they know of his disdain for love and his provicility for mistresses? Or did they think her the luckiest girl in England, to have caught the eye of such an eligible gentleman?

Did they think she loved him?

Before she knew it, the carriage was stopping and they were alighting. As befitting her station, Lady Danbury alighted first, calling loudly, “Now the only reason to endure such a journey, to see my great-godson!”

By the time Kate stepped down, behind Lady Mary and ahead of Edwina, there was a throng of Bridgertons crowding around the carriage. She could feel her anxiety heightening again. Although she knew she knew she should stay where she was and greet her hosts, she felt claustrophobic with all the people around her. As politely as she could, she broke away from the group and looked up at the house.

And all at once, her panic fell away.

By rights, it should not have done. Aubrey Hall was large and impressive, grand in the summer sun. But there was something about it, the way the brickwork glowed like embers, the way the walls cradled the wisteria like a lover, that made her feel content. As though she was finally coming home.

From the corner of her eye, she could see a man move away from the front of the house. Her eyes focused on him- Lord Bridgerton himself, walking towards her, a small smile on his face.

She greeted him politely, then said, "You have a beautiful home."

His smile grew wider. He turned to stand next to her, as though to admire Aubrey Hall through her eyes.

"I grew up here, you know," his voice a soft murmur in her ear, "Not London, like the little ones."

Her eyes closed as she let his voice wash over her, like a wave on a shore.

"Sounds idyllic," she whispered in reply.

"You can't see it from here but I have given you and your sister a room overlooking the tulip gardens around the back of the house," he continued, his breath hot on her ear, "I think you'll-"

He cut off suddenly and Kate felt cold air on the side of her face. Opening her eyes, she saw that Bridgerton had moved some steps away from her and was looking at something past her. Turning her head again, she saw a rather beautiful young woman approaching her. She had the same brown eyes and wide smile as Anthony, so she could only conclude that this was a sister she had not yet met.

Indeed she was right as Anthony introduced them with, "This is my sister Daphne, Duchess of Hastings. Daff, this is Miss Kate Sharma."

As Kate curtsied, the Duchess said, "I have heard much about you Miss Sharma."

Kate started and looked towards the Viscount. He was looking between her and his sister and she suddenly understood.

The way he had stood with her as he pointed out her bedroom in his house was not from any genuine desire to be close to her but instead as part of the performance they were putting on for his family, not to mention the entire ton. The Duchess having heard about her was part of it, Lord Bridgerton had been laying the groundwork for her arrival.

Clearly his family knew as much as hers did.

She was not disappointed, she told herself. Fleeting moments where she thought there might have been real feeling between them were all in her head and nothing more. He was just better at playing this game than she was.

“Daphne has only heard good of you, do not worry,” said Lord Bridgerton, clearly misunderstanding her discomfort.

“Simon, come meet Miss Sharma,” said the Duchess, calling over her shoulder back at the throng. A good-looking dark-skinned man immediately broke away from the throng to be at the Duchess’ side.

“How do you do,” he said, bowing slightly as Kate curtsied.

“My husband, the Duke of Hastings,” said Daphne, gesturing unnecessarily, “But you can call him Simon.”

“It can be a bit overwhelming, meeting so many Bridgertons at once,” said the Duke, and Kate almost stumbled as she rose from her curtsey. He spoke with kindness but did he mean something else? Was having so many people meet them some kind of test? Had they picked up on her nerves? Had she made a bad impression already? Did they think she was not cut out to be a Viscountess?

Did they think she was not cut out to be Lord Bridgerton’s wife?

As everybody else went into the house, Kate deliberately hung back so she was at the back of the group. To her relief, Bridgerton took the hint and waited with her.

When she was sure she wouldn't be overhead, she said, "What is the strategy, my lord?"

At his raised eyebrows she continued, "My family is not aware there is a ruse and I do not believe yours are either."

"Ah. No they are not," he said, his hand rubbing the back of his neck, "My thinking is, we act as though we are deeply in love. We will be announcing our engagement at the ball tomorrow after all."

Her stomach lurched. It was coming very close to the point of no return.

"So we will need to be… convincing," said Kate.

Bridgerton chuckled at how unconvinced she sounded.

"I and some of my siblings are playing Pall Mall later today. You should join us once you have settled in."

Kate had no idea what Pall Mall was.

"We will have to put on a good show for them, if any of this is to make sense."

He was standing closer to her now. If she wanted to, she could reach out and smooth the furrow between his brows, run her thumb over his lips, adjust his cravat for him-

"Yes," he said, his voice hoarse, his eyes burning into hers, "Like that." And with that he turned away from her and walked into the house.

He thought he would be the first down to the field where they usually played Pall Mall. He liked to be the one to set out the numbered hoops as his siblings tended to cheat if they did so.

Unfortunately he was not the first. Daphne had beaten him to it and was shoving a hoop into the ground over a tree root.

“Up to your usual tricks I see, sister.”

“I do not know what you mean,” said Daphne primly, getting to her feet and brushing the dirt off her dress. Anthony smiled to himself. As much as Daphne annoyed him at times, as much as she’d had to change since becoming a Duchess, she was still a Bridgerton at heart. She would still get her hands and dress dirty, if that was what it took to win a game of Pall Mall.

“Should your husband not be here helping you?”

“Simon is putting Auggie down for a nap.”

Anthony snorted. “More like he does not want to be humiliated a second year in a row.”

“Well, yes,” said Daphne with a light laugh, “I think he deliberately planned it so Auggie would need to sleep during our game.”

“Why not let the governess see to Auggie?”

Daphne looked wistfully back to the house. Anthony knew she was looking right towards the window that belonged to Auggie’s nursery whilst they were at Aubrey Hall.

“She could have done I suppose but-” Daphne broke off. Anthony looked at her curiously. It was not like Daphne to lose her train of thought.

“Well, you’ll find out why for yourself one day,” she said, “One day soon, I expect.”

Anthony frowned. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“Find out what? Find out when?”

Daphne smiled at him softly.

“Why- when you have children of your own of course.”

Anthony had known for a while that Kate had some kind of pull over him. Every time he was around her, he found himself aware of her presence, of exactly where she was when she was in his vicinity. He had often found himself standing close to her, anything just to be near her, only just managing to step away when he realised that maybe he wasn't acting entirely appropriately in public, that to marry in a cloud of scandal would make Edwina's marriage more difficult and would that not defeat the entire purpose?

But he could not think about Edwina now. He could not think about anything else but Kate, dressed in a light purple day dress, her hair pinned up (would not get in her eyes he thought approvingly), looking at the mallets with a discerning eye.

Edwina was looking a bit overwhelmed as she considered the different mallet options. Anthony was about to claim his usual black mallet, so the numerous options could be narrowed down for the Sharma sisters when Daphne spoke.

"We have decided the guests should pick their mallets first," she announced with a smile, "It is up to you in which order you pick but we usually go youngest to oldest."

Miss Edwina indicated a baby blue mallet, one nobody had ever won with and therefore nobody much cared for.

Miss Kate Sharma on the other hand- he should have guessed.

"The mallet of death!" exclaimed Eloise. Anthony caught Kate's eye and narrowed his own at her obvious joy. He brought his fingers up to his mouth to hide his surging emotions, a clashing mix of dismay and euphoria.

On the one hand, the fact that Kate had picked- of all mallets- the black mallet, meant something surely, even if he could not admit what. On the other hand of all the mallets she could have picked, why that one?

"You threatened to beat me when I wanted that one," Colin said.

"You exaggerate!" Anthony snapped, his fingers not leaving his mouth.

Kate made some comment about him needing particular tools in order to perform, much to the mirth of his siblings. He wanted to inform her that he had no need for assistance in performing.

He was still staring at her, trying to control himself, when he realised all the remaining mallets had been claimed by his siblings- all except one.

He groaned when he saw he had been left with the pink mallet. A truly vile shade and the mallet itself was weighted peculiarly, making it difficult to play with. He wrenched it up with a huff and turned to see Kate watching him closely.

He would not let her think she had rattled him. He grinned at her and she rolled her eyes, making him grin more, despite his stupid pink mallet. Oh this was going to be fun.

This was not fun.

Kate was winning, swinging that damned mallet of death like it was an extension of her own arm. Every time she made a particularly good shot, she would catch his eye and smile smugly.

He had imagined that they would spend the afternoon pretending to whisper sweet nothings in the other's ear, that Kate would smile at him in loving devotion as he patiently explained how to play this wretched game.

Instead, Kate had picked it up quickly, was a complete natural and, which was worst of all, was taunting him.

"Bad luck there, my lord," she said in fake sympathy as he hit his ball wide of the second wicket, "I suppose you are in need of special equipment after all."

Well. Kate should have known better than to leave him such a delicious opening shouldn't she?

"As are you, Miss Sharma," he replied, noting with glee how her eyes narrowed, "I am pleased to see that the mallet of death is servicing you so well."

Kate gripped the mallet tightly and he almost bit his lip.

"I am sure I would not do quite as badly as you with a different mallet," she said, looking pointedly at the gap between his ball and the wicket he had missed, "After all, the other colours are not doing quite as badly as you."

It was true. Miss Edwina had cut out already but apart from that, Anthony was in last place.

He held out his mallet. "Swap then."

She laughed outright at that. "How very kind, my lord, for you to offer your last place to me in exchange for my winning one."

He flushed as Benedict laughed next to him.

Colin started lining up his shot, then suddenly changed his angle.

Anthony spotted what Colin was up to before Kate did. He walked to stand next to her and regarded her with the most knowing, annoying smile he knew how to make. She looked back at him suspiciously.

"It is not too late to accept my offer, Miss Sharma."

"Why would I-" she cut off at the sound of Colin's mallet hitting his ball. And the most beautiful sound Anthony had ever heard was Kate Sharma saying, "Oh no."

Colin's ball had hit Kate's, sending it soaring through the air into a thicket of trees, completely out of sight.

"I rescind my offer, Miss Sharma," said Anthony trying not to laugh.

"In my defence," said Colin, looking slightly guilty, "Daff told me to."

Daphne gasped in mock outrage as she stomped over to her ball. "I do not know what you mean, Colin," she said and hit her own ball.

Anthony was so distracted by the turn in Kate's fortunes, he did not notice the change in his own until he saw Daphne's ball hit his, sending his own to follow Kate's.

Kate was not as gracious as he had been, he thought, as she doubled up with laughter. His siblings were hooting and cheering. Daphne looked far too pleased with herself.

"There is a concept in India, my lord, called Karma. It is when-"

"I know what Karma is," Anthony bit, "Although I do not see how it applies here, it was Colin who hit your ball."

"And the Duchess who hit yours," said Kate, as though that explained anything.

"Why are you two still here squabbling?" asked Benedict, leaning on his mallet, a knowing glint in his eye, "Rules dictate that players must follow the ball."

"What rules," Kate muttered, and Anthony smiled despite himself as they traipsed towards the thicket together.

"This is not exactly what I had in mind," said Anthony as they hunted for their balls amongst the trees.

"Do not tell me this is not the first time your siblings have played dirty," said Kate with a snort, "Your sister seemed to imply everyone cheated as a matter of course."

"We do indeed but that is not what I meant," said Anthony, "I do not think my family will believe I would propose to you. Not after our squabbling just now."

Kate stopped hunting for her ball. She turned to look at him, the expression on her face unreadable.

"You told me yourself," said Anthony, defensive, "You do not know how to flirt."

Kate said nothing for some moments, only returned to swiping at the undergrowth with her mallet. Anthony noticed she seemed to be swiping in a mindless way, as though not really seeing. He was about to apologise (although he wasn't really sure what for) when Kate finally spoke.

“What kind of flirting would your family expect?”

This stopped Anthony in his tracks. It was a good question, if only because he did not know the answer. He has been a bit oblivious to the attraction between Daphne and Simon, although his family seemed to think their engagement had been an inevitability. What had they seen that he had not?

Kate was looking at him expectantly.

“I… don't know.”

Kate made a noise that sounded like an impatient scoff.

“But you know how to flirt. You have flirted with women before.”

“Have I?” said Anthony. He did not consider himself a flirt. He avoided young ladies at balls and the like. As for mistresses, well, he hadn't really flirted with them either. They might have flirted with him a little, a coquettish smile, laughing slightly too long at an unfunny joke, but he knew they really wanted his money, his connections.

But wasn't that what Kate wanted? They weren't marrying for love.

“You flirt with me sometimes,” said Kate, her voice barely above a whisper, “At least I think you do.”

He stepped a little closer to her, almost unconsciously.

“When?” he asked, his voice an echoing whisper.

“At Ascot,” she said, not meeting his eye, “and here, when we first arrived at Aubrey Hall.”

They were standing close together now, close enough that he could see the cracks in her lips, her tongue moving over them.

“It was like this,” she continued, and all Anthony wanted to do was run his own tongue over her lips, maybe that would stop his heart from racing, “You would stand close to me and then move away.”

“Do you want me to move away now?”

Kate watched as Lord Bridgerton’s eyes flicked down to her lips and back up to her eyes. He was standing closer to her now than he had been at Ascot, or indeed at any time during their acquaintance, save for dancing. But there were always people watching them dance. Here, in the thicket, they were alone.

“No.”

He moved closer. Kate could feel his breath on her mouth. She felt his hand come up to her face, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. His other hand held her by the small of her back, and Kate’s own arms reached around him to link around his neck.

“This isn’t flirting,” she whispered. She closed her eyes, “This is the other.”

“Seduction,” she felt rather than heard Bridgerton say. “What makes you say that?”

She opened her eyes. The answer was obvious.

“You have no plausible deniability,” she said, “I am in your arms. You are in mine. If I reject you now, you cannot pretend you meant something else.”

Bridgerton’s eyes had gone dark when Kate had pointed out their positions and she felt his arms tighten around her slightly.

“What do you think I mean, Kate?” he said roughly.

She ran her tongue over her lips. She did not miss the way his eyes tracked the movement, watching her hungrily.

“I think you mean to kiss me.”

Anthony’s lips crashed into hers with such force that it almost surprised her. His arms wrapped gently around her waist, as though cradling her, as though she was precious, breakable, in contrast to the bruising pressure of his mouth against hers.

Perhaps a first kiss should have been sweet and gentle, but Anthony held nothing back, nor did Kate want him to. As his tongue ran along her lips and entered her mouth, she moved her hands from the back of his neck into his hair, combing her fingers through. When she pulled it slightly, she was rewarded by Anthony moaning against her mouth. The sound and vibration sent a wave of something inside her, along her veins, into her core.

She moved her hands from his hair, down his neck, her fingers ghosting inside his collar. She carried on moving them, stroking the silk of his cravat, his waistcoat before moving up back to his hair.

Anthony's hands were not still either. They moved from her waist to splay across her back, up to her hair, down to her buttocks and back up to her back. She gasped every time he caressed her back and he learned this, spending more time touching her there, holding her there.

Kate wasn’t sure how long they stood there kissing, how long she would have let him kiss her, how far she would have gone with him, if he hadn’t pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged.

Hers was not particularly smooth either.

“We should go back to the house,” Kate said.

“Yeah,” he replied.

Lord Bridgerton did not let go of her hand until they were clear of the trees.

Chapter Text

After their game of Pall Mall, she sat in a beautiful sitting room with his family and hers.

Violet had arranged a beautiful array of cakes and sandwiches. It was known that Violet Bridgerton hired a french pastry chef, even in the country, and Kate tried not to drool over the delicious-looking eclairs and exquisitely layered mille-feuille.

But the best bit was the tea. Kate had politely accepted the cup Daphne had poured her and steeled herself before drinking, expecting the weak, insipid liquid she had come to associate with ‘English tea’. But instead she drank perfectly spiced chai, as warm and as comforting as any cup she’d had in India.

“How is the tea, Miss Sharma?” asked Lady Bridgerton.

“It is wonderful,” said Kate, smiling, “I was not expecting chai here. These spices are hard to come by in this country.”

“It was Anthony’s idea,” said Lady Bridgerton, indicating where Bridgerton was sitting on the sofa opposite from Kate, “He was insistent we have this tea here. He bought them from a tea room in Bloomsbury.”

Kate looked at Bridgerton in wonder. He had thought of her. He had invited her and her family to his ancestral home and bought something to make her happy. Between this and the letter, she did not know what to make of him.

She should thank him. She should use pretty words to acknowledge his generosity and he would politely accept.

But she could not speak. She was too confused. And Bridgerton did not seem to be able to meet her eye, he was looking at his own teacup, his face growing pink.

She must be over-thinking it. After all, Bridgerton needed to convince his family that he was wooing her, that they were on the cusp of an engagement. Perhaps this was all part of his plan, a way to make their rise seem more convincing.

The kiss must have been too, although Kate could not work out how.

But before Kate could find the right words- or any words really- the door to the sitting room swung open revealing a man carrying a small child, less than a year old.

“Please don't stand on my account,” said the duke smilingly, as Kate, Mary and Edwina were half-way through clumsily trying to stand and put their teacups down at the same time, “I apologise that I was not able to join your game. But this young man would not settle and now he is well and truly awake. Daphne, would you mind taking him?”

“Simon, my hands are full,” said the duchess, somehow both looking reproachfully at her husband and warmly at her son at the same time, “Give him to Anthony, you won't mind holding Auggie for a minute, will you?”

“Not at all,” said Bridgerton, although his hands were also full. Nevertheless, had put down his cup and éclair and held out his hands for his nephew. Auggie eagerly held out his arms and settled quite comfortably in Anthony's lap.

And Kate thought her heart might explode.

Unlike most gentlemen of the ton, Bridgerton was clearly used to small children- Kate suddenly remembered hearing that when the last Lord Bridgerton had died, the youngest was not yet born. This Lord Bridgerton must have been something like a parent to her, to all the Bridgertons really.

But it was more than that.

As Kate watched Auggie giggle at Bridgerton playing peekaboo, it was not hard to imagine him with a different child, one with a warmer undertone perhaps, and prominent ears, a furrow between his brows, curly hair like hers…

“Would you like to hold him, Miss Sharma?” said the duchess, smiling at her. And before Kate quite knew what was happening, the duchess had stuffed the last of her pain au chocolat in her mouth, removed her son from Anthony’s arms to place him in Kate’s.

And Anthony suddenly had the strangest urge to see Kate with child- sorry- with a child.

Playing so much peekaboo must have worn Auggie out as he settled in Kate’s arms, snuggling against her, his eyelids drooping. Kate gently stroked Auggie’s cheek with the tip of her finger.

“He really is a darling child,” said Kate and Daphne glowed.

Anthony was mesmerised. Since the beginning of their ruse, he had all but considered Kate his wife, that they were acting out their parts in a play before the final scene of the wedding. But he had not thought much beyond that. He had known all his life that he would have to have heirs to carry on the viscounty but now he really understood what that meant.

Kate would be the mother of his children.

Now he understood how wonderful his life could be.

She was seated on his right at dinner.

This was the last dinner before the rest of the ton would descend on Aubrey Hall. The following night would be the annual Hearts and Flowers ball at which she and Lord Bridgerton would announce their engagement.

And three weeks after that, they would be married.

Some of the panic Kate had thought had vanished came back with a very slight vengeance.

"Try some of the rosemary potatoes, Miss Sharma," said Lord Bridgerton and Kate was sure there was a note of kindness in his voice. Could he tell how she was feeling?

"It is delicious, my lord," said Kate, spearing a potato but not lifting the fork to her mouth. Dropping her voice low, she said, "How do you want to play this?”

"I may have an idea," he admitted, "But it is difficult to strike the correct balance between being on the cusp of an engagement and requiring a special licence."

Kate gave him a sharp look but Bridgerton held her gaze. Was he thinking of their kiss? She had not thought of anything else since it happened, trying to understand why it had happened- or at least why it happened the way that it did, in the privacy of the thicket with no-one to observe. For all Lord Bridgerton joked about special licences, she would have understood better if someone had seen their kiss. What did it mean that he had kissed her in secret? Why, when they were already practically engaged, was he trying to seduce her?

There was murmur behind Kate- a comment she couldn’t quite hear. Bridgerton’s eyes snapped from Kate’s to the source of the sound.

"The duchess?” she muttered.

"She's watching," Bridgerton muttered back. "She misses nothing. Oh, and she's talking to mother now."

His eyes slid back to her.

"Perfect," he smiled.

Kate found that she could not look at him any longer. She felt weary, aching, as though she was carrying her false relationship with Lord Bridgerton on her back and could not yet set it down. She looked across the table- which was a mistake as she caught the duchess’ eye.

"When was it that you met my brother, Miss Sharma?" asked the duchess, "You were not here last season, I believe."

"That is correct, Your Grace," said Kate, "I met Lord Bridgerton at Lady Danbury's ball."

The duchess broke eye contact with Kate on 'Lord Bridgerton' to look at her brother. Kate tried not to stiffen, tried not to panic. Should they be on first name terms by now?

"But you would not have started courting then? Do not tell me Anthony interviewed you."

Kate forced a smile. "He did not, actually."

"Hmm. That does explain why you have made it this far," said the duchess, to sounds of laughter from elsewhere at the table. Kate tried to join in but she was feeling very tense. Was she onto them?

Kate was forced to conclude yes when the duchess fixed the viscount with a challenging look in her eye and asked, "I wonder what it was then that made you court Miss Sharma. Or indeed to mercifully do away with your interviews!"

She gave a silvery laugh but Kate knew this was not a rhetorical question. This was an interrogation.

Lord Bridgerton lifted his drink to his lips. Kate interpreted this as a way to buy time, to come up with something, anything that would convince Daphne that he held true feelings for her. Kate had heard along the grapevine that the Duke and Duchess were one of the few love matches of their season and Bridgerton's own parents had married for love.

They would not take kindly to a gold digger.

Bridgerton lowered his glass, his signet ring glinting in the light, almost blinding Kate. She waited with baited breath, as did the whole table.

Finally he spoke.

"There was a difference between what I thought I wanted and what I-"

He stopped as though struggling to find the words. Kate thought, this wasn't a bad performance, he may save the whole scheme yet.

"I thought I wanted someone to tick every box. Someone who wanted the same things I did, or at least tell me so, even if it meant saying something they did not mean, just to please me.

"I do not mean to say Kate and I want completely different things. More our desires complement each other. But Kate is not someone who says one thing and then does another. She always says what she means.”

There now. That wasn't so bad. It was very near to the truth and his hesitancy could very well be misinterpreted as love by those who were looking for it. Kate shot a glance at the duchess, was she buying this? It was not particularly romantic but surely sensible enough for marriage.

"There is more," he said softly. Kate's eyes snapped back.

She held her breath as he looked at her, really looked, as though he could see all the way into the bones of her, right down to her soul.

"She is beautiful, intelligent and all the rest of it," he continued, "But then so are most ladies of the ton. But where Miss Sharma is different is that she-"

Kate watched with wide eyes as he broke off again.

"She is a challenge."

Kate gasped out a shocked laugh. Good God, it had been going so well and he had ruined it! Who had ever called a woman they were supposed to love a challenge? She looked back at the duchess, expecting her to laugh knowingly, to say something like 'the gig is up' but instead she was watching intently, as though something was about to make sense.

“Some of you have already heard us bicker and squabble, particularly during Pall Mall,” Bridgerton continued to some light chuckles around the table, “I realised I could never court someone who agreed with me constantly or had no mind of her own. Kate has a very complex mind and she lets me know it. She told me about your ploy with the dance cards-” he directed this last at Francesca who looked intently at Kate, then back at her brother- “And she defended Kilmartin to me when it became clear that-”

He broke off, as though suddenly aware that at least four matrons were listening very intently to gossip about Francesca’s love life.

“Well that’s your business,” Anthony said awkwardly, “The point is, I was fixed on a particular point of view and K- Miss Sharma challenged me to think differently. I never realised that's what I wanted in a w- in someone. Someone who would stand up to me when I was wrong, say what she really thought, help me change my mind."

A tense silence greeted these words. Not even the two younger Bridgertons broke it. Hyacinth seemed to have been as enraptured by Anthony's words as anyone.

Kate, for her part, couldn't take her eyes off Anthony. Had he meant everything he had said? How much of his speech was real? She did not fool herself that she had just listened to a confession of love but he seemed to have more feeling for her than she had anticipated.

He was staring back at her, almost nervous.

Or it was that he had some admiration for her and knew that all the best lies had roots in truth. And that's all this was. A convincing lie.

She suddenly had to look away. His eyes were too dark, too deep.

The Duchess of Hastings slid her sly eyes across from her brother and along to Kate. Kate knew what was coming.

"And you Miss Sharma? What is it about the viscount that has charmed you?"

And suddenly Kate knew exactly what to say.

"In all honesty, Your Grace," she began, looking the Duchess straight in the eye, "It is the opposite to what your brother said."

She heard Anthony cough. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile before continuing.

“He says he likes a woman who challenges him, who tells him when he is wrong. But do you know how rare it is to find a man who recognises that? Who admits when he is wrong?”

“Hear hear,” said Lady Danbury, raising her glass.

“Anthony has admitted to being wrong? I am not sure I believe you, Miss Sharma,” said Daphne smiling, “Where and when did this miracle occur?”

“At the Hartside ball,” said Kate, giving Francesca an apologetic look, sorry that she was going to drag up Fran’s romantic life again. But to her surprise, Fran brought it up herself.

“Is that why Anthony apologised to me? I could not understand how he went from jumping down Kilmartin’s throat to giving his blessing for him to court me,” Fran said, looking between Kate and Anthony with something like wonder on her face.

“Do not fret, Francesca, I will be asking you and Kilmartin the same questions once mother invites him round for dinner,” said Daphne, making Fran laugh, which in turn broke the tension around the table. Kate tried to catch Anthony’s eye but he seemed to be having a wordless conversation with his mother across the table.

Anthony was tired and sleepy, his head fogged from the post-dinner port with his brothers and from being in Kate’s vicinity for so long. He kept mulling over Kate’s answers to Daphne’s questions at dinner. Was she answering Daphne honestly? Or just taking the first thing that came to mind and throwing it out there and seeing if it stuck?

Kate never said something she did not mean. He knew this about her. Was this the one exception then? Or something else?

He was about to climb the stairs to his chamber, having bid Simon, Benedict and Colin goodnight when his mother beckoned him to join her in one of the smaller drawing rooms off the entrance hall. He was half-tempted to continue up the stairs to bed anyway but his curiosity had been piqued. Besides, it would not do for him to ignore his mother, no matter how tired he was.

On entering the drawing room, he saw Daphne sitting in one of the armchairs by the window. His mother had his back to him, rummaging around in a bureau.

“What is this?” he asked, trying to sound more like he was in charge and less like he was being summoned here and there in his own house.

His mother turned around. In her hands was something that made his eyes widen. He looked back at Daphne who gave him a warm smile. His mother held out her hand and he took the item from her.

A small, brown box. He opened it.

“Your ring from father,” he whispered, only half-believing it was real. He had not seen it in years. He looked up to see his mother looking at him with tears in her eyes.

“You do not have to ask her soon, if you are not ready,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as though suppressing some great emotion, “But keep the ring for when you are.”

“Is this because of what she said at dinner? What Daphne said?”

“Partly,” said Daphne, and Anthony was surprised she did not deny it, “But also because of what you said at dinner.”

“What I-”

“It is clear that you have great feeling for Miss Sharma,” said Daphne, “Perhaps you do not want to call it any more than that, but there is affection and respect there.”

Anthony instinctively wanted to deny it but it seemed counterintuitive to his plans. This was what he wanted them to think, was it not?

“My darling,” Violet said softly, and Anthony braced himself, something about being called that always made him feel like he was a small boy again, just wanting to be looked after, “I have only ever wanted you to be happy. If Miss Sharma is the one who can make you happy, then do not let her go.”

He kept the ring box on his bedside table and lay in bed unable to sleep. Both his mother and Daphne had found love in marriage, even if Daphne had not married for love initially. It was clear that they were expecting him to have some kind of revelation about Kate, if he had not already.

Anthony rolled over, staring at the box still visible in the moonlight. His stomach roiled with guilt. It was not a small thing his mother had done, to give him the ring that had represented the deep love she had shared with his father and it was clear she expected him to experience the same love with Kate. Would it not be lying to her to use the ring for Kate in this way?

He ran his fingers over his lips.

Would it be lying at all?

Chapter Text

He dressed with more care than usual in the morning. Made sure his hair lay flat, that his cuffs lay correctly over his wrists, fussed with his cravat for longer than usual.

Anthony realised, as he descended down the stairs and made his way towards the small dining room that they used for breakfast, that he did not need to do any of this. He had been effectively engaged to Kate since he had called on her for tea and she’d told him of her plan. All that would change today was that their engagement would become public knowledge. He did not need to look his best, did not need to feel nervous, did not need to formally propose.

But when he entered the breakfast room and saw Kate already there, bathed in the morning light, chatting with his siblings as though she belonged there, he was suddenly very glad he was doing this properly. It had to be this morning, before the rest of the ton arrived from London, but Anthony found himself wishing he had asked her weeks ago. At the Hartside ball perhaps, or even Lady Danbury’s ball, or even their first meeting in Hyde Park.

When Kate accepted his request to accompany him on a walk after breakfast, Daphne looked up from the menu she was reviewing for that night’s ball. He tried to silently communicate with her that he did not want a chaperone and she must have understood him because she announced rather loudly that she would rather work on ball preparations in the drawing room that overlooked the tulip gardens. She all but winked at Anthony as she left. Completely unnecessary as he understood- they were to remain in sight of the window at all times. Technically chaperoned but with no-one to overhear.

“There is something I wanted to ask you.”

Kate sighed. “Yes I thought there might be.”

Anthony stopped walking. There was a resigned sound in Kate’s voice, as though she was expecting him to say something unwelcome. Was she not expecting him to propose? That would make sense, she did not know about the ring, she would not necessarily expect a question on one knee. But if she wasn’t expecting that, what did she expect?

A cold feeling came over Anthony. Maybe Kate was expecting a proposal and that was what was unwelcome. Maybe Kate was backing out, breaking their courtship. Maybe she could not face a future with him, maybe she was going back to India, maybe she had met someone else, maybe she had changed her mind…

Somehow, Anthony managed to stop his thoughts spiralling. He knew Kate. Kate did not change her mind. She did not say she would do something and then proceed to do something else.

Kate had noticed he had stopped walking and turned back towards him, one eyebrow raised in question.

“You did?” said Anthony, trying to make his voice sound calm and measured.

“There is something we forgot when we came up with this plan.”

“There was?” Anthony racked his brains but could think of nothing. They had discussed the timeline of their courtship, her sister’s dowry, the nature of their marriage. They had even discussed fidelity, “I thought my stipulations were thorough.”

“Your stipulations only took us as far as the wedding. We had not thought of what came after.”

Except for one aspect.

Loveless.

Anthony’s heart started pounding. Had something changed for Kate? Their kiss perhaps?

“What can you mean?” said Anthony.

“We did not discuss children,” said Kate, and Anthony thought his heart might stop.

Although he looked back at his interviews with the same scorn his family did, they had one distinct advantage which was they would ensure he and his bride would be on the same page regarding offspring. As the first born son of a first born son nine times over, Anthony had assumed he would have at least one son in turn, who would inherit the Viscount title from him.

He had learned from what had almost ended Daphne and Simon’s marriage last season. He had not wanted to be married to someone who did not want children. Better to make sure they were on the same page before marriage, rather than after.

But he had not interviewed Kate.

“Do you want them?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Kate whispered back, as though confessing a great secret. Perhaps she was.

Anthony reached for her hand. He held it loosely in his, letting the feel of her skin steady him, grounding himself back to reality. Perhaps in future he should take care to listen to what Kate actually said rather than spiralling about what he was expecting her to say.

“How many?” he asked, “Please do not say eight.”

Kate giggled. The sweetness of it made Anthony want to kiss her again.

“Perhaps not quite so many as eight,” said Kate, “Three or four? Would you want that?”

Anthony wanted that more than he had ever wanted anything in his entire life.

“There’s more,” said Kate, her expression serious again. Anthony reminded himself of his most recent promise and decided not to jump to conclusions that Kate was going to run to India.

Kate looked down, staring at where their hands were joined. Bridgerton was running his thumb across the knuckles of her left hand. She focused on his caress, let the feel of his skin against hers ground her.

Because of course Kate had thought about what her marriage to Lord Bridgerton would be like. It was all she could think about.

She knew marriages devoid of love were common throughout the ton. Most were business partnerships, a way to move land or money from one family to another, or how men ensured the legitimacy of the heirs that would inherit everything.

Kate also knew that, as a Viscount, Lord Bridgerton would have many demands on his time. His work may even take him away from home, away from her. She had anticipated not only a loveless marriage but a distant one.

There was an alternative life ahead of them, Kate knew. But she did not dare to voice it. Her thoughts were a confusing muddle of what she expected and what she wanted and she did not dare voice either aloud. She did not want to speak words that she would have to take back, that she would end up not meaning.

There was a reason Kate prided herself on never saying one thing and meaning something else. It was not because she had been shown the same kindness.

“Have you thought of what our lives would be like when we are married? Where would you and I live, for example?”

Bridgerton smiled. Kate mirrored him, she could not help it. His whole face softened when he smiled. He looked years younger.

“I started telling you when you arrived that I grew up here at Aubrey Hall but some of the younger ones didn’t. We have made our permanent home in London for some years now. By law, Bridgerton House belongs to me and I think the expectation is once I marry we move in and the rest of my family moves out. But does not seem right to turf them out. Bridgerton House is the only home Gregory and Hyacinth have ever known, even Fran does not remember our father all that well.”

He hesitated for a moment, the smile from his face gone.

“We would have to have some form of residence in London,” he said, “At least until all my sisters marry or are supported in some way. What would you think of renting somewhere? During the social season?”

“We would live together?”

“Yes of course,” he said, looking at her in surprise, “We would be married. Of course we would live together.”

Kate felt the muddle of her thoughts separate. What she wanted was winning over what she expected.

“If that’s what you want,” he said cautiously, as though she might throw everything he could offer her back in his face.

“What about outside the season?” said Kate, and although Bridgerton still looked worried- the tell-tale furrow between his brows had deepened- he continued.

“I think we should live here,” said Anthony, “At Aubrey Hall.”

“I would like that,” said Kate.

Anthony’s face broke into the widest, truest smile she had ever seen from him. For a moment she thought she’d like anything to make him smile like that.

“This was a wonderful place to grow up, Kate,” he said softly, his fingers interlocking with hers, “I was never happier than when I was a boy here.”

He had never been happier than when he was a child with two loving parents, Kate realised, and it was though a hand was squeezing her heart.

But even if she would never love him, he would love their three or four children. He would still know love in some way.

“Why did your family stop living here?” Kate asked, “Your family live in London year round now do they not? Is there a reason your younger siblings did not grow up here?”

He did not answer. He was not looking at her face or their clasped hands. He was looking at the neckline of her dress, his face completely bloodless.

“My lord what-” began Kate, breaking off as she looked down. She almost laughed when she saw what had made him so frightened.

It was a bee. One of those fluffy bumblebees that seemed to be everywhere in England in the summer. It was crawling along her neckline, almost on her skin. It was cute, in a way.

Kate lifted her free hand to shoo it away but Anthony grabbed her by the wrist, so tightly that it hurt.

“Hold still, damn it!”

“Unhand me, my lord!”

The bee flew away. Anthony immediately dropped both her hands. Kate stared at him as she massaged her wrist, she had not wanted him to stop touching her entirely. But she had never seen him like this before. He was beyond shaken, he was truly frightened. His eyes were still fixed on the spot where the bee had been, his face still ghostly white.

“It did not sting me,” said Kate, softly.

Anthony’s eyes snapped to hers. “Are you quite sure?”

“Perfectly sure,” said Kate, taking a tentative step towards him, as though he was a cat that might run away.

Anthony could feel his eyes stinging, his heart racing. He tried to ground himself, focus on the living breathing Kate in front of him but he could not. All he could sense was the rush of blood in his ears and his increasingly fast breathing.

He shut his eyes. He felt as though he was everywhere and nowhere, as though Kate was both alive and dead, as though, like his father, she was sprawled on the ground, the light going out of her eyes…

“Anthony…”

He felt her hand gently cup his cheek.

“I am well… I am unharmed…”

It was as though her voice was coming from far away. He opened his eyes and was rewarded by seeing Kate’s face, beautiful and concerned, right in front of his. She took his hand, grasped it firmly, and lifted it between them. Between their clasped hands, he could feel her heartbeat and his, hers calm, his fast and erratic.

He leant forward until his forehead rested against hers, her lily scent enveloping him like an embrace. Gradually his breathing matched hers, slow and steady, the beats of his heart coming to match hers, strong and controlled and alive.

He was not sure how long they stood there, embracing each other. At some point his other hand had risen to splay against her back, to hold her, another point of contact between his body and hers, another way to ground himself. At some point, Kate’s other hand had moved to between them, to gently stroke the silk shirt under his cravat. At no point did anyone from the house storm down and demand they part. It was as though they were the only two people in the world.

Before he was quite ready for her to, Kate pulled her forehead away from his. But she did not let go of him completely. Instead, she was staring at her hand which had moved from its original position down the lapels of his coat to where she could now feel the ring box in his inside pocket.

The whole reason he had brought her out here.

Gently, he disengaged himself from her hands, but did not move too far from her. He reached into his pocket and took out the box. Kate gasped as he dropped to one knee.

“I know we already have an agreement,” he said softly, “But I wanted to do this properly. You deserve a proper proposal.”

He opened the box. He could see the pearl flower reflected in Kate’s glassy eyes.

“Kathani Sharma,” he said, whispering the most important question he would ever ask, “Will you marry me?”

For a brief moment she did not answer and he was suddenly terrified that she would decline, that the whole scheme had been her idea of a joke to humiliate him. Or that she would remind him that proposing to her like this was unnecessary, making him feel a fool.

Or the worst possible answer, that she had changed her mind about the whole thing, that she could not bear to spend the rest of her life with him.

Instead, she smiled at him, widely and beautifully.

“Yes," said Kate.

Anthony mirrored her smile, relieved and overjoyed. He gently took her left hand and slid the ring onto her finger.

And he realised, in that moment, what a fool he had been the night before. To have felt guilt when his mother had given him the ring. He stared at her hand, ran the pad of his thumb over her ring and across her fingers, admiring how the pearls looked against her skin.

He knew then, the ring had been passed down through generations of Bridgertons with the sole purpose to end up on Kate’s finger. How could he have ever thought the ring did not belong there? It belonged nowhere else.

Chapter Text

She was dragged up to her room by Edwina hours before the ball started to be beautified by Daphne's own ladies maid.

It was a strange reversal of their usual roles. Normally Kate was the one to fuss over Edwina, to reassure her that had picked the right dress, fix the tiara in her hair. This time Kate was the one to spend longer in front of the mirror, to be scrutinised by every woman in the room.

As the maid tightened her corset, she took a moment to look at the ring- her engagement ring. A real, tangible symbol of the sham marriage she and Lord Bridgerton would soon enter into. She did not deserve to wear it. By wearing it, she was mocking the love Anthony's parents had for each other, lying, deceiving, pretending that their own marriage would be in any way the same.

She did not take it off.

She would not go back on her word. She said she would marry Anthony, she would not now do otherwise. Even if now, with a real engagement, she felt more and more like she was living a lie.

The hardest bit had been the reactions of everyone else when they had returned to the house. Anthony's siblings and her own family had been genuinely delighted when they had returned back to the house and announced their engagement.

Daphne, Violet and Mary had wept openly, even Lady Danbury's eyes had looked suspiciously bright. Eloise had given her commiserations and then cried when Kate said having Eloise as a sister was a wonderful consolation prize if she absolutely had to marry- this at least had not been a lie. Benedict and Colin had broken out the good whiskey and given Kate at least twice as much as Anthony, who had made good-natured pointed remarks at Edwina and Francesca about their possible future engagements, making them blush.

And all the while, Kate had smiled until her cheeks ached, Anthony's arm around her.

As Kate pulled on her gloves, she saw Edwina take a flat, square box out of their trunk.

Kate spun around. "You brought it?"

She had quite forgotten about her wager with Edwina at the last ball they had attended, that if the Viscount found her before Bagwell found Edwina, Kate would wear the tiara at the next ball.

Edwina raised her eyebrows. "Well, you did win the bet, Didi."

And for the second time that day, Kate gasped as a box opened.

Mary came and stood next to her. "You should not be afraid to wear it, Kate."

Kate stared at the contents of the box, panicked.

It was Mary's tiara. It had not been worn since Mary's wedding to her father nearly twenty years before. She had only seen it a handful of times since, when Edwina would ask questions about Appa and Mary would grow maudlin, take out the tiara, and talk about how much they had loved each other and how much she missed him.

And now Kate was expected to take this symbol of her parents' love and wear it on her head, like a lie, like the ring, as she pretended to feel for another what Mary and her father had felt for each other.

"Bon, I-"

"You can," interrupted Edwina, of course knowing exactly what Kate was going to say, "You won the bet! And I was right wasn't I? This next ball is your engagement ball!”

"The theme is Hearts and Flowers," said Kate, but she knew what Edwina meant. It was one of Anthony's stipulations after all, that as part of this ruse, they would announce their engagement at the ball his mother threw every year at Aubrey Hall.

"Come," said Mary, lifting the tiara out of the box, "Sit down, Kate."

Obediently, Kate sat in front of the mirror and Mary lay the tiara on her head, as though she was crowning a queen.

God help her, she wanted him.

He looked delicious, better than she had ever seen him. They greeted each other and she tried not to stare at him openly, to rake her eyes over his dark breeches, his black jacket, the white collar around his neck.

She did not- could not- would not love him but damn it, what was the harm in looking?

Kate could tell Anthony was pleased by her. Lord Bridgerton had never been accused of being subtle and when he took her hand and led her to the dancefloor for the opening dance, she was pleased that he admired her openly, that his eyes raked over her own body in front of the entire ton.

It was a lie to say she loved him. It was not a lie to say she desired him. There was a difference, was there not? This was why men- Lord Bridgerton included- sought the company of actresses and opera singers, it was not because they loved them. Perhaps it was the same for her.

It was not a waltz, the first dance, but there was no partner-swapping and occasionally the steps of the dance allowed them to stand close to one another, so they might not be overheard.

"You look beautiful," Anthony said during one of these moments.

Kate wondered why he had told her this privately- surely it would be better to say this in someone's hearing, to give greater credence to this being a love match- but Lord Bridgerton often confused her.

He was not alone in this, most people did, or at least used to. Most people did not mean the things they said, they lied, concealed, flirted. Kate’s reasoning since she had been a child was this, if she could not influence the behaviours of others, she could at least be her own good example. She cultivated her natural honesty- her current lie of an engagement notwithstanding- until she became who she was now, someone who never said one thing and did another.

Bridgerton on the other hand…

Anthony’s proposal, she understood. Yes, it was in private, but in full view of Aubrey Hall. His family must have known he had the ring, they were expecting an official question to be asked, it made sense to put on a performance for them.

The kiss, however, she could not understand. It was a performance for no one, and even if someone had seen them, they would have been marched straight to Gretna in a cloud of scandal.

Why had he kissed her then? Who had it been a performance for?

"Thank you, my lord," she said in answer to his question, "But I did not dress for you."

It was exceptionally rude and quite frankly a dangerous thing she had said, and she was half- expecting Anthony to abandon her in fury in the middle of the dance.

But he understood her.

He stepped slightly closer to her.

"Did you not?" he said, quietly, dangerously. "Then who did you dress for?"

She had timed it well, the next step of the dance was for her to spin a half-turn so that she stood with her back to Anthony's front. His hands gripped hers tighter.

"I think you are flirting, Kate," said Anthony, his breath soft against the shell of her ear.

"Flirting?" she said suddenly flustered.

He spun her around, so she was facing him again.

"Saying one thing and meaning another."

"You should know me better by now. I never do that."

"Indeed you do not," he breathed, "Then answer me, who did you dress for?"

"Myself," said Kate.

"Is that so," Anthony murmured, his voice sending a pulse of red heat through her body, "And what is my lady’s opinion of her own appearance this evening?”

It was the first time he had called her that, as though they were already married. A warm feeling spread through her like the sun, making her feel confident enough to answer him.

"I think I look beautiful."

"You do," he said, and there was something different about his voice now, less like he was trying to charm her and more breathless, desperate, like he wanted to convince her, "Never doubt that, Kate. You are beautiful, not just tonight."

Kate felt her heart beat faster as she and Anthony twirled through the steps of the dance. No matter what the orientation of their bodies was in conjunction with each other, his eyes never left hers.

Of course she only knew this because her eyes never left his.

He danced with her again, just before supper, meaning that they walked into the supper room together and sat next to each other as they ate.

Kate had removed her gloves in order to eat and every time her hand moved, her ring (his ring?) caught the light from the candles and sparkled. Anthony could not take his eyes off it.

He was not the only one, others within his eyeline noticed Kate's ring, nudged their neighbours and flicked their eyes to him. Some of the more shameless at other tables stood up to get a good view of Kate's hand.

"Are you planning on making your announcement soon, my lord?" said Kate, quietly enough that only he could hear.

"Perhaps at the end of this course," replied Anthony, "Why?”

"Your guests are finding it difficult to contain their curiosity," she said, hiding her hand below the table. Anthony wanted to grab it, to caress her hand and reassure her but the ring was on her left hand and he was seated on her right.

"You do not like being the centre of attention."

"I am unused to it."

"I am intrigued as to why you think the revelation of our engagement will end all curiosity."

Kate's eyes narrowed and he felt his heartbeat pick up in speed.

"It will not immediately, of course," said Kate, briefly smiling at the footman who took her plate away, "But it is the uncertainty and the novelty that keeps people interested. Once it is out in the open, it will become old news very quickly."

Anthony wasn't sure he liked the idea of anything about Kate being old news. Everything about her was new and exciting. How could she not permanently be the centre of everyone's attention when he was in constant orbit around her.

"It is the end of supper, my lord."

There was no modulation to her voice and nothing about her position had changed but he had come to know Kate and he knew her well enough now to know that she was nervous.

"Kate, are you sure?" he said softly, "I do not have to say anything today. We can delay."

Very slightly, she stiffened. Anthony cursed himself, he sounded like he was having second thoughts.

"But I beg of you, do not ask me to delay too long. At most until the cockerel's crow in the morning. No, not even that long, I will wake the entire house with my trumpet before sunrise and shout our engagement from the rooftops."

Kate burst into giggles, much to his relief. He chuckled along, drawing curious looks and outright stares. He did not care. Fortunately, Kate did not seem to either.

"I did not know you played the trumpet."

"I assure you, I am particularly gifted. Alas, like most gifted artists, I am cursed to be unappreciated in my lifetime."

This brought forth a fresh peal of giggles from Kate, which delighted him.

"That sounds like myself and the flute," she said, smiling warmly at him.

"Perhaps we should form an act together," he said grinning.

Beneath the table, she slipped her hand in his.

"I am ready."

He squeezed her hand, feeling serious all of a sudden. He looked away from Kate and stood up.

Immediately, the low hum of conversation became silent as every eye and ear was attuned to him.

He began most speeches of this nature the same way. He thanked everyone for coming and made specific mention to those who had travelled far. This was normally Scotland but he also mentioned India, and since Colin had relatively recently returned from Greece he made mention of that too, with a quip about Colin's endless travel anecdotes that got a laugh. He made sure to honour his mother and Daphne's tireless planning of the ball (and of the weekend) and they received a much-deserved round of applause.

"Finally, I wish to impart upon you all some happy news. This morning, I asked Miss Kathani Sharma to be my wife. To my joy, she accepted. After the banns are read, she and I will marry and Sharma and Bridgerton families will be joined."

It was, perhaps, not the most poetic way of putting it, but there was deafening, raucous cheering, stamping of feet and banging of tables. He collapsed back in his chair feeling as though he had undergone an immense physical feat.

Beside him, Kate was smiling, eyes shining. She had never looked more beautiful. He knew it was slightly scandalous but he could not help it- he took her hand again and raised it to his mouth. He pressed his lips to the back of her hand and stared straight into her widening eyes.

Chapter Text

She lay in bed, on top of the covers, her mind spinning like a waltz.

The ball had ended some time ago, the guests had merrily made their way to their own beds and Aubrey Hall settled into silence.

But it was still hours until daylight and Kate could not sleep. Rain lashed against the window as though it was trying to break in and in the distance she could hear the low rumblings of thunder. She would not admit to being afraid of storms, not now that she was no longer a child, but they still made her uneasy.

Sighing, she got off the bed and softly padded out of the room, taking care not to wake Edwina. She knew there was a library directly under her room. Surely there would be no harm in getting a book to read.

The library was easy to find and Kate carefully set her candle down on a table, taking care that it was nowhere near any books. She turned towards the nearest bookcase and ran her fingers over the embossed leather spines.

She had never really been one for reading. It was Edwina that was the bookworm, who had enacted her favourite scenes when playing with her friends, who had to repack her trunk when it was too heavy with books to lift aboard their ship to England. Kate had a few books she liked but her heart belonged to the outside world, to jungles and fields, to horses.

She picked a book at random, flipped it open and tried to read the first page.

It was in vain. She could not concentrate.

Maddening, confusing, vexing man. Why had he kissed her in the thicket like that? Why had he kissed her hand like that?

She had almost compartmentalised them, separated them from each other to inspect carefully, like she had done with insects as a child, familiarising herself with something that might have been frightening but had turned out not to be as big as she thought.

Surprisingly, she had done this almost successfully with the kiss in the thicket. She had replayed the scene over and over in her mind, as though it were a play. Some of the blocking was murky in her mind- she could not have said who stepped towards who first, who first touched the other, whose arms enveloped the other first.

But she had asked him to kiss her.

Or as good as. She had not been able to help herself. Her face had been inches away from his, she could feel her breath on her mouth. She had felt sundrunk, spellbound, seduced, and perhaps that was Lord Bridgerton’s fault, he knew how to seduce women, but he had only done what she’d asked. And she would have given him everything, right there on the forest floor, had he not stepped away.

So who had seduced who? Kate decided she would not be confused about that kiss any longer. Perhaps Anthony had kissed her first but she had pulled him closer, she had been the one to re-define what they were to each other. It did not mean anything more than simply being caught up in the heat of the moment.

It was the other kiss that troubled her. The way Anthony had kissed the back of her hand, in front of everyone at supper.

It was the same way that Mr. Bagwell had kissed Edwina’s hand, lifting it up to his mouth, rather than bowing over, keeping his eyes fixed on hers. It was scandalous. Defiant rather than deferrant. She had attributed this to love on Bagwell’s part and perhaps this was the case for him, but it could never be for Lord Bridgerton. He had stipulated as much.

Defiant rather than deferrant. That was the answer was it not? It had little to do with love, more that Bridgerton knew the expectations that society had for both of them, willingly courted scandal and was happy to set gossiping tongues wagging as that could only support this ridiculous farce they had got themselves into-

“Kate?”

She was not in the least bit frightened that a male voice was addressing her as she stood, alone, in her nightdress, in the library. She knew who it was even before she turned. And indeed, when she did, she saw Lord Bridgerton on the precipice of entering the library.

He took her breath away.

He must have come straight from bed. His hair was ruffled, as though he had been tossing and turning in bed. His black trousers were still attached to braces but not secured to his shoulders. He was wearing a shirt but no cravat, no waistcoat. The sleeves were rolled up and the top few buttons were undone.

Kate could feel her eyes flicking between his chest to his forearms to his bare feet. Did he sleep nude then? Were these the only clothes he had to hand to make himself decent?

“I didn't mean to startle you,” said Bridgerton and Kate realised she had not said anything yet.

“You did not,” she replied, snapping her book shut, “Why are you out of bed?”

Defiance flashed in his eyes. Well that answered her earlier question for certain.

He abandoned his feeble attempt at proprietary by the door to the library and all but ran over to her, breathing heavily, suddenly angry.

“Why are you?” he snapped, “Kate, you cannot be out of bed by yourself like this! What if somebody found you?”

She looked back at him, mirroring his own defiance. “Somebody like you, perhaps?”

The way his eyes darkened made her breath catch in her throat. He slowly lifted his hand up to her face as though to brush her cheek with the backs of his fingers. Kate held her breath, drowned in his eyes.

“We should not-” Anthony began, falteringly, closing his beautiful eyes as though she was torturing him. He lowered his hand and Kate thought she might scream.

“We should go. I will check the corridor and make sure it is safe for you to leave,” he said and stepped away from her.

Before she entirely realised what she was doing, Kate reached out and took his hand. He turned back, looked at their entwined hands for a long moment then raised his eyes to hers.

“Stay,” she said softly.

“You know I cannot,” he whispered.

She dropped his hand. Tears pricked at her eyes but she swallowed them down. Of course he would not stay. She was stupid, allowing herself to fall into the traps Lord Bridgerton had laid out for the ton, even though she had helped him lay them. Their engagement was a farce, a performance for other people. There was no one watching, there was nothing to gain from being alone with her. The kiss in the thicket earlier had been a moment of madness, but he had stepped away then. He would step away now at any moment. He would not seduce her again.

But he did not step away. He stayed firmly in place, staring at her, jaw clenched as though he was trying to control himself.

And then he lost control.

Before Kate had entirely realised what was happening, Anthony had closed the gap between them, pushing her back against the bookcase, pressing his lips against hers. She sighed into the kiss and he- quite correctly- interpreted this as encouragement and moved his hands down the sides of her body and bunched up the skirt of her nightdress in his fists.

Then he dropped the nightdress, tore his lips away from hers and stepped back. Kate stared at him, dazed and bereft. Bridgerton was breathing heavily, his hands raised as though surrendering to her in battle.

“I will stop, I will stop.”

“Do not stop,” breathed Kate, reaching out and pulling him back by his shirt.

Bridgerton allowed himself to be pulled until his body was flush against hers. He ran his nose along the underside of her jaw and along her cheek until she could feel his breath against her ear.

“Do not say things you do not mean, Kate.”

“I never do.”

“No, you do not,” said Anthony, pressing his lips against her temple, “You do not flirt.”

“You do,” said Kate, gasping as he drew her earlobe into his mouth and sucked it, “You seduce as well.”

“Tell me when.”

She laughed softly.

“At this very moment.”

Anthony growled into her ear.

“When else, Kate?”

Kate thought he might be talking about their kiss in the thicket. But that was not what she was thinking of.

“Earlier today,” she said, watching his lips curl upwards, “When you kissed the back of my hand, as you looked me in the eye.”

Bridgerton tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, letting his fingers linger against her face.

“That was only the beginning,” he said quietly, “Do you even know all the ways a lady can be seduced?”

Kate closed her eyes and let out a shuddering breath.

“The things I could teach you…”

Kate opened her eyes. His eyes were impossibly dark, like the storm outside.

“Then teach me.”

His lips were a whisper away from hers.

“Perhaps I should just show you.”

He kissed her again. Kate felt his tongue run along her lips and she opened her mouth, allowing his tongue inside. She heard him groan as his tongue made contact with hers and the noise made her clutch him towards her, press her body against his, as though she wanted him to climb inside her.

Her nightdress was being lifted up again. She could feel Anthony’s hands graze her thigh as he lifted the hem up to her waist. He caressed her hipbone with his thumb before moving his hand across to play with the hair between her legs. Gasping against his lips, Kate bucked her hips forwards, pressing herself against his hand, making Anthony use his fingers to push and massage her bud.

Kate broke their kiss with a moan, unable to help herself. Anthony was not deterred, instead pressing his lips against her neck, kissing along her shoulders, along the lace neckline of her nightdress.

“My God, Kate,” he breathed against her skin, “You’re so wet.”

And then he pushed a finger inside her, then another. Kate gasped and instinctively ground down on his fingers, feeling as though she was chasing something. Anthony moved his fingers inside her and she pulled up his head by his hair in order to kiss him again. He moved his fingers faster and Kate wrapped her arms tightly around him, whimpering into his mouth.

Her knees grew weak and her legs buckled slightly. He pulled his fingers out of her before she had caught this unnamed thing she had been chasing and Kate groaned at the loss of his fingers inside her. She was about to demand he replace them immediately, finish whatever it was he started when she found herself drowning in his eyes again, watching as he raised his fingers glistening with her essence, and put them in his mouth.

Tasting her.

“Kate,” he rasped, “I need you to sit down. Somewhere. Anywhere.”

She cast her eyes around the library, looking for a chair, a table that didn’t have her candle on it, anything. She wasn’t sure what Anthony had in mind but her knees were still shaky, she would welcome the chance to sit.

Anthony must have had an idea because he grasped her waist firmly and kissed her hard. Kate closed her eyes, melting into the kiss as Anthony spun her away from the bookcase. He pushed her across the room, kissing her all the while, until Kate felt a short wall against the back of her legs.

Breaking the kiss, Kate looked behind her and saw that the short wall was actually a deep windowsill. She sat on the windowsill and leant against the rain-lashed window while Anthony watched her hungrily. He got on his knees and Kate trembled, heady with lust and anticipation, drunk on the sight of Anthony looking at her intensely, kneeling before her as though she was a goddess and he was about to worship her.

And then he worshipped her.

He kissed the inside of her leg, just above the ankle and gently caressed the other. With exquisite slowness, Anthony moved his lips up her shin, past her knee, along her thigh. When he reached the hem of her nightdress, he gently held it and looked at her. When Kate nodded her permission, he pushed it up until it gathered around her hips, exposing her.

Kate expected to feel embarrassment or shame but she felt neither of those things as Anthony gazed at her sex like he was seeing an oasis after being lost in the desert. His eyes flicked up to meet hers and then, without breaking eye contact, he lowered his head and softly kissed her between her legs.

She sighed at the contact and he pressed his face closer to her. She could feel the roughness of his late-night stubble on the inside of her thighs, his broad shoulders between her knees, forcing them apart.

When she felt his tongue lick against her, she gasped aloud. Anthony moved his tongue up and down, then in circles on her bud. Soon she was clutching the edge of the windowsill, leaning back against the glass, instinctively bucking her hips into Anthony’s face. He moaned against her and the vibration thrummed through her entire body, mingling with so many sensations. The windowsill was hard underneath her legs, the window was cold against her back and the Viscount’s mouth was hot against her cunt.

Before long, she felt as though she was reaching something. Her core was clenching involuntarily around Anthony’s tongue and suddenly there were waves and waves of pleasure coursing through her. She was breathless and panting, tense and writhing, and she felt as though something was exploding, like gunpowder, like she was a firework, like she was the storm outside. Was the roar in her ears the thunder or was it Anthony moaning before her? Was the light that flashed through her eyelids the lightning or the intensity of her own release?

Slowly Kate came back to herself. Anthony placed a relatively chaste kiss to the inside of her thigh and sat back. Kate thought he had never looked so beautiful, sweat beading on his forehead, lips shiny with her essence. He looked absolutely wrecked as he stood up and sat next to her on the windowsill, leaning his head against her shoulder, breathing almost as heavily as she was.

She did not know how long they stayed like that. She wondered if she should return his favour, give him the same release he had given her, although she wasn’t quite sure how. But he seemed content to just sit next to her, saying nothing, moving only to take her hand and interlock their fingers. She wondered if he had fallen asleep.

After a time, she could hear the house starting to stir. The sky was starting to lighten and she could hear the footsteps of servants in the corridor outside as they tended to their early morning duties. Anthony must have heard them as well since he lifted his from her shoulder and quietly moved to the door, peeking around it.

The whisper of his voice carried easily across the quiet library. “The coast is clear. But you’ll have to move quickly so you don’t get caught.”

Kate retrieved her still-lit candle from the table and moved towards the door. Just before she stepped through, she looked back at Anthony. Should she say something? Kiss him farewell? Anthony looked back at her, seemingly as hesitant as she was, and Kate decided to do nothing and moved as quickly as she could back to her room.

Once she was in bed, her candle extinguished, she let herself relax. Her mind was no longer whirling. She understood him now, but then hadn’t she always? Lord Bridgerton’s reputation was no secret, he was a rake, a womaniser, a lover of actresses and opera singers. He seemed to value fairness between the sexes and since he demanded fidelity from her, his own logic dictated that he would be faithful to her.

She believed him when he said that he would never love her. She would not do him the dishonour of thinking he would say something he did not mean. But he desired her, wanted her. The moments of tension that she had almost interpreted as love were nothing of the sort. They were seductions from a man used to many women, a man with a high libido, channelling all his usual behaviour to only one woman.

That’s all it was, thought Kate as she fell asleep.

It wasn’t love. It never would be.

Chapter Text

He stood at his bedroom window, watching the houseguests gather on the lawn, having breakfast, playing lawn games, sitting at tables and talking. He had no desire to join them, not yet. He was looking for her.

Anthony took out his pocket watch and checked the time. He had already broken his fast in his chambers, unwilling to make small talk with his mother’s houseguests. He knew that made him a poor host but he did not care. He only wanted Kate.

He touched his fingers to his lips. If he concentrated, he could still taste her. If he closed his eyes, he could see her, writhing in ecstasy above him, compressing his face with her long legs. How long would it be before he could have her again?

Finally he saw her, a divine figure in a light blue dress carrying a plate over to where her family were seated at a table. He lowered his hand from his mouth, replaced his watch in his pocket and went outside to join them.

When he reached them, Anthony was annoyed to discover that Benedict had beaten him to the Sharma’s table and was making Kate laugh with some humorous anecdote from his art studies at the Royal Academy. He looked up and gave a cheeky smile at Anthony’s narrowing eyes.

“Ready for the hunt, brother?” said Benedict, just as Anthony had picked up a jam scone from his brother’s plate and stuffed it in his mouth. He had intended it as an act of dominance but it had backfired as he was now unable to answer Benedict as he chewed furiously.

“A hunt!” exclaimed Miss Edwina- Anthony had quite forgotten she was there. “You should take Kate, she used to hunt with the Maharaj all the time in India. She is an excellent shot.”

“Of course she is,” said Anthony, half exasperated, half fond.

Kate’s eyebrows dropped and Anthony felt as though he had missed his step somewhere.

“Do you do not think it true?”

Oh she looked delicious like this. Her eyebrows slanting towards her nose, her jaw set, her gaze hot enough to inflame him. He could not resist goading her a little.

“Perhaps in a straight line towards a target but a hunt is very different, I assure you.”

“Why not? Because I am a woman?”

That had not been his intention.

“No!” Anthony exclaimed quickly- perhaps too quickly as he could see Benedict stifling a laugh. He rather thought Benedict could defend him- Eloise could beat all of them in a shooting competition, although it would be over his dead body that his sister would ever actually hunt.

Trying to retain some authority over the situation, Anthony said, decidedly, “Ladies do not hunt.”

“Do not?” asked Kate, “Or are not allowed to?”

Not that he had ever thought about it in this much detail but Anthony could not see how the difference signified. They did not because they were not allowed to and because they were not allowed to, therefore they did not and- his mind started spinning. He was getting a headache.

“I am certain Lady Danbury can spare a maid as a chaperone,” said Benedict, “The two of you will be married soon. You could take this opportunity to get to know each other.”

“We already know each other,” Anthony grumbled under his breath, but he knew he had lost the moment Kate smiled at Benedict’s agreement. In truth, he was lost the moment Kate had expressed any desire to join the hunt. He would not have been able to deny her for long.

She did not miss the way he looked at her when they saw each other again in the stables.

Lady Danbury could indeed spare a maid to act as a chaperone, furthermore she provided Kate with a lady's hunting habit (surely the existence of which proved ladies did hunt?) made of blue velvet with a matching hat. Blue was not a colour Kate wore often- she preferred purple- but if wearing it made her intended look at her like that, she might consider wearing it more often.

But perhaps not this particular habit. The cut of the skirt forced her to ride side-saddle rather than astride as she preferred and the awkward position was making her feel a little unsteady. Still it was doable. And even if it wasn’t, she certainly would not say anything after Bridgerton had been so against her joining the hunt.

Still, he did not seem to be regretful now. Not if the expression on his face as he looked at her was anything to go by. For some reason, it made her think of last night in the library.

They rode next to each other for a little while, in silence, bringing up the rear of the hunting party. It was peaceful in a way, with the summer sun streaming through the gaps in the trees, the soft whickering of their horses, the indistinct conversation of the others ahead.

Kate felt peaceful, for the first time in a long time. For the first time since she'd embarked on this hare-brained scheme, in fact. Lord Bridgerton was not like her, not really. He was not a straightforward man. He was not the cold, stoic Viscount the ton- and perhaps he himself- believed him to be. He was warm. He was loving towards his family. He was passionate- which given his reputation as a rake, she really should have seen coming.

In short, he was the kind of man who would say one thing and do another.

"Were you flirting with me this morning?" she asked, "When you said you did not want me to come on this hunt?"

Anthony's nostrils flared, like a horse. "I didn't not want you to join the hunt-"

"I know," Kate interrupted, "I know you wanted me to join. But this morning you said you did not."

Anthony said nothing.

"Were you flirting?"

"I- perhaps," he said, not looking at her, his eyes fixed on the trail ahead, "Did you mind?"

"No, not at all," said Kate, and Anthony snapped round to look at her, something like surprise on his face, "I thought it a good idea actually, to flirt with me in front of your brother and my sister. Although I would say you do not need to. We are engaged-" At this, Anthony's eyes dropped to her ring, his lips curling upwards slightly- "-and our families believe it's a love match. You do not need to gild the lily. We have already convinced them."

Anthony said nothing for some moments. Then-

"I am not flirting with you to convince them of my feelings for you."

Kate frowned. Damn this confusing man. Why did nothing he said make sense?

"Then why?"

Anthony shrugged. "I do not know. Fun?"

"Fun?" echoed Kate, even more confused, "What about flirting is fun?"

"I liked teasing you. And being teased back."

"I did not tease you back."

"Didn't you?" said Anthony, raising an eyebrow, "You are here, are you not?"

"So?"

"Is the only reason you are here because you like hunting?"

"What other reason could there be?"

"To vex me."

Kate snorted, "You think very highly of yourself, my lord."

It was perhaps the rudest thing she had said to him since they had become engaged, but far from being offended, Anthony looked delighted at her riposte. Kate had to admit she felt rather joyful at his reaction. It reminded her of when they had played Pall Mall at Aubrey Hall- had she been flirting with him then? Is that what had led to their kiss?

Would he kiss her again now?

“Perhaps we should have a wager,” Anthony said.

“A wager?”

“If you are the one to catch our quarry, I have to answer a question of your choosing. However, if I catch it, you must answer my question.”

Kate mulled this over. It was not what she was expecting, but it was an intriguing proposition.

“Wondering about what happens if someone else shoots it?” said Anthony.

“Certainly not,” said Kate, “I will shoot it. I am merely wondering what I should ask you.”

“You are very sure you will win. Perhaps you should also prepare to answer my question.”

“Perhaps,” said Kate, rather enjoying the look of surprise Anthony gave at her agreement, “I will tell you one thing, the animal will not be shot by another of our hunting party.”

“And why is that?”

In answer, Kate pulled back on her horse’s reins, causing the mare to stop. Like a mirror, Anthony did the same. He looked for a moment as though he would admonish her for stopping so suddenly, until Kate pointed at the ground.

“Look at the tracks. Our party is going ahead and yet our quarry turned to the left here.”

“We should stick with our party. They are heading for our camp, we can catch up with the quarry later.”

“If we do that, we may miss it entirely!”

They stared at each other for a moment, breathing hard. Then, without saying a word, Kate kicked her horse’s sides and steered her left.

She heard Anthony’s horse gain on her and braced herself for the scolding he would surely give her. To her surprise, he only said, “You are quite sure?”

“The tracks are fresh,” said Kate, “However I am not entirely sure what animal it is. It may be a stag but I am not certain.”

She was right. It was a stag.

Anthony knew he should never have doubted her, still he was impressed. He already knew she was a capable horsewoman but tracking a wild animal through a forest was a skill few had. Even he was dependent on a guide during hunts.

But merely finding the beast was not enough. It did not signify towards their bet. And Anthony was the best shot out of everyone he knew (except Eloise). Kate would not necessarily win their bet. Although as he watched Kate gracefully descend from her horse and take up a vantage point from behind a fallen tree, he doubted she would lose.

When she took her gun and looked through the eyepiece, he couldn’t help but tell her, “You’re holding it wrong.”

As he knew she would, she lifted her head to send him a withering look, that only intensified as he descended from his own horse and made his way over to where she was crouching to kneel behind her.

“Be quiet,” she hissed, looking through the eyepiece again, “And I know how to hold a gun.”

“Not a British one,” he replied and to his surprise Kate lifted her head again, as though to consider what he had said. He supposed, in a way, he was acknowledging that she did know how to hold another gun- an Indian gun perhaps?- and that went some way to admitting she might know how to shoot one.

“Here,” he said, and before he had fully realised what he was doing, he had put his arms around her, holding her by her elbow with his right hand and placing his left hand under where she held the gun with hers.

Then he pulled this way and that until the gun was in the correct position relative to Kate’s body. He then covered Kate’s right hand with his own.

The hand that was on the trigger.

Lilies.

Instinctively his face turned towards Kate so he could inhale her scent more deeply, brushing his nose against her cheek. He wanted her to turn her face so he could kiss her, take the gun from her and lay her down on the forest floor-

The gun went off. Kate had pulled the trigger. The recoil of the gun knocked him off balance and Kate pointed her gun safely at the sky.

“Is it dead?”

Anthony looked at her bewildered. How had she had the presence of mind to aim the gun, never mind fire it? He had forgotten about the stag entirely, forgotten she was holding a gun, forgotten everything except the feel of Kate in his arms, her perfume in the air all around him, the way she had tasted last night in the library-

Kate stood up and looked as though she was about to inspect the stag herself when some of Anthony’s chivalry returned to him. He got to his feet, told Kate to stay put, and trudged over to where the beast had fallen.

The short walk was doing him good in some ways and bad in others. The fresh air was clearing his mind, allowing him to think- no, not think. To empty his mind. Breathe some fresh air, away from Kate's maddening, intoxicating scent.

When he came to the stag, he had to admire Kate’s work. She had indeed killed it, the shot had gone through the animal’s eye giving it painless death.

He looked up as he heard Kate walk over to him. He should have known she wouldn’t stay in place just because he had told her to.

“I suppose this means I have won our wager,” she said smilingly.

“On the contrary,” Anthony said, “I believe we both shot it.”

Kate’s smile gave way to something like fury. “I aimed the gun! I pulled the trigger!”

“My hand was over yours. I was aiming the gun as much as you. Besides, aren’t you wondering what my question is?”

“No.”

“I’m curious as to yours.”

Kate had a look on her face that, if he had seen it on Hyacinth’s, he would have described it as sulky. It was hopelessly endearing.

Suddenly Kate said, “Why do you want a loveless marriage?”

That was not what he was expecting her to ask. He thought it would be something about his favourite food or a memory from when he was younger or to confess an embarrassing story.

“Your mother and father were deeply in love or so I’m told. Do you not want that for yourself?”

Anthony took a deep breath. “Whatever you’ve been told about my parent’s love for each other would have underestimated it. They had eight children for God’s sake.”

Kate gave a small smile at that.

“They were completely besotted with each other. My mother described it as love at first sight and they were married within a month of their first meeting. I was born eleven months later, I assure you.”

Kate laughed. The sound almost made him smile.

“And then he died.”

She was standing closer to him now, wrapping her arm around his, as though to give him comfort. It was working.

“Mother says she went to a dark place. She barely ate or slept for weeks after he died and it only got worse once Hyacinth was born. It took a long time for her to come out of the darkness.

“Meanwhile,” and he hated the bitter edge that came into his voice now and he was sure Kate hated it too, hated him, but he could not help it, “I had to keep the family going. I had to take over the estates and the Viscounty. I was only nineteen, Kate. I was supposed to learn all of this from my father but he had died before he could tell me everything.”

Kate’s hand stroked his cheek and he realised that she was wiping away the tears that were falling down his face.

“I never want to go to that place. I never want to see the darkness my mother saw. They loved each other so much and if the only way I can avoid it is to not know love myself then so be it.”

"Then so be it," echoed Kate, her voice low and reverent, as though she was speaking a vow.

Anthony leant forward slightly, so that his forehead rested against Kate's. He closed his eyes and let Kate's lily scent engulf him, let the feel of her hand against his face anchor him back to earth, stop the world spinning off its axis.

After some moments he was calmer. He leaned back but he did not entirely let go of Kate, keeping her hand in his so he could run the pads of his thumbs over her knuckles.

“May I ask my question?” he murmured.

Anthony could see her face now, her beautiful eyes narrowing in suspicion but she nodded her assent.

“Why do you never say something you do not mean? Do not misunderstand me, I’m pleased you do not. But you make such a point of it, is it truly your nature? Or have you cultivated a part of yourself?”

Kate took her time before answering. In truth, she was surprised at Anthony’s question. It was more insightful than she had been expecting something more… probing. No one had ever asked her this, no one had wondered why she was so adamant about the words she spoke. She had not appreciated before how clearly he saw her.

“It is both. I have always had an honest streak in me. I could never understand why I was always getting into trouble as a child. If I did not like Aunty Shreena’s new sari but I was asked my opinion, I was not going to lie, not when I was also being told lying is wrong. And if someone else said something I knew for a fact was wrong, why would I not correct them?

“In another life I might have learned tact. I might have learned how to say one thing and do- or mean- another. I might have even learned to flirt. But then my mother died.”

Anthony said nothing and Kate was grateful for that. She focused on the way his hand was moving slowly up and down her arm. She allowed herself to take comfort from it, and from that comfort, she took the strength she needed to be able to talk about her mother’s death.

“She died of lung fever, back in India. I found out later she had died on my seventh birthday.”

Anthony frowned.

“You found out later? I don’t follow.”

“My father was travelling with the Maharaj at the time. I was upset he would miss my birthday but he promised he would make it up to me with the biggest doll I had ever seen when he got back,” Kate said with a snort. How silly it seemed now, to be upset that her father would be travelling on her birthday when in a few short years both her parents would miss all of her birthdays- and their own.

“Whilst he was gone, my mother became unwell. At first I was not worried, Amma was in bed and I was playing or having lessons with my ayah. But then it had been days since I had last seen her, then weeks. Everyone said she was visiting the other families in the village or that she was busy working in her study and I must not disturb her. But it did not make sense. I was always allowed to disturb Amma, and I could not understand why everyone looked so sad or why they looked at me with pity or why nothing they said made sense.”

“What do you mean?”

“They would talk about Amma in the past tense then correct themselves. They would tell me how sorry they were but would not say what they were sorry for. All the curtains in the house were closed- as a sign of mourning- and my ayah scolded me when I went to open them. But I did not understand why the curtains were closed in the first place or what I was doing wrong by opening them. More than anything I could not understand where Amma had gone and why I could not see her.”

Tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. Kate brushed them away as quickly as she could but Anthony noticed. He took her into his arms and Kate rested her head in the crook of his neck, let him wrap himself around her. When she felt his lips brush against the top of her head, she closed her eyes and let the tears fall.

Several minutes passed- or hours or days, Kate was not quite sure- during which Kate sobbed, letting out nearly twenty years of grief and anger and hurt. Anthony’s hand stroked up and down her back and something about the way he was moving slightly made Kate think he was grieving with her.

Eventually they stilled except for Anthony’s hand on her back, still moving up and down, still bringing her comfort, still tethering her to the earth.

Anthony broke the silence.

“How did you find out?”

“My father came home. He knew. Someone managed to get a letter to him and he returned home as quickly as he could. I had been in the dark for about six weeks and he was horrified that no one had told me. He told me himself and made a promise that he would never lie to me, that he would always be clear and direct in his speech. And it changed me- or made me more myself. Either way, I became the person I am now. I do not lie. I do not say something and mean something else. When I say something, I mean it. I stick to it.”

Anthony nodded slowly.

“I understand,” he said, and something in the tone of his voice made Kate understand that Anthony was making his own vow to her.

A vow deeper than marriage or love.

A vow that he truly understood her.

Chapter Text

I

The day after the first banns had been read in Kent, she and her sister called on Bridgerton House in London.

They were not calling on Lord Bridgerton. Technically they were paying a call to Eloise and Francesca, and for Kate to pick up her ‘something borrowed’ from Lady Bridgerton. But Kate was secretly hoping that Anthony knew she would be calling, that maybe he would have stayed home from Parliament just to see her.

Or for her to see him.

However, it seemed she would be disappointed. On entering the drawing-room, there was only Eloise, Francesca and Hyacinth, who all greeted Edwina and her so warmly that she felt ashamed of being disappointed that someone was missing.

“Our mother is in the garden,” said Eloise, shuffling a deck of cards with such speed and agility that Kate wondered where she had learned it- from one of her three older brothers, she supposed- “If you were here to pick up the veil.”

Francesca took a seat at the small card table, next to Eloise and across from Hyacinth.

“Yes, we thought we might play bridge in the meantime. But, of course, it is only four players so it frees you to go find our mother- ow!” Francesca rubbed her arm where Eloise had elbowed her, “I was just explaining!”

“You were babbling!” Eloise whispered, still loud enough for Kate to hear.

Edwina approached the card table and sat down, an apprehensive look on her face.

“I have not played bridge before,” she said nervously.

“That is not a concern, we will teach you,” said Hyacinth brightly, as Eloise dealt out the cards, “Kate, the gardens are very easy to find, just go into the hallway and turn left, past the study.”

“Miss Sharma,” muttered Francesca.

“It is alright,” said Kate, “We shall all be sisters soon. We may as well be on first name terms.”

Abruptly, Eloise stopped dealing. All four girls slowly looked at Kate, then at each other, small smiles on each face.

“Sisters,” said Edwina, reverently.

“Just what I always wanted, more sisters,” said Eloise but her smile was growing wider so Kate knew not to take her sarcasm seriously.

“We’ll have brothers too!” said Edwina.

“My condolences,” snorted Eloise, returning to her dealing. The others laughed, Kate included as she turned to leave the drawing room.

“Remember, turn left past the study!” Hyacinth called after her.

Bridgerton House was very much like Aubrey Hall, Kate thought as she made her way to the garden. Both were large, impressive buildings that should, by rights, be intimidating but were not. Instead they were beautiful, charming, homely. From the wisteria that embraced the outside of Aubrey Hall to the sunlight that streamed through the windows at Bridgerton House. She supposed the Bridgerton family themselves were the same, intimidatingly large certainly, but also warm and inviting.

A few feet before she came to the doors that lead to the gardens, Kate passed an open door. Instinctively she looked inside and stopped dead at the sight.

Anthony had not gone to parliament after all.

Kate walked towards him but stopped before she crossed the threshold. Instead she leaned against the doorframe and drank him in.

Anthony was seated at his desk, frowning as he read through some papers, occasionally running his hand through his hair or muttering under his breath. He was dressed more casually than she had ever seen him before (save perhaps that night in the library), his coat discarded over a nearby armchair so she could see only his shirt and waistcoat, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows to reveal forearms that Kate’s body already knew well from the scant times he had held her; pleasingly muscular with a fine dusting of dark hair.

It suddenly occurred to Kate that this version of him would become the one most familiar to her. Presently the one she knew best was the impeccably dressed Viscount, always properly attired for balls or promenades without so much a hair out of place. But once they were married, once they were living in the same house, she would see him like this. Softer, more ruffled. When they went out, he would be the starched and pressed Lord Bridgerton but when they came home, he would be her Anthony.

He must have sensed her somehow. Kate did not move as she watched him, did not make a sound, but he looked up suddenly, right at her. His face broke into a smile, eyes crinkling and dimples dimpling.

What else could Kate do but smile back?

“Kate,” said Anthony softly, “My bride. What are you doing here?”

“I came to collect a veil from your mother,” said Kate, “It will be my ‘something borrowed’.”

“You will be wearing a veil?” said Anthony, somehow looking even more delighted than he had done a moment ago.

Kate suddenly felt foolish.

“I probably should not have told you that,” she said, “It is bad luck.”

“Surely it’s seeing you wearing the veil that’s bad luck,” said Anthony, “I did not know you would be calling today, else I would have met you in the drawing room.”

“I thought you would be at parliament.”

“Ah, no,” Anthony sighed, his face falling as he looked back at the papers littering his desk, “The voting did not take as long as expected, which is fortunate as now I have time to review the renovations needed before winter.”

“Is this for houses in the village?” asked Kate, taking a few steps into the study.

“Mmm, and various farm buildings,” said Anthony, looking up. “Do you want to have a look?”

Kate nodded and crossed the floor, sitting in the chair in front of Anthony’s desk. Anthony spun round the papers he had been working from- a map of the land surrounding Aubrey Hall, a ledger, and several loose bits of paper bearing Anthony’s hasty scribbles and crossings-out.

“Most of the materials needed have already been acquired,” he explained, “And labour is not a problem, everyone is well compensated and I often help out myself. The issue is the oasthouse in Cowford. The kiln roof is in dire need of repair but there is currently a shortage of slate.”

Kate pushed the image of Anthony, sleeves rolled up, barking orders, sweaty from manual labour and fixing roofs, out of her mind and did her utmost to focus on the documents before her.

“Can you use the slate you’ve set aside for somewhere else?” she asked, pulling the ledger towards her, running her finger down the column for newly purchased building materials. There was some amount of slate already purchased, but less than she would have expected for the amount of land controlled by the Bridgertons.

Anthony shook his head. “All the slate we have is already earmarked for housing repair. The oasthouse is uninhabited at least, I cannot take the slate away from family homes. Yet the oasthouse needs repair, and soon. Many of the locals depend on it for income.”

“Slate is expensive for roofing.”

“It is no matter,” he shrugged, “The problem is the availability of slate rather than the cost.”

“Can you use something else for the village housing? Thatched roofs perhaps?“

“We are moving away from thatched roofs.”

“Because of the fire risk?”

“Precisely.”

Kate looked back at the scattered documents, frowning as she tried to puzzle it out, eyes dancing from ledger to map to illegible scribble and back again.

She pointed at a symbol on the map. “What does this represent?”

“A barn. It is not currently in use.”

“Is any part of it made of slate?”

“The roof…” said Anthony, understanding dawning.

“The barn will not be in use for the coming year, is that what you’ve written?”

“That is so. Ferryhallow is going to have a fallow year. It is expected to frost this winter, the soil will be sapped of nutrients. It would be a waste of time to lease it.”

“Then there is your solution,” said Kate, setting down the paper and leaning back in her chair, “Repurpose the slate from the Ferryhallow barn and rebuild it next year when hopefully the slate storage is over.”

Kate gave Anthony a satisfied smile, pleased that she had solved the problem. She expected him to smile back, or argue with her as to why that did not work but he did neither.

Instead he was looking at her with a soft look in his eyes, an expression that she could not name, so overwhelming that she had to look away, her face warm, her heart fluttering.

“Thank you my lady,” he said softly, “You have been most helpful.”

II

It did not take him long to spot her.

He thought she would be more difficult to find, it felt like the entire ton had descended upon Hyde Park, rowing boats in the Serpentine proving to be irresistible in the midsummer heat. But there she was, in a purple day dress that suited her and matching purple gloves- he would never have noticed this detail on another woman- above which she was his ring.

Anthony felt a warm glow surrounding him- or was it as though the warmth was emitting from within?

He was about to push his way through the crowds towards her when he noticed Daphne cut across his path to greet him with a smile. As desperate as he was to be near Kate, he stopped and greeted his sister instead. After all, she was a Duchess. She must have realised something about his original intentions since she tucked her hand into the crook of his arm and together they walked in the original direction.

“You’re looking happier, Anthony.”

It was not the first time somebody had said this to him since leaving Aubrey Hall two weeks earlier. His mother kept remarking on it, even Lady Danbury had said it was ‘nice to see him less melancholy these days’.

Which made no sense to him. He was just playing a part in a play that he and Kate had written together. There was no reason for him to appear any different from how he usually did.

“Do you feel happier?”

“Of course,” he said instantly.

“Really?” said Daphne, suddenly dropping his arm and whirling around to face him, “It’s all right if you aren’t, you know. Any nerves or apprehension- you can talk to me.”

Anthony could only look at her in shock. “Where is this coming from? You’ve been trying to get me married off ever since you got married-”

“Exactly,” said Daphne, interrupting him, “And I love Simon, don’t misunderstand me, but I felt very lost and confused in the run up to our wedding-”

Anthony remembered that time well. In truth, Simon was almost certainly feeling similar.

“-And I want you to know, if you’re feeling the same way, you can talk to me.”

“Daff-”

Anthony stopped. He didn’t know what to say, how to continue that sentence. He did not look back at Daphne’s engagement with fondness. He was desperate for her to marry Simon else she destroy her reputation and the family’s too. He knew on some level she had been unhappy but at the time he had not had the awareness to realise how alone Daphne must have felt.

“Forgive me.”

Daphne looked at him in genuine astonishment. “Whatever for?”

“For how I acted back then-”

“Oh nonsense,” said Daphne, linking arms with him again and continuing towards Kate, “Well, not nonsense, you were a bit of a brute, but it all worked out in the end. Is this what Miss Sharma was talking about back at Aubrey Hall? You’ve started admitting when you were wrong?”

“Perhaps,” said Anthony, smiling slightly.

“Ah Miss Sharma!” trilled Daphne, as they came to a stop in front of Kate, “I have delivered your fiancé to you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Kate, curtseying to Daphne but smiling for Anthony.

“You must start calling me Daphne,” said Daphne, “After all, we are to be family soon enough. The second banns were read only yesterday in Kent- only one more to go.”

Anthony and Kate shared a secret smile before Kate turned back to Daphne.

“Then you must call me Kate.”

Anthony thought he might explode with impatience as Daphne and Kate chatted politely- he rather thought Daphne might be stringing their conversation out on purpose- but then Daphne’s attention was caught by someone else and she politely left them, although she threw Anthony a decidedly non-Duchess-like wink as she departed.

Anthony offered Kate the crook of his arm and his fiancée took it with a smile he thought might make his heart burst.

They chatted of everything and nothing as they ambled to the shore of the serpentine, Anthony feeling gallant as he helped Kate into a boat, although he was sure she rolled her eyes as she did so. He rowed them away from land, deeper into the lake. Kate removed her gloves, keeping them on her lap. He couldn’t take his eyes off Kate’s hand, his ring sparkling in the sunlight, her fingers trailing along the surface of the water.

“The water is most refreshing on such a hot day,” said Kate.

“Indeed.”

“When I was a young girl, there was a river near the house where I grew up,” she continued, grinning at him with mischief in her eyes and he couldn’t help but grin back at her, “I used to sneak away and bathe my feet.”

He laughed at the image of a little Kate, illicitly paddling in a river in India and he was delighted when Kate laughed along with him.

“Benedict and I once snuck out of Aubrey Hall to swim in a nearby lake. Only we did not take a change of clothes with us, nor anything to dry with, and so we traipsed dirty water all through the house. Our governess was furious.”

Kate laughed louder at his anecdote. “You sound like a menace, my lord.”

“Anthony,” he said, “You should call me by my first name.”

Kate gave a small smile and lowered her lashes. It was uncharacteristically shy of her, especially once several seconds had passed and she had not said anything.

“When you think of me-” he began haltingly, “Do you think of me as Anthony? Or as Lord Bridgerton?”

Kate blew out her cheeks. “It varies. I call you Anthony in my mind sometimes.”

“I have not thought of you as Miss Sharma in a long time,” said Anthony softly, “Not since the Hartside ball at least. I always think of you as Kate.”

He had stopped rowing, almost without realising it. Kate lifted her hand out of the Serpentine and shook the water off her fingers.

“You’ve called me Kate before then,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“I know.” He did not apologise.

He remembered the moment well, drinking chai with her in a Bloomsbury, completely under her spell even if he had not realised it yet.

“When you spoke of making love.”

He cast a wary glance at the lake around him but there was no-one close enough to overhear.

“This counts as a more private environment if you wish to continue our conversation.”

Kate placed her hands in her lap and sat up straight. If you did not know her, you would think her poised, almost prim. Anthony knew better. She was nervous. She was not flirting with him or seducing him. She had genuine questions.

“That night in the library- that was not the marital act.”

“No, all though it can precede it,” said Anthony, wondering where this was going. How much did Kate know exactly?

“The marital act involves penetration.”

He was not sure he managed to refrain from blushing. So she did know.

“Yes.”

“Why then, all the rest of it? Why then the- ah- I do not know what to call it.”

“Cunniligus?” said Anthony, grinning at Kate as she narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is that what we did in the library?”

Anthony nodded, watching Kate carefully. For all that Kate insisted that she was straightforward- and that was true when she was speaking- she was difficult to read when she was silent. When he could tell she was overthinking something, spinning thoughts round and around in her impressive mind.

“Why did you- never mind. I have answered my own question.”

Anthony frowned.

“Because I wanted to, Kate,” he said, and frowned more as he realised that was not the whole truth. It only scratched the surface of the power Kate had over him, the way the narrowing of her eyes or the pursing of her lips made him want to throw himself at her feet, beg for her mercy, worship her until she screamed his name for his mercy.

Anthony tightened his grip on his oar. They were in private but not that private.

Kate was avoiding his eye, playing with a loose thread on her spencer. He had done nothing to reassure her. She was still nervous, still anxious about something.

“Well yes, but it does not lead to procreation, does it? And you will hardly need to seduce me once we’re married.”

“I want to seduce you,” Anthony said bluntly.

“That will hardly be necessary-”

“I will seduce you,” Anthony snapped, then calmer, “If you want me to.”

Kate looked at him then, her eyes darker, mouth slightly open. He tried not to notice how her bosom was heaving.

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” he said, but a feeling of horror started to dawn on him, “Did- did you not enjoy it?“

“No, I did but-“ Kate looked away, back at the serpentine, frowning as though the rippling water would give her an answer to a question she hadn't yet asked, “Why do you want to?“

“Because I enjoyed it,” he growled. Anthony could not understand what was bothering Kate, why she was rejecting what he could give her, “I enjoyed bringing you pleasure. I would like to think we'd have affection in our marriage."

Kate snapped back around to look at him, her eyes dark and wide.

“What do you mean?“

“Well, we might kiss,” began Anthony, his knuckles white, such was the strength with which he gripped the oar, “And not just as foreplay to making love. I think I'd like to kiss you good morning, when I see you for the first time after coming home from work, that sort of thing.”

Kate touched her fingers to her lips.

“That might be nice,” she said.

“Once we are wed, you and I will be bound together for all eternity,” said Anthony, staring at her fingers, “It is natural that we will want each other.”

“You want me?” said Kate.

At first Anthony nodded slowly, not trusting himself to speak, lest he say something truly shocking. Yes, he wanted her. Right here, in this rowboat, in the middle of the Serpentine, in front of the entire ton. He wanted to kiss her. More than that, he wanted to lay her down, peel her bodice away from her body with his teeth, bury his head beneath her skirts, make her screams echo off the trees.

When he had- just about- got a handle on himself, he asked her, “Did you like it when I kissed you?”

Kate nodded. Anthony wondered if she also felt like she couldn't trust herself to speak. If the way her pupils were dilated, her lips slightly parted, her bosom heaving meant that she wanted to do things to him. He wondered what they were. He vowed to make it his life's mission to find out.

“You have done this before. Kissing, cunnilingus, intercourse.”

“Yes,” he said, although it had not been a question. There was no point denying it, his reputation was well known.

Kate nodded, but more to herself than anything. He could almost hear her thoughts whirling around in her mind but she did not speak them.

“Affectionate and intimacy often precede intercourse- what you call the marital act,” Anthony said, “It's not just for base pleasure, it makes it less painful for you.”

“I did not know it could be painful.”

He did not laugh. Kate was worrying the hem of her gloves, her eyes trained on the motion of her fingers.

“I will be very gentle,” he promised, “I have heard it can be uncomfortable the first time. But Kate, if I cause you pain, you must tell me to stop.”

“I will,” Kate whispered, as though it was a vow. But she stopped playing with her gloves and her posture became more relaxed.

He rowed them back to shore.

III

A few days before the wedding celebrations were to begin, and after the final banns had been read, she walked with him to a large stone monument deep in Aubrey Hall’s grounds.

“I would have liked to have met him,” Kate said softly.

“He’d have loved you,” said Anthony, his voice cracking a little. Kate pretended to ignore Anthony discreetly wiping his eyes and she looked at the inscription.

Edmund Bridgerton, beloved father, husband and friend

“What was he like?”

Anthony reached for her hand. Kate interlocked their fingers together.

“He was a great man. Strong and kind. I think I am only now realising how much his death affected me.”

Kate smiled sadly. She wondered what Anthony would have been like if he hadn’t lost his father. Would he have pursued a love match? Would he have been a happier man?

“What was your mother like?” asked Anthony.

“Clever and kind, or so I’ve been told. Other than that, my memories of her are vague. I remember small things like the smell of amla when she’d oil her hair or a particular melody she’d play on the sitar. I remember some of the saris she used to wear, there was a green and gold one that was my favourite. I still have her matching bangles.”

“Do you ever wear them?” said Anthony, loosely encircling Kate’s wrists as though he was imagining her bangles.

“I’ll be wearing them at our church wedding,” she whispered, “They’re my something old.”

Anthony slowly lifted Kate’s arm and placed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist.

“I cannot wait to see you wear them,” he whispered back.

They stayed by Edmund’s grave for some time. They talked about their families, their losses, their hopes for the future. Some moments they did not talk at all, simply standing or sitting in silence, enjoying each other’s company.

Before they left, Kate moved closer to the monument and gently placed her hand on it. Mary had once told her that, before she had married her father she had visited Kate’s mother’s grave and promised her that she would look after baby Kate, that she would be loved as much as any natural daughter.

Two days before the first day of her wedding, Kate made a similar promise to Edmund Bridgerton. She promised to love and care for the children he had left behind, to be as much a mother to them as Anthony had been a father. She promised him that Violet would want for nothing, that she would always have a home, that her widowhood would be comfortable and peaceful.

She did not promise to love Anthony. That would require breaking her promise to Anthony himself that she would never love him. But she did promise that she would care for Anthony, that she would be a good wife to him and they would have a successful marriage.

For the first time, Kate wished she could love him. She knew Edmund’s soul would rest easier if Anthony was entering a marriage more similar to his parents.

But she had made a vow to Anthony first that she would never love him. The deal was a loveless marriage and Kate would uphold her end of the bargain.

And Kate never said one thing and did another.

Chapter Text

Haldi

He had not seen her like this before.

Kate was wearing a yellow lehenga which made her dark skin glow. Her hair was down, curling gently as his eyes followed it down her back. Her face was turned towards the sun, eyes closed, smiling slightly.

Anthony actually stopped mid-stride, she was so beautiful.

They- that is to say the Bridgertons, the Sharmas and Lady Danbury- had gathered in the gardens of Aubrey Hall, not far from where Anthony had proposed to Kate. It was the first of their wedding celebrations, the haldi.

Kate opened her eyes as he approached the loveseat that she occupied half of. He sat next to her and took her hand as easily as if they had been married ten years already. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lady Danbury narrow her eyes at their joined hands but she did not say anything. He supposed he could touch his wife at their wedding if he wanted.

“What do you think?” said Kate, gesturing to the gazebo around them.

“Perfect,” he replied, not taking his eyes off Kate.

They had both wanted a small wedding. Kate had not wanted the ostentation of a society wedding, she did not much enjoy being stared at by strangers. Anthony had not been one for imagining his future wedding- at least not prior to meeting Kate- but when he did, he always pictured it happening at Aubrey Hall.

They had got what they wanted.

“You did not look,” said Kate reproachfully.

It was only the implied insistence in Kate's voice that made Anthony look away from her and at the gazebo. He had been privy to some discussions about the decorations- Violet and Mary must have acquired every yellow flower in England- but here and there were a few of their favourite flowers woven within the floral garlands

Tulips. Lilies.

He dutifully looked around before turning back to Kate.

“Perfect,” he repeated. Kate’s lips twisted as though she was trying not to laugh and it took all of Anthony’s self control to not kiss her right there.

In front of them Edwina was mixing together turmeric and rosewater into a paste. Benedict was watching with interest.

“I say, that is a fantastic colour!” Benedict said, reaching out to poke his finger into the haldi, “If you could somehow turn this into oil paints-”

“It would certainly liven up your English art galleries- all greys and blues,” said Edwina, slapping Benedict’s hand away and pouring some of the mixture into two bowls, “But I cannot spare any now. Here, take this bowl to Kate.”

Benedict did so. Anthony accepted his own bowl from Edwina with no small amount of trepidation. He watched as Kate cradled her bowl in the crook of her elbow and gracefully swirled her fingers through the mixture. She then scooped a large amount of haldi and smeared it over his cheek.

He sat there, blushing under the haldi, secretly enjoying Kate’s giggling and the whoops of his siblings as she smeared his other cheek and under his chin for good measure.

“Your turn, Anthony,” she said, eyes shining.

Anthony scooped a little of the paste and rubbed it across Kate’s cheek with his thumb. He put a much larger smear across her other cheek and a bit on the tip of her nose for good measure. She looked adorable.

Kate took his hand and Anthony thought for a moment it was out of affection- and perhaps it was on some level- but then he realised she had more of the turmeric paste in her hand. She moved his hand up his arm, turning his skin yellow.

He did the same to her, marvelling at how the haldi shone in the sun, how it enhanced the yellow and red and white from the flower garlands, how it made Kate’s eyes seem to shine that much brighter.

“Is it our turn yet?” he heard Gregory say. Turning his head, he saw Gregory and Hyacinth holding matching wooden bowls and matching mischievous grins. Behind them were the rest of his siblings, including Edwina and Simon, with the same expression. Must be a family trait.

“Perhaps I shall begin,” said Lady Danbury and Anthony gulped. Lady Danbury came forward and held out her cane for Kate to take, which Kate dutifully did. Lady Danbury then scooped an enormous amount of haldi out of the bowl and proceeded to cover Anthony’s face in it, leaving no part of his skin unadorned.

“I remember always scolding you to wash behind your ears when you were a boy,” said Lady Danbury, scrubbing at the skin behind the shell, “Did you say this is good for the skin, Kate dear?”

“I did,” said Kate, her eyes shining with mirth.

Lady Danbury’s bequeathment of haldi must have emitted some signal Anthony could not hear, since now the rest of their little party surrounded them, covering every inch of them in yellow paste.

He noticed his sisters were very gentle with Kate, smoothing the haldi on her arms and neck, combing it through her hair with their fingers. He could not say the same for his brothers, Benedict had pulled back his collar and was trying to funnel as much of the haldi down his back as possible, Simon was scrunching his hair with it, Gregory upended his bowl completely over his front.

Colin sat away to one side, licking the haldi off his fingers.

“You know, this stuff isn’t at all bad!”

Mehndi

Although the haldi was small, the mehndi was smaller still, only the women in attendance. Edwina had prepared the henna mixture and Daphne had watched carefully as Edwina had decorated Kate’s hands and feet in intricate swirling patterns before doing the same to Mary’s hands.

“Have you thought about where you want his initials?” Edwina asked, “On your palm? Your ring finger?”

Kate felt her face grow warm.

“Initials?” said Hyacinth, looking up from the treble clef she was skilfully hiding in Fran’s henna, “What initials? Whose initials?”

“I think I can guess,” said Lady Danbury, raising an eyebrow, and if Kate was not blushing before, she certainly was blushing now, “Do you mean the Viscount’s initials, perchance?”

“I do,” said Edwina giggling, and everyone else joined in. Kate would have buried her face in her hands if she was not worried about smudging the henna, “Well Didi? Have you decided?”

“On the inside of my wrist,” Kate whispered, remembering how Anthony’s lips had felt there only a few days ago.

Edwina gave her a meaningful look, as though she knew what Kate was thinking.

“I will write it in English letters, shall I?” she said, “Rather than Tamil, so that Lord Bridgerton may be able to read it.”

Kate screwed her eyes shut in embarrassment as the other women laughed but secretly she was enjoying herself. The thought of having a mark representing Anthony on her skin, that he might discover it on her body, sent a thrill through her.

She had felt a similar thrill at the haldi ceremony, seeing Anthony covered in turmeric, embraced by her culture.

He was a complex man, but he was beginning to make sense to her. She might have once linked affection to love but their conversation in the boat had made it clearer to her than it ever had been before. For Anthony, affection was not different to flirting or seduction or even intercourse, love not necessary.

A more romantic person might have found this disconcerting but Kate was not romantic. The idea of physical intimacy without love had been disconcerting at first but she was coming around to the idea. Naturally, they would need to have intercourse in order to produce an heir. And she had not realised that intercourse could be painful for a woman, nor that physical affection- foreplay as Anthony put it- would ease that. Of course the former rake had no misgivings about making love without love. Surely there were any number of previous mistresses who could confirm that.

Soon she would be able to confirm that too, Kate thought as she sat by the window, waiting for her henna to dry, watching the sun fall slowly below the horizon.

They were in a set of rooms ostensibly designed to be used for when the Viscountess wanted to entertain close guests- which was what was happening, Kate supposed. Even if she wasn’t Viscountess just yet. The room had been decorated with comfort in mind, baby blue cushions and blankets adorned the furniture and floors, tea, lemonade, cakes and short eats- she could still taste the gulab jamun she’d eaten. Through the open window came the scent of honeysuckle and Violet was playing a soft melody on the piano whilst she waited for someone to do her henna.

The chattering from the other women morphed into indistinct background noise, such that Kate felt like she was underwater. She felt so relaxed she started to doze.

That is, until a discordant note from Violet jolted her fully awake. Eloise was giggling at something Daphne had just said but Violet and Lady Danbury were looking on reproachfully.

“Anthony can be such an idiot sometimes,” said Eloise, “He will be your problem from tomorrow, Kate. You will have to stop him from challenging people to duels.”

“I wish you would not joke about that duel,” said Violet, staring at her hands.

But Kate barely heard her. She was on her feet, as though to run. Where to, she did not know.

“Anthony was in a duel?”

“Relax, Kate,” said Daphne, “It is alright. It was some years ago now. Simon was- well, it was before we married. Neither of them were hurt. It is all water under the bridge now.”

Kate felt like she was falling off a bridge.

“He could have killed someone. He could have- I might never have met him.”

“He did not kill anyone,” said Lady Danbury, crossing over to where Violet was still seated at the piano and placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, “Men sometimes make irrational choices, Kate, especially when they feel their family is threatened.”

But Kate did not feel reassured. She was trying to imagine what it would have been like to land in England, come to London and Anthony in prison or exiled or- elsewhere. In her mind, she rewrote the scenes of their courtship- the conservatory ball, the Hartside ball, Ascot- without him.

She could not do it.

“Duchess, perhaps you should take Kate to see your brother. I believe him to be in his study.”

Daphne visibly started at this.

“Lady Danbury- are you sure?”

“They are marrying tomorrow. Kate needs to see him- and he needs to explain himself to her.”

Daphne nodded.

“Come with me, sister,” she said, beckoning Kate forward.

Kate did not hesitate. She followed.

Daphne and Kate found Anthony in his study, just as Lady Danbury said. A calmer Kate would have been amused at this, would have speculated that Lady Danbury was keeping a close eye on the exact locations of the two of them lest they anticipate their vows- but this was not a calm Kate.

Anthony was sitting in his chair, back to the desk, looking out of the window. There was a glass of brandy in his hand that looked to be untouched, and a smile on his face that fell when he saw Kate’s expression.

“What is it?” he demanded, getting up, “What's happened, what's wrong?”

Kate could not answer. She was trying to imagine an empty room.

“I do believe there is something the cook needs to discuss with me ahead of tomorrow,” said Daphne, even though there was no way she could have known this, “I will leave you for a moment. I rather think this discussion will only take twenty minutes, by the by.”

And with that she departed. She had barely left when Anthony crossed the room and gripped Kate by her arms.

“What is it? Why do you look like that?“

“You could have- you could have killed him.”

The fingers clutching Kate clutched her tighter.

“What?”

“When you- before we- Anthony, did you challenge the duke to a duel?”

Anthony relaxed his hands against Kate's arms but did not let go of her altogether. He brought one hand up to his chin and rubbed it as though embarrassed.

“Ah. Yes. Not my proudest moment but I did what needed to be done.”

“What needed to be done?” exclaimed Kate.

“He was alone with Daphne. I caught them outside some ball or other. He was kissing her.”

“So?”

“He then refused to marry her.”

“Ah.”

Anthony looked at her in amusement. “Yes, quite.”

“But the two of them are so happy. I would have sworn it was a love match between them. Why would he then refuse to marry her? Why would he risk his life like that?”

“You'd have to ask Simon his exact thought process for that one. He has always been a bit… independent. I think, even then, he loved Daphne but he did not know he did, or know how to express it. He thought by not marrying her, he would be protecting her. By not marrying her he would be saving her from heartbreak.”

“But he married her anyway. And Daphne does not seem heartbroken to me.”

“They are very much in love,” said Anthony, trying to twist his mouth in disgust but his eyes betrayed how genuinely happy he was.

“What happened at the duel? How are the both of you still alive?”

“Simon never pointed his gun at me. When we turned around, he pointed his gun at the sky. I- I pointed mine at him. I fired just as Daphne rode in between us. I hit a tree, thank God. She and Simon spoke privately and agreed to marry after all. When I think about how differently that day could have gone…”

Kate was also thinking about how differently that day could have gone. It was as though her blood was freezing and she’d never be warm again.

“If- if you had shot him- if you had killed Simon- or your sister-” Anthony’s hands gripped Kate tighter but she continued- “You would have hanged. Or you would have had to flee the country.”

“Perhaps I would have come to India,” Anthony muttered, “We might have met sooner.”

“It is not funny!” Kate snapped, “You have to promise me that you will not take part in a duel again. Not ever.”

At this Anthony pursed his lips into a thin straight line.

“No.”

Kate gaped at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Kate, if something like this happens again, if someone dishonours one of my sisters- and I’m including Edwina in that by the way- if the same situation happens again, I will do exactly the same thing. I do not look back at that duel fondly but I did what I had to do as head of the family.”

Kate stepped back so as to remove herself from Anthony’s touch. He reached out as though to hold her again but she evaded him, even as her skin called out for his.

“And if no one comes and saves the day, then what?” she said, louder now, almost shouting but she did not know how else to get Anthony to listen to her, “If you kill your opponent, what becomes of our family then? Does it become headless?”

“We could one day have daughters,” Anthony said, his voice rising to meet hers, “If, God forbid, they find themselves in that same situation, what would you have me do?”

Kate screwed her eyes shut, balled her fists up against her ears. She could not see a way out, she could not see a solution that ensured both their family’s dignity and Anthony’s continued presence in their lives. Unless they were all exiled…

“Kate,” he said, quieter now. Kate opened her eyes. He looked wrecked, his eyes slightly reddened, his mouth small and downturned, “Come here. Please. Let me hold you just for a moment.”

He looked so pitiful, so sad. Both Kate’s heart and body went out to him. She let his arms surround her, buried her face against his shoulder, breathed in his scent- soap and something floral.

“I do not wish to fight with you on the eve of our wedding,” Anthony murmured against her hair.

“Then do not,” said Kate, her voice half muffled against Anthony’s shirt.

He laughed gently, then lifted her head up gently, fingers under her chin, until she was looking straight into his eyes.

“You have told me time and time again how much you value honesty. How you never say something you do not mean. I will not disrespect you by doing the opposite now. I cannot honestly tell you that I will never challenge someone to a duel again. So I will not. I will not make to you a promise I cannot keep.

Kate took a shuddering breath.

“It may never come to that,” she said, calmer now, “You may never need to challenge someone to a duel.”

“I sincerely hope so,” said Anthony soberly, running his hands up and down Kate’s arms. His touch started to calm her and she hoped it had the same effect on him, “I do not relish duels.”

Kate nodded, watching as Anthony traced the lines of her mehndi with his fingers. The gentle way he explored her skin made her breath hitch and she shifted her arms slightly to allow him to continue his journey when the angle made it awkward. When he came down to her left wrist, he stopped.

Right over his initials.

His eyes widened with realisation and he lifted Kate’s wrist up to his lips, looking her straight in the eye as he kissed her wrist. Then, he pulled her gently towards him and kissed her lips.

And Kate just let him. Let his lips complete what his hands had already started, let the feel of his mouth against hers calm her. She pulled him closer to her, until the length of his body was flush with his; wrapped her tongue around his until there was irrefutable proof that her mouth was not calming him at all…

A loud noise from the corridor outside made Kate instinctively pull away from Anthony, even as his mouth chased hers. Turning around, she saw Daphne entering the room, clearly having decided she'd left them alone long enough, making enough of a racket that she would not walk in on them in a compromising position. It was a reasonable plan yet neither Kate nor Anthony let go of the other.

Daphne sighed when she saw them, still embracing but at least no longer kissing.

“Well at least you will be formally married tomorrow,” she said.

Church ceremony

He was standing at the altar trying desperately not to pace.

The guests were mostly seated, looking at him like he was a painting on display. A mixture of local villagers, aristocrats from nearby estates and a few brave families who had made the carriage journey from London.

Still small. Still exactly what he and Kate wanted.

“What time is it now?” he whispered.

Simon raised an eyebrow.

“Only fifteen seconds after you last asked,” he answered, maddeningly calm.

“Relax, brother,” said Benedict, on Simon’s other side, chirpy as anything which was even more maddening, “She will not be late.”

Anthony was not worried that Kate might be late. He was worried she might not show at all.

After their fight- and kiss- in his study last night, she had left fairly promptly with Daphne. He had not escaped his notice that they had not come to an agreement regarding duelling, merely agreeing to disagree, hoping that a duel would never come to pass.

He had whispered to her, ‘see you tomorrow’ before she left. She did not reply and Anthony did not know if that was because she had not heard her or if because she could not promise that he would indeed see her the next day.

Had he ruined it already? Their first fight- was their relationship over before it had truly begun? Was she currently astride a horse, galloping far away from Kent, across the channel, towards India…

“What time-”

Anthony was cut off before he could finish his question. The string quartet had started playing the wedding march and the congregation rose to their feet, all eyes expectantly watching the church doors.

Edwina- his new sister- walked down the aisle first, looking pretty in a pale pink dress, carrying a small bouquet of red tulips, giving him some clue as to his bride’s bouquet. He thought he did a tolerably good impression of a patient man as Edwina took her place on the other side of the altar, even giving her a small smile before his eyes snapped back to the church entrance.

She appeared.

Kate Sharma- minutes away from being Kate Bridgerton- walked down the aisle. Anthony almost could not see her, she became increasingly blurry with each step, until he wiped the tears from his eyes and she came back into focus. She looked beautiful, almost regal, in a white lehenga, intricate with lace that matched both the pattern of the mehndi on her skin and the antique veil streaming down her back over her half-down slightly curled hair.

In her hands, she carried a bouquet of red tulips and white lilies, larger than Edwina’s, held high against her breast so that the bangles she wore on each arm slipped down her arms until they were almost at her elbows. When she reached him at the altar, she gave him a shy smile and gave her bouquet to Edwina. He took her hands in his and the bangles slipped down her arms, past her wrists, and gently collided with his own hands.

And in that moment, he knew. He finally realised the truth of his own heart, the reality of his soul, the facts that he had somehow stopped denying over the last few weeks. He knew it as they exchanged vows, as they exchanged rings, as he kissed her when they were finally man and wife, as they signed the registry together.

He knew.

Not a single second of his marriage would be loveless.

Chapter Text

He leant against the desk in his study at Aubrey Hall, staring up at the portrait of his father.

Anthony himself had placed it there, not long after Edmund had died. He thought it might bring him confidence in the early days of being a Viscount, to have his father watching over him.

He had been wrong.

It felt like his father was looming over him.

This was not something Edmund Bridgerton had ever done in real life. Even as children, he had knelt down to their level, to look them in the eye as he explained why Colin should save some cake for everyone else or Benedict needed to listen to his governess instead of daydreaming or why Anthony needed to set a good example as the eldest.

For the first time in his life, Anthony thought he might have done exactly that.

He had done exactly what he needed to do. He had found the best person in the world and made her a Viscountess, made her his wife.

And he loved her. He loved his wife. The very trap he had been trying to avoid, he had fallen into, head completely over heels.

The door to his study opened quietly and he thought for a moment it might be Kate. He had slipped away after the conclusion of the wedding breakfast as she’d gone to change into her travelling dress.

It was not Kate. It was his mother, smiling softly, her eyes bright. She did not speak at first, instead standing next to him, looking up at Edmund's portrait.

“He would be so proud of you,” Violet said.

Anthony closed his eyes.

“I know,” he said. Because he did. He had done what he needed to do as Viscount but more than that, he had done what he had needed to do as Edmund’s son. He had found himself in a loving marriage.

“Do you ever wish everything had been different?” Anthony asked.

“What can you mean?” Violet asked, confused and he did not blame her for being so. Obviously she wished her husband had not died.

“If you had never met Father, you would never have grieved him. He would never have broken us, broken you.”

Violet was quiet for a moment, Anthony knew she was choosing her words carefully.

“I regret how I was after he died,” she said, “But I do not regret meeting him or loving him. If I could have my time again, if I was given the choice of never knowing him or knowing him and losing him, I would pick the second. Every time. The only thing I would do differently would be to be there for you and your siblings.

“What if I lose her?” he whispered, unable to stop the words coming out, “Or she loses me? ”

“It may not happen-”

“It might,” Anthony interrupted. Neither of them could see the future. No one could have foreseen Edmund Bridgerton’s sudden passing. He had been in perfect health until he was dead.

“What if I become the person you were?” he whispered.

He thought he might have pushed too far. But he hadn’t. Violet took a shuddering breath and answered him.

“If one of you- if one of you is left behind, I and your brothers and sisters will look after you and any children you have. You will not be alone. I know-” at this she hesitated, her eyes bright with tears, “I know how alone you were after your father died. I should have been there for you and I was not. Every day I regret that. But you will not go through that again. Kate will not go through that. Your children will be looked after by myself or your siblings.”

Anthony nodded, his own eyes welling up.

“I just love her so much, you know?” he said, his voice cracking.

“Oh my darling,” said Violet, smiling even as her own tears fell, “I know. It's been obvious for weeks now.”

They were to spend their wedding night in a house nearer to London before journeying to the Lake District for their honeymoon. The house belonged to an old university friend of Anthony's, would only have a skeleton staff whilst they were there and was only a few hours ride away from Aubrey Hall.

But far away enough for privacy.

Throughout the carriage journey, Kate said little. Anthony had reached for her hand early and he was glad he did, both for the joy of touching her and for the comfort he tried to provide her.

He did not know if his physical touch had the same effect on Kate as hers did on him. As though he had stepped off a ship and the ground was finally solid. As though the rest of the world was spinning off its axis but where they were was fixed and secure.

He had run his thumbs over her knuckles, tried to say something to her but whether it was to reassure her as to the wedding night or confess his love to her, he did not know.

Should he tell her? That he loved her?

Did she already know?

Did she love him?

They arrived at the Dover house just as the sun was setting. Anthony helped his wife down from the carriage himself and tried to hide his impatience as the housekeeper introduced him to the scant staff in residence. He supposed he should be polite but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Kate said little beyond pleasantries as they finished their introductions and climbed the stairs. When they reached the master suite, Anthony dismissed his valet and her ladies’ maid, saying they would attend to themselves.

Once the door was closed, he spoke to her directly.

“You are afraid.”

It had not quite been a question but she answered it anyway.

“Yes.”

“Of me?”

“No,” she replied and Anthony knew it to be the truth. Kate did not say anything she did not mean.

“Of what we are about to do?”

Kate inclined her head. Just once.

Anthony stepped closer to her, carefully, as though she was a deer liable to run. When he was near to her, he stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he said softly, “I will look after you. Tonight and always.”

“I know,” said Kate. She closed her eyes and leaned forward slightly. Barely able to suppress his joy, Anthony leaned forward himself to meet her kiss.

It felt different now, kissing Kate. Whether it was because they were married or because he knew he loved her- or both- he could not tell. But there was a greater intensity now, as though her lips were on fire. Her fingers pulled his hair harder, making him groan louder. His own hands splayed across her back, her buttocks, and when he pulled away, he was gratified to see her eyes were unfocused and she looked a little dazed.

“I am going to undress you now,” he said, “Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Kate whispered, the sound of her voice coursing through his blood to a certain part of his body.

He considered asking her to turn around, so he could unbutton her travelling dress, but instead he reached his arms around her, as though embracing her, and undid the buttons without looking. All the while he kept his eyes fixed on Kate's, open and wide, her lips slightly parted, her bosom tensing and relaxing against his chest as she breathed.

When the final button opened, he unlaced her corset with practiced efficiency and skimmed his fingertips up her bare back. She shivered as he did so and he made note of how this brought her pleasure. When his hands reached the top of her back, he brought them forward, lightly tracing the circumference on her neck and slipped her dress off her shoulders. The dress and corset fell down her body to the floor and she stood before him, bare except for her stockings and shoes.

He almost could not breathe. His eyes flitted over her, as though he had never seen a naked woman before. He could not decide what part of her to look at first.

Kate moved her arms to cover her chest but he stopped her, gently.

“Do not hide yourself from me,” he murmured, “Let me see you, Kate.”

She eyed him, up and down his fully-clothed body.

“We should match then,” Kate said, and there was no blood left in any part of his body other than his cock as she slowly and carefully undid his cravat.

She left it hanging around his neck as she moved her graceful fingers down his body, slowly and methodically undoing his shirt buttons along the way. Anthony could do nothing other than stand there before her, quivering as she slowly exposed him.

When Kate had completely undone him- the buttons that is- she opened the shirt slightly, eyes wide as she took in his chest. Anthony was suddenly enormously grateful for every fencing match, every lake swim, every time a tenant’s roof fell in and he had to haul timber to fix it, if it made his chest look like this to make Kate's eyes look like that.

Kate reached out as though to touch him but her hand stopped short of his skin. Her fingers curled under her palm, further away from his chest, and she looked at him, chewing her lip in nervous hesitation.

Anthony brushed his fingers against her hip bone. Kate gasped slightly at his touch but did not stop him, instead watched him as he moved his fingers up her waist. She mirrored him, her own fingers finally touching his skin and it was all he could do not to moan at this innocent touch.

He brought his hands around the front to just below her belly button. Like a mirror, she did the same, her fingers ghosting along the waistband of his trousers. Slowly, he stroked his fingers up her body, through the valley between her breasts and she reflected him, brushing along the trail of hair that led up his chest until they were both skimming the other’s collarbone, coming to a rest on each other’s shoulders, Kate’s naked, his clothed.

He hesitated, unsure where to go from here but Kate took charge, hooking her fingers under his shirt and peeling it off his shoulder, taking the coat with it. She repeated the motion on the other side, removing his clothes until his top half was bare.

She stopped, staring at him. Anthony was frozen still under her gaze, as though he was being inspected, as though he was submitting to some kind of test. When her perusal of his body reached his eyes, he saw anxiety there.

“What is it?” he asked.

In answer, Kate flicked her eyes down to his crotch, his hardness still covered by his trousers, then up again.

“Do not worry about that now,” he said, cupping her face with his hand. He leaned in to kiss her, intending to calm her with the touch of his lips but it seemed to have the opposite effect as Kate moaned against his mouth and pressed herself against him, her breasts compressing against his pectorals, her arms wrapping around his neck until her hands were in his hair. He was inflamed in turn, trying to angle his crotch away from Kate’s body so his hardness would not alarm her, even as his hands mapped her buttocks, her back, her hair.

Without breaking their kiss, Anthony walked her back slowly until he could lie her down on the bed. He knelt before her and Kate watched him through heavy-lidded eyes as he removed her shoes and slowly peeled down her stockings, leaving feather-light kisses on the skin he exposed.

When she was completely naked, he stood and just looked at her. Looked at his wife, lips parted, bosoms heaving, pupils so dilated her eyes looked black. She was so beautiful, flushed with desire and he had barely started. Had yet to show her the true heights of her pleasure.

He knelt again, kissed his way up her thighs until her pubic hair was brushing against his nose, he closed his eyes and inhaled, mouth already watering.

“Do you remember when I did this to you before? In the library?” he asked.

“Yes,” Kate sighed, bucking her hips slightly towards him.

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it.”

Anthony groaned, maybe if she loved that, she’d love him.

“Do you want me to do it again?”

“Yes,” Kate gasped, “Yes please, Anthony, please.”

Anthony kissed her cunt, licked between her folds, forced himself to go slowly. He had learned some of what she liked last time but he still lay his arm across her hips, kept his eyes on her to mark her reactions.

He knew that Kate preferred when he flicked his tongue in an up-down motion rather than circles, but more than that she liked variety. For someone who liked the world to be predictable, who wanted people to talk straight to her, it was interesting that she liked to be kept on her toes in bed.

As he licked and sucked, Kate's fingers knitted themselves in his hair. He moaned as she pulled and let himself be guided by her, moved his face at her command, rewarded by heavier breathing and a stifled moan. He licked deeper into her, trying to coax that moan out fully.

She bucked her hips as though to fuck his face. He let her, propping himself up on his forearms, bringing her closer and closer to her release. He knew he had succeeded when Kate gushed and his face became covered with her wetness and he was engulfed in her natural musk. He thought her moans were a bit stifled, as though she had tried to suppress them, but perhaps it was because her thighs were pressed against his ears, muffling the sound.

As Kate came back to herself, eyelids fluttering, breathing hurried, he moved up the bed until he was level with her. She turned her face towards him and he ghosted her lips with his, unsure if she would enjoy or be repulsed by the taste of herself. But she deepened the kiss, licking her essence out of his mouth, taking every she could from him.

He would give her everything, of course.

Anthony knew she would still be sensitive down below so he touched her everywhere except her core, stroking her hair, her arms, her waist. When he cupped her breast, rolling the nipple under her thumb she moaned and ran her fingers under the waistband of his breeches.

“Not yet,” he whispered against her lips, “You are not ready.”

He laughed at her confused expression. He gently removed her hand from his breeches and guided it down until she covered her core with her palm, her middle finger nestled between her folds, his own hand covering the back of hers.

“Do you touch yourself?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice just as rough.

“Show me,” he said, pressing down on her finger with his own so it sank deeper between her folds, “Show me how to seduce you.”

Beneath his finger, he felt Kate move her own over her bud. He memorised the pattern, delighted in the little gasps and moans she made.

“Do you ever put your fingers inside yourself?”

“N-not often.”

“Allow me,” he said, as though helping her down from a carriage.

Anthony moved his hand over Kate's, further down until his fingers came to her opening. She was wet and slick and she gasped as he gently eased his finger inside.

“How do you feel?“

“Good- I feel good.”

“Keep touching yourself.”

He pushed his finger further inside her, causing Kate to press her face against his with a moan. He could still feel her own finger rolling over her clitoris and he moved his finger in her channel, trying to match her motion. He crooked his finger inside her and she gasped.

“Do you think you can take another?”

“Yes,” said Kate, wrenching her face back from his and throwing her head back, “Please, Anthony.”

He entered her with another finger, and both he and Kate moaned as he did so. This was a tighter fit, he could feel her walls clenching around his fingers, her wetness squelching as he pushed further in. He eased his fingers slightly out, then pushed back in and repeated this, pumping her until she arched her back, lifting her bottom off the bed and back down. He separated his fingers, widening her as much as he dared without hurting her.

“Let me give you one more, darling. One more finger. One more orgasm then you can have my cock.”

Kate covered her mouth with her free hand, muffling the beautiful sounds she was making. Anthony decided he would worry about that later, right now he was focused on the task in hand, as it were. He slid a third finger inside her. She was still tight but her wetness helped him ease it in. And out. And in again.

All the while, Kate continued to massage her clitoris, her hand moving beneath his wrist. She picked up speed and so did he, pumping in and out, flexing and extending his fingers, until she was writhing in the sheets, grabbing his chin with her free hand, moaning into his mouth. He swallowed her moans like water and as she came down he removed his fingers from her cunt and pushed them between their mouths so they both could taste her.

He kissed her languidly for a few moments, stroked her hair, her arm, innocent places. His intention was to help her relax, give her time to prepare herself for the final part of their lovemaking.

But Kate must have felt fully prepared because she trailed her fingers down his neck, his chest, down towards the waistband of her breeches. This time he did not stop her, instead he helped her push them down past his hips. He stood to remove them and for the first time he was completely naked before her.

Kate was very much not looking at his face.

“It will fit,” he said, trying and failing not to smirk.

“How can you be so sure?” she said and he thought he could detect a note of apprehension.

Anthony sat down on the bed, next to Kate’s legs. He stroked the inside of her calf slowly, almost innocently. Kate sighed, as though the comfort and grounding he got from her touch went two ways, as though his touch comforted and grounded her.

“It is what you told me before, isn’t it,,” Kate said, “Foreplay. Seduction. Even flirting, it all leads to this.”

Making love, Anthony thought.

“Making heirs,” he said.

Kate smiled at him with such trust and devotion that he almost told her he loved her.

“Let’s make an heir, Anthony.”

With a groan he climbed towards her, over her, bracketed her head with his forearms and positioned his cock at her entrance. Kate gasped at the contact. Bracing himself on one forearm, Anthony reached down between them and opened her up further, before sliding his cock into her.

He went slowly, watching Kate for signs of pain or fear. But there were none, only little gasps every time he advanced a bit further, only her fingers gently tracing the lines of his abdominal muscles, only her eyelashes fluttering as he buried himself up to the hilt in her.

Kate sighed as he pulled himself out of her, then gasped again as he pushed back in. He repeated the motion, changing the tempo of his thrust in response to Kate’s reactions until he found a tempo that made her gasps come quicker, her hands grip his arms tightly and her eyes roll back into her head.

Kate writhed beneath him, her hands in her hair, on his chest, on her own breasts, everywhere. Anthony had never seen anyone or anything more beautiful than Kate at the very height of her pleasure, especially combined with the knowledge that it was him making her feel so good.

But when she moved her hand from his hair to cover her mouth, as though to hide the beautiful noises she was making, Anthony gently pulled her hand away.

“Let me hear you, Kate,” he whispered.

“The servants…” she whispered, “I don’t want them to hear…”

Anthony bent down until his lips were at her ear.

“Let them hear. Scream for me, Kate. Let them hear how well I take care of my Viscountess.”

Kate obeyed him beautifully, throwing her head back against the pillow with a loud moan, walls pulsating around him, wetness leaking out of her. Her cunt clenched around his cock, sucking him into her deeper and deeper until he thought she might swallow him whole, cock first and the last thread of Anthony’s willpower finally snapped and he spilled inside her with a moan of his own.

He lay on top of her for a moment, still inside her, still overcome as she combed her fingers through his hair, humming softly.

“Are you alright?” he asked, lifting his head and looking at her anxiously.

“More than alright,” she said, eyes half closed, looking so content that he couldn’t resist giving her a little peck on the nose. She opened her eyes more fully at that and smiled at him.

When he had cleaned both of them up, he climbed back into bed beside her and drew her into his arms. Kate cuddled up next to him but gave him a quizzical look as she did so.

“What is it?”

“You sleep naked,” she said..

Anthony tightened his arms around her.

“Much more comfortable,” he sighed. He was spent- in more ways than one- and could feel his eyelids drooping, “You should try it.”

“Hmmm,” said Kate, “I have wondered for a long time.”

Anthony’s eyes snapped open.

“You have? A long time? Since when?”

But Kate had fallen fast asleep.

Chapter Text

He had been thinking about where to take her for their honeymoon almost since the moment he had accepted her proposal.

He had never taken a grand tour, he had needed to look after his family, to take up the mantle of Viscount after his father died. In one journey, Kate had seen more of the world than he likely ever would on her journey from India. Yet she had seen little of Britain other than Kent and London and she had never been further north than Russell Square.

And she loved the outdoors. She loved fields and hills and horse riding and boating. He also loved the outdoors but more than that, he loved her. So he took her to one of the few places in the world he had visited for pleasure rather than obligation and- in his limited opinion- one of the most beautiful places in the world.

One day, he would take her further north than the Lake District. They would go to Scotland together, get drunk on whisky straight out of the barrel and dance ceilidhs until their feet hurt. Then he’d take her further north than that, off the British Isles altogether to a land he’d only read about in books, where there was snow almost year round, where the sun shone at midnight, where strange rainbows danced in the sky at night.

But for now, he knew the Lakes was exactly the right choice. He made love to Kate in the morning, the sun bathing them in soft morning light. They dressed in clothes intended for walking, taking with them picnic baskets with pie and cake and a bottle of wine. They raced each other up the mountains, either on foot or horseback. Anthony always took an early lead on these races, laughing and taunting Kate over his shoulder. But then he’d become winded or his horse would throw a shoe and Kate would overtake him, hurtling towards a finish line that only she had decided on.

On one of these foot races, Kate had stopped by a waterfall, running down the side of the mountain into a small stream. By the time Anthony had reached her she had thrown herself onto the grass, picnic basket beside her, boots unlaced, chest heaving as she caught her breath. Anthony could not quite remove his eyes from the rise and fall of her bosom, even as he also leant forwards on his knees, panting from the effort of running uphill.

“It is hot, is it not?” he said, watching as a bead of sweat ran down Kate’s neck, between the valley between her breasts and disappearing beneath her bodice.

“I did not think I would feel the heat in this country,” said Kate, “But I must stand corrected. I am as hot as I have ever been in India.”

“How would you cool off in India?” asked Anthony.

Kate looked at the stream beside them in answer.

Anthony looked around them surreptitiously, his heart pounding. They were not out in the open here, surrounded on almost all sides by the rocks of the mountain they were climbing. Even the approach they had taken to their current position was shaded by trees and greenery.

“You could do that here too,” he said, his voice low.

Kate looked back at the stream, at the waterfall, considering. Anthony didn’t move, didn’t speak. It was like being in the presence of a deer, one wrong move and she would be spooked, galloping away. One right move however…

Kate removed her boots and her stockings before standing up. She reached behind her and started undoing the buttons of her walking dress and at this point, Anthony’s brain finally stuttered back to life (in his defence, he had been completely overwhelmed by Kate’s stockinged legs- and then her unstockinged legs) and he gallantly undid the rest of her buttons for her.

Kate shook her dress from her shoulders and let it drop to the ground. Something about the way the sea-blue material crumpled on the grass made Anthony become slightly feral.

“Can't believe you're mine,” he muttered against her skin, biting the flesh of her shoulder as he unlaced her corset and wrapped his arms around her body, hands climbing towards her breasts, “Can't believe I get to touch you like this, hold you like this. Can't believe you're my wife.”

He nearly told her then. Nearly growled into her neck, nearly confessed there and then his deepest secret, his desperate longing, his overwhelming love for her. Nearly whispered it into her ear, nearly yelled it so it might echo off the rocks and mountains.

But Kate spun in his arms and looped her arms around his neck. Her hair- she wore it down more often these days- whipped around as she did and a wave of lily-soap scent all but drenched him. Her eyes were wide and intense, almost fiery, burning into him.

She was as feral as he was.

He kissed her. Pressed his lips against hers, used her mouth to suppress his confessions, looped her tongue around his like a leash to silence himself. All the while his wife pressed her body into his, fisted the material of his shirt in her hands, moaned into his mouth.

Then she lurched her face away, stepped completely away from him, and he was left gawping after her like a fish as she smirked, running her eyes up and down his still-clothed body.

“Well, my lord,” Kate said, and Anthony almost trembled at the purr in her voice, “You seem to be overdressed once more.”

And with that she lowered herself into the stream, sighing as the water surrounded her.

Anthony watched her, slightly dazed, until his brain sparked up like a match and suddenly he was ripping his shirt open, wrenching his clothes off his body as though they had personally offended him, leaving them on a heap on the ground next to Kate’s dress and corset before joining Kate in the water.

The stream was surprisingly deep, coming up to just below his and Kate’s waist. She had waded towards where the waterfall cascaded down the rocks and now stood under the flowing water. Her hair, previously glorious and curly, was now wet and sleek against her back and Anthony’s mouth went dry as he watched the water flow over the contours and valleys of her body, over the tops of her thighs until it met the surface of the water.

He embraced her under the waterfall, kissing her as the water ran over them both. He had never before thought there could be such pleasure in kissing a woman, in only the simple sensation of feeling Kate’s lips against his, her breath in his mouth. Perhaps the pleasure was less in kissing a woman and more in kissing Kate, even without the expectation of anything more.

Although Kate had other ideas about that.

She eased her mouth away from his, gliding her lips over the stubble of his cheek, laying kisses down his neck. And along his shoulder. And down his chest, dropping to her knees as she continued to kiss down his belly until she reached his cock.

This was not the first time she had done this. She had first taken him into her mouth when they were still on their journey north. They stayed at an inn near Northampton and he had taken her apart with his tongue until she was screaming and panting. When she had regained her breath, she had asked him how she could do the same thing to him that he had just done to her. He had nearly fainted the first time he'd come in her mouth.

Now though, Kate swirled her tongue around his tip and wrapped her lips around the head. She took more of him deeper and deeper into her mouth until her lips were almost at his pelvis.

Anthony did not know what to do with himself other than tip his head back as he moaned, stroke Kate's hair as she moved her head backwards and forwards, moan again as her fingers pressed firmly into his hips. He could not separate all the different sensations his body was experiencing, they all became jumbled in his bloodstream, the cold water falling down his back, the Viscountess’ warm, wet mouth around his cock.

With a cry, he emptied himself into her. Her fingertips became almost painful as she pressed into his skin and swallowed down his seed.

As Anthony stood there panting, Kate sat back in the water, her chin just brushing the surface, smiling at him smugly.

Oh he'd wipe that expression off her face alright.

With a playful growl, he looped one arm around Kate’s waist and dragged her towards the bank of the stream, Kate shrieking and laughing all the way. He lay her down on the grass like she was a picnic blanket and began to feast.

He licked her cunt, sucked her bud, let his tongue swirl around her, then up and down. He knew what she liked now, exactly how to move his tongue to make her gasp or moan or tighten her thighs around his head. And he knew exactly how to make her pant so fast it was as though she was running uphill again, how to make her scream so loud sheep bleated in fear, how to come so forcefully he felt like he was dying the sweetest death by drowning in her.

Usually he liked to ensure Kate’s pleasure before securing his own. That said, if his clever, insatiable wife had other ideas, well. He was a modern sort of man. Far be it for him to contravene her. But he was not a selfish lover. He was not about to leave this little waterfall without making Kate’s water fall.

The house they were staying in belonged to the Duke of Hastings. Anthony had visited it once, during a summer holiday from Eton when Simon hadn't wanted to return to Clyvedon. Anthony had dearly wanted to return to Aubrey Hall but also wanted to support his friend.

It was small, more of a cottage really, with green shutters across all the windows and a waterwheel outside. It was small enough that there were no servant’s quarters even, a married couple came once a day to tend to the fireplaces and cook dinner but apart from that, Kate and Anthony looked after themselves.

That evening, they curled up together on the same armchair in front of the softly glowing embers of a former fire. Anthony was the most content he had ever been in his life, Kate's head tucked under his chin, his arms rubbing against the silk of her dressing gown. They had both used Kate's favourite lily soap in the bath and Anthony was pleased that he now smelled like her.

He could tell her now, he thought, pressing his lips to Kate's head. Perhaps this was the best time to do it. No one else in the whole world but the two of them draped over each other like silk saris in a drawer. Perhaps this was the moment he had been waiting for.

But Anthony hesitated. And before he could say anything, Kate drew her head away from his chest and blinked at him with slightly sleepy eyes.

“Can I show you something?” she asked.

“Of course,” he replied immediately. The moment was gone now, he knew. The only thing that mattered now was whatever Kate wanted to show him.

Kate leaned away from him a little and it was all Anthony could do not to scowl and snatch her back. But Kate did not withdraw from him completely, only reached towards the side table next to them and picked up a letter.

“Read this,” she said.

Anthony unfolded it and read.

It was a letter from Miss Edwina. There was nothing troubling about it, as far as Anthony could see. She wrote about balls and soirees she had attended, included some bits of gossip that she'd read in Whistledown, described some ribbons she had bought at the market. It was a charming letter but there was nothing particularly remarkable about it. He had received many such letters from his own sisters.

So why was Kate frowning and chewing her lips in concern?

“Am I missing something? She had not written anything untoward.”

“It is not what she has written,” said Kate, sighing, “Rather what she has not written.”

“I do not follow.”

“She has not mentioned Bagwell once. Back in London, she could not talk of another subject. Every conversation turned back to him. She is completely devoted to him. But now, his name appears nowhere in her letter.”

Anthony reviewed the letter again, this time bearing in mind Kate’s words. He had noted Bagwell had not yet offered marriage to Miss Edwina, nor asked him for permission, nor made any enquiries (discreet or otherwise) into Miss Edwina’s dowry. This was not necessarily anything remarkable, Anthony had not officially become Edwina’s closest male relative until he had married Kate only a few weeks ago and they had left for their honeymoon immediately after the wedding. But if Bagwell did have serious intentions towards Miss Edwina, he was being rather slow about it.

And as for the letter, well. Early in his courtship of Miss Sharma- when he still believed it was a performance and nothing more- he had written to Daphne at Clyvedon before she had journeyed to Aubrey Hall. Thinking it wise to mention Kate's existence before they would meet at Aubrey Hall, Anthony had written of his courtship.

Briefly.

He had then pivoted to writing about the antics of their siblings but when he wrote of Francesca’s dance with John, naturally he had to mention Kate's hand in taking him away from the edge. And when he wrote of the letter-locking lecture, thinking Daphne might be interested in such an event, well. When he tried to write of what he had learned, he realised he had learned precisely nothing, having spent the whole time staring at Kate. So he wrote about her. And before he knew it, every paragraph, every line had a mention of Kate, what she was wearing, what she said, what expression she'd made when he said something particularly vexing.

He should have realised then. He should have realised, when he looked at every time the black ink on the off-white paper curled into a ‘K’ in his handwriting, when each instance of her name jumped out at him like a kiss, when Daphne has triumphantly presented his own letter to him in the drawing room at Aubrey Hall, each mention underlined in purple ink.

And especially when she'd pointedly said, “I've heard a lot about you, Miss Sharma” and he'd blushed so hotly, he thought he might catch fire.

In short, he could see Kate's point.

“Do you wish for me to speak with Bagwell when we return to London?” he said, trying not to growl with displeasure at the thought of the end of their honeymoon and returning to the smoke and dirt of the city.

“No,” sighed Kate, tucking her head back underneath Anthony's chin and placing her hand on his chest, gently playing with the hair there, “Let me speak to my sister first. I will find out what is going on, if anything. I may be reading too much into her letter.”

“I think you should trust your instincts,” said Anthony.

Kate pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” she said, her eyes deep and dark.

Anthony had the greatest of respect for Kate's instincts and none whatsoever for his own. Should he tell her now? That he loved her?

But to what end?

It was like nausea, the overwhelming urge to confess his love, the single-minded fear that if he did, he would ruin everything. The marriage was exactly what they wanted. Affectionate but loveless.

Like a coward, he said nothing, kept this one secret from her as though it was a betrayal. Kate had all of him, every part of his heart, except that last sliver. He could not bear to give it up.

Chapter Text

He should not really be finding this situation so amusing, but he was.

Through the window of his study, Anthony could see Lord Kilmartin anxiously pace up and down outside in front of Francesca who was saying something very intently. Occasionally Kilmartin would shake his head, his eyes wide, as though Francesca had given him an impossible mission.

“I think it is a good thing Kilmartin is nervous,” said Kate, resting her head on his shoulder, “It shows how much he cares about your answer.”

“It is not my answer he should care about,” said Anthony, “It is Francesca’s.”

Kate rolled her eyes but smiled at the same time. “How modern of you.”

“It is the truth. I consider Kilmartin’s eventual conversation with me a mere formality. Francesca still has the right to accept or reject him as she wishes.”

“Do you want her to reject him then?”

“No,” said Anthony truthfully, “You helped me see the light there. It's one of the first times I realised how much I- l-”

He broke off, the next word catching in this throat.

“Hmm?” said Kate, twisting in his arms to look at him. Anthony looked away, feeling his face grow warm.

“How much I needed you. To guide me. How good you would be at being my Viscountess.”

Kate smiled, her face lighting up like a slowly rising sun, so beautiful that it took his breath away. He almost did it then, almost confessed everything, almost dragged forward the word he choked on before, but before he could Kate pressed her lips softly to his.

“Thank you,” she said, before turning back to the young lovers outside, somehow feeling softer in his arms than before.

“So you will give him permission then?” she said.

“Certainly,” said Anthony, “But I might have a little fun. Make him suffer first.”

“If you do, may I listen at the door?”

Anthony laughed.

“Your ear will be next to Francesca’s in that case. Are you sure you do not want to be present?“

“I am sure I do not,” said Kate, settling closer in against his chest in contradiction to her words. “Lord Kilmartin might take comfort from my presence and that will not do for your plans. I might ask Francesca if she would like to play a duet. It might distract her whilst Kilmartin is talking to you.”

“Very well,” he replied. Outside, Kilmartin stopped pacing and straightened his posture, clearly having come to some sort of decision. As he and Francesca walked out of their sight towards the main entrance of Bridgerton House, Kate pulled out of his arms. Anthony pouted.

“Do not make him sweat too much, Anthony,” said Kate, brushing his arms with the backs of her fingers as though brushing away dust that only she could see, “He loves her. That is all that matters.”

Anthony looked at her searchingly. Did she mean what he thought she meant? Was she only speaking of Fran and John or themselves as well? Was this a clue that his love for her was not unrequited?

Kate smiled at him, kissed his cheek and departed his study. Anthony touched his face where he had felt her lips, as though he could divine the contents of her mind from teaching the outline.

But he did not need to call upon mysterious powers to know what Kate was thinking. He knew her too well now. If she loved him she would have said so. She would not have spoken in riddles.

Even her affection for him did not necessarily mean she loved him. Had he not bestowed affection on dozens of mistresses and courtesans before he met Kate? Had he not told her himself that a loveless marriage did not necessarily mean a chaste one, that he would still want to kiss her and make love to her even if he did not love her?

What a fool he was. How could he ever have thought he could not love her?

Sighing, he dropped into the chair behind his desk like a sack of potatoes. His original plan was to look very engrossed in his ledgers when Kilmartin entered but instead Anthony was staring morosely at nothing and almost forgot to stand when Kilmartin entered the room.

Anthony bowed his head sharply. Kilmartin’s nod, he noticed, was more gentle.

“Lord Kilmartin. To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”

“I have come to ask for Francesca’s hand in marriage.”

He and Kate would get on well, Anthony thought wryly. No beating around the bush. Very direct.

“Why?” asked Anthony.

If Kilmartin was surprised by the question, he did not show it.

“Because I love her,” he replied, a quiet proclamation. As though he understood the gravity of what he was saying. No hesitation, no sarcasms, no sneering. Anthony envied his courage in saying aloud the one thing he could not.

He indicated the chair in front of his desk and Kilmartin took it. As Anthony resumed his own seat, his mind was only half in the room. The other half had followed his wife out of the study. Did it truly matter if she loved him? If she was playing her part as it had originally been written? The last few weeks had been the happiest of his life. Kate was the last person he saw every night and the first thing he saw when he awoke. Kissing her was more essential to him than breathing, the nectar of her cunt was the only food he craved.

Perhaps it did not matter if she did not return his love. So long as they continued to share a bed, to kiss, to make love in every possible way, did it truly matter if she felt the same as he did? Could he not manage with superficial affection?

With a sinking, but racing heart, Anthony concluded he could not. Even now, the uncertainty of Kate’s true feelings was causing him almost physical pain. He would not be able to kiss her knowing that her returning kiss was a lie. He would not be able to enter her without wondering if she was waiting for their lovemaking to be over. He did not think he would be able to hold her sleeping form without weeping.

Whilst Anthony ruminated, Kilmartin sat patiently. Anthony’s heart was no longer in properly making fun of him, but he would be sure Kilmartin felt for Francesca what he felt for Kate. He would not condemn his favourite sister to a loveless marriage.

“Does Francesca wish to marry you?”

A small smile broke out on Kilmartin's face. Anthony had always thought of him as a rather serious, quiet man and if he had been courting a sister other than Francesca, Anthony might have discouraged him, lest he be eaten alive. But there was something about him that was reminiscent of Francesca, like their souls were spun from the same silk, both of them quiet and reserved, not forthcoming with their innermost thoughts.

But John’s love for Francesca was written all over his face. He glowed with it, like the sun on a summer morning. Anthony knew he himself glowed with his love for Kate. He could feel it. His own mother had commented on it.

Did Kate glow for him? Had Mary Sharma said it was obvious that Kate loved him? Did Edwina comment that Kate looked happier since knowing him? Could he make that same comment honestly? Anthony rubbed his arms. They ached from the absence of her, even though she was still in the house, even though Anthony had held her in his arms not five minutes ago, even though he could hold her again as soon as he was done with Kilmartin.

“She does,” said Kilmartin. There was no hesitation, no unsurety. No arrogance either, it was as though his confidence came from Francesca’s love rather than any misplaced sense of self-belief.

“You have already proposed to her?”

“Yes,” said Kilmartin, smiling wider now, “And she has accepted my hand. We could not be happier.”

Anthony nodded slowly but gave no reply. There had been two proposals before his marriage to Kate. The one from her for a loveless marriage, for a part in a play that Anthony had acted so well that he had fallen completely in love with her. The second from him, on one knee in the grounds of Aubrey Hall.

He remembered how he felt seeing Kate’s ring on her finger for the first time. The joy he had felt at her answer, the pride as he caressed her hand. Happiness then. Had Kate felt the same? She had smiled as she said yes but was she just playing along with their game? Had she felt any happiness or joy when Anthony had accepted her proposal with his stupid stipulations?

What a fool he had been. His only stipulation should have been for them to love each other.

“I thought it important to speak to Francesca first,” Kilmartin continued, misunderstanding Anthony’s silence, “I would not have been so presumptuous as to ask for her hand without first knowing her heart.”

“And what if I say no?” said Anthony, with as much quiet menace as he could muster.

Kilmartin did not flinch.

“I would urge you, as Francesca’s brother, to think of her happiness. As my wife, she will want for nothing, not for a roof over her head, food on her table, furs in her wardrobe.”

“Material possessions do not bring happiness.”

“She has my love. I have loved her since first sight and I will love her until the last. God willing, I will leave this world first, I do not think I could survive the other way around.”

“Not for many years yet, I hope,” said Anthony, shifting in his chair uncomfortably. Why had they started to talk about death? “What of Francesca’s love? She has yours. Do you have hers?”

“I do,” said Kilmartin.

“An acceptance of marriage does not necessarily prove love.”

“No, it does not.”

“Then how do you know she loves you?” said Anthony, leaning forward across his desk, almost without realising it but he wanted to hear Kilmartin’s answer. He remembered having a similar conversation with Kate, how did she know Edwina and Mr Bagwell were in love? Kate had said something about the way they looked at each other and danced together. And she had noticed the love between Francesca and Kilmartin even then.

“I told her I love her. In reply, she told me she loves me, in those words exactly.”

As simple as that, Anthony thought, slumping back in his chair. Kilmartin had courage. Anthony was a coward.

“You have not asked about her dowry.”

Kilmartin made a motion as though he was going to shrug, then thought better of it.

“Neither the presence nor size of it makes any difference to me. If there is one, I would keep it in trust for her and any children we may have.”

“Would you now,” said Anthony, taking care to make his voice sound quietly threatening.

Kilmartin’s chin rose a little, as though it was a defence against Anthony’s attempt at intimidation.

“Yes. This is the true answer to your question earlier. If you refuse, Francesca and I will marry anyway. We will appeal to the queen or elope to Scotland. And then I will spend the rest of my life trying to rebuild the bridge between you and Francesca.”

“You would elope with her and then ask for my forgiveness?”

“No. I would help you ask Francesca for her forgiveness.”

Anthony smiled, unable to stop it breaking through. He opened one of the drawers of his desk and took out the brandy he kept there, the good stuff that he kept locked away from his brothers, the brandy that he only shared with Simon or Kate.

“Welcome to the family, John.”

John exhaled in relief, slumping against the back of his chair as though he had just undergone several rounds in a boxing ring. Anthony supposed he had, in a way.

“Was that what finally convinced you?” said John, accepting a glass of brandy, “That if you refused me, you might become estranged from Francesca?”

“No, although I would hate to be on bad terms with her,” said Anthony, his stomach roiling at the thought, “It was nothing you said today, I knew I would not stop you marrying Francesca even before you came into my study.”

“Really?” said John, taking a sip of brandy, “Then what was it?”

“A conversation I had with Kate at the Hartside ball.”

“At the- that was months ago!”

“Indeed. But even then Kate picked up on your love for each other.”

John took another sip of brandy, Anthony rather thought he might be buying time. He let the silence play out until John spoke again.

“I loved her, even then but I did not tell her until some weeks later. I was too afraid.”

“What made you tell her?” said Anthony, his voice coming out in a whisper.

John looked up, and something of Anthony’s inner turmoil must have shown on his face because he put his glass down on the desk and looked Anthony square in the face before he answered.

“I stopped being afraid.”

As she was going from being the sister of a Viscount to the wife of an Earl, Francesca could have had a grand society wedding in a London cathedral with ice sculptures and peacocks and fireworks. Indeed, the balls of London mumbled with speculation that that would be the case. But to everyone’s surprise except those who knew the happy couple, Francesca and John opted for the same chapel in the grounds of Aubrey Hall that Anthony and Kate had married in, much to Anthony's pride.

“I admit I was dreaming of my wedding to John whilst you were marrying Kate,” Francesca had told him not long after the second banns were read, “I do not have very many memories of living at Aubrey Hall before Father died but when you married Kate I made a new memory. I want us all to keep making new memories.”

Anthony had welled up. For so long, Aubrey Hall had felt like a place of remembrance rather than celebration, as though they had gone through the motions of being a family rather than actually being one. It was changing now, he realised as he entered the chapel with Francesca on his arm and spotted John at the other end of the aisle looking lovingly at his bride.

Anthony looked at his own bride. Kate was in the front pew between his mother and Daphne smiling softly, part of his family, part of the memories he now had of this place, part of the future they would build here together.

The future they were already building as he walked with Francesca. He had walked with Daphne like this but it felt different then, the empty pews, the rushed engagement, the tense feeling that he was leading Daphne to the gallows.

But of course it turned out alright in the end. Daphne was happily married to Simon with a beautiful son and Anthony was leading Francesca to the man she would, God willing, have a long happy life with, children of her own with.

And he, Anthony, would walk Eloise and Hyacinth- his heart lurched at that last thought, he had been the first person in the world to hold her and the idea that she might soon be old enough to wed was enough to make him well up.

He just about managed to keep it together until they reached the end of the aisle and Francesca Bridgerton embraced him for the last time. By the time she let go, Anthony’s vision was blurred with tears. He wiped them as discreetly as he could and when his vision returned he looked only for Kate.

She was only a foot or so from him and already on her feet. As the vicar started with the wedding address, Kate rose and quietly stood beside Anthony, gripping his arm, giving him comfort. He wrapped his arm around her waist and brushed her ear with his lips.

“We will have to have lots of daughters,” he said. As Kate’s lips tightened in her effort to not to laugh, he pressed a kiss to her temple. He could not love her more.

When the wedding breakfast had concluded, Anthony took Kate by the hand and together they walked into the grounds of Aubrey Hall.

Their home. In some ways it was strange to think of it that way. It had been his home since he was born and his house since he was Viscount but it did not feel like it belonged to him. For a long time it had felt like it was his father’s, his books in the library, his portrait in the study, his tulips in the garden, his ghost in every room. It was only when Kate stepped out of her carriage and looked up at the wisteria that it had started to breathe again, rather than echo with memories.

They were walking amongst the tulips now, or what remained of them now that the year was properly into summer. Soon the roses would bloom and the summer air would be heavy with humidity and the scent of roses but for now, there was a strong sun, a light breeze, and Kate’s hand in his.

“It was a lovely wedding,” said Kate, sighing.

“It was the second best wedding I have ever been to,” said Anthony, grinning as Kate laughed.

“Francesca’s dress was beautiful.”

“I could not see, my eyes were full of tears.”

Kate laughed again. He felt warm, from the summer sun, from the wine he’d had at breakfast, from Kate’s laugh and the knowledge that he’d made her happy to do so. The knowledge that he always would, for the rest of his days.

“I love you,” said Anthony.

They had stopped walking. Anthony faced Kate, her hand still tightly held in his. Not for the first time he wished he had the power to divine the innermost workings of her mind, to read the thoughts there like a letter. Instead, all he had was the expression on her face. Slightly stunned.

“I know it is not our arrangement. I know we agreed to have a loveless marriage. I have not lied to you all this time, I promise you that. I only realised my love for you at our wedding. I could tell you now I fell in love with you when your bangle fell against my hand but the truth is, I loved you long before that, I just did not realise. I have loved you every second since I met you. I have loved you every time we’ve walked together, every time we've danced together, every time we've been together, every time we've been apart. Every time I've kissed you or held you, I've fallen in love with you a little more. I cannot have a loveless marriage with you, Kate. I can only have a loving one.”

Silence met Anthony's confession. Kate was staring at him wide-eyed, lips parted. He could not read her. Were her lips parted in surprise or desire? Were her eyes wide with horror or joy? Was her chest heaving with emotion or in anticipation of running away?

Then Kate snatched her hand out of his.

“No,” she said, “No no no.”

“Kate-”

“What do you mean, you love me?” she demanded and he could read her now, eyebrows stitching together, cheeks flushed and angry, fists clenched at her side, “Was I not clear when we entered into this arrangement? That this would be a marriage in name only?”

“You can hardly think that of our marriage now!” snapped Anthony. He could feel his own anger rising and he tried to suppress it, tried to keep himself calm but he was too afraid of losing Kate that he could not stay quiet, “Have we not kissed? Have we not made love-”

“You are a Viscount, you need heirs-”

“Not everything we have done is for the purpose of making heirs, Kate,” he said desperately, “Everything we have done to each other, everything we have done with each other, was that not because we loved each other?”

“Everything we have done, have you not also done with women before me?”

“Is that what this is about?” Anthony threw his hands in the air, laughing humourlessly, “That I came into this marriage with experience? I know it is different for women but I did not write the laws of society-

“No, but you uphold them!” shouted Kate, “You benefit from them. You told me we would have a loveless marriage and I believed you! Why would our acts of love actually mean love? They never had before.”

It felt like a stone was dropping inside Anthony's stomach. As though he was going to be sick.

“Do you wish you had more experience? Or do you want it now? Is there someone else?”

“No,” said Kate, flinching, her voice sounding strangled and something broke inside Anthony when he realised she was trying not to cry, “Of course there is no one else. There is only you.”

“Only me?” said Anthony quietly, taking a step towards her. Something hot and dangerous sparked inside him, something perilously close to hope, “Kate, please. Please tell me you love me. Tell me I mean something to you.”

“No,” said Kate, ripping his chest open before plunging a knife into his heart, “I do not love you. I never will. I told you these exact words when we first entered our arrangement. I never change my mind and I never say something I do not mean.”

For the first time since they had entered the tulip garden, there was true silence between them, even the birds had stopped singing. Anthony looked stricken and Kate felt as though she had broken something precious, something irreplaceable and it would never ever be fixed.

But if that thing was Anthony, he fixed himself. His face stiffened, as though becoming a mask. He drew himself up to his full height, the sort of perfect posture that he must have been trained in since he could walk, chin jutted in the air, one arm at a right angle behind his back.

Right before Kate's eyes, her wonderful, affectionate husband was replaced by the stiff, uptight Viscount she had once so disliked.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, and for the first time, being called ‘my lady' did not give Kate a thrill. It gave her an unsettling feeling of unease.

“Anthony,” she said softly, although she did not know what she would say, how she could fix this.

It did not matter because Anthony continued, “You have made your point perfectly clearly. I can only apologise. I will not use such unwelcome phrases again. Go back inside the house. I will return momentarily.”

“Anthony,” said Kate a little more desperately, taking a step towards him, although she still did not know how her sentence would end. Like a dance, Anthony took a step back, maintaining the distance between them.

“Go inside,” he said, harshly, more demanding, a tone he had never used with her before.

Kate hesitated.

And then obeyed. She returned to the wedding, a happy, joyous occasion, feeling as though she'd left half her heart somewhere in the grounds of Aubrey Hall.

Chapter Text

She had been awake for hours.

Kate’s sleep had been eluding her. Ever since Francesca and John's wedding. Ever since Anthony’s awful confession. Ever since she had hurt him so badly that he could now barely be in the same room as her.

She was not used to sleeping alone. At least since Edwina was born, Kate had shared either a bed or bedroom with her, first in India then in London, then at Aubrey Hall, midnight dalliances in the library with a certain handsome Viscount notwithstanding. And then came marriage to that same handsome Viscount.

And now she slept alone.

Or rather, laid awake alone.

Her thoughts, but not her eyes, turned to Anthony. He spent all day at Parliament or at his club, all night in his rooms at the other end of their rented house. He declined all social invitations and although Kate could go without him she did not want to submit to pointed stares and awkward questions as to where her husband was. On the rare occasions he was home at supper time he took a tray in his study. On the even rarer occasions they passed each other in a corridor or on a staircase, he bowed his head but said nothing. As though she was an acquaintance he did not particularly care for.

Kate stared at the ceiling without really seeing it. Not for the first time she considered leaving her bed, her rooms, venturing down the dark narrow corridors to Anthony's chambers in order to tell him-

Well, that was the question. Tell him what?

Tell him the truth? That all she wanted was for things to go back to how they were. She wanted to dance with him at a ball again, kiss him until he moaned in that delicious way of his, make l- well, not love with him, but lie with him as they kissed each other, touched each other, have him enter her but have it mean nothing more than a show of affection between two people that needed to produce heirs.

She could do that.

She could also lie.

She could tell him what he clearly wanted to hear but she would not mean.

Hot tears pricked at the corner of Kate's eyes but she blinked them back. She would not cry. She would not go against such a fundamental aspect of her nature. She would not change her mind, not even to save a marriage that she had not destroyed. Anthony had taken a perfect marriage and asked too much of it, of her, and broken it to pieces. For the first time since her father died, everything had made sense. She had not only understood their life together but designed it, and he had too, they'd had a deal and now it was all over, the rug pulled out from under her feet, the world knocked off its axis-

Finally she let her tears spill, turning over to bury her face in her pillow, as though to hide them from someone who wasn't there.

The Hastings Ball was the one invitation they could not decline. Hosted by a duchess, Anthony’s sister no less. When she had first arrived in London, Kate had heard stories of the one the year before, grand descriptions of Hastings House, exclamations over the florists’ bill, rave reviews of the acclaimed string orchestra, not to mention the romance of how the then-newlywed hosts had not let a heavy downpour stop them from dancing together.

It seemed like another life, Edwina giddy for any romantic anecdotes that Miss Penelope Featherington could remember, Kate pretending to not listen. She did not let herself long for the dancefloor, never mind for a handsome suitor to accompany her. It was funny how things had turned out, for a moment she had had everything she did not dare to dream of.

She dressed with care, but not too much, allowed her maid to pull down a few tendrils of hair but not all of it, wore a dress that she had purchased early in the season at Edwina's behest but had never liked enough to wear.

Kate told herself it was because she wanted to put just enough effort in to fit in at the Hastings Ball but not so much it would give Anthony illusions that she was dressing for him. But as she descended the stairs to where her husband was waiting, she wished she had worn something that would have made his eyes widen. Instead he gave her a cursory once-over and looked away, his mouth flattening into a thin, disapproving line. He walked briskly out of the door towards their carriage before Kate had even made her way completely downstairs.

Kate’s heart felt heavy as she climbed into the carriage. Anthony sat facing backwards, head bent over some papers, the bench next to him covered in his parliamentary work, such that Kate was forced to sit opposite him rather than beside him as had been their previous custom. He did not look up as she took her seat, nor did he rap on the roof to indicate the carriage should start moving. It was several moments before Kate did it herself and the carriage lurched forward with a jolt that did nothing to settle Kate's stomach.

This was the first time since they returned from Kent that Kate was in such close proximity to her husband for long enough to study him. Superficially he looked much the same as he ever did, same dark, neatly curled hair, same slightly protruding ears, same clean-shaven face that she had once had the right to caress.

But there were differences too. His waistcoats had become brighter and more colourful since they married but now he reverted back to dark, as though in mourning. The crease between his eyebrows was deeper now, like a scar that would never heal. And his eyes, dark as his waistcoat, never once met hers.

The air in the carriage was thick, like the humidity that had once been home to her, but more stifling, more oppressive. She knew Anthony well enough that she could tell his muscles were tense, coiled up like a spring.

She yearned for his release.

“Will you not even speak to me?” Kate spoke into the half-dark carriage.

“What do you want me to say, Kate?” Anthony said tersely, not looking up from his work, still coiled like a spring, still taut like thread, “I said all I needed to say at Aubrey Hall. I have nothing further to add.”

“You will not even look at me.”

“I am busy reading this bill.”

“Your eyes have not moved.”

Anthony, if it was possible, became even stiller. The grand houses of Mayfair moved past their window with increasing speed but inside the carriage there was no movement from either Kate or Anthony. Even the dust in the air was still.

Then Anthony slowly raised his head and Kate was struck with the full force of his eyes. It was like she had never truly seen them before, large enough that she could drown in them, turned down at the corners like his mouth.

“Anthony-” she began, not quite sure where her sentence would end.

Except that was not quite the truth. She knew what she could say. She knew what he wanted to hear. And she could say it, tell him something she did not mean. A magic incantation that would make everything go back to how it was.

“Yes?” he whispered and she did not dare examine his voice for hope.

The carriage lurched again, this time to a stop. A footman opened the carriage door and the fragile silence of their carriage was broken. Kate blinked and gave her head a little shake, trying to orient herself to her new surroundings.

Anthony gave Kate one last look, then exited the carriage. Kate took a deep breath, gathered her courage and stepped out. She extended her hand, expecting it to be taken by a footman.

Instead it was Anthony.

Kate hated that she was surprised by this. He had never not been the one to help her down from a carriage, ever since they were married. He had returned to London on horseback leaving Kate to follow slower and lonelier in the carriage. He had been at his club when Kate had finished her journey.

And now Kate was on the receiving end of a gesture she did not deserve. Her bare hand was in his white-gloved one. It was both the most she had touched him in days and at the same time not nearly enough. She wanted to rip his glove off with her teeth, hold his bare hand in hers, her lips against his palm, her skin against his. As she stepped down from the carriage, Anthony did not take his eyes off her and for one moment, Kate thought she might be mad enough to actually do it.

Before she could, she heard a cry of “Sister!”

Looking up, she saw Francesca hurtling towards her from the house. She slid to halt in front of Kate and dropped into a curtsey.

“Viscountess,” said Francesca, her eyes brimming with mirth.

Kate’s heart gave a painful lurch but she echoed, “Countess,” and dropped into her own curtsey. When she rose, Francesca linked her arm with hers.

“Just wait until you see inside! Daphne has decorated beautifully, she always did have an eye for that sort of thing…”

As Kate let Francesca lead her up the driveway to the house, she looked back over her shoulder. Anthony was watching her, a soft look on his face that hardened when she caught his eye. He turned away to speak to someone and Kate turned back to the house.

Francesca was right, Daphne had indeed decorated the ball beautifully. The ballroom was vast, the dance floor bordered with gleaming white ionic columns between which draped garlands of light blue silk. From the ceiling hung multiple crystal chandeliers, each one adorned with flickering candles that made the dancers glow and the corners dark.

Almost as soon as they had entered the ballroom, Francesca was waylaid by a group of people that clearly knew her and wanted to give their congratulations on her recent marriage. Francesca gave Kate an apologetic look but Kate waved her on. She needed to find Edwina in any case.

Kate found Edwina near the lemonade table, a glass of cloudy liquid in her gloved hand, her eyes downcast. Edwina had been acting strangely ever since Kate had returned from her honeymoon. Their socialising was not the same as it was before. At first Kate thought it was because she was married, as though a husband had become an impenetrable wall between them. But it seemed to be more than that. Edwina was distracted and jumpy, Mary said she was picking at her food. She confided in Kate that she thought Edwina must be ill but Edwina would not allow Mary to send for the doctor, insisting that she was quite alright, that there was no need.

Edwina smiled as Kate approached, even curtsied and addressed her as ‘Lady Bridgerton’ which would have amused Kate if her marriage was in a happier place or if Edwina’s smile had reached her eyes. It was strange to think her baby sister was ‘Miss Sharma’ now. Kate had always assumed she would bear the name ‘Miss Sharma’ for the rest of her life.

“Are you well?” said Kate, eyeing her sister’s full glass. Was she not drinking as well as not eating?

“Perfectly well, Didi,” sighed Edwina, “I wish you and Mama would not worry so.”

Kate said nothing in reply, not at first. She studied Edwina like a puzzle. Why was her dress cut so strangely, giving her a boxy silhouette that did nothing for her figure? Why was her hair- not quite as naturally curly as Kate’s but vivacious none the less- so limp and thin? Why was the material of her gloves so thick and opaque?

And why was she looking about the ballroom, her eyes darting this way and that, as though looking for someone?

“What is going on between you and Mr Bagwell?” Kate asked carefully.

Kate had asked this question before. It was nearly the first words she had spoken to her sister after she’d returned from the Lake District. But then, and every instance after Edwina had evaded the question or smiled prettily and said there was nothing to be concerned about. Kate suspected Edwina did not mean the things she was saying.

“There is nothing going on between me and that man, Didi,” said Edwina, her voice calm but her eyes frantic.

Kate wished Edwina would not talk in riddles.

“Did something happen? Edwina, you have written letters to him! Did he ever compromise you? Did-”

“Kate!” Edwina snapped, no longer looking around the room but staring in horrified despair at Kate, her hands gripping her wrists as though to halt her reins like a horse, “I do not wish to speak of him!”

Kate looked helplessly back. Edwina was not normally like this, not normally so secretive, so elusive. She had never told Edwina the anxiety and wrong-footedness she had felt after her mother’s death but she had not needed to, Edwina had never needed more than a gentle nudge to be straight with her.

Perhaps it was no longer any of her business. Now that they were no longer young girls giggling in the night, no longer dreaming of the day they might appear in Whistledown with their name next to an eligible gentleman’s, no longer listening excitedly to descriptions of balls and dancing, perhaps now Edwina had no desire to confide in Kate. Perhaps they had grown too far apart.

Before Kate could say anything further, Daphne and Simon, who had been doing the rounds and greeting their guests, had made it to where Kate and Edwina were standing. Kate noted how Edwina changed, calmed her eyes, smiled and curtsied prettily to the Duke and Duchess, complimented them on the grandeur of the ball. Kate was unnerved at the mask Edwina wore. What was she hiding?

“What with your sister so happily married, it must soon be your turn,” said Daphne, so pleasantly that Kate almost missed the pointed nature of her remark, “I trust your dance card is full?”

Edwina’s smile flickered but did not extinguish.

“It is indeed, Your Grace. I do so love dancing.”

“That is truly wonderful- ah Anthony, there you are.”

A cold thrill washed through Kate as Anthony stopped in his tracks. He had been about to walk past them and Kate wondered if he knew full well she was there and was hoping to avoid her entirely. But he could not cut his sister and when he joined their circle with a small bow, he did not look at Kate.

“Kate, your dance card must be full also?”

Kate did not miss the jaw that clenched in Anthony’s cheek.

“Ah- no,” said Kate, feeling suddenly wrong-footed. Daphne was up to something, she could tell. It was as though she was saying two things at once, the innocent, rule-adhering surface and the true message beneath.

There was silence for a few moments. Then Daphne sighed and said, “Anthony, perhaps your wife might like to dance?”

Anthony looked at her finally, for the first time since he joined their little circle. His eyes, dark and inscrutable, his jaw tense. For one heart-stopping moment, Kate thought he might refuse, might humiliate her in front of their family who had no idea that he so despised her. But instead he held out his hand.

"My lady. May I have this dance?" he murmured.

If Kate had a choice, she still would have accepted.

She put her bare hand in his gloved one and he led her to the dancefloor. She could feel the heat of him through the silk, his large palms cradling hers the way he once cradled her face. This was the longest he'd touched her since Aubrey Hall and she savoured every moment of their short journey and dreaded the moment when he would let go. Which of course he did but only to re-grip her hand, fingers interlocking, and to cradle his arm around her back in a waltz pose.

They stepped again and again, finally synchronised after a marriage that had meant different things to both of them. Kate tightened her fingers around Anthony's hand. At least with their courtship, they were both in on the lie, however anxious it had made Kate. But their marriage had been a deal, written in explicit terms that Anthony had reneged on. Kate could feel a potion of anger brewing inside her, at odds with the warmth of Anthony's embrace. She had done nothing wrong. She had done only what she said she would, followed the script they had written together. It was not her that had improvised.

But then Anthony's hand gently stroked up her back until his gloved fingertips touched the bare skin above her dress and all of Kate's fury melted, like sugar in chai, at just that innocent touch. It was both everything and nothing, too much and not enough. She wanted his bare hands all over her body, she would die if he stopped touching her. She wanted to step closer still, lay her head under his chin, feel the silk of his cravat against her cheek, let his arm tighten around her like a shawl to keep her warm.

But she did not. Not only because of proprietary, although being married to a Viscount, even if it was in name only, gave her some protection. But because she knew Anthony would not welcome it. The fleeting touches he gave her were merely out of politeness or truly unavoidable. Her husband truly was role-playing now, only pretending to be besotted with her.

“I am sorry,” Kate whispered. Anthony’s hand tightened around hers.

“Do not say things you do not mean,” he growled.

“I mean it.”

The steps of the dance forced them to be arms length from each other and when they reunited, Kate’s back was against Anthony’s front, her arm across her chest holding his hand against her shoulder and his other hand settled on her waist.

“What precisely are you apologising for?” he said, his breath hot against her ear.

Her mouth was dry when she answered, “For the pain I know I have caused you.”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments. Kate was in agony, unable to see Anthony’s face, unable to read his emotions but able, somehow to feel his pain.

She turned in his arms and they were facing each other again, her hands on his shoulders, his at her waist. And now she could read his face, hard and inscrutable, a mask that she had fixed upon him.

“Is your silence an indication that you have not changed your mind?” said Anthony, the mask cracking, the pain leaking out like blood.

“Of course I have not,” she hissed.

“Kate, if you simply want more time-”

“It is not a question of what I want.”

They stepped apart from each other for the last time, arms by their sides. The dance was over. Kate thought they would likely never dance together again.

“This is a loveless marriage,” said Kate, her voice small, almost pleading, “This was the plan all along.”

She curtsied in time with all the other dancing couples. Anthony did not bow, merely watched her fall and rise, his head moving as though she was pulling his strings. When she returned to her full height, he blinked several times then turned on his heel and left her in the middle of the dancefloor.

She found him in what she presumed was either Simon or Daphne’s study, judging by the desk covered in books, papers and quills.

Anthony was standing with his back to the door, a crystal tumbler of scotch grasped between his fingers. He did not turn when Kate entered.

“Is this it?” she said, trying to sound calm and measured, hating the desperate, almost pleading note in her voice, “Is this to be the rest of our lives?”

“Kate, not now,” said Anthony, still staring out of the window, still not turning around.

“Yes now,” Kate snapped, “You will not look at me. You do not speak to me. You can barely stay in the same room as me. You will not even touch me.”

“I did not think you welcomed my touch,” said Anthony curtly, “You have welcomed nothing else of mine.”

“Is this to be our marriage now? Over before it truly began?”

“What is it that you want?” he said, his feet still, his fingers grasping his glass so tightly, they turned white, “You do not want my love, you were very clear on that. You have my money, my title, my protection. What more could you possibly want?”

“I do not care about that!” said Kate, but even as she spoke, she tasted the lie. And judging by the way Anthony snorted and took a sip of his scotch, throwing the whole measure back as though to cleanse his mouth, so did he. Had this whole sorry situation not come about because she needed his money for Edwina's dowry?

“I just-” Kate began, “I just want things to go back to how they were.”

At this, Anthony finally turned to look at her, his face cold and impassive, his eyes dark and foreboding.

“I cannot do that, Kate.”

“I cannot give you any more than I already have,” she whispered.

“I cannot give you any less.”

He set his glass down on the table. The resulting thud had not yet dissipated into the air before he was taking careful steps towards her. As Anthony moved, he removed one of his gloves with painstaking slowness. Kate could not avert her eyes from the movement, she was transfixed on the slow reveal of his skin beneath the silk. Despite the innocence of the body part, it was almost erotic, as though he was undressing for her.

Anthony stopped in front of her, so close she could feel the heat of his body radiating off him, so close she could see the candlelight flickering in his eyes, so close she could feel his breath on her lips like a ghost.

“Does this do nothing to you?” he said quietly, cupping her face with his bare hand. Kate closed her eyes involuntarily, sighing as he gently adjusted his hand so the entirety of her cheek was covered by his palm. She could have sobbed in relief, the ache of her untouched skin finally soothed by his caress. She could have sobbed in despair for the rest of her body that was still unclaimed, that still yearned for him.

“What about this?” he murmured, dragging his thumb along her mouth. Kate parted her lips and he pushed his thumb deeper. He moved his thumb along her bottom teeth and then down her jaw, her neck, before gathering her in his arms and drawing her closer to her. Her heartbeat sped up, matching the throbbing in her core.

“And this, Kate?” he whispered, bringing his face so close to hers that his upper lip was brushing hers, “Does this make you feel nothing?”

And Kate knew what he wanted. Understood why he stilled himself, half a kiss. He was waiting. Waiting for her to lift her head by a fraction of a degree. To complete the kiss. To- change her mind. To confess an emotion she refused to feel. To effectively say something she did not mean.

She pulled her head back. Anthony’s eyes had been closed and when he opened them there was so much despair, so much hurt that she had to look away, Anthony’s pain stabbing through her own heart to the extent that she found it difficult to breathe. She should pull away further but she could not bring herself to leave the cocoon of his embrace. Maybe this was it, maybe he would never have his arms around her again. Maybe this would be the most he would ever touch her.

The door opened and light spilled in like an unwanted visitor. Kate blinked at the doorway to see Daphne and Simon, the former looking smug, the latter looking disgusted.

“Whatever are the two of you doing in here?” Daphne asked, although there was something in the tone of her voice that suggested she knew perfectly well- or thought she did.

“This is my study, you know,” said Simon, looking carefully at the books on his desk.

At that, Kate pushed Anthony away, propelling herself out of his arms. She pushed past the happily married couple at the door and was away before anyone could stop her.

Kate stood on the patio and looked out to the garden. Even outside people were enjoying themselves, laughing and drinking and dancing to whatever remnants of the orchestra they could hear, bathed in a silvery glow from the moon. Kate wondered if Daphne had deliberately scheduled her ball to be during a full moon for the effect the light would have on her gardens. She would not put it past her.

Kate leaned against a pillar and sighed. It was still too early to leave politely. Her plan was to hide as much as she could get away with, periodically show her face in the main ballroom, not get drawn into conversations and decline all dances before departing.

“Ah. There you are, Kate.”

Kate straightened and turned towards the bright voice. It belonged to Daphne who came holding two glasses of lemonade, one of which she gave to Kate.

“Thank you,” said Kate, taking one of the glasses. She took a sip as Daphne turned to look out on her gardens, a serene smile on her face. Kate waited for her to leave, surely the Duchess did not intend to stay out here?

But Daphne did not leave. She did not drink from her own lemonade, nor did she engage Kate in conversation. She simply waited.

“Did Anthony say anything after I left?” asked Kate.

That must have been what Daphne was waiting for because she looked at Kate then, her serenity giving way to smirking.

“Should he have done?” Daphne said.

Kate hated this way of communicating. The way Daphne was carefully dancing around a subject. The way she seemed to be trying to lead Kate into a trap she could not see. The way Daphne did not simply say what she meant.

Kate shrugged and took another sip of her lemonade. What other answer was she supposed to give?

Daphne sighed as though disappointed that Kate had not lived up to the version she’d had of Kate in her mind. Kate scowled at the ground, trying to feel angry but really she was sad. Why had Anthony not said anything to Daphne? Did he not care? Was Daphne upset with her?

“If Anthony did not say anything, then there was nothing to say,” said Kate. He was a bit like her that way, “I- ah- apologise for the way you found us. It was not becoming of us, of our stations.” Her voice shook on the last few words but she got through them.

Daphne snorted, which was unbecoming of her station.

“Oh please. It is not as though you are unmarried. If anything, it is to be expected that the two of you should be sneaking away from balls, to be all over each other. You have not been married long after all.”

“We did not sneak away,” Kate said, but she did not elaborate. What would she say? That Anthony left her in the middle of the dancefloor and she pathetically followed him?

Daphne’s smirk turned disbelieving, which infuriated Kate.

“Come now, Kate. I have been a newlywed too. I know what it is to be unable to keep your hands off each other. To not be able to stop yourself from leaning forward until you are touching your lips to theirs. To be so in love-”

“I'm not in love,” said Kate.

Daphne’s face fell.

“What?” she breathed.

Kate's eyes filled with tears. She was so tired of keeping this secret, of her own dishonesty, especially now her co-conspirator had gone so far off script. Before she knew it the whole sorry story was spilling out of her, how the plan came together, how they set out to deceive everyone, how Anthony had given her his heart and she had ground it under her heel.

When she finished, Daphne was silent, frowning. Kate watched her anxiously, was she angry? Was this another person she could add to the list of Bridgertons that she had let down? Kate had left nothing out, not even her motivation to the whole scheme. Surely Daphne thought less of her now, now that she knew Kate had only ever been after Anthony's money.

But Daphne h’mmed and Kate realised Daphne was not angry, instead thoughtful.

“My courtship with Simon came about rather similarly.”

Kate was almost surprised, but then she remembered something.

“There was a duel, was there not?”

“Yes,” said Daphne grimly. “But before that, our courtship began like yours. It was a ruse.”

“But… why?” Kate could not understand. Daphne was wealthy and beautiful. She had been the diamond of her season. Kate had needed Anthony in order to provide for Edwina's dowry and Mary's old age. What on earth could Daphne have needed from Simon? Or vice-versa?

“I found my Season both overwhelming and underwhelming,” Daphne explained, “Being the Diamond brought me attention that I did not know what to do with. Anthony was rather… protective and many suitors were scared away.”

Kate smiled, despite everything. That was him. That was Anthony. She remembered how he had been with Francesca. How he had recanted his conversation with John to her after John had asked for Fran’s hand in marriage. He had even given her his derisive thoughts on Bagwell after the letter-locking lecture, although he thought Bagwell would ultimately suit Edwina well.

“Simon pretended to be my beau but really he was my guide. We pretended to have a tendre for each other and that would make me more desirable to the other men of the ton. In the meantime he would scrutinise each prospective suitor for me.

“We fell in love before we truly understood what that meant. Neither of us had been in love before and we did not recognise the feeling until we were in it. And even now, we still have foibles we need to inspect and straighten out. But at the end of the day, we love each other and that is what truly matters. Like you love Anthony.”

Kate's hackles rose, just a little. The current state of her marriage was not a debate and she did not appreciate being told how she felt by someone else.

“I do not,” she snapped.

Daphne studied her. Kate felt like an insect under a magnifying glass, pinned down and unable to run.

“You told him,” said Daphne quietly, “Did you not? You told Anthony that you did not love him.”

Kate nodded. Anthony’s heartbroken face came into her mind and she felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes. She bowed her head, willing the tears away. She did not want Daphne to see her cry.

“That explains Anthony’s strange demeanour after you left,” said Daphne, half to herself.

Kate’s head snapped up.

“So he did say something!”

“Only that he remembered some important work he had to finish before tomorrow and that he had to leave,” said Daphne, “He borrowed our spare phaeton and left you the carriage. I thought he was asking me to inform you of a rendez-vous, although why he could not tell you himself, I could not understand. You are his wife, there would be nothing untoward.”

“Well, now you know,” said Kate dully. Daphne had over-analysed her brother’s words but perhaps the important work did exist and Anthony had meant exactly what he said. Or perhaps the true meaning was that he was leaving the ball early because he could not bear to spend another moment in the company of his wife.

Anthony was always honest with her. But perhaps he was now finally falling out of love with her.

“Know what? That you told him that you did not love him? Come now Kate, you did not mean that!”

Kate wanted to scream. She liked Daphne, she truly did, but she did not want to recount the trauma of losing her mother to her.

“I do not say one thing and mean another,” she snapped.

“Perhaps you meant it once,” said Daphne with an elegant shrug of her shoulders, “God knows my brother is a difficult person to love. But I do not see why you cannot change your mind. Or realise it now you know your mind better. Simon and I did not realise we were in love at first either.”

Kate set her half-empty lemonade glass to one side. She did not like the way Daphne described Anthony as a difficult man to love. The thought of it made her feel incredibly sad.

But before she could reply, before she could ask what Daphne meant or how the hell you could be in love and not realise, there was a commotion just inside the French doors. Both Kate and Daphne turned their heads and a footman barreled outside.

“Lady Bridgerton, come quick. It's your sister. She has taken ill.”

‘Taken ill’ meant Edwina had fainted. Kate shoved her way through the throng of people that had unhelpfully gathered around her in a manner unbecoming to a Viscountess and found Edwina on the floor in Francesca’s arms, fortunately already coming around.

“What happened?” said Kate, kneeling on the floor next to her sister. She felt for Edwina's pulse, looked into her eyes. “Did you hit your head? How long were you unconscious for?”

“Less than a second,” said Francesca, “I was with her- she had a bit of a funny turn and fainted but she came round before she hit the floor really.”

Kate winced at the image of Edwina hitting the floor. She did not believe that Edwina was well, not really.

“Ladies and gentleman, if I could ask you to make your way outside! The fireworks are about to start!” Daphne's voice trilled. Kate nearly snapped at her, how was now the time to announce the fireworks? But then Kate realised Daphne’s true intent as the crowd around them thinned then dissipated entirely.

“Are you well?” Kate demanded, once it was just her, Edwina, Francesca and Daphne.

“I am fine,” said Edwina. Her voice was clear, her eyes focused. She looked tired but otherwise well.

Still, Kate could not shake the idea that something was deeply wrong. Edwina had been secretive and strange for weeks and was now fainting in the middle of ballrooms. Something wasn't right and Kate was going to get to the bottom of it.

“Should we send for a doctor?” asked Francesca.

“Yes, at once,” said Kate at the same time that Edwina said, “No.”

“There is no need, Didi,” said Edwina, her eyes wide. Kate recognised this look, it was Edwina's best imploring look, the look she used when she wanted something from Kate but did not want her to know why.

Kate sighed in frustration. All of it was becoming too much for her, Edwina's secrets, Daphne's manipulation, even Anthony's excuses to Daphne. Why could no one say what they truly meant?

“Daphne, might I trouble you for a bed for my sister?”

“Of course,” said Daphne. Kate wondered if she had been expecting that request and if her servants were already setting up a room, “A doctor too?”

“Yes,” said Kate firmly and this time Edwina made no objections.

It was still night when Kate finally returned home with only one thought, to find Anthony. If he was abed, she would wake him but as she walked through the main hall of their shared home, she saw a light flickering under his study door.

He looked up as she pushed open the door. A lone candle was lit on his desk, casting shadows across his face, hiding half his features from her.

Kate hid nothing from him. What both Edwina and the doctor had told her concerned him, concerned his whole family, particularly his sisters and Kate would never have kept this truth from him.

So Kate told him all. Told him how Edwina had sensed Bagwell pulling away from her. How his pretty words and loving looks had not translated into an engagement, even as the Season drew on, even as Kate and then Francesca had become engaged and then married.

So Edwina had used everything she had to bring Bagwell back to her. The more Bagwell pulled away, the more she gave him until she found herself in the situation that the doctor had confirmed for them.

The worst situation an unmarried woman could be in.

“She is with child,” Anthony stated, baldly, factually. As though he was commenting on the weather.

“Yes,” Kate whispered, waiting for the explosion. Waiting for Anthony to be angry, to insult her sister, to shout about how this destroyed his sisters’ prospects. How this had ruined their family.

Kate would shout back. She had spent hours holding Edwina as she wept, hushing her apologies, stroking her hair until she fell asleep. On the day of Edwina's birth, Kate had told her new sister she loved her and she meant it. And if Kate was to spend the rest of her life protecting her sister, she would. Even if that meant protecting her from Anthony.

But instead, Anthony was silent. He watched the candle flicker and Kate watched the flame dance in his eyes. When Kate was about to speak again, he rose from his chair and blew the candle out. The study was bathed in only the silvery light of the half moon. He crossed the room towards her then walked past her.

Anthony was almost at the door when Kate reached for him, her hand encircling his wrist. Anthony looked down at where their hands joined and flexed his fingers. Kate's heart hammered as she dropped her hand, interlocking Anthony's fingers with hers. He had initiated every touch at the ball. Was this the first time she had touched him?

“I will take care of it, Kate,” he said.

He squeezed her hand then exited the study, leaving Kate alone in the dark.

Chapter Text

His hand was still burning where she had touched it.

As he saddled up his horse- no need to wake the stableboy at this time of night- he paused to experimentally flex and unflex his hand. Trying to hold onto the ghost of her hand, the graze of her fingers between his fingers, the pressure of her palm against his.

He felt unbalanced as he swung on leg over his horse’s back, unbalanced as he took the reins in his hands, unbalanced as he squeezed his legs. Kate had held one hand but not his other. She had kissed his top lip but not his lower. She had given him marriage but not love.

Using his thumb and index finger, Anthony deftly swiped both eyes in one swift movement and the moisture that was there was no more. He did not have time to indulge in emotion. He had a job to do. Kate needed him

When she had entered his study earlier that night, Anthony had not been expecting to see her. He had taken his leave of the ball sooner than she. The whole night had destabilised him. He never should have gone, he knew that before they'd even left the house, but he could not decline an invitation from a Duchess and her certainly could not deny his sister and besides-

It had been so long since he'd last had Kate in his arms.

And if dancing with her at a ball was going to be the only reason he’d ever have to hold her, he’d go to a thousand of them.

After Francesca's wedding he had felt pure grief. He was not entirely unfamiliar with this emotion. With the terrible emptiness he had felt inside, as though Kate had taken his heart, lungs, any organ she could find, leaving him a hollow cavity of a man.

He had felt like this before. When his father died. When he had been a brand-new viscount and a fatherless son. When he had to take on his father's work with only a superficial understanding of how to do it. His mother could grieve openly, wail loud enough that his siblings were unable to sleep but Anthony could not. Anthony had to be strong, upright, brave.

But even amongst the similarities, there were differences now. Once his life had been haunted by the absence of his father, now he was haunted by the presence of his wife.

She lingered everywhere. The warmth of a chair that she must have recently vacated. The hoofprints of her horse in the soft ground that he had spotted early one morning. The way he could enter a room and know instantly if she had been in that room and how long it had been since she'd left by how strongly it smelled of lilies.

Far worse than this, far worse than not seeing Kate but knowing she was there, was seeing Kate at all. Trying not to watch her through the window as she gathered lavender in a wicker basket. Catching sight of her through doorways, gowns and saris whipping out of sight around corners. Passing her in the corridors of their house, barely able to look at her until she passed him and he could not stop himself from turning around to gaze at her retreating figure.

So he avoided her. Kept himself busy during the day by situating himself in places that he had never associated with Kate, like his club and Parliament. Except this was in vain- his club started employing a French pastry chef who served mielle-fuielle which reminded him of the pastries Kate had eaten the first time she came to Aubrey Hall. Or when the Lords debated a bill on trading English sheep wool for Indian saffron and he wanted nothing more than Kate’s advice.

Sometimes he thought that maybe he could just go along with what Kate wanted. That would be for the best in any case. Stick to the script they wrote together. More than once he had found himself standing outside her chamber door, willing himself to knock and invite himself in. Lie next to her like a husband in name only. But then he would hear the rustle of her sheets or the steady waves of her breathing and he realised he could not. He could not look at her and feel nothing. He could not lie next to her and not yearn to hold her. He could not do his duty by her but know that she did not want him, did not desire him.

Anthony tugged sharply on one side of the rein- still unbalanced- to turn onto the bridle path that led to Hastings House. There was the soft burn of a lamp glowing in a window round the of the house. Anthony tied his horse to an oak tree within view of the window and climbed through.

It had been something of a signal between them when they had still been at Oxford. If one of them was in their room in college and still awake, they would light an oil lamp in the window indicating the other could climb through if they needed to see a friendly face. Sometimes Simon would after an intense study session in the library when equations started blurring into the other. Sometimes Anthony did after reading and answering a dozen different family letters, all of them asking for contradicting things. Both of them needed the window after heavy nights of drinking and tupping.

He was pleased to see the window tonight, but it was unexpected. He thought perhaps that Simon was now one for turning in early with his wife (and Anthony’s sister). If his son was such an enchanting sleeper that Simon now spent his time in the library watching his child doze. Or if in his middle age he liked nothing better than a good snooze.

But no, the lamp in the window was lit. As though Anthony was expected. And as he climbed through, not quite as gracefully as he had when he had been nineteen and sober (but certainly better than when he was nineteen and drunk), he was glad to see Simon still up, sitting behind the desk as though Anthony was attending a long awaited appointment.

“Whisky?”

“I thank you, no,” said Anthony, he wanted to keep a clear head for what came next. “You know why I am here, I take it?”

“Our sister,” said Simon softly, which made Anthony's mind stutter. He had not thought that Simon would also see Edwina in that way. But he was right. Since he was now Anthony’s brother and Edwina was now Anthony's sister, there was a connection between Edwina and Simon on Anthony's already-vast family tree. The thought of it made Anthony feel strangely emotional.

“Yes. Miss Sharma. Miss Edwina Sharma,” said Anthony, as though Simon was not at his wedding, “I take it you know of her- ah- condition?”

“I do,” said Simon, “the doctor told me after he attended to Miss Sharma. He thought I should know ‘what kind of woman' I was harbouring under my roof.” He said this last sentence with distaste.

“The father is Matthew Bagwell.”

Simon nodded. “I thought it might be. She would not be the first young lady to anticipate her vows.”

“My understanding is that there are no vows being anticipated,” said Anthony grimly.

Simon went very still, which was no surprise to Anthony. He had reacted to the information from Kate in much the same way.

“What?”

“Bagwell was pulling away after nearly a Season of courting. Toying with a young girl’s emotions,” Anthony paused, then continued delicately, “When Kate and I first started courting, I was surprised that Bagwell had not already proposed.”

“And now here you are; courtship, banns and wedding all over and done with,” said Simon.

And marriage too, Anthony thought, looking around the study. It had only been a few hours since he'd held her in this very room, run his fingers over her lips, begged her to be in the same marriage he was.

How had he got it all so wrong? How had his heart come to beat so out of time with Kate's? How had they been so in sync once and now strangers in the same marriage? Anthony knew he had been the one to change the terms. He appreciated that. Kate had not deviated from their agreement, he had. But how could he not? What man could spend even a moment with Kate and not fall desperately in love with her?

Simon cleared his throat. Pointedly, as though he’d been trying to snap Anthony out of his reverie for some time. Anthony blinked, then focused.

“There was love between them once,” said Anthony, “Maybe there still is, even now. Nonetheless, Edwina cannot have a child out of wedlock. Bagwell has to marry her.”

Simon nodded as though he had been expecting to say words to this effect. His eyes drifted towards a locked cabinet in the corner of the room.

“They’re in there,” he said.

Anthony looked at him in surprise.

“I thought you were going to destroy them!”

“Why would I do that?” said Simon, “they brought Daphne and I together.”

“For heaven’s sake, Simon,” said Anthony, trying not to laugh. Where had that come from? He had not laughed since Francesca’s wedding.

“Bit of an odd wedding present though,” said Simon and at this Anthony did laugh darkly, Simon joining in. It felt good in a way, to feel something other than heartbreak, even if it was due to Simon's strange sense of humour.

“Do we take them with us?” Simon asked once they had stopped laughing.

Anthony looked back at the cabinet, an ominous object that had once belonged to Simon’s father. It had scared Anthony as a child, the hinges creaked no matter how recently they were oiled, the wood never truly free from dust.

“Not yet,” said Anthony quietly.

They rode in silence to Bagwell’s lodgings, the night air oppressive around them, the moon high in the sky. Anthony had considered, then discarded, the idea of waiting until morning, of getting some rest. He wanted the matter in hand dealt with. And he did not want to return home.

Bagwell lived in Bloomsbury, not far from the British Museum and not far from the Indian tea room where Anthony and Kate had baited Lady Whistledown into writing about their ‘courtship’. Where Kate had paid for Anthony’s tea, in an act of care that still left him warm when he thought of it. Where Anthony had spoken of making love to Kate- had his heart known even then? Was a part of his soul already hers- no, her- and therefore… surely…

Anthony shut down that part of his mind, stamped on it like it was a bothersome fly, a weed that he would not allow to take root. Kate had made her feelings quite clear. Not one iota of her soul was him.

Bagwell lodged in the house of a lawyer and his wife. The house itself might have been charming in daylight but in the dark it looked unwelcoming which Anthony supposed he deserved since he was making an unannounced call on a gentleman who would not want to see him. Even Simon looked unsure as they dismounted their horses and knocked on the door.

A footman answered, unsuccessfully hiding his yawn behind a closed fist.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gannett are visiting Mrs. Gannett’s mother in Brighton, my lords.”

“No matter,” said Simon, “we are here to see Mr. Bagwell.”

“The hour is late-”

“He will see us,” Anthony snapped, his foot in the doorway even though the footman had not yet tried to shut the door, “Tell him the Duke of Hastings and Viscount Bridgerton are here. He will know why.”

The footman paused, his eyes flicking from Anthony to Simon and back again. Then he opened the door wide, standing to attention as Anthony and Simon crossed the threshold. Sometimes it was necessary to pull rank.

“Where is he?” said Anthony, looking around the drawing room. It was spacious and well-decorated- the landlord was a very successful lawyer, Anthony himself had engaged his services when buying land- but it was completely devoid of Bagwell.

“He must still be in bed, given the late hour,” said the footman pointedly.

“You could wake him,” said Simon, smiling pleasantly. The footman was a fool if he believed a single facial muscle.

“No need,” said Anthony, already leaving the drawing room and heading towards the staircase, “we will go to him. Where are his chambers?”

“What?” exclaimed both Simon and the footman. Anthony frowned at the former, he was supposed to be on his side.

“Where are Bagwell’s chambers? I would advise you to tell us quickly before we break down every door in this house!”

The footman swallowed and looked at Simon. When the duke said nothing, he said, “third door on the left.”

“Much obliged,” said Anthony, tipping his hat before dashing up the stairs, along the corridor and bursting through the third door on the left. He may have done this slightly too dramatically because opening the door caused it to bang against the adjacent wall and knock a picture frame onto the floor.

Anthony frowned as he looked around. The whole room was in disarray; sheets peeling off the bed, clothing and personal effects scattered on the floor. A pile of books balanced precariously on a vanity table in front of the window, but an oil lamp gave the room a soft glow. An open trunk lay on the floor in front of the dressing table, in front of which knelt Bagwell. In contrast to the chaotic mess around him, he was neatly folding shirts, waistcoats, trousers, arranging them carefully inside.

“Off somewhere, Bagwell?” said Simon mildly- too mildly, Anthony thought.

Bagwell glanced up at them, then turned his attention back to his packing.

“I am afraid I am not receiving visitors at the moment, gentlemen,” he said. Anthony was reminded of how much he had disliked Bagwell on the few occasions they had met, how his affected pomposity grated.

And now he was running off in the middle of the night.

“We have an important matter to discuss with you, Mr Bagwell,” said Simon, his voice still all patience and pleasantry. Anthony did not yet trust himself to speak, afraid that he would snap and bring the negotiation to and end early.

“Edwina,” breathed Bagwell, and as if by magic a change came over his face. Gone was the imperious mask, replaced by a softness, almost a smile. Anthony had to look away, it was as though he was witnessing something private, something revealing. Is that how he looked when he said Kate’s name? Would he ever be able to speak of her without emotion or longing? Would he ever want to?

“You know of her predicament?” said Simon.

“She is carrying your child!” said Anthony. Thinking of Kate had left him feeling unbalanced again and he could no longer stay silent. She had asked him for help, finally sought him out after weeks of avoidance, ended only by their joint attendance at the Hastings Ball.

Holding her whilst they danced had given him hope. Holding her in his arms had felt like the first drink of water after a long drought. The way she had felt soft and familiar, the way she looked at him as he touched her- both on the dancefloor and then later in Simon’s study had made him wonder, did she truly not feel the same way? Was their marriage completely without a future?

It was only when she pushed him away and ran from him that he forced himself to acknowledge that yes. Kate had told him they would have a loveless marriage and that she never went back on what she said. She had not broken any promises to him. He left the Hasting's Ball to lick his wounds, have a drink in peace, feel his emotions rather than hiding them behind a public face.

When Kate had come to him in his study earlier that night, God help him but he had wondered, of course he had. He knew Kate felt something for him, affection and attraction were not so very far from love. She was not indifferent to him, he knew, their entire courtship had been proof of that. The look in her eye, the quickening of her breath as he had dragged his thumb across her lips and teeth- he wondered if finally, finally they were acting from the same script again, but a revised one, one where he could say ‘I love you’ to Kate and have her smile and say it back.

He had not hesitated when he had asked her for help. He had not even thought of the effect Edwina’s situation would have on the marital prospects of his own sisters. It was as simple as Kate needed his help. Of course Anthony would give it. He always would.
Bagwell flinched a little at Anthony’s shout but schooled his expression quickly.

“It is regrettable, to be sure,” he said, his clipped tones angering Anthony further, if that was even possible.

“Regrettable!” Anthony shouted, taking a step towards Bagwell, his arms raised. He only stopped when Simon put a firm hand on his shoulder but even then he had half a mind to shake him off.

“Stay calm, Bridgerton,” said Simon warningly, “Mr Bagwell, we implore you to do the right thing by Miss Sharma and marry her. The sooner the better. By special licence if possible.”

Bagwell said nothing but he did not continue packing. He remained still, staring into his trunk.

“Edwina has a dowry,” Anthony said, genuinely trying to keep his temper in check, “if it is not enough I will double it. Triple it. And she will have an allowance, naturally.”

Bagwell continued to be silent and unmoving.

“Mr. Bagwell, surely you understand the seriousness of the situation!” said Simon, his voice biting with impatience- and not a moment too soon, Anthony thought. They had been in this room for nearly five minutes and had resolved nothing. He was letting Kate down.

“I do,” Bagwell whispered. If only he was speaking in a church!- but then he continued with “But I cannot do what you ask of me.”

Anthony and Simon looked at each other, frowning.

“Whyever not?” said Anthony, turning back to Bagwell. You care for her, surely?”

Bagwell laughed but there was no mirth to it.

“Care for her?” he said darkly, “Of course I care for her. I love her! It is because I love her that I cannot marry her.”

Simon pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply.

“I do not understand,” said Anthony, “if you love Edwina then why is it that you cannot marry her?”

“I do not expect you to understand- either of you,” said Bagwell, pointing at both him and Simon in a manner that seemed accusatory. But what crime he was being accused of, Anthony did not know.

“Explain then,” said Anthony, his anger dissipating in the face of confusion. This encounter had not gone the way he had expected it to go. He had thought either Bagwell was not aware that Edwina was with child or that he did not love her. But then, not loving someone was not an obstacle to marrying someone, as Anthony’s own wife could attest to, he thought bitterly.

But Bagwell simply shook his head. “No. You could not understand. How could you, with your perfect marriages?”

“You think my marriage is perfect?” said Anthony bitterly.

“Is it not?” said Simon, looking up in surprise.

Anthony ignored him.

“What do you mean, you cannot marry Edwina because you love her? What has anyone else’s marriage got to do with it?”

“Are you already married?” said Simon.

A cold lump of ice settled in Anthony’s stomach. He had not considered this. The one reason why Bagwell could not marry Edwina, the one reason no man could put aside.

“No!” Bagwell exclaimed, halting Anthony’s catastrophising. He cursed himself and re-focused. He used to do this with Kate, take something innocuous that she said and spiral from it. He thought he had stopped doing it- dash it, he was unfocused again.

“You are unmarried?” said Simon.

“Yes.”

“Are you promised to another then?”

“No, no one.”

“Then what is the problem?” said Anthony, raking his fingers through his hair in frustration. Why was no one saying what they truly meant?

“I cannot marry Edwina,” said Bagwell, “that’s all there is to it.”

“It is not such a terrifying thing, marriage,” said Simon softly, “I was afraid too. I once thought I could never marry. But when you are with the right person, marriage is the most wonderful thing.”

Simon’s eyes were soft, almost liquid. Anthony had never seen him like this before, he had always been the most stoic of his friends. But there was something rather lovely about the way he spoke about Daphne. Something painful too, Anthony felt as though his heart was being wrenched out of his chest.

He had felt that way about Kate. He still did, he always would, even if she never felt the same way.

“In that case,” Bagwell said, his voice shaking, “I hope Edwina finds that person. She deserves to. Because I am not him.”

“She is with child!” Anthony exploded, again, “What part of this are you not understanding? What part of this do you think is not your responsibility?”

“She should find someone else!” Bagwell cried, jumping to his feet, eyes wild, arms out as though he was ready to physically fight Anthony. Anthony mirrored his stance, if he was going to have to physically drag Bagwell down the aisle, he would.

Simon stepped between them, physically blocking them from each other.

“That is enough! We will settle this like gentlemen!”

“Indeed we will!” Anthony cried, “If you are truly refusing to marry her then I demand satisfaction.”

Simon groaned under his breath.

Bagwell stilled like he was already dead. But his eyes were still wild.

“Very well.”

Anthony nodded sharply.

“I will see you in Hyde Park at dawn. Which is in only a few hours. Good day Mr. Bagwell.”

And with that he strode from the room, Simon only a few steps behind him.

They rode in silence under the bright moonlight.

Anthony was bone-tired, at risk of falling off his horse. Next to him Simon seemed to be more awake but lost in thought, looking at his hands on the reins rather than ahead.

When they passed his lodgings, Anthony stopped. Simon copied him but looked back in puzzlement. Hastings House was still half a mile ahead.

“Did you want to rest before dawn?”

Anthony shook his head as he dismounted.

“No. I shall only be a few moments. Wait here, I shall return.”

His own house differed from Bagwell's. More expensively furnished yes, but more personal too. A portrait of himself and his two next-youngest brothers hung on the wall above an Indian-made sideboard, something he had purchased for Kate as a house-warming gift. A purple runner on the staircase leading upstairs. He followed it now, taking care not to step directly on it.

He paused outside the door to Kate's bedchamber. There had been nights like this before, where he had stood exactly here listening to the quiet rustle of her bedsheets, trying to parse the pattern of her breathing. Was she sleeping or was she awake, and did he dare enter her chamber, tell her she could have everything she ever wanted. He would deny ever loving her, they could have a loveless marriage, anything her heart did not desire if it meant he could climb into bed with her, hold her in his arms again

He never did. He would not tell her one thing whilst meaning something else.

Now, in the early hours of the morning, two hours before dawn, he pushed open the door. Slowly so as not to wake her.

Kate lay in bed, deep in slumber. Back when they still shared a bed, he thought this might be the most beautiful version of Kate. Peaceful, content, the worries of the world a universe away- he liked to think he had something to do with that.

But then she’d wake and make a cutting remark or laugh at him with that beautiful melody or explain something so clearly and directly and completely her and he’d think ah no, this was the most beautiful version of Kate. But the sleeping Kate was a close second, her hair spread out on the silk pillow, the ends curling round themselves like waves in a storm, her bosom rising and falling as though to deliberately draw his eyes to them, her lips slightly parted as though she was sighing.

Her eyelids flickered. Anthony did not dare to imagine that she might be dreaming of him. He did not think of waking her, only gazed at her for as long as he could, begging time to slow down, to stop entirely so he could spend eternity in her rooms, forever in this very moment, his death or exile always in his future, his present only in gazing at his wife.

He was not sure how long he stood there. Kate did not stir, he did not wake her. When he heard the servants moving outside, he took his leave, taking one last look as he closed the door behind him.

He felt more awake on the ride to Hastings House, as though watching Kate sleep had been rest for him too, a balm to his weary soul, refreshing him to full wakefulness. Simon continued to say nothing although he occasionally glanced at Anthony, he refrained from speaking until they were back in Simon’s study, an unopened bottle of whiskey between them.

Anthony was determined that it would stay unopened. He needed a clear head, Simon too.

“Bagwell reminded me of you in a way,” Anthony said.

Simon snorted. “I thought he might.”

“I appreciate you trying to relate to him.”

“I did my best,” said Simon, “I have some knowledge of how he is feeling but- ah well. You can lead a philosopher to an obvious answer but you cannot make him think.”

“Come up with that all on your own, did you?”

“Hardly. I had to take a philosophy module at Oxford. Some of the mathematics professors did not think highly of this.”

There was a pause. Anthony got the feeling Simon was working his way up to saying something. It was unnerving.

“What did you mean before? When you said your marriage is not perfect?”

Anthony had been drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair but stopped. He and Simon did not normally talk like this, did not speak of problems or feelings.

“Is any marriage perfect?” said Anthony, aiming for a dismissive air.

Simon always saw right through him.

“Your love for Kate was obvious before even you realised it. Since you became engaged the two of you have been more than happy, until something changed. I do not think anyone outside the family has noticed. But Kate has been more withdrawn, you have not been seen outside Parliament or your club, in fact the two of you have not been seen together between the Kilmartin wedding and our ball tonight. Daphne said-

“My sister has always been a bit of a gossip,” said Anthony acidly.

“My wife spoke with Lady Bridgerton after you left."

“And then spoke with you, I take it? Did the dear duchess converse with anyone else? Our mother? Lady Whistledown perhaps? The scullery-maids-”

“Will you be quiet!” Simon snapped. Anthony did, Simon was normally softly spoken, it was not often he forgot his temper.

“Kate said your marriage was something of a ruse.”

“A lie,” said Anthony bitterly, “a lie to the world, then a lie from me alone.”

“What on earth can you mean?

“It was to ensure Edwina’s security,” said Anthony bitterly, “her stepmother’s too. We were to marry and then I would support her family. And her.”

“I don’t understand, how did you lie?”

“It was supposed to be a loveless marriage. I fell in love with her.”

“Ah,” said Simon, leaning back. Anthony could only see him out of the corner of his eye, he could not bring himself to look his friend in the eye, to see pity there or worse, understanding, “I take it she does not return your feelings."

Tears pricked at the corner of Anthony’s eyes. Hearing it from Simon was like hearing it from Kate’s lips again, that awful moment that had divided his life into before and after.

Meeting and then marrying Kate had done that too.

“Did you speak to her just now?”

Anthony cleared his throat and shook his head.

“No. I did not want to wake her. I just wanted to look at her one last time.”

Silence filled the space between them. Anthony was grateful that Simon did not break it, did not offer platitudes or reassurances. That he let him sit in the horror of not only a world where Kate did not love him but a world where he would not see her again.

“If I die,” said Anthony, and Simon did not startle, he barely blinked, “or if I kill Bagwell and am forced to flee, look after Kate will you?”

“She will want for nothing,” vowed Simon, “Edwina and Lady Mary too. You have my word."

Anthony nodded and gave a shaky sigh. That was something. More than something, it was the only thing that mattered, that Kate would be alright.

Outside the sky started to lighten. The birds were singing the dawn chorus. Anthony wondered if he would ever hear them sing again.

“It is time,” Anthony said quietly.

Simon rose from his chair and unlocked the cabinet. He took out the wooden box and opened it. Both he and Anthony were silent as the contents were revealed. Anthony wondered if Simon was thinking the same thing he was, that the last time these pistols had seen daylight they were pointed at each other, another morning where Anthony thought he would die or be exiled.

Simon took each pistol out and inspected them, checking them carefully for defects, that they were loaded, that all the pieces were present and moved correctly. Anthony did nothing, did not touch the guns, did not so much as move.

For the first time, he was glad Kate did not love him. Relieved even. The reason why he had ever entertained the thought of a loveless marriage was because he did not want to do to his wife what his father had done to his mother. He did not want her to take to her bed, unable to rise, unable to do anything out of grief.

And since he was about to die or be exiled, well. Kate would be alright. She did not love him. She would not grieve for him.

Simon finished his inspection and replaced the pistols back in the box, locking it. Together they left the study but before they left the house, Simon stopped him.

“Go to the stables. I will join you in a moment.”

Anthony frowned but Simon did not explain himself. Rather than stare at Simon's retreating back, Anthony took himself to the stables, re-tacked his horse.

The sky was light now, grey and overcast but the sun had not yet climbed above the horizon. As Anthony rode to the gate, he closed his eyes and let himself feel everything around him, the cold light of the sun, the sturdy horse beneath him, the breeze in his hair. He would miss England. He would miss Kate.

Simon rode up next to him.

“Ready?” said the duke.

Anthony nodded. Together they rode to Hyde Park.