only writing for the Bridgerton brothers atm ~requests are open~ sideblog is @eternallyale where I'll reblog stories I really enjoy so check it out for recommendations!
Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst or none at all but happy ending, playful banter
A/n: jajsjksksjsjsksks, y'all probably know what happens next after this.....
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The morning air of London was crisp, the kind of coolness that lingered after a storm, as though the world had not yet decided whether to embrace the warmth of spring or remain in the chill of winter. The streets, bathed in soft morning light, looked different today.
Perhaps it was because you felt different.
You had not meant to wander so far from the drawing room, but after arriving with Penelope, you found yourself hesitating before following her inside. She had come to visit Eloise, and while you were more than welcome in the Bridgerton home, something inside you made you stop at the threshold.
It was strange being in the Bridgerton home as you were partly– most of the reason, about why they weren’t making arrangements for a wedding right now.
You ran a hand along the carved wooden railing of the terrace, inhaling deeply, willing yourself to steel your nerves. It was foolish, really. You had nothing to fear, nothing to be ashamed of. And yet, the weight of unspoken words lingered in the air, suffocating you.
“You ran.”
You exhaled sharply, already rolling your eyes before you even turned around. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I did not—” But the words died on your lips the moment you saw him.
Anthony Bridgerton stood a few steps away, his presence just as commanding as ever. His dark eyes were unreadable, his posture stiff—guarded. He was dressed impeccably as always, but there was something weary about him, something frayed at the edges. You swallowed, heart thudding in your chest.Neither of you spoke at first.
Then, finally, he broke the silence. “You left before I could say anything,” he said carefully, as though measuring each word before it left his lips.
Your fingers curled at your sides. “There was nothing left to say, my lord.”
His jaw tensed. “Do not call me that.”
You let out a humorless laugh. “Would you prefer Viscount Bridgerton, then?”
Anthony sighed, running a hand down his face. “Must we do this?”
“Do what?”
“Pretend as though none of it happened?”
You hesitated.
“That is not what I am doing,” you said, softer this time.
“Then tell me,” Anthony took a step forward, searching your face, “why are you here?”
You swallowed. “Penelope—”
“Penelope?” he echoed, incredulous.
“She came to see Eloise,” you explained, standing your ground, “and I… I had no choice but to accompany her.”
Anthony scoffed. “You expect me to believe that?”
“Believe what you want,” you bit out. “It makes no difference to me.”
Silence stretched between you once more, heavy and suffocating. Then—
“You know I cannot pursue this,” Anthony said, his voice clipped.
Your breath caught. He did not have to clarify what this was. You looked away, schooling your features. “Of course you cannot.”
“It would cause a scandal.”
“Naturally.”
“The ton—”
“Would revel in it,” you finished, a bitter smile playing on your lips. Anthony stared at you, his expression unreadable.
“You were the reason I did not propose to Edwina,” he said, his words slow and deliberate. “It was your fault.” The accusation sliced through the air like a knife.
You felt your stomach drop. A sharp laugh escaped you—short and disbelieving. “My fault?”
Anthony did not waver. “You—” he exhaled harshly, shaking his head. “You distracted me. You made me question everything I had spent my entire life working towards.” You clenched your jaw, feeling something deep inside you crack.
“Do you think I wanted this?” you snapped, voice shaking. “Do you think I asked for any of this, Anthony?”
“You—”
“I was fine before you,” you cut him off, stepping forward. “I had a life, a future – well maybe not a well planned future but still!. And then you came along, and suddenly, I was drowning in feelings I never wanted in the first place.”
His nostrils flared. "And yet, you still let it happen.”
“You cannot blame me for your choices,” you hissed. “If you did not want me, you would have proposed to her regardless. But you didn’t.”
Anthony’s hands curled into fists at his sides.
“You think this is easy for me?” he demanded.
“I think you have always been a coward,” you shot back.
His entire body tensed. “And you,” he said, voice dangerously quiet, “have always been reckless.”
“You do things without thinking,” Anthony continued, each word like a dagger. “You do not consider the consequences. You never have.”
Something inside you snapped. “And you,” you spat, “are incapable of feeling anything at all.” The words were out before you could stop them. For a moment, Anthony just stared at you. Then, his expression turned to one of pure anger.
He took a step forward, towering over you. “You truly believe that?”
You did not back down. “I know it.”
Anthony’s jaw tightened. “Then you are a fool.”
“Then we both are.”
Silence. Your breath came in sharp, uneven gasps.
You could feel the weight of his stare, the heat of his fury. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. And then, without another word, you turned on your heel—
"You're running again!"
Anthony’s voice rang out across the terrace, sharp and desperate, freezing you in place just as you reached the steps leading back to the house.Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you willed yourself to keep walking. To not turn around.But you did.
You turned, eyes burning with fury, with frustration—with something else that you refused to name. "And what if I am?" you challenged.
Anthony strode towards you, his entire frame tense, the fire in his eyes matching the one inside you. "I’m starting to see a pattern," he said, voice tight with restraint. "Every single time things become difficult, you run."
Your eyes flashed. "And what of you, my lord? You push people away before they even have the chance to hurt you. That is not strength, Anthony. That is cowardice."
Anthony flinched as though you had struck him.For a moment, you thought he would lash out, that he would throw more cruel words your way just to wound you in return.But he didn’t.
Instead, he exhaled harshly, running a hand down his face before taking another step closer, reducing the already small distance between you.
"You think I do not feel?" he asked, voice low but charged with emotion. "That I do not feel everything when it comes to you?"
Your breath hitched.
"Do you know what it is like?" he continued, his tone almost accusatory, as though you had done something to him. "To see you in a crowded ballroom and only see you? To dance with another woman and only wish that it was you I was dancing with instead?"
Your heart pounded against your ribs.
"Do you know what it is like to wake up every morning and wish—pray—that I had the strength to be selfish? That I could throw away everything I have worked for, everything I have ever been, just to be with you?" Your lips parted, but no sound came out.
Anthony took another step forward."Do you think I do not want to touch you?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That every time I look at you, I do not ache to pull you close? That I do not dream of threading my fingers through this damn hair of yours and kissing you until you cannot breathe?"
Your breath came fast and uneven, your body burning under his words. He was too close now. Too close, too much. Anthony’s hand twitched at his side, as if resisting the urge to reach for you, to grab you, to claim you.
But he didn’t.Because if he touched you, if he gave in—he knew there would be no going back.
"You were never a mistake," he said, voice shaking. "You were never something I regretted."
"But I am afraid," he admitted. "I am afraid of what I become when I am with you. Afraid that you are the one thing I cannot control, the one thing that could ruin me."
You swallowed thickly, staring at him. "And yet," he continued, his voice softer now, gentler, "I am more afraid of what I am without you."
Silence.
The world felt unbearably still.
Anthony stood before you, stripped of all pretense, all composure. There was no Viscount Bridgerton here—no noble duty, no careful restraint.
Just a man. A man who had never wanted anything as much as he wanted you.
Your chest ached.Because this—this—was the Anthony Bridgerton no one else got to see.
And God help you, but you loved him.
"Say something," he pleaded, his voice raw.Your lips parted, but the words refused to come.
How could they, when every part of you—every fiber of your being—was caught in the tempest of Anthony Bridgerton?
He was too close, his breath mingling with yours, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim morning light. He was a storm waiting to break, and yet, for once, he was not running from it. He stood there, open, exposed, the weight of his confession hanging between you like something sacred.
You should walk away. You should. It would be the proper thing, the safe thing. It would be the logical choice, the rational choice—
But when had anything between you and Anthony Bridgerton ever been rational?
His gaze flickered down to your lips. And that was when you knew. It was inevitable.
Anthony had been fighting it for so long, had been clawing his way through the rules and expectations and all the things that told him no, no, no—but the moment he saw your lips part, the moment he saw the way you swayed ever so slightly toward him, he snapped.
His hand shot out, grasping the side of your face, fingers threading into your hair. A low, tortured sound escaped him, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, as if he had been holding his breath for months, years—his entire life.
And then he kissed you.
It was not gentle. It was not careful. It was desperate.
His lips crashed against yours, hot and insistent, stealing the very air from your lungs. He kissed you like a man starved, like someone who had been denied this moment too many times, who had spent too long pretending he did not want it.
You gasped against his mouth, but he did not relent.
His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, closer, as if he could not bear a single inch of space between you. Your fingers clutched at the lapels of his coat, anchoring yourself, your knees threatening to give out beneath you. The kiss deepened, and it was ruinous.
It was not the kiss of a man who intended to let go. It was the kiss of a man who knew he was already damned. And, you let yourself fall with him.
You melted against him, into him, as though you had been made to fit there all along. His hands roamed your back, pressing, grasping, like he needed to memorize you, like he feared you would disappear the moment he let go.
And for the first time in weeks—no, months—you let yourself forget. You forgot the whispers, the scrutiny, the unspoken thoughts that declared you unworthy of a man like him. But you were a hypocrite, saying you’re unworthy but wanted to snatch him away either way. You admit it. You’re selfish
He pulled back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling in ragged, uneven breaths. His hands remained on you, unwilling to let go.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, voice raw.
You swallowed, heart hammering in your chest. You should. You should tell him to stop, should tell him this was a mistake, should remind him of the consequences. But you didn’t, instead, you lifted a hand to his cheek, fingers trembling as they traced the sharp edge of his jaw.
“You do not want me to say that,” you whispered.
A pained sound left him, and then he was kissing you again, softer this time, but just as hungry.
His voice was hoarse, desperate. His fingers dug into your waist, gripping you as though you were the only thing tethering him to this world. His forehead remained pressed against yours, his breath ragged and uneven, his entire body taut with restraint.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured again, though this time it was not a plea, but a warning. His lips hovered just above yours, his nose brushing against your cheek, his fingers curling ever so slightly into the fabric of your dress. “Because if you don’t… I will have you. And I won’t stop.”
You should have been afraid. Not of him, never of him—but of what this meant. Of what you were about to do. But you weren’t. Because this was inevitable.
The tension that had simmered for days, months even, was finally at its breaking point, and you wanted it to break. You wanted to shatter alongside him.
Your fingers curled around the lapels of his coat, tugging him closer, your breaths mingling in the space between you.
“Then don’t stop,” you whispered.
Anthony’s restraint snapped.
He growled, low and deep in his throat, before his lips crashed against yours, harder than before, more urgent, more needy. His hands slid down your waist, gripping your hips, pulling you against him in a way that made heat coil low in your belly.
You gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage of the sound, his tongue sweeping inside, tasting you, claiming you. It was dizzying, the way he kissed you—like he had been starving for you, like he had been deprived of this for far too long.
One of his hands tangled into your hair, tilting your head just the way he wanted, deepening the kiss until you were completely at his mercy. You moaned into his mouth, your fingers twisting in his coat, your body pressing against his, desperate for more.
“You have no idea,” he murmured between kisses, his lips trailing down the column of your throat, his voice rough and unsteady. “How long I have wanted this. How long I have ached for you.”
You whimpered as his teeth grazed your pulse point, your head falling back as his mouth continued its descent, lips and tongue and teeth mapping out every inch of exposed skin.
“Anthony—”
He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his hands tightening on your waist before he lifted you, backing you up against the terrace railing. His hips slotted between your legs, the movement making you gasp, making you feel the unmistakable proof of his desire pressing against your thigh.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured again, but this time, his voice was almost taunting, as if he already knew the answer.
Your fingers curled into his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned, his hips pressing even closer, making you keen.
“Don’t you dare,” you whispered, breathless.
A dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. “My reckless girl,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice thick with want. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
His hands slid lower, gathering the fabric of your dress, fingertips grazing bare skin. Every inch of you burned where he touched, where he kissed, where he pressed against you.
You were losing yourself, unraveling beneath him, and you didn’t care.
Because for the first time in a long, long time—
You weren’t running.
And neither was he.
A/n: with that being said, there'll be like one or two chapters left since I don't know what else to write anymore to make it more interesting 😭😭
Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter
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Servants bustled about, loading carriages with trunks and travel bags, while families exchanged their final pleasantries. The atmosphere was lighthearted—at least for everyone else.
You, however, felt like you were drifting through it all in a daze.
Anthony had kissed you.
It had not been the restrained, almost brush of his lips with hers he shared with Kate in the series. No, this was different. This was desperation, longing, and something else—something raw, something that set your skin aflame even now as you sat in the drawing room, watching every family that stayed preparing to leave.
It had meant something.
And yet, he had still walked away.
“Y/N?”
You blinked, jolted from your thoughts as Penelope sat beside you, watching you with a concerned expression. “Are you well? You’ve been unusually quiet all morning.”
You forced a small smile. “Just tired.”
Penelope hummed, clearly not believing you but unwilling to press further. “Are you riding back with us?”
You nodded absentmindedly. “Yes, of course.”
Your gaze flickered across the room, landing on him.
Anthony stood near the doorway, speaking with Benedict and Colin. He looked every bit the composed Viscount—the picture of duty and responsibility. But when he sensed your stare and turned, locking eyes with you across the room, something flickered in his expression.
It was brief. A momentary crack in his carefully built walls. But it was enough.
Enough to make your breath hitch.
Enough to remind you of the way his lips had felt on yours.
And then, just as quickly, he turned away, severing the connection as though it had never happened.
Your stomach twisted.
He would pretend it meant nothing.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat and turned to Penelope, forcing yourself to push the memory aside. If Anthony Bridgerton wanted to pretend that nothing had changed, then fine. You would do the same.
Even if it was a lie.
Even if the very thought of returning to London, where his proposal to Edwina was all but imminent in a few minutes, made your chest ache.
You had tried to change things. You had fought with everything you had.
But perhaps fate was stronger than you.
You stood next to Pen as you waited for the carriage to arrive, watching as the Sharma family descended the stairs towards their carriage. Your eyes looked towards the field, dread brewing on your chest as you tried to focus on anywhere but the incoming scene to be made.
“Are you alright, sister?” Pen asked from beside you as Portia and Prudence climbed the carriage with cousin Jack
“i-i-“ your breaths came out rapidly as you felt the sting of tears starting to form in your eyes “I just feel sick-“
“Wait!” you heard Anthony’s voice shout, as much as you didn’t want to, your head turned to find him, he was walking down the stairs quickly “Might I speak with you?”
“Of course” Kate answered
“that was meant for Miss Edwina” he stated, as he was getting closer and closer to her, his eyes connected with your pain filled ones, making him freeze.
The world seemed to stop.
The murmurs around you faded into nothing as Anthony’s gaze locked onto yours, and in that moment, something inside him shattered.
Your eyes were glassy, filled with an anguish you desperately tried to conceal, and yet he saw it—he felt it. It clawed at his chest, at the walls he had so painstakingly built, until they cracked, crumbled, and left him utterly exposed.
This was wrong. All of it.
He turned to Edwina, who was watching him with gentle curiosity, unaware of the storm raging inside him.
“Miss Edwina,” he began, his voice softer than expected. “I must apologize.”
The crowd stilled. Kate stiffened beside her sister, her sharp eyes narrowing in suspicion. Lady Danbury and Violet exchanged looks.
Anthony inhaled deeply. He could do this. He *had* to do this. He had to propose, and yet–
“I cannot, in good conscience, offer you the proposal you deserve,” he admitted.
Edwina blinked. “I—I do not understand.”
Anthony swallowed, carefully choosing his words. “You are a remarkable woman, Miss Edwina. Kind, intelligent, and full of grace. Any man would be lucky to have your hand, and yet—” he hesitated, his voice growing thick with emotion, “—I am not that man.”
Shock rippled through the small audience formed of his family, the Sharmas and yours.
Edwina’s brows furrowed, confusion slowly giving way to realization. She glanced at Kate, then back at Anthony.
“But I thought—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I thought so too,” Anthony admitted, his jaw tightening. “I believed that duty should dictate my heart. That if I simply chose wisely, feelings would follow.” He exhaled shakily. “But I was wrong. And it would be a great disservice to you—to both of us—if I continued down this path knowing I cannot give you the love you deserve.”
Silence.
A single tear slipped down Edwina’s cheek before she quickly wiped it away. But then, to everyone’s surprise, a small, sad smile formed on her lips.
“I suppose I should be angry,” she said quietly, though there was no malice in her tone. “But strangely, I am not.”
Anthony’s brows furrowed.
Edwina sighed, glancing at her sister once more before turning back to him. “I wanted to be chosen,” she admitted, voice tinged with melancholy. “I wanted the fairy tale. But deep down, I think I always knew.”
“Knew what?”
Her gaze flickered toward you.
“That your heart was never truly mine to begin with.”
Your breath caught.
Anthony stiffened, following Edwina’s gaze back to you, standing frozen next to Penelope, your expression unreadable.
Kate stepped forward, her lips parted as if she wished to speak, but Edwina gently placed a hand on her arm, stopping her.
Then, she turned back to Anthony and inclined her head. “Thank you for your honesty, Lord Bridgerton. I only hope you will not let fear keep you from true happiness.”
Anthony inhaled sharply, those words cutting deeper than he expected.
He opened his mouth—perhaps to apologize again, perhaps to thank her—but Edwina simply stepped back, taking Kate’s hand and leading her toward their carriage without another word.
A beat passed. Then another.
And then, ever so slowly, Anthony turned.
To you.
Your eyes widened, but before you could react—before you could flee or speak or breathe—he was moving.
Straight toward you.
And you?
You regained your composure and ran inside your carriage which started moving the second every member of the featherington household was inside.
Yes.
You ran
The streets of London were as they always were—bustling with life, carriages rolling past, vendors calling out their wares, society moving forward as if nothing had changed.
But everything had changed.
You pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders as you walked along the cobblestone street, your thoughts a tangled mess.
You had run.
After everything—after fighting, after speaking your truth, after begging Anthony to see what was right in front of him—when he had finally done so, when he had finally turned to you, you were the one who fled.
What a fool you were.
You had told yourself it was self-preservation, that it was too much to bear in that moment. But as the night passed and morning arrived, the weight of your choice settled in.
It was cowardice.
Plain and simple.
Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed where your feet were taking you until—
“Oh,” you breathed, coming to an abrupt stop.
Kate Sharma stood before you, her expression unreadable.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The memory of yesterday lingered between you like a ghost.
“Miss Sharma,” you finally greeted, your voice measured.
Kate’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Miss Featherington.”
Another beat of silence.
Then, to your surprise, Kate sighed, rubbing her temples before meeting your gaze with something that was not quite anger but was not exactly pleasant either. “I should not be surprised to see you so soon,” she muttered.
You raised a brow. “And why is that?”
Kate scoffed, crossing her arms. “Because ever since you arrived in our lives, everything has gone sideways.”
You swallowed. “Kate—”
“My sister was humiliated,” she cut in, her voice sharp. “Anthony Bridgerton made her believe he would offer for her, and in the end, he did not. Do you understand what that means for her?”
Guilt twisted in your gut. “I do,” you said quietly. “And I am sorry.”
Kate exhaled, shaking her head. “I do not know what game you and Lord Bridgerton are playing, but my sister is not a pawn. She deserves better than this.”
“I agree.”
Kate’s eyes narrowed slightly at your immediate response, as though it had caught her off guard.
You swallowed past the lump in your throat and continued, “Edwina deserves a love that is entirely hers. And she would have never had that with Anthony.”
Kate’s jaw clenched, her fingers tightening around the fabric of her gloves. “And why is that?”
You hesitated.
Kate scoffed. “Oh, do not feign innocence now,” she bit out. “We both know the reason. I know the reason.”
Your breath hitched.
She knew.
Perhaps she had known for a while, perhaps the way Anthony looked at you—the way he had always looked at you—had not gone unnoticed by her keen gaze.
“You,” she murmured, the realization laced with something between fury and reluctant understanding. “It has always been you.”
You said nothing.
Because what could you say?
Kate took a step closer, eyes searching yours. “Tell me one thing, and tell me truthfully,” she said, voice lower now, softer. “Do you love him?”
Your lips parted, but the words caught in your throat.
Did you?
After everything, after the push and pull, the arguments, the stolen moments, the way he had kissed you like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world—
“Yes,” you whispered.
Kate inhaled sharply, as if she had expected it and yet still found herself unprepared for the truth.
Another silence passed before she let out a bitter chuckle. “Then why,” she asked, tilting her head, “did you run?”
You swallowed “Because I’m a coward” you said “because I thought him unattainable, like something I could never – would have never been able to reach….so the moment it changed, the moment that dream became attainable… it really became real, I didn’t know what to do”
You looked her in the eyes “I never meant to hurt your sister, believe me, and I know trying to tug – do what I did – trying to earn the affections of the man that was courting her was cruel, so I apologize, to both you and her”
Kate studied you, her sharp gaze assessing every inch of your expression, searching for any hint of insincerity. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered honesty.
For the first time since you had met her, she hesitated.
You had expected her to continue her sharp retorts, to tell you that your apology was too little, too late. And perhaps it was. But when she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, softer than before.
“You are right,” she said simply. “It was cruel.”
You nodded, accepting the truth of it.
Kate exhaled, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you. “But I cannot pretend that I do not understand.”
That made you blink.
She let out a humorless chuckle. “The idea of loving someone you know you should not? Of feeling as though you are reaching for something just out of your grasp?” Her jaw tightened. “It is maddening, is it not?”
It was the closest thing to an admission Kate Sharma would ever give.
And yet, it spoke volumes. And you knew who she was talking about.
Your chest ached—not just for yourself but for her too. You now felt even worse.
“I am sorry, Kate,” you said again, gentler this time. “Truly.”
Kate sighed, glancing down at her gloved hands before nodding. “Edwina will need time, but she is stronger than you think. She will heal.”
You let out a slow breath. That was all you could hope for.
Kate’s eyes flickered back to yours, and for the first time, the anger in them had dimmed. There was still tension, still unresolved emotions, but there was something else too—something that felt like reluctant understanding.
“You should speak to him,” she said finally.
Your stomach twisted. “Anthony?”
Kate scoffed. “Do not act so surprised. You may have run yesterday, but I doubt he will let you run forever.”
You swallowed, her words settling heavily on your chest.
“I do not know if I am ready,” you admitted.
Kate tilted her head. “And do you think he was ready when he looked at my sister, realized he could not propose, and suddenly had to face the truth?”
You opened your mouth, then closed it.
Fair point.
Kate huffed out something that was not quite a laugh but not quite amusement either. “Cowardice does not suit you, Miss Featherington.”
You sighed. “Yes, I am beginning to learn that.”
Kate nodded, stepping back. “Then I suggest you start acting like it.”
And with that, she turned,
You stopped her before she left “Miss Sharma?” you called out “Despite everything….I hope you and I could become friends….”
Kate paused mid-step, her back still to you. For a moment, you thought she might simply continue walking, pretend she hadn’t heard you.
But then, slowly, she turned back around.
Her dark eyes searched yours, cautious, hesitant. The weight of everything that had transpired still hung between you—your interference, Edwina’s heartbreak, Anthony’s choice. There was no erasing that.
And yet…
A small, almost imperceptible softening in her gaze told you that perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance.
Kate exhaled through her nose, tilting her chin up slightly. “You are a difficult woman to dislike, Miss Featherington,” she admitted, her tone dry but not unkind.
A smile twitched at your lips. "I shall take that as a compliment.”
She huffed, shaking her head before glancing at you once more.
“Perhaps,” she said carefully, “with time.”
It was not an outright acceptance, nor was it a complete dismissal. It was something.
And that was enough.
You nodded, offering her a small smile. “Then I shall look forward to that day, Miss Sharma.”
Kate studied you one last time before inclining her head slightly and finally turning away, disappearing down the street. You let out a slow breath, your heart still pounding from the conversation.
Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter
Hehehehe
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You would be lying if you said you weren’t worried.
It was now the time where Anthony invited the Sharma family over to Aubrey Hall before the ball, it wouldn’t have upset you, if it wasn’t also the time which truly cemented the start of Kate and Anthony’s love story.
With Edwina, you didn’t have to worry much, which sounded cruel, but it’s written that Anthony, under no circumstances, ends up with her, both in the series and in the books, but Kate?
Kate is his destiny. And you have tried so hard to change that destiny but what if their love is so strong that it overcomes any brief affections that Anthony feels for someone else? Aubrey Hall was where they fell in love. And you hope, hope, hope, that you have gotten under Anthony’s skin so much that changes that.
You sighed as you step out of the featherington manor, slightly fed up with their daily ocurrences, you mean, seriously? Portia now is trying to get Prudence to catch cousin Jack’s attention, ew.
Your eyes brighten up as you saw the Bridgerton family getting their luggages on the carriages to leave, catching sight of one Bridgerton in particular. You walked over, crossing the street.
“Ah, Y/n, came to see us off?” Eloise said as she saw you coming over
You smiled “Yes, I didn’t know you were leaving so early”
“yes, well, we like to spend a few days in Aubrey Hall to rest before the ton arrives” Lady Bridgerton said as she approached us “lovely to see you, dear, you are coming to the ball with Penelope, yes?”
“I wouldn’t miss it for anything” you answered, she smiled at you, heading over to continue packing
You looked behind you before walking towards Anthony “Why are you all leaving so early?” you asked, even though you already knew the answer
“Ah, well, mother wanted to relax for a few days,” he said “and….we- uh- we invited the Sharmas over” you turned to look at him
“The Sharmas?” you say “Whatever for?”
“That is what one does when you are courting a lady” Anthony cleared his throat
You hide your wince “So….it is official then?” you asked before huffing “her sister is against you! Why are you still so stubb-“
Anthony exhaled sharply, turning toward you with a look that made your stomach tighten. His usual mask of indifference had cracked, revealing something raw beneath it—frustration, maybe even anger.
“Why do you always say that?” he demanded, his voice sharp.
You blinked. “Say what?”
“That I should give up,” he snapped. “Every time, without fail, you insist that I should walk away. Why? Why do you care so much about whether I pursue Miss Edwina or not?”
You hesitated, your throat tightening. “Because it’s obvious that this is a mistake, Anthony.”
“A mistake?” he repeated, stepping closer. “What do you know of mistakes? What do you know of me?”
Your breath hitched. The space between you was too small now, the tension too thick. “I know that you are stubborn,” you said, your voice quieter but no less firm. “I know that you think you can force yourself into a life that does not suit you, simply because it is what you should do.”
Anthony let out a bitter laugh. “And what would you have me do, Y/N? Follow passion? Risk everything for something that will only lead to ruin?”
“Ruin?” Your voice rose, your frustration boiling over. “Is that what you think love is? Ruin?”
His jaw clenched. “Love is unpredictable. It is reckless. I have seen what it does to a man, what it did to my mother. It destroyed my mother when he died.” He took a shuddering breath, as if the admission had slipped from him unwillingly. “I will not let it destroy me.”
Your heart ached. “Anthony…”
“No,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “I do not have the luxury of love, Y/N. I have a duty—to my family, to my title. I cannot afford to be selfish.”
Your fingers curled Into your palms. “And you think marrying Edwina will spare you from love? That if you choose someone who does not make your heart race, you will be safe?”
Anthony’s breath was unsteady, and for a moment, he looked at you as if you had struck him. And maybe, in a way, you had.
“You think you know everything,” he said finally, his voice quieter, but no less intense. “You think you see me so clearly, but you don’t. You can’t.”
Your lips parted, but he wasn’t done.
“I am tired, Y/N.” His voice was ragged, exhausted in a way you had never heard before. “Tired of fighting what is expected of me. Tired of feeling like I am being pulled in a direction I cannot control.” His eyes locked onto yours, dark and stormy. “And you—you only make it worse.”
You inhaled sharply, your chest tightening. “Anthony…” you scoffed “W-what I do? How am I making it worse?”
Anthony let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head as he stepped back from you. “You truly don’t see it, do you?”
Your pulse quickened at the way he was looking at you now—like you were the very thing unraveling him, like you were the storm he hadn’t accounted for.
“I don’t understand,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, hesitant.
Anthony exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face as though he were attempting to physically push away whatever war raged inside him. “You tell me to give up,” he muttered, voice low but edged with something dangerous. “You tell me to walk away from Edwina as if it is the simplest thing in the world. And yet—you stand here, looking at me like this, speaking to me like this-”
He cut himself off, shaking his head.
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “Like what?”
His jaw clenched. “Like you care.”
Your breath hitched.
“I do care,” you said, barely above a whisper.
Anthony’s laugh was sharp, almost bitter. “Then why are you trying so hard to push me away? To tell me this—her—is a mistake?”
Your heart pounded against your ribs, and suddenly the truth—your truth—was clawing at your throat, desperate to be spoken.
But you couldn’t.
Because if you told him, if you let those words slip past your lips, then there would be no going back.
So instead, you steeled yourself, meeting his gaze head-on. “Because you don’t love her,” you said. “And she deserves someone who does.”
Anthony flinched. For the first time, he faltered, his expression slipping into something vulnerable, something unguarded.
And then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone.
He straightened, inhaling sharply as he pulled himself back together, as he rebuilt the walls you had nearly knocked down.
“I have already made my decision,” he said finally, voice cool, detached.
You nodded, forcing a tight smile even as your chest ached. “Then I hope, for your sake, that you don’t come to regret it.”
Anthony stared at you for a moment longer, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. But then he stepped back, a finality in his movement, and turned away.
“I have to go,” he said abruptly, stepping back. The cold distance between you was sudden, suffocating.
And just like that, he turned, walking away without another word.
You stood there, heart pounding, hands trembling at your sides.
You had pushed him. Too far, maybe. But deep down, you finally knew—.
You rolled your eyes as you saw the viscount sat on one of the tables with Miss Edwina.
After you had arrived on Aubrey Hall, the first thing you did was look around for him. Honestly, you were starting to sound and look like a stalker but you can’t help it. It certainly doesn’t help that now that you both were fighting, there was a big chance that his affections changed towards Kate after what you think, but hopefully not, happened these last three days that they were in each other’s presence.
“ah, good, Y/n, you’re here” you heard him say from behind, you turned to look at him, surprised that he was speaking to you after the little fight you both had “i-I almost got into a little squabble with Miss Sharma over there but fortunately your presence served as a distraction. I did after all have to show my friend around”
You looked at him unamused. Why is he pretending he didn’t act like a total jerk a few days ago?
He sighed once he saw your expression “I apologize….for the fight we had” he said “I know I acted like a jerk and shouldn’t have gotten angry with you and if I hurt your feelings…I am truly sorry”
You swallowed “Thank you for your apology” you say “and…I apologize as well. I should not put my nose into things that aren’t my business”
“no, no, I-I get that you are worried, like one gets for a friend” he tried to wave off your apologies “am I wrong?”
You shook your head “not at all” you deny, finally feeling happy “Tell me then, what did I serve as a distraction for?”
He looked behind him before looking at you once again “I almost got into a squabble with Miss Sharma, over hunting” he answered “Miss Edwina suggested she goes along with us men as we hunt and I denied the suggestion. It is very inappropriate for a woman to join a bunch of men. Luckily, before the fight could progress, I saw you and decided to come over, ending the squabble”
You hummed as you took one of the drinks nearby on a table “I take it Miss Sharma is going along then?” you tried to ask nonchalantly, fighting off the ugly feeling on your chest
“She is” He nodded,
your heart sunk “oh”
“but I’m not”
Your eyes went wide, looking up at him shocked “What?” he-he steered of the script
“Yes, I should stay behind, act as a good host and show my friend around, should I not?”
You stared at him, lips slightly parted, searching his face for any indication that he was jesting. But Anthony, ever the Viscount, ever the picture of control, simply held your gaze with a steady intensity that made your stomach twist.
“I—” You faltered, unsure how to respond. This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to go with them. He was supposed to go with Kate. And yet, here he was, choosing to stay behind. With you.
A slow, almost teasing smirk ghosted across his lips. “What?” he asked, tilting his head. “You seem surprised.”
You shook your head quickly, forcing yourself to snap out of it. “No, I— I just thought that you were rather set on the idea of hunting.”
“I was,” he admitted, shifting slightly closer. “Until I realized that I had far more pressing matters to attend to.”
Your heartbeat stuttered. “And what matters would those be?”
Anthony exhaled, eyes searching yours. “You, for one.”
Your breath caught. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” His voice was lower now, softer. “You were rather displeased with me before I left for Aubrey Hall. And though I cannot say I am entirely undeserving of such displeasure, I find myself unwilling to let it linger.”
You swallowed hard. “Anthony, we already apologized to each other—”
“Yes, but apologies do not erase things,” he said, cutting you off gently. “And I do not wish for us to… linger in whatever this is.”
You stared at him, heart hammering. What is this?
You had spent so much time convincing yourself that he was so stubborn, completely sticking to the script. But here he was, deviating from what was supposed to happen, his attention solely on you.
You cleared your throat, trying to mask the emotions swirling inside you. “And how do you propose we do that?”
Anthony considered you for a moment before offering you his arm. “Come,” he said. “Let me show you Aubrey Hall properly. The hunting party will be gone for hours. That gives us plenty of time.”
You hesitated. Every fiber of your being was screaming at you that this was wrong, but then you met his gaze again—earnest, unwavering.
Slipping your arm through his, you let him lead you away.
Anthony led you through the vast grounds of Aubrey Hall, his arm steady beneath your hand as he guided you through the sprawling gardens, the perfectly trimmed hedges, and the grand hallways adorned with family portraits. A maid trailed behind, ensuring propriety was maintained, but Anthony hardly seemed to notice her presence.
He showed you the rose garden first, boasting about how his mother spent years cultivating each variety. Then, the old oak tree by the pond, where he claimed Colin had nearly drowned himself as a child by foolishly trying to walk across a too-thin layer of ice.
“You mean to tell me that Colin was not born with the wisdom of a man who has traveled the world?” you teased, grinning up at him.
Anthony let out a soft chuckle. “Far from it. If you had seen half of the things that boy has attempted, you would wonder how he survived this long.”
You laughed, enjoying the rare moment of lightheartedness between you.
After a few more stops—including the stables, where he let you pet his horse, and the drawing room, where he and his siblings often played games—the two of you eventually found yourselves at the library.
“This,” Anthony declared as he opened the heavy doors, “is the most impressive room in the house. And before you say anything, yes, I am aware that I sound like a self-important fool, but I take great pride in it. My father’s library”
You stepped inside, taking in the sight of towering bookshelves, leather-bound volumes lining the walls from floor to ceiling. The scent of aged paper and polished wood filled the air.
“Impressive indeed,” you admitted, running your fingers lightly over the spines of some books as you walked past them.
Anthony watched you with amusement. “Do you read much?”
You scoffed. “Of course, I do. What else is a lady supposed to do when avoiding dreadful suitors?”
He smirked. “And yet, you seem to enjoy my company well enough.”
“Are you a suitor?” You gave him a pointed look. “You are tolerable at best, my lord.”
Anthony clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”
You rolled your eyes, reaching for a book. “Tell me, which is your favorite?”
He hesitated for a moment before stepping toward one of the shelves and pulling out a well-worn volume. “i-I don’t read much” he said, handing it to you.
You raised a brow. “Ah, yes, Why does that not surprise me?” you let out a chuckle
Anthony smirked. “And what of you? Let me guess—some romantic nonsense filled with foolish declarations of love?”
You huffed, shoving the book back into his hands before looking around the bookshelves, seeing if the book you were thinking about was there, you grinned when you saw it, plucking another from the shelf. “Much Ado About Nothing,” you said proudly.
His brows lifted. “A comedy?”
“A brilliant one,” you corrected. “Filled with wit, mischief, and people who bicker so much that they do not realize they are in love.”
Anthony let out a low chuckle. “How fitting.”
You narrowed your eyes. “And what exactly do you mean by that”
He merely grinned, stepping closer. “Nothing at all, my dear friend. Nothing at all.”
You glared at him but felt your lips twitch. There was something almost easy about this moment—something that made your chest warm despite the cool air of the library.
For the first time since arriving at Aubrey Hall, you let yourself enjoy his company without overthinking what it meant. Without thinking of Kate. Without thinking of fate.
Just him. Just you.
And, for now, that was enough.
Anthony leaned against the edge of a bookshelf, watching you with an expression that sent a strange flutter through your chest. You ignored it, running your fingers over the spine of Much Ado About Nothing.
“You know,” you mused, tilting your head to look at him, “if I recall correctly, Benedict once told me that you were hopeless when it came to Shakespeare. But now that you have told me you don’t read much, I believe that.”
Anthony scoffed. “Benedict is an insufferable know-it-all.”
You smirked. “So it is true, then?”
“I never said that,” he countered, crossing his arms.
You tapped a finger against the book. “Alright then, my lord, if you are not hopeless, you should have no trouble quoting something from this play.”
Anthony’s eyes flickered with amusement. “You expect me to perform like a fool?”
“Oh, I would never ask you to do something you are incapable of,” you teased, watching as his lips parted in mock offense.
“You are a menace,” he muttered.
“And yet, you choose to spend the afternoon in my company,” you countered, taking a step closer.
Anthony sighed as if he were put upon, but there was a glint of something softer in his gaze as he finally relented. “Fine,” he said, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and then, with the most dramatic flourish imaginable, he declared:
“I do love nothing in the world so well as you. Is not that strange”
Your breath caught.
The words, though Shakespeare’s, did not feel like a jest. Not when spoken like that—not when his voice softened at the end, not when his dark eyes held yours so intently.
The air between you shifted.
You swallowed, forcing out a scoff to break the tension. “Well, that is certainly an interpretation.”
Anthony smirked, but there was something else behind it—something unreadable. “Is it?”
You refused to let your mind wander to what that something might mean. Instead, you turned back to the shelf, hoping that he could not see the warmth creeping up your cheeks. “We should return before your mother starts to wonder if I have stolen her son away.”
Anthony hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yes, of course.”
You turned to leave, but just as you reached the doorway, he spoke again.
“Y/N?”
You glanced over your shoulder.
Anthony was still standing in the same spot, looking at you like he was trying to figure something out. After a moment, he simply shook his head, exhaling through his nose. “Nothing,” he murmured. “Let us go.”
But as you walked back to the rest of the party, you could not shake the feeling that whatever he almost said would have changed everything.
The day went by like a flash, and before you knew it, it was already the evening of the next day, the ball taking place.
You had watched as Anthony danced with Edwina two times on a row before heading over to grab a drink. You walked after him, your steps determined.
“two dances on a row? How scandalous” you teased as you got close to him
He chuckled as he turned to face you “yes, well, what can I say? I’m a rebellious man”
You chuckled “Well, I’m sure this rebellious man would like to take me for a spin on the dance floor now? He has already shared two dances with the lady, a third one is plain inappropriate” you stated
“Just say you wish to dance” He smirked “I certainly will not deny you”
You laughed as he held out his hand and put your own on top of his, your gaze went behind him, catching the figures of Edwina and Kate, both confused on why Anthony didn’t go back to them. You held back your triumphant gaze, letting Anthony lead you to the floor.
God, you were petty.
You both stood facing each other as the music started, bowing before you started to dance. Honestly, you were surprised your body acted unconsciously, dancing along to everyone else, but after watching this particular scene so many times (ahem, ‘I am a gentleman’, ‘tell me you feel nothing and I will walk away’ jajfsjsuiejshsjsnsnsgwiwm) you had memorized the dance already.
You looked around the room as Anthony twirled you around, your heart beating fast as you remembered that tomorrow was the day in which Anthony proposed to Edwina in the series.
No matter how hard you have been trying to steer Anthony off of his choice, he is so stubborn that he isn’t completely off the idea, meaning that you haven’t managed to make him change his mind completely.
Still, you aren’t completely unaware that you haven’t changed things because you have, you have noticed many things that Anthony has done that are completely different from the show, and although you are happy about that, it still isn’t enough.
You turned back towards Anthony, your eyes flickering between his eyes, “Don’t marry her,” you blurt out without thinking.
Anthony’s eyes widened in surprise “What?” he asked shocked.
Your face froze as you registered your own words before you swallowed and decided to speak out “Edwina. Don’t marry her” you say once again, this time confidently.
Anthony’s hands let go of you as the music stopped “Y/n, you cannot ask that of me”
“Anthony-“ you start to say.
“No,” he said in disbelief before he shook his head and marched off.
You let out a sigh, your eyes unconsciously turning towards where Edwina was with Kate, both of their eyes already looking in your direction, Edwina’s filled with innocent confusion, but it was the look in Kate’s that made your heart stop. Realization.
You shook it off before walking off towards where Anthony went, already knowing that he went towards his study. You entered the study, stopping for a second at the door before deciding to impulsively lock it.
“Anthony-“ You called out, watching as he paced by his desk.
“You cannot ask that of me” He said once again, angrily.
“Yes, I can-“
“No!”
“Yes, I can, and I will!” You snapped walking towards him “Don’t ask her to marry you” you said calmly this time.
He stopped and turned to look at you, “I have to” he swallowed, his eyes furiously flickering between yours, searching.
You shook your head “No, Why are you so hell bent on marrying out of duty?” You asked desperate “Anthony, you are as deserving of love as any one of us and it pains me that you do not see it, why can’t you see it?”
“Love isn’t in my plans” He denied “I have told you many times”
“But it can be,” you stated, walking even closer “I know why you so fervently deny it to yourself, but I am sure that if you asked your mother, she would do it all over again just for the feeling of loving your father, for the feeling of experiencing love in it’s finest glory, no matter how painful it turned out”
“And- and if you still think you will end up the same, I am sure your wife, who you marry for love, will be grateful that she at least got the chance to experience your love” You say “….I know I would”
“Y/n….” He said painfully, turning to face his desk, resting his hands on it.
“You feel it too,” you murmured “You cannot deny it, I’ve seen it in your eyes. Anthony-“
“Stop,” he growled, making you freeze, thinking he was done with the conversation “stop, stop saying my name like that”
You let out a breath, your heart starting to beat faster and faster “Anthony-“
Before you could react, he had stood up, grabbing your hand and caging you between the desk and his body.His breath was uneven, his dark eyes locked on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” Anthony whispered, his voice low and raw, as though it pained him to speak the words aloud.
You swallowed hard, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I… I only speak the truth, Anthony.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to compose himself, but when they opened again, they were blazing. “The truth? The truth is that you’ve undone me. Ever since you walked into my life, you’ve made me question everything I’ve ever known. Duty, logic, responsibility—they all crumble the moment I’m near you.”
“Anthony…” Your voice was barely above a whisper as you placed a hand on his chest. His heart was pounding as fiercely as yours, and it only made you braver. “You don’t have to choose between love and duty. You can have both.”
His hand tightened on yours, and for a moment, you thought he might give in. But then, he released you abruptly and took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.
“I can’t,” he said, his voice strained. “Do you think I don’t want to? Do you think I haven’t imagined it? But my family depends on me. I cannot afford to be selfish.”
“Selfish?” you echoed, incredulous. “Anthony, marrying someone you don’t love isn’t selfless. It’s cruel. To you, to her, to everyone involved. You deserve happiness, and so does she.”
He turned to look at you again, his expression torn between longing and despair. “And what of you? What are you asking of me?"
Your breath hitched. The question hung heavily in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. You didn’t know if you could say it, if you had the courage to lay your heart bare. But then, you realized you already had.
“I’m asking you to choose love,” you said softly. “To choose me.”
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. Anthony stared at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions you couldn’t decipher.
His gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly. “You don’t know what it’s like to carry this weight.”
“Then let me carry it with you,” you said, your voice trembling with emotion. “Let me stand by your side. Anthony, you don’t have to do this alone.”
His hands tightened on the desk, his knuckles white. For a moment, you thought he might finally give in, that he might finally let down the walls he’d built around himself.
But then he shook his head, his expression hardening. “No,” he said, his voice firm but hollow. “This cannot happen. I will not allow it.”
“Why?” you demanded, tears stinging your eyes. “Why are you so determined to push me away?”
“Because if I don’t,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I won’t be able to stop.”
Before you could respond, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss desperate and full of the emotions he’d been trying so hard to suppress. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you flush against him as though he couldn’t bear the thought of any space between you.
It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and you found yourself clinging to him, your hands tangling in his hair as you poured everything you felt into that kiss.
But just as quickly as it began, Anthony pulled away, his breathing ragged as he stepped back, leaving you cold and disoriented.
“This has to stop,” he said, his voice cracking. “I can’t—I won’t”
“Anthony—” you began, reaching for him.
“No,” he interrupted, his tone final. “I cannot give you what you want. And you… you deserve far more than I can offer.”
And with that, he turned and left, leaving you standing there, your heart shattered and your mind reeling.
You lost.
That was the only thing you thought as you sunk down on the floor, burying your face in your hands as your tears fell.
You turned back towards Anthony, your eyes wandering between his eyes, “Don’t marry her,” you blurt out without thinking.
Anthony’s eyes widened in surprise “What?” he asked shocked.
Your face froze as you registered your own words before you swallowed and decided to speak out “Edwina. Don’t marry her” you say once again, this time confidently.
Anthony’s hands let go of you as the music stopped “Y/n, you cannot ask that of me”
“Anthony-“ you start to say.
“No,” he said in disbelief before he shook his head and marched off.
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes unconsciously turning towards where Edwina was with Kate, both of their eyes already looking in your direction, Edwina’s filled with innocent confusion, but it was the look in Kate’s that made your heart stop. Realization.
You shook it off before walking off towards where Anthony went, already knowing that he stormed off towards his study. You entered the study, stopping for a second at the door before deciding to impulsively lock it.
“Anthony-“ You called out, watching as he paced by his desk.
“You cannot ask that of me” He said once again, angrily.
“Yes, I can-“
“No!”
“Yes, I can, and I will!” You snapped walking towards him “Don’t ask her to marry you” you said calmly this time.
He stopped and turned to look at you, “I have to” he swallowed, his eyes furiously flickering between yours, searching.
You shook your head “No, Why are you so hell bent on marrying out of duty?” You asked desperate “Anthony, you are as deserving of love as any one of us and it pains me that you do not see it, why can’t you see it?”
“Love isn’t in my plans” He denied
“But it can be,” you stated, walking even closer “I know why you so fervently deny it to yourself, but I am sure that if you asked your mother, she would do it all over again just for the feeling of loving your father, for the feeling of experiencing love in it’s finest glory, no matter how painful it turned out”
“And- and if you still think you will end up the same, I am sure your wife, who you marry for love, will be grateful that she at least got the chance to experience your love” You say “….I know I would”
“Y/n….” He said painfully, turning to face his desk, resting his hands on it.
“You feel it too,” you murmured “You cannot deny it, I’ve seen it in your eyes. Anthony-“
“Stop,” he growled, making you freeze, thinking he was done with the conversation “stop, stop saying my name like that”
You let out a breath, your heart starting to beat faster and faster “Anthony-“
Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter
A/n: sorry for the long wait but small chapter before we get to the good parts hehehehe 🫣
⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️
“oh, you’re here” you say as you saw Anthony step into the room where Lady Danbury had orchestrated a poetry reading “Miss Sharma will not like this” you chuckled
“Who cares what Miss Sharma thinks?” Anthony said as he approached you, a playful expression on his face.
“you if you plan to woo her sister” you state “I take it you decided not to give up then” you take a bold leap of faith and loop your arm through his as you pulled him towards the main room where everyone was
“Why should i?” He asked
“Because her sister is so against the match?” you hummed “I have told you, if there is many a things against it, perhaps you should set your eyes elsewhere…”
Anthony scoffed, though he didn’t pull away from your touch. If anything, his arm tensed beneath your grasp, like he was weighing the sensation of your hand against the words you had just spoken.
“And where, pray tell, should I set my eyes instead?” he asked, his voice dipping into something lower, something unreadable.
You glanced up at him, feigning indifference even as a strange fluttering stirred in your chest. “That is for you to decide, Lord Bridgerton,” you said smoothly. “But if a match is met with such resistance, perhaps the wise thing to do is to—”
“Give up?” he cut in, his gaze sharp as he turned to look at you fully. “So you have said, multiple times, in fact”
You faltered slightly, surprised by the intensity of his expression. There was something almost challenging in his eyes, as though he were daring you to say it again.
You inhaled, composing yourself. “Yes,” you said, steady. “If one must fight so hard to make something fit, perhaps it was never meant to be.”
Anthony’s jaw clenched. “And yet, some things are worth fighting for.”
“Are they?” you mused, tilting your head as you both came to a slow stop just before the threshold of the main room. The soft murmur of conversation and poetry recitations filtered toward you, but the tension between you and Anthony made everything else fade into the background.
His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate—as if debating whether to say what was truly on his mind.
“You are quite determined to see me fail in my pursuit of Miss Edwina,” he said at last, his voice quieter now, laced with something almost teasing. But beneath the playful lilt, there was an edge—one that made your breath catch.
You smiled, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I only suggest that a man should know when to walk away.”
“And yet, you hold on to me now,” he murmured, glancing down at where your arm still curled through his.
Your fingers twitched against his sleeve, and you were suddenly hyperaware of the closeness between you. The warmth of him. The way his scent—something crisp and faintly spiced—lingered in the space between you.
Slowly, deliberately, you unlooped your arm from his. “That was merely to escort you, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, voice light, though your pulse was anything but steady.
Anthony’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, as if trying to unravel something he couldn’t quite place. Then, with a knowing smirk, he straightened.
“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Then by all means, lead the way.”
And with that, you turned on your heel, stepping into the main room.
“Pardon me. Lady Danbury?” Anthony said as you both stepped into the room
“Lord Bridgerton, I did not expect you” Lady Danbury said surprised
“No, I seem to have fallen off the guest list” he said, I chuckled as I wandered away towards where Eloise and Penelope where behind the couch Miss Edwina was sitting on “Surely you would never deny a young man you’ve known for nine and twenty years the pleasure of your company?” he smiles
“Apologies, Viscount, you appear to be late again” Kate interrupted him “We were bringing the evening to a conclusion –“
“Surely Miss Edwina has time for one more?” Anthony said, looking at Edwina “I spent the whole evening crafting something, an original, would you like to hear it?” You scoffed under your breath, making Penelope hit your arm softly, you give her a sideways glance before looking in front when Anthony took to the front of the room
“What is it –“ he cleared his throat “truly to admire a woman? To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty, so much that all your defenses crumble, that you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her. To honor-“ he looked up
Your heart fell slightly as you saw him glance at Kate “ to hon-“ he crumpled up the paper and threw it at the fire “My apologies. I cannot do this. I cannot claim these words as my own, they’re someone else’s entirely” his eyes then caught yours
You gave him a nod encouragingly “ Truth be told, I’m not-“ he sighed , his eyes leaving yours “I’m not a man of poetry. Words of flattery are beautiful and sweet, but they are also hollow, unless accompanied by action”
“Miss Edwina, I could stand here, and pretend to be someone I’m not” he looked at her “I could pretend to want the very same things as you, but I’d be lying. I may not be able to, offer the display of passion, that you truly deserve. But I assure you that when it comes to action and duty, I shall never be found lacking. And I hope that is what will speak louder than any pretty words ever can” he bowed his head before he stepped away towards the refreshments table
You were about to follow after him but you saw Edwina approach faster. You stayed rooted in your spot, your gaze stuck on them as they conversed. You saw Anthony raise his eyes after some time, his gaze first going to the right of you, where you knew Kate stood before meeting yours.
You felt sick as he gave you a small triumphant smile but you returned it nonetheless.
You had done things to try and change the storyline, to move his gaze towards you and in the end, you can’t help but feel that he’s still slipping away from your grasp, still very much stuck on marrying out of duty…
Or is it that he’s getting stuck on the woman that he’s supposed to be with?
Regarding some of the asks I received previously, I wanted to come and talk about it since it seems like it's being misunderstood and/ or creating hate among people.
It's one thing to dislike Kate because of her actions, as in the character the show portrayed, but it's a whole other thing to dislike Simone who played Kate for something she can't control. She is a real human being and people are hating on her over a fake character and because of her skin color, which is crazy. As I have said in a previous post, which I have deleted out of respect for the people that were tagged, people are supposed to be progressing not worsening and it's sick that now, in the 21st century, people are still being racist to or bullying people because they don't agree with their point of view, which brings me to my next point.
Everyone is free to have, form, and say their own opinions and just because someone doesn't agree with yours, doesn't mean that you can go ahead and bully that person, send them death threats, etc.
I did scroll through some blogs and saw that the kind of asks that were sent to me, they had received as well.
It's okay to like book Kate better and dislike Show Kate, or like Show Kate and dislike book Kate but what's not okay is to go from inbox to inbox of those people and call them racist, or call them numerous cruel things just because they don't agree with you.
I don't condone bullying or racism when I myself am not white, have gone through bullying and knows what it feels like. So if you are one of my followers and have done any of those things to another real human being, please kindly stop following me, and if this post also offends anyone, then those words also apply to you.
I have removed the previous posts that tagged some of the people that preferred Book Kanthony, as well as the posts following that, out of respect for them, since it had come to my attention that there were some people that sent them cruel anonymous asks over it. I apologize sincerely. And from now on, any asks I get that have even a hint of spreading hate, I won't answer and instead delete them, so, if there is anyone that was sending those kind of things, save yourselves the trouble.
Not an ask but I just hope you know you’re my favorite Anthony Bridgerton writers 💕
The way your stories are gut wrenching but so beautiful at the same time. I can’t stop reading through what you’ve written!!
I adore it so so much. I hope you have a wonderful day!
Aww thank you so much!!!🥰🥰
Honestly, it makes my day (I guess night now lmao) to know people really enjoy my work and consider me one of their favorite writers and I'm truly honored that I'm yours 🥹🥹
I'm glad you enjoy my stories and find them gut wrenching even though they aren't exactly as much as I want them to but either way, thank you so much 💕💕
What i hate is how rude and nasty Kate is in the Netflix show to Penelope, Agatha and other women not just her sister… I can’t stand women like that and it gets even worse after she married Anthony too and then she starts badmouthing him too? wtf 😬
Oh, I never saw the Anthony or Penelope part but the rest, yeah, I guess it could come across as that, but I thought it was more like giving back what she received? But I did think it was unnecessary some times when she spoke to Lady Danbury considering all she ever did was try to help Kate and her sister. I didn't see her interacting with Penelope though? Or am I remembering wrong?
But I do think she acted that way to the people that acted the same, (but I'm not excusing it, it's always better to be the bigger person even when someone is being rude to you) cuz she didn't do that towards Eloise when they had that talk in Aubrey Hall
One thing from s3 that annoys me and anyone with any understanding of history and health and pregnancy would not have wrote that a heavily pregnant woman would risk her life and her pregnancy and unborn child’s life and perhaps the life of her born child if it survived by taking a very risky trip by non steam/engine powered ship to India! People regularly died on these sort of voyages, and even more so if pregnant or if they gave birth while on the voyage, and children of all ages died on the voyages too! But yet Anthony Bridgerton thought yeah I’ll let my pregnant narc of a wife risk the life of not only her own but that of my unborn heir/born heir and also my own life… like make it make sense?!
Yeah, I get that as well, I mean I get the whole 'lets show our baby where they came from/their roots' but they could have waited until the baby was born, it's not like the baby will even remember when he/she went to India where his/her mother was born, not to mention that they would have needed to still come back to London after for the seasons so it would have kind of been like 'a few months trip to India, wait for the baby to be born then immediately go back to London which is once again a few months trip back, because it's not like Anthony to leave his mother and his siblings alone to navigate the seasons, so yes, it is crazy that they risked going to such a lengthy trip while Kate was pregnant when they could have done so a few years down the line when the child can remember
What is the medallion that Anthony is wearing in the carriage scene ? https://www.tumblr.com/captainbucky-yt/747468874762551296/luke-thompson-as-benedict-bridgerton-season-3
I hadn't even noticed it before. Although I searched it up and it said it was an honorary medal, for what I'm not sure though 🤷🤷
Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter
⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️
The Bridgerton home was filled with light and warmth that seemed to mirror the family itself. Penelope had gone off with Eloise to talk in their usual conspiratorial manner, leaving you to wander the halls on your own. You told yourself you were simply admiring the Bridgertons’ impeccable taste in décor, but in truth, you were wandering around in hopes of seeing Anthony.
It was during this aimless exploration that you found yourself in a quiet corridor, the faint scent of leather and parchment leading you to a half-open door. Peeking inside, you realized it was Anthony’s office. He was seated at his desk, his head bowed as he flipped through a stack of papers.
You hesitated, unsure whether to announce yourself or retreat, but the creak of the door gave you away. Anthony glanced up, his sharp gaze softening with recognition.
“Miss Featherington,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company in my sanctuary?”
“I was… exploring,” you admitted, stepping inside despite yourself. “I didn’t realize this was your office.”
“And now that you do?” he asked, arching a brow.
“I suppose I should leave,” you replied, though you made no move to do so. Instead, you tilted your head, scanning the room. “But it is rather cozy for a viscount’s office. Not as intimidating as one might expect.”
Anthony chuckled, the sound low and rich. “You think I should strive to be more intimidating?”
“Perhaps,” you teased, meeting his gaze. “It might suit you.”
He gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Well, since you’re here, you might as well sit. Unless you’d prefer to continue wandering aimlessly.”
You took the offered seat, folding your hands in your lap as you studied him. “Do you spend much time in here?”
“More than I’d like,” he admitted. “But someone has to keep this family afloat.”
There was a heaviness to his words, one that made you pause. “You take your role as viscount very seriously,” you said gently. “Almost too seriously, if I may say so.”
Anthony regarded you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “It’s not a matter of choice,” he said finally, his voice quieter now. “When my father died, I was eight and ten. Barely a man, yet suddenly expected to fill his shoes, to take care of my family, to ensure they had everything they needed. There was no room for mistakes. No room for selfish desires.”
His confession caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond. “That’s… a heavy burden to bear,” you said softly.
“It was,” he admitted. “But it was also necessary. My father was everything to this family, and when he was gone…” He trailed off, his gaze distant. “I couldn’t let them fall apart.”
“You sacrificed so much for them,” you murmured, your voice filled with genuine admiration.
Anthony’s gaze flicked back to you, and his lips curved into a faint, almost self-deprecating smile. “And yet, you think I’m too rigid, too obsessed with duty.”
“I think you’re human,” you said simply. “And perhaps a little afraid to let yourself want something just for you.”
The tension in the room shifted, the air between you thick with unspoken words. Anthony leaned forward slightly, his eyes locked on yours. “It’s both a blessing and a curse.”
He stood then, offering you his hand. “Come,” he said. “Since you’re here, I suppose I should show you around, you still have to fulfill the meeting I told you about yesterday, even if you avoid it”
You laughed, allowing him to help you to your feet. “I wasn’t avoiding anything, Lord Bridgerton. May I remind you, you lost so the meeting was void, but I’ll humor you.”
As he led you through the halls, pointing out various rooms and telling stories about his family, you couldn’t help but feel a shift in your dynamic.
Anthony hesitated at your request, his step faltering for just a moment before he quickly composed himself. His hands clasped behind his back, his usual confident posture slightly stiffened. “You want me to tell you about myself?” he repeated, as though the question was a curious anomaly.
“Yes,” you hummed, casting him a sidelong glance as the two of you strolled through the quiet halls of the Bridgerton home. “You know, the usual details. Likes, dislikes, dreams, aspirations—surely even a viscount has those?”
His lips quirked into a faint, almost reluctant smile. “And what would you do with such information, Miss Featherington?”
“Why, use it against you, of course,” you teased lightly, though your eyes held a spark of genuine curiosity. “What else would I do?”
Anthony chuckled softly, the sound warm but tinged with unease. “You have a habit of making a man feel like he’s walking straight into a trap.”
“Perhaps you are,” you replied, your tone playful but not entirely unserious. “But I promise it’s a harmless one. I’m merely… interested in getting to know you better.”
He glanced at you then, his brows knitting together in thought. There was something about you—something unsettling in the way you looked at him, as if you saw past the armor he wore, past the duty and decorum, and into the man he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to see.
“I’m not sure that would be wise,” he said finally, his voice quieter now.
“Why not?” you asked, tilting your head.
Anthony exhaled softly, his gaze drifting ahead. “Because getting to know each other more often leads to… complications. And I’m not a man who can afford complications.”
You stopped walking, turning to face him. “So, you’re afraid,” you said simply, your tone free of judgment.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a faint scoff, he shook his head. “I’m not afraid. I’m…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Cautious.”
“Cautious,” you echoed, stepping closer to him. “Because of your duty? Your responsibilities? The ever-present weight of being Lord Bridgerton?”
His gaze snapped to yours, a flicker of something raw and unguarded crossing his features. “You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly. “But it isn’t. There are expectations—expectations I cannot simply ignore.”
“And yet here you are,” you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Walking unchaperoned with me, letting me get under your skin. It doesn’t sound like you’re ignoring anything; it sounds like you’re fighting it.”
Anthony swallowed hard, his expression conflicted. “You are remarkably perceptive,” he said after a moment, his voice tinged with reluctant admiration.
“I’ve been told that before,” you replied lightly, though your eyes softened as you studied him. “But it’s not about perception, Anthony. It’s about choice. You don’t have to let duty consume you. You’re allowed to want more.”
His name on your lips startled him, a flicker of something unfamiliar—and not entirely unwelcome—sparking in his chest. For a moment, he simply looked at you, as though trying to decipher the enigma standing before him.
“I think you might be the most dangerous person I’ve ever met,” he said finally, his tone half-joking but his eyes serious.
“Good,” you said with a smile, resuming your stroll. “I’d hate to be forgettable.” You walked on confidently.
Anthony watched you for a moment longer before falling into step beside you, a faint smile playing on his lips despite the unease lingering in his chest. Whatever this was—whatever you were—it unsettled him in a way he couldn’t quite explain. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to turn away.
As you wandered out into the Bridgerton garden, the morning sun spilled golden light across the neatly trimmed hedges and vibrant blooms. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of roses and freshly turned earth. You strolled along the winding path, your gaze dancing over the picturesque scene before you.
“You certainly don’t do anything by halves, do you?” you remarked, glancing over your shoulder at Anthony, who followed close behind.
He raised an eyebrow, his hands clasped behind his back. “Are you referring to the garden, or something else entirely?”
“The garden,” you said with a sly smile, though your tone hinted at a playful double meaning. “Though I must say, I’m starting to think it’s a metaphor for you.”
“A metaphor?” he repeated, his brow furrowing in mock confusion.
“Yes.” You spun to face him, walking backward down the path with an impish grin. “Meticulously planned, impeccably maintained, outwardly perfect. But I wonder…” You tilted your head. “What secrets lie beneath the surface?”
Anthony stopped, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “You do enjoy provoking me, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t call it provoking,” you replied, stopping as well and clasping your hands behind your back to mimic his stance. “I’d call it… uncovering the truth.”
He took a step closer, his gaze steady and unreadable. “And what truth do you think you’ve uncovered?”
You pretended to think, tapping your chin with a finger. “That despite all your talk of duty and responsibility, you enjoy a little rebellion.”
Anthony’s lips twitched, though he fought to keep his expression stern. “Rebellion? Hardly.”
“Oh?” You arched an eyebrow, a challenge gleaming in your eyes. “Then prove it.”
“Prove it?” he repeated, now genuinely amused. “And how exactly would I do that?”
You grinned, stepping aside to reveal a small stone bench nestled beneath a towering willow tree. “Sit there,” you instructed, gesturing toward the bench.
He glanced at it, then back at you. “that’s hardly rebellious.”
“You didn’t let me finish,” you said, your grin widening. “Sit there… and let me put a flower in your hair.”
Anthony stared at you, utterly incredulous. “A flower in my hair?”
“Yes,” you said, plucking a bright pink bloom from a nearby bush and holding it up. “Unless, of course, you’re too afraid to ruin your perfectly polished image.”
His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse. But then, to your utter delight, he let out a long-suffering sigh and sat on the bench, his posture stiff but his expression betraying a flicker of amusement.
“Make it quick,” he said, though his tone lacked any real annoyance.
You bit back a laugh as you leaned over him, carefully tucking the flower behind his ear. Stepping back, you surveyed your handiwork with a satisfied nod. “There,” you said, hands on your hips. “Perfect.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “If anyone sees me like this—”
“Then they’ll think you’ve finally learned to embrace a bit of whimsy,” you interrupted, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice. You couldn’t help it and burst out laughing, looking at him
He shook his head, plucking the flower from his hair and holding it out to you. “You’re insufferable,” he said, though his smile gave him away.
“And yet, here you are,” you teased, taking the flower from him and tucking it into your own hair. “I think that says more about you than it does about me.”
Anthony rose from the bench, towering over you as he looked down with a faint smirk. “I’ll concede this round, Miss Y/n,” he said. “But don’t think for a moment that you’ve won the war.”
You grinned up at him, utterly unfazed. “Oh, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, stepping closer. “You’ve no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.” You looked around the garden before your eyes came across something in the distance
“Oh, you have a gazebo,” You say. You had already seen it in the show but seeing it in front of your eyes, it’s surreal. Your eyes wandered around it before your cheeks flushed as you remembered the gazebo was where Anthony and Kate first had se- made love, in the show.
Anthony followed your gaze to the gazebo, his brow arching slightly as he observed your sudden change in demeanor. “Yes, we do,” he said, a note of curiosity creeping into his voice. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen anyone look at it quite the way you are now.”
You blinked, snapping out of your reverie as you realized you’d been staring. Heat rose to your cheeks, and you quickly averted your gaze, determined to mask your flustered state. “It’s… a lovely structure,” you said, a little too quickly. “Very romantic.”
Anthony tilted his head, studying you with that maddeningly unreadable expression of his. “Romantic, is it?” he echoed, his tone tinged with amusement.
“Yes,” you said firmly, regaining some of your composure. “A gazebo is the perfect place for a quiet moment, a heartfelt conversation… or perhaps even something more.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, though his lips curved into a faint smirk. “Something more?”
You mentally cursed yourself, realizing how your words could be interpreted. “Oh, you know, like… a proposal,” you said hurriedly, gesturing vaguely. “Or a dance. That sort of thing.”
Anthony took a step closer, his gaze never leaving yours. “And yet, you’re blushing as though you’ve thought of something far more scandalous.”
Your cheeks burned hotter, and you took a step back, determined not to let him see just how much he’d unsettled you. “Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “I was simply admiring the craftsmanship.”
“Of course,” he said, his smirk widening. “The craftsmanship.”
You turned away, marching toward the gazebo in an attempt to escape his probing gaze. “Well, since we’re here, why not take a closer look?” you said over your shoulder, trying to sound nonchalant.
Anthony followed, his footsteps deliberate and unhurried. “Lead the way, Miss Y/N. I’m quite curious to see what about this gazebo has captivated you so thoroughly.”
You reached the structure, running your fingers along the intricately carved railings to distract yourself from his presence. “It really is beautiful,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “The details, the setting… it’s like something out of a storybook.”
Anthony leaned casually against one of the posts, his arms crossed as he watched you. “And yet, you seem rather preoccupied,” he remarked. “Almost as if there’s a story you’re not telling.”
You froze, the memory of *that* scene from the show flashing vividly in your mind. Taking a deep breath, you turned to face him, determined to shift the focus away from yourself. “You know, for someone so insistent on duty and propriety, you seem to enjoy unsettling me far more than you should.”
He chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Perhaps because it’s so easy.”
Your jaw dropped in mock indignation. “Easy?”
He straightened, stepping closer with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Terribly easy,” he said, his voice teasing. “Though I must admit, it’s rather entertaining to see you so flustered.”
You narrowed your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Careful, Lord Bridgerton. You’re treading dangerous ground.”
“I’m willing to take the risk,” he replied smoothly, his gaze holding yours.
“Well, if nothing else,” you said lightly, “at least you’ve proven you’re not entirely immune to a bit of rebellion.”
Anthony’s lips curved into a soft smile, his expression almost… tender. “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “But I suspect you already knew that.”
You laughed, the sound breaking the spell that had momentarily settled over you both. “Come on,” you said, stepping out of the gazebo. “Let’s see if there’s anything else in this garden that can surprise me.”
Anthony followed, his smile lingering as he fell into step beside you. “With you, Miss Y/N, I suspect surprises are inevitable.”
I really can't get behind Kate and Anthony as a couple because of how they got together. I usually don't mind romances where the couples get together by cheating, but the fact that Anthony cheated on Kate's sister was like a cold shower to me... The love triangle could ahve only worked for me if it weren't sisters involved. That's why I prefer Edwina & Anthony's story because it was cuter.
Ps.little rant
Honestly, yeah, I agree to some point. It sucks because they changed so much things from the book on the series for the sake of 'drama' and that 'forbidden love/ enemies to lovers' and it would have been much better if they kept their whole story from their book where it was kind of like 'enemies to lovers but not really and they're only enemies because Kate thinks that he is betraying her sister but said sister is also doing everything she can to bring the man she supposedly 'loved' and her sister together'
On the other hand,( I'm not justifying it and everyone has a different point of view to this). It is set on a period where they got and broke off courtships all the time. Do I think that's a reason on why it was okay that Anthony could move on from sister to sister whenever he wanted? No.
Do I think that perhaps if Kate and Anthony had come clean when he wanted to call of the wedding after the dinner drama, and told Edwina everything before getting her to the altar and making her look like a fool, would have been the better choice? Absolutely.
But another thing that has me slightly more on the Kanthony ship is that if Anthony had married Edwina, they both would have been miserable. Their interactions when Anthony was courting her were cute, but Anthony didn't love her. He would have respected her in the marriage, maybe even get to love her as the woman which be built his family with, but he wouldn't be in love with her, and I firmly believed based on what we saw that Edwina is the kind of woman that desires that marriage based on love, one which she wouldn't have gotten if she married a man we know was in love with her sister.
And Anthony, like he had said, would have spent his time wondering when his 'honor would snap', and dreaming about the sister of the woman he married. Perhaps imagining that the woman in front of him was Kate instead of Edwina, which sucks.
I decided to follow the love triangle between sisters on my fanfic 'Tales of a Heart's as well for the sake of drama, that doesn't mean I justify what happened, but it is something most of us imagined being a part of (I dont mean in real life, I meant in the series with Anthony). But that's why I completely diverted from that kind of plot in my new fic so go read that one 😌😉
In summary, the book is superior to the season in my opinion
Summary: Anthony tries to salvage what's left of his marriage and discovers what his wife is truly worth. (Part one)
Fandom: Bridgerton (TV Show)
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader
Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, cheating and lots of angst. English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread.
Word Count: 4648
A/N: After so long, this piece is finally here. Thanks for patiently waiting and thanks @cevansgoodgirl for the help.
There is a mix of a scene with Laurie and Amy in Little Women and another one with Benedict and Tessa (the model/painter in 02x05), just so you know.
He remembers the first time he saw her—really saw her.
The (Y/L/N)s were guests in Aubrey House, and (Y/N) was in the balcony with Benedict while both their mothers and most of their siblings were in the lawn.
Anthony is not even sure what drew his attention when he was passing by, he did not have a habit of eavesdropping, but he got himself held back when his brother commented on (Y/N)’s painting.
"I declare that's rather good." Benedict said making (Y/N) huff.
“We both know that good is not enough, Ben.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.
Anthony could understand what his brother was talking about. The painting was a rendition of the scene unfolding before them—their siblings playing around while their mothers watched over them. It was rather good, indeed.
"It doesn’t matter, there's no place for me to do art."
Benedict frowned. "That's quite the statement to make at twenty. If you don't think you're good enough you have plenty of time to try some more, do better." He pauses, poking her. "You say that to me all the time."
"Then perhaps inform the academy.” She says, sarcasm dripping in every word. “Although two of the founding members are women, we are still not allowed to enter the classroom. It doesn't matter how much money we do or do not have."
"At least not while clothed." He comments, making (Y/N) throw the rag she was holding at him, which Benedict swiftly catches, changing the subject. "Well, now that you’ve given up all your artistic hopes, what are you going to do with your life?”
“Polish up my other talents and be an ornament to society.”
It was as if Anthony was seeing his sister speak.
“You sound like Eloise.” Benedict took the words out of Anthony’s mouth.
“Maybe she has been rubbing up on me.” (Y/N) smiled.
“You are searching for a husband, then?” Benedict asks, helping her pack her things.
“Yes.” She replies sheepishly.
“That's where Mr Scott comes in, I suppose.”
Anthony had noticed how Mr Scott had taken an interest in (Y/N), he never thought she felt the same.
Benedict continued. “You’ll accept him if he comes down properly on one knee?”
“Most likely, yes.” She said, pausing to look ahead for a moment. “He’s rich, respectable.”
When Benedict stifles a laugh, she lightly slaps his arm and Anthony has to fight back a smile. “Don’t make fun.” (Y/N) reprimands him.
"I’m not, I’m not, I promise.” He pauses. “It does sound odd coming from you.”
"I've always known that I would marry rich. Why should I be ashamed of that?"
"There is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you love him." Benedict answers in a more serious tone.
Once upon a time Anthony would have easily seen himself at his brother's place, talking about love, but not anymore.
"Well, I believe we have some power over who we love, it isn't something that just happens to a person." (Y/N) says, closing the trunk with her paints, pencils and brushes inside.
"I think the poets might disagree." Benedict offers softly.
"Well, I'm not a poet, I'm just a woman.” She reminds him. “And as a woman I have no way to make money, not enough to earn a living and support my family. Even if I had my own money, which I don't, it would belong to my husband the minute we were married. If we had children they would belong to him not me. They would be his property. So don't stand there and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me."
For the first time since he stopped to hear the conversation, hiding himself between the curtains, Anthony felt like he had overstepped a boundary, so he made quick work of fleeing the scene, her words echoing inside his head.
Anthony remembers Benedict joking about how him and (Y/N) would make a good match. He listens as his brother tells him about the conversation he had with her and Anthony feigns ignorance to the subject, despite having heard the entire interaction. Benedict’s voice turns into white noise in the background as Anthony is transported back to a conversation he had with Daphne last season.
At the time he didn’t understand his sister’s words—perhaps, he never would. Daphne and (Y/N) shared the same struggles, but his sister had been set in marrying for love, (Y/N), on the other hand, had already resigned herself about having to marry for convenience.
It was then that Anthony recognized that the both of them were, indeed, a good match. (Y/N) was beautiful, well mannered, educated and very good at charming people. She came from a not very rich but respectable family. Anthony knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors of the season, despite his fame as a rake. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice to marry (Y/N), which made making the decision so much easier.
Anthony visited her the next day, explaining his proposal to her.
“You listened to us?” She blinked a couple of times, trying to digest the information.
“Yes,” he confessed, “and I’m terribly sorry for it, but we have to recognize that this might have been for the best.”
He observed as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, a little frown on her face. She was beautiful this way. Even more than when she was charming half of the ton in the many social events he had seen her.
“If you don’t mind me asking, my lord, why marry now?”
Anthony sighed. “My mom has been forcing my hand since Daphne married. Even before that, if I’m being honest. It’s time to find a good wife, settle down, and fulfill my duties.”
“Don’t take my question as an offense, but why me?”
She seemed unable to quite grasp his words. Anthony wondered if she still hoped, deep down, to marry for love and that her conversation with his brother had been only a fickle attempt to protect herself.
“You’re intelligent, (Y/N),” He kneeled in front of her. “You are beautiful and your family is respectable. If you are serious about your words to my brother, we both want the same thing from such a union.” He paused. “Would it be so bad to be married to me?”
(Y/N) bit her lip and Anthony caught himself observing the action with a little more intent than he should.
“No, my lord, I believe it wouldn’t,” she said.
“Then why not make the best we can from a predicament we can’t escape?”
She averted his gaze, looking out to the balcony where her maid was sitting and reading a book, while watching over them.
Anthony took the opportunity to look at her—hair carefully brushed and pinned up, the way the light contrasted with her silhouette, making it easier to see her nose, her lips, the curve of her neck…
“If I were to accept your proposition, would you be committed to this relationship?”
He frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“I know that for our society standards maybe that’s too much to ask, but if I can’t be loved I’d wish to at least be respected.” She looked straight into his eyes and then Anthony understood what she was asking of him.
“You have my word that once we are engaged the only woman in my life will be you.”
Anthony asked her father for permission to court her in the same day, then he got properly down on one knee a second time to ask for her hand in marriage, the two of them married within months. Benedict had been shocked by the whole ordeal, but all he cared about was seeing his brother and his friend at least a little bit happy.
The process of knowing each other had been smooth, a lot easier than what Anthony first anticipated. (Y/N) took her duties as the lady of the house seriously, making a point of listening to Violet quite often. His siblings seemed to adore her even more than they liked him, and although inexperienced, as he knew she was, (Y/N) had proved herself to be a good lover. For all of those reasons, Anthony thought that keeping his promise wouldn’t be such an impossible task.
Then he discovered that Sienna had never left town and Anthony, who always prided himself in being a man of his word, proved himself to be as bad as the rest of the men he was surrounded by.
He fell back into the sheets with Sienna, and not long after that his relationship with (Y/N) became purely a show. At first, Anthony thought his wife was oblivious to his escapades, but he had clearly underestimated (Y/N)’s intelligence.
They never shared a bedroom, but there was no disguising how his visits to her chambers happened less and less, as there was no denying the gossip of the house staff that could only lead her to his broken promises.
Anthony expected a fight, things being thrown at him, screams and hits, but they never came, and that was somewhat worse.
One night when he got home after meeting Sienna, (Y/N) was sitting in the dressing room between their chambers, knitting. She lifted her eyes from her work to bid him good night. It didn’t go unnoticed to him how her smile fell from her face as she took in his disheveled state. Anthony felt ashamed for the first time in years.
(Y/N) didn’t give him time to explain himself for being so late—maybe it was for the best because he honestly didn’t know if he could find a suitable excuse for that—she just got up, leaving her unfinished work resting in the loveseat, and marched to her room.
Anthony sighed, throwing his coat away carelessly. The force knocked out (Y/N)’s knitting to the ground and Anthony groaned before bending down to take it. He furrowed his brow when he recognized the pattern—an onesie.
Maybe Daphne was pregnant again? She would’ve told him, right? Simon would, for sure. Then it hit him. Holding the unfinished piece between his fingers, Anthony realized that that was the reason why (Y/N) had stayed awake waiting for him until that hour—she was pregnant and wanted to tell him the news. Instead of the happiness she must have expected, she only received the sight of an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage.
(Y/N) never mentioned it to him and Anthony pretended as if he didn’t know, waiting for her to make the first move, tell him at her own time. (Y/N) never said it though, but he couldn’t ignore the knowledge, and the more time he passed observing her, the more evident it became to him that his wife was, in fact, expecting their first child.
In no time she distanced herself from him and all came to the point of no return in the night where she had gone through the loss of their child alone while he was rolling in the sheets with Sienna.
Anthony tried to reach out to her, succeeding only one time, a week after that fateful night, but in the following weeks, there hadn’t been much talking between them. (Y/N) would barely answer his greetings or the occasional question he threw her way trying to start a conversation. They had a few events to attend and these were the only occasions where she would grant him more than a couple of words. Anthony knew that that was all pretend for the sake of their reputation.
She refused every attempt he made to apologize or explain himself—not that there was much to explain. He couldn’t blame her, even if he wanted her forgiveness. It was her right to hate him and not want him around after he broke his promise to her.
They had never talked about it. Not until today.
(Y/N) was holding Augie, smiling down at the baby that smiled back at her, barely blinking with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.
“This one seems really enchanted by you,” Daphne comments, caressing her son’s little fingers.
“He’s just getting used to me,” (Y/N) answered, smiling at his sister.
“Well, it’s good training, since I guess you and Anthony will probably have one of your own soon.”
Is as if Anthony’s blood turns to ice. He looks at his wife whose expression turns into shock and then sadness in the blink of an eye. He recognizes the tears pooling in her eyes as she gives the baby back to Daphne and excuses herself, leaving the drawing room too quick not to draw attention.
He hurries back after her. Simon gives him an apologetic look to which Anthony answers with an equally sad smile. It doesn’t take him long to find her, bend down in the windowsill of one of the windows of the library, one hand covering her mouth to muffle her sobbing while the other rested on her belly.
(Y/N) doesn’t hear his approach, but when he touches her as if she was expecting him too. She jumps as far away from him as she can get as if his touch burned her.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t…” she doesn’t finish the sentence but Anthony could hear it loud and clear in his head.
Don’t touch me with the same hands you’ve touched her just a week ago.
“Okay, it’s okay,” Anthony reassures her, raising his hands so she can see them. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me too, but I want to help you.”
“Nobody can help me,” she sobs, hands clutching tightly at her dress.
The sight breaks his heart. Anthony wants nothing more than to take her pain away and make it his, even though he is mourning the loss of their child with her. He knew her pain was fairly worse than his, she did not only lose a child but she had been losing her husband too.
“Why, Anthony? Why us? There are so many couples that don’t love each other and still have children, why can’t we?”
Anthony takes a step forward, then two, and then he’s bringing her into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest, his chin resting at the top of her head. She struggles against his touch a little, but she’s so worn out that it doesn’t take much for her to relax into him.
(Y/N) fists the lapels of his waistcoat, resting her forehead against his chest, letting herself cry.
“I wanted them so bad, Anthony,” she whispers between sobs, “so bad.”
Me too, he wants to answer. Me too.
They stay in the library, in silence, for a while. When (Y/N) finally stops crying, exhausted, Anthony takes her home without even saying goodbye to his family, sending a maid to let them know his wife was not feeling well.
Their relationship shifts after that day. (Y/N) appears so exhausted by the recent events that slowly, she starts to let her guard down again. Anthony is careful when dealing with her, his wife is fragile and the sadness in her runs so deep that he is always afraid to say or do something that will put her through more pain.
“You don’t have to worry so much, you know.” She says, making him look up from his papers to see her already staring back at him.
“I always worry.”
“I won’t break if we talk about it,” she guarantees. “We have to talk about it.”
Anthony is not sure if she’s talking about their baby or Sienna. Either way it wasn’t exactly a conversation he was eager to have.
“How are you?” He asks before he can contain himself. Anthony wanted to ask that for a while but never found the opportunity.
“Healing,” she answers, “or trying to.”
He nods, nervously picking at his nails.
“When did you discover?” She asks.
“The onesie.” He looks up at her.
“The onesie,” she scoffs.
“You were… waiting for me?” His question is almost inaudible, full of regret and shame, but Anthony knows that she heard him.
“Yes,” she answers, “I was.” There’s a pause, and then the blow to his face. “Obviously you were occupied with more important matters, my lord.”
“(Y/N)—”
“I know about her,” she confesses. “I’ve always known, just didn’t want to acknowledge it and have to face the fact that my husband, the one that promised to respect me, at least, had so quickly forgotten his own word.”
“It’s not your fault.” He tries to explain but it seems like (Y/N) has had enough of silence.
“Oh, I know, my lord. This is entirely your fault.” She paused. “And hers. Not that it will matter for anyone, I’ll be the one to blame, after all.”
Her words cut through him the same way they did the week after her miscarriage: it’s always the woman’s fault. Hers or Sienna’s, it didn’t matter. Anthony would never understand the full extent of the pain it was to be a woman in their society, he would never fully understand how much he put her through and yet, would never be blamed for it.
There’s no answer to her words, no explanation for his behavior or broken promises. All he can do is watch her swallow the tears that were threatening to fall and take a deep breath. Anthony opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.
“That night,” she says, “the night I… lost our child. You were with her.”
It wasn’t a question, but Anthony felt the need to answer it anyway, his voice low with shame.
“Yes.”
“I see,” she hums.
“If I could go back—”
“The outcome would have been the same.” She says.
“It doesn’t change the fact that I should have been there for you.”
“Yes, you should have.”
Anthony always knew that, since the moment he put foot inside their house and heard her screams, but hearing her say it had another weight.
“Are you still seeing her?” She asks, looking at him.
“No, it won’t happen again.”
(Y/N) scoffs. “Forgive me if I have trouble believing in it, my lord.”
“I know I haven’t been a good husband. God, I have been barely a good man since we married, but I promise you, I’ll learn from my mistakes and I’ll do better by you. I’ll be a better man, a better husband, one that you deserve and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get close to deserve you.”
The following days, they start to talk more during meals, and the silence that falls between them when they’re both at the drawing room—Anthony working and (Y/N) reading—is not uncomfortable anymore. Each day that passes makes Anthony believe that they can fall back into the friendship they had right after they married.
He doesn’t see Sienna again. Anthony sends her a letter telling her that they should stop seeing each other because he doesn’t want to hurt his wife anymore. Which is the truth. Every time he thinks about the last time he met Sienna, his wife’s cries of pain and sorrow plague his mind and he just can’t see himself hurting her even more than he already had without even realizing it.
Anthony watches her playing with Gregory and Hyacinth in the garden. His younger siblings are fighting for her attention but she doesn’t seem to mind, going back and forth in between the two of them with ease. Then she looks at him, a huge smile on her face that made him smile too. Her attention was quickly snatched from him to his siblings again and Anthony felt a pang of jealousy in his chest—he didn’t want to share her attention.
In the past few weeks, Anthony discovered that his wife was more than the character of the perfect wife that she played for the ton. She was very much real and very much a woman with desires and ambitions. Everything that happened between then made her more bold, she didn’t take his poor excuses anymore, she talked openly about all sorts of things and Anthony caught himself wanting to listen.
“Hum, did you finally realize that you got a diamond in your hands, then?”
Anthony turned his head to look at Benedict, who had a hint of a smile playing on his lips.
His relationship with Benedict was stranded since his brother discovered about Sienna. Anthony didn’t blame Benedict, he was friend’s with his wife since they were kids. He only had himself to blame for being so foolish.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony answered, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t observing their siblings with (Y/N).
“Keep lying to yourself then,” Benedict smirked, turning away to leave.
Anthony called after him. “Will you ever forgive me?”
Benedict sighed. “I’m not the one who has to forgive you. I just expected more from my brother.”
“I know,” he agrees. Benedict makes a move to go out the door, and then comes back, pulling Anthony into a hug.
“Look, I could say a thousand things to you, but nothing will undo what’s done.” Benedict says when they part, a hand resting on Anthony’s shoulder. “Just… learn from your mistakes and do better. You’re my brother and I love you, but trust me when I say that you don't deserve (Y/N). Can you imagine what mother would have done to our father if they ever found themselves in the same situation?”
“They loved each other,” Anthony protested to prevent his mind from wandering.
“You are truly oblivious, brother of mine.” Benedict scoffed.
His brother’s word haunted him for the rest of the day and all the way back to their home. Always perceptive, his change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N).
“What happened,” she asked when they were alone in the dressing room.
Anthony hummed, turning around to look at her and trying not to get distracted by her beauty as she braided her own hair after taking off the jewelry.
“Nothing.”
Her reflection raises a brow at him.
“Do better,” she warns, getting up and walking up to him, face softening as she stands in front of him. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”
He nods, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his face. Anthony’s eyes close.
“Is it about her?”
The question gets him off guard. His eyes open instantly to look at her and he drops (Y/N)’ hand instantly.
“No,” he answers, “no,” he adds firmly, cradling her face in between his hands. “There is no one else in my life but you. There won’t be no one else in my life but you.”
“Anthony…” She breaths, closing her eyes as her delicate hands take hold of his wrists.
He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but refrains. It’s not the time for that. They’re both healing and he doesn’t want to taint whatever it is they’re creating by getting ahead of himself. Instead, Anthony presses his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent.
“Stay with me tonight,” he pleads, not sure where the urge to stay close to her came from. Anthony expects her to put up a fight, but (Y/N) only nods, murmuring an okay, before guiding him to her room.
It’s the first time since that fateful night that the both of them sleep through it, getting up later than usual the other day.
Their first kiss after everything that threatened to push them apart for good, happens so suddenly that none of them expects it.
(Y/N) had received the news that one of her younger sisters was going to marry the man she loves, her happiness made her throw herself at him and before either of them could realize, they were kissing each other.
It was just a chaste peck on the lips at the beginning. When they realized what had just happened they parted, his wife didn’t bother to step away from him to escape his embrace. They just stared at each other, eyes flicking between their eyes and their lips and then she placed a hand at the back of his neck, bringing him close to seal their lips again.
Anthony responded in kind, his hands on her waist, traveling up her back as he tasted her. It was like he was kissing her for the first time. They were discovering each other again, learning what each other felt like.
Desperately, Anthony wanted to discover what the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach was. Since before they married (Y/N) made him feel different, something he couldn’t put a finger on. He pushed it down to the depths of his mind—the last thing he needed was feeling something other than respect and partnership for his wife.
He protested when (Y/N) parted her lips from his and it took him a second to notice Benedict standing at the door, a smirk on his lips.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that our mother is waiting for (Y/N) downstairs. Something about the charity?”
“Oh,” his wife exclaimed, “I had forgotten about it,” she said, wriggling herself away from his arms, making Anthony growl in frustration.
If she noticed, (Y/N) made a good job at ignoring it. The same couldn’t be said about his brother.
“I figured,” Benedict smirked.
“Not a word,” (Y/N) warned as she passed him by, slapping his arm playfully.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Anthony watched as she turned around, stealing one last glance at him before disappearing and taking his breath away with her.
“Huh,” Benedict hummed, “I see.”
Rolling his eyes, Anthony asked, “And what do you see, dear brother?”
“You love her.”
“Nonsense,” he protested, “we’re just good partners.”
“Good partners don’t kiss like that.”
The ride home was silent, but Anthony’s heart fluttered in his chest when (Y/N) searched for his hand. Could Benedict be right? Did he really fall in love with his wife? He frowned while looking out of the window of the carriage and (Y/N) might have noticed it, because she made a move to take her hand away from him. Anthony didn’t let her.
“What’s going on in your mind?”
“Something Benedict said to me.”
“If it is about the kiss, don’t mind him. It won’t happen again.”
Anthony looked at her exasperated.
“I surely hope you’re not serious about that.”
“Anthony…”
“How can I live without your kisses again is unknown to me.”
“You lived quite well without them all your life,” she smiles, shyly.
“But now that I know them, I can’t anymore.”
Painfully slowly, she moves closer, giving him the chance to meet her halfway and bring their lips together again.
It’s like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day and Anthony can’t seem to get enough of her. They get so distracted that they don’t even realise the carriage has stopped in front of the house until the door is open.
Recomposing themselves, he observes as (Y/N) giggles at the situation and feels his heart flutter at the image.
As they prepare to retire for the night, Anthony stops for a minute before following her into her room—he has been doing that for quite a few nights.
When she notices that he hasn’t entered the bedroom, (Y/N) looks back at him with a frown.
“Anything’s wrong?”
Anthony smiles, “No, nothing’s wrong,” he answers, as she extends her hand for him to take, and they retire for the night.
Warnings: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter
⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️
The morning sun streamed through the windows of the Featherington estate, casting a golden glow over the lively preparations for the day ahead. You were seated at your vanity, Varley fussing over your hair with more vigor than necessary, muttering about how even a race required proper presentation. You nodded absently, your mind far from the conversation—or even the impending event.
You were dressed already, the soft, pastel blue gown fitting you comfortably as you stood and moved toward the window. You still wonder how on earth you got port- mama, to agree to buy new dresses and with different colors this time, although you think it mostly has to do with the arrival of the new featherington lord and how it meant that they no longer needed to worry about money much.
The bustle of the household faded as you leaned against the frame, gazing out at the beautiful house across the street, in which you could swear you see movement in.
It should’ve been a simple day—a moment to enjoy the festivities, the thrill of the race, and the chatter of the crowd. And yet, the weight of your thoughts anchored you in place.
The question swirled relentlessly in your mind. What do you do next?
The story you knew so well—the love story of Kate and Anthony—was already beginning to take shape. You’d seen the tension between them last night, the sharp glances, the lingering stares. You knew the moments that were meant to happen next.
But at what cost? Edwina’s heartbreak? Anthony’s stubbornness that was the whole reason people got hurt in the first place? Was it even your place to intervene? A few days ago you didn’t even exist in this world, so how could you?
Your gaze drifted to the bright sky, searching for clarity. And yet, another thought began to creep in, unbidden but persistent.
What if you didn’t step aside?
What if you let yourself want something—long for someone—for once? Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t just a name on a page, or a face in a show anymore. He was a man, flesh and blood, with flaws and feelings. And you… you weren’t just a bystander that dreamed to be in a love story like his. Not anymore.
Your fingers tightened on the windowsill as your heart warred with itself. To let the story unfold as it always had or to take a leap into the unknown, to risk selfishness for the chance at something real.
And then again, maybe you were meant to change things? Why on earth would the universe transport you into the world you’ve always dreamed of if you weren’t meant to?
“Miss Y/N?” Varley’s voice broke through your reverie, startling you. “The carriage will be ready soon. We mustn’t keep the others waiting.”
You straightened, smoothing the fabric of your gown as you turned back to the room. “Of course, Varley,” you said, your tone steady even as your thoughts churned.
As you left the room, you resolved one thing: Today, at the races, you would make a choice. Whether to follow the script you knew so well or to write a story of your own.
“Why did I have to accompany you?” you asked as you walked behind Penelope as she entered the drawing room of the Bridgerton house
She ignored your words, approaching Eloise from behind “Is that a copy of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope asked
“It is” Eloise answered, putting down the paper
“I thought we were done with her” Penelope said
“Do not discourage her, Penelope” Lady Bridgerton said “If she has taken an interest in Lady Whistledown again, perhaps it means she’s interested in what she has to say about the season’s available gentlemen too” She turned towards her daughter
You chuckled, swallowing down your nerves as you approached her mother “If Eloise has anything to say about it, Lady Bridgerton, then no” You said
“See, even Y/n gets me” Eloise huffed, turning to face Penelope
You smiled, looking at what you hope will be your future mother in law “Lady Bridgerton,” you greeted
She stopped her embroidery, looking up at you with a smile “Y/n, dear, it has been a long time since you’ve visited” Violet said
You blinked before you realized that perhaps you had or well, the past Y/n Featherington had visited the Bridgerton home before with Penelope.
“Yes, it has been” you nodded before sitting on the chair next to her “artist Bridgerton brother,” you greeted Benedict with a smile
He chuckled “still calling me by that, poet Featherington sister?” He teased back
You looked at him lost “Poet?” you said confused
“yeah,” he brought down his sketchbook “Don’t you remember when you recited on and on about the color of Anthony’s hair, his mesmerizing eyes?”
What?
“Oh, yes, I remember that as well” Lady Bridgerton chuckled “It was sweet seeing how enamored you were with Anthony when you were little, of course, it never went far as you were only three and ten years old when you decided you wanted to marry Anthony and he was well off into adulthood”
Your face froze as Lady Beidgerton’s words sank in, your heart skipping a beat. What?! You laughed nervously, trying to mask your shock. “I—well, I suppose teenage girls are prone to fanciful ideas, are they not?”
“Fanciful indeed,” Violet said, smiling warmly. “Though, I must admit, it was endearing. You followed him about during those visits, asking the most peculiar questions about the responsibilities of a viscount. You were so earnest, poor Anthony didn’t know what to do with you!”
Benedict smirked. “Oh, he certainly knew what to do—run off to the study and hide.”
“Benedict!” Violet scolded lightly, though her tone was still amused.
You felt your cheeks heat, and for a moment, you were lost for words. Of course, the past you would have been a lovestruck teenager, completely unaware of what that might mean for your interactions now.
You cleared your throat, your mind racing as you tried to compose yourself. “I assure you, I’ve outgrown such girlish infatuations. Besides, Anthony and I have hardly spoken more than a few words to each other recently.”
“Oh, but that could change,” Violet said, her tone light but laden with meaning. “Anthony needs a steady hand, someone with wit and charm to keep him grounded.”
Benedict leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow at you knowingly. “And who better to manage his chaos than someone who once planned her entire future around him?”
You shot him a pointed look, though your lips twitched upward in a small, reluctant smile. “I believe we’re getting far ahead of ourselves.”
“Perhaps,” Violet said with a conspiratorial glint in her eye, “but it’s always nice to see old friends rekindle a connection.”
Your heart thudded in your chest, the weight of their playful remarks mingling with your own uncertainty. You had come here prepared to make a choice, but now it seemed as though fate—or the Bridgertons—was nudging you toward one particular path.
“I believe we were never friends, Lady Bridgerton, it was just a childish infatuation on my part,” you say “I believe Anthony has his eyes set elsewhere right now”
Violet raised an eyebrow at your comment, her expression thoughtful. “Perhaps, but you’d be surprised how easily one’s eyes can be redirected when the right person is in view.”
Benedict chuckled, clearly enjoying the teasing. “Oh, this is far more entertaining than I anticipated. Please, do carry on.”
You rolled your eyes, though your heart was beating faster than ever. “I assure you, Benedict, there is nothing to carry on about. Anthony and I barely speak, and whatever childish notions I had are long gone.”
“C-colin!” you heard Penelope exclaim, You stood up as the rest of the bridgertons embraced the newly arrived Colin, watching with a smile as they greeted him
“And where, may I ask, is our intrepid viscount?” Colin asked looking around his family
“He is-“ Anthony stepped into view as Lady Bridgerton spoke “back from courting already”
“Colin, you are back, even better” Anthony said as he saw Colin “Family, I would like you all to-“ his eyes met yours, making him go silent
“Y/n…” he spoke “i-I did not know you were here”
You couldn’t help but chuckle, Anthony cleared his throat, his eyes leaving yours “i-I would like you all to ready yourselves for the races today, we will be attending united as one” He finished saying to his family
You stayed next to him as his family went off to get ready “I’ll be there in a bit” you say to Pen as she looked at you expecting to leave, she nodded before she left the room
Your eyes flickered back towards Anthony, finding him looking at you, you smirked “You’ll escort me to the races, won’t you?” you say boldly, having decided to not step aside and instead make your own choices.
Anthony’s eyebrows furrowed at your boldness, his usual composed demeanor slipping ever so slightly. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly weighing his response.
For a moment, the silence between you stretched thin, and you could see the flicker of hesitation in his dark eyes. His gaze shifted briefly toward the door, as though calculating his options.
“I… had intended to accompany my family today as a united front,” he said carefully, his voice measured. “There are certain… expectations that must be upheld.”
You raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Expectations?” you repeated. “Anthony, are you saying that escorting me would somehow disrupt your plans?”
His jaw tightened, and he glanced away, his reluctance palpable. “Not disrupt,” he clarified, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. “It’s simply that…” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to elaborate.
Ah. So this was about Edwina. You felt the pieces fall into place with startling clarity. Kate’s refusal to let him court her sister must have spurred Anthony into finding another way to gain the Sharma family’s favor—an approach steeped in duty and strategy, as expected of a viscount.
But you weren’t about to make it easy for him. Especially not after what you had decided and you’d be damned if you were losing without a fight.
“Anthony,” you said, stepping closer so that he couldn’t avoid your gaze. “If your goal is to show yourself as a responsible, family-oriented man, what better way than to escort an old family friend?” You let your tone turn teasing, though your eyes stayed sharp.
His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse outright. Then, with a soft sigh, he turned back to you. “You do have a way of making things sound entirely reasonable,” he admitted, though his tone lacked its usual confidence.
You smiled triumphantly, slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. “Then it’s settled,” you said brightly. “We’ll make quite the impression, won’t we?”
He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze flickering briefly toward the door again, as though still calculating his options. But then, he nodded, his movements stiff but resigned. “It would seem so,” he said finally.
As you walked together toward the carriages, you could feel the weight of his hesitation lingering between you. Anthony Bridgerton was a man bound by duty and logic, but there was something else simmering beneath the surface—a conflict he hadn’t yet resolved.
But that was fine. You weren’t looking for perfection. You were looking for an opportunity to remind him that life didn’t always need to be dictated by duty and expectations. If you were rewriting this story, you weren’t afraid to challenge the characters along the way.
Even if one of those characters was the man you’d been dreaming of for years.
You smiled, satisfied with his answer—for now. Today was only the beginning, after all. If you were going to rewrite the story, you intended to do so on your own terms. And Anthony Bridgerton? Well, he would simply have to keep up.
You looked around the field filled with people with a smile, the sound of horses galloping resounding nearby. Your eyes searched for any familiar face nearby but hard to see with so many people around.
You turned back to look at the man beside you, his eyes searching as well. You held back a scoff as you knew why, “Whatever plan you had for today, it would have only ended up hurting people” You stated, looking back at the field.
Anthony turned to look at you, your arm intertwined between his “What do you mean?” he feigned innocence
You looked at him once again “You mean to tell me you didn’t plan on elaborating a grand scheme so the eldest Sharma would leave you alone with Miss Edwina?”
Anthony’s gaze narrowed slightly, though there was no malice in it. “And what, pray tell, do you think I’m planning?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” you said, glancing toward the arriving carriages. “You intend to use today to make a grand show of your family’s unity and charm, all to prove to the Sharmas that you’re the perfect match for Edwina. Am I close?” You didn’t want to mention his plan to get Thomas Dorset to woo Kate.
His silence was answer enough.
You sighed, releasing his arm as you turned to face him fully. “Anthony, I know you mean well, but this… performance? It’s not going to end the way you hope it will.”
He frowned, his jaw tightening. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re not being honest with yourself,” you said simply. “About what you want.”
His expression darkened, though there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “I am entirely aware of what I want,” he said stiffly.
“Are you?” you challenged, stepping closer. “Because it seems to me you’re more concerned with what you think you should want. There’s a difference, Anthony, and if you don’t figure it out soon, you’re going to hurt a lot of people—including yourself.”
The words hung heavy in the air between you, his gaze locked on yours as if trying to decipher your meaning. For a moment, you thought he might push you away, dismiss you like he did everyone who dared to question him.
But then he sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You make it sound so simple,” he said quietly.
“It’s not,” you admitted, your voice softer now. “But it’s worth it.”
Anthony’s gaze lingered on you, something unspoken passing between you. Then, with a subtle nod, he extended his arm to you once more. “Shall we?”
You smiled, slipping your arm back into his. “Lead the way, Lord Bridgerton.”
As you walked toward the crowd, the weight of your words seemed to settle on him, though he said nothing more. But you could feel it in the way he held himself, in the quiet moments of hesitation that punctuated his otherwise confident demeanor.
“You should let things flow the way they’re supposed to,” you pat his arm “If there are things impeding you to court Miss Edwina…..perhaps you should give up” you say selfishly
Anthony glanced at you, his brows knitting together as he processed your words. “Give up?” he repeated, his tone skeptical. “You would have me surrender so easily?”
You met his gaze steadily, though your heart raced at your boldness. “Not easily, Anthony. But if you’re only pursuing her because you think it’s the right thing to do, rather than what you truly want, then yes. Why waste your time—and hers—on something that isn’t real?”
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, the tension in his features softening ever so slightly. “You speak as though you know my heart better than I do.”
“Perhaps I do,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. “Or perhaps I just see things more clearly because I’m not the one caught in the middle of it.”
Anthony didn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting to the lively crowd ahead of you. The sounds of laughter, conversation, and the occasional cheer for a victorious horse filled the air. You could see his family mingling in the distance, their bright smiles a sharp contrast to the weight of the conversation between you.
“And what about you?” he asked finally, his voice quieter now. “You speak of honesty, yet you remain shrouded in mystery. What is it that you truly want?”
The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you faltered. How could you explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had brought you to this point? How could you tell him that you weren’t just another Featherington, but someone who had seen his story unfold in ways he couldn’t possibly understand?
“I…” You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the ground. “I want to live a life that feels real. Not one dictated by expectations or duty, but one where I can make my own choices. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”
Anthony studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a faint smile, he shook his head. “You’re a peculiar woman, Y/N Featherington.”
You laughed softly, the sound tinged with relief. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” You looked at him “Besides…. I’m already fighting for what I want” there was something unreadable in your eyes as you looked at him
Anthony’s smile faltered ever so slightly as your words hung in the air, their weight settling between you like an unspoken challenge. His dark eyes flickered over your face, searching for something—clarity, perhaps, or reassurance—but all he found was a quiet determination that seemed to unnerve him.
“Fighting for what you want?” he repeated, his voice careful, measured. “And what is it, exactly, that you want, Miss Featherington?”
You tilted your head slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk gracing your lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
The teasing lilt in your voice did little to ease the tension that had crept into the conversation. Anthony’s hand shifted subtly where it rested on yours, as though he were considering letting go. His usual air of control seemed to waver, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something unfamiliar in his expression—unease, perhaps, or uncertainty.
“Miss Featherington,” he began, his tone carrying the weight of a man accustomed to steering conversations in his favor, “it is not often I find myself at a loss for words, but you seem intent on ensuring I remain so today.”
You chuckled softly, though your gaze remained steady on his. “Perhaps that’s because you’re not used to being challenged, my lord.”
Anthony’s brows furrowed, and he looked away briefly, his gaze scanning the crowd as if seeking an escape. When he looked back at you, his composure was intact once more, though there was a faint crease in his brow that betrayed his lingering nervousness.
“You speak with remarkable confidence,” he said, his voice cooler now, as though attempting to regain the upper hand. “But confidence can be a dangerous thing when wielded carelessly.”
“Only to those unprepared to face it,” you countered smoothly, the edge in your tone softened by a smile. “But don’t worry, Lord Bridgerton. I have no intention of unsettling you—too much, at least.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze dropping briefly to the ground before meeting yours again. “You have an uncanny ability to make a man question himself,” he admitted, his voice low. “I wonder if that is your intention.”
You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “And if it were?”
Anthony’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions neither of you dared to name. Finally, he let out a quiet sigh.
“Then I suppose I must brace myself,” he said, his tone laced with reluctant amusement.
You smiled, your grip on his arm tightening ever so slightly. “Good. You’ll need it.” You say “Just like you’ll need it when I say that High Flyer will be the winner today and the horse you bet on, Nectar, will not” you smirk
Anthony stopped in his tracks, turning his head to look at you with an expression of mild disbelief. His brows arched, and for a moment, his usual composed demeanor gave way to something closer to exasperation.
“You’re challenging my judgment on horses now?” he asked, his tone laced with incredulity.
“Perhaps,” you replied breezily, your smirk widening. “High Flyer has a higher chance to win, the track is soft and hot thus Nectar will have a great disadvantage as he’s not as swifter and lighter as High Flyer. A rather unfortunate trait for a racehorse, wouldn’t you agree?” you use your knowledge of this episode
Anthony blinked at you, his lips parting slightly as he processed your words. “You’ve been studying the horses?”
“Is that so surprising?” you teased, tilting your head. “I’m merely preparing for the inevitable moment when you’ll have to admit I was right.”
His gaze narrowed, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes now. “You’re rather confident for someone who has yet to see the race.”
“Confidence, as you’ve pointed out, can be a dangerous thing,” you said, echoing his earlier words with a mischievous glint in your eye. “But I’m willing to take my chances.”
Anthony shook his head, though he couldn’t entirely suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Very well, Miss Featherington. If you’re so certain of your prediction, perhaps we should make this more interesting.”
You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you proposing a wager, Lord Bridgerton?”
“I am,” he said, his voice gaining a touch of his usual commanding confidence. “If High Flyer wins, I will publicly admit my error—and you may choose a forfeit for me, within reason.”
“And if Nectar wins?” you asked, folding your arms as you regarded him with playful suspicion.
He looked in thought for a minute “Then you will meet me tomorrow morning when you come to my home with your sister” he said smoothly, his gaze steady on yours. “Just the two of us. No Penelope. No excuses.”
The boldness of his proposal took you by surprise, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words, feeling your breath catch in your throat. But then you smiled, the thrill of the challenge sparking in your chest.
“Very well, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, extending your hand to him. “You have yourself a wager.”
He clasped your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Then may the best horse—and the best gambler—win.”
As the two of you continued toward the racetrack, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. This wasn’t just a wager; it was a game, a dance, a challenge—and neither of you intended to back down.
“You were saying?” you turned to look at the viscount smug as High Flyer won first place in the race
Anthony’s expression was unreadable at first, his gaze fixed on the racetrack where High Flyer had just thundered across the finish line. The crowd erupted into cheers, but the Viscount’s focus remained solely on you.
“I believe I was saying something about confidence,” he murmured, though there was a faint edge of resignation in his voice. His eyes flicked back to yours, narrowing slightly at the smug smile that curved your lips.
“You were,” you said, tilting your head. “Something about it being dangerous, wasn’t it? It seems my confidence wasn’t misplaced after all.”
Anthony exhaled sharply, though you couldn’t tell if it was a laugh or a sigh of defeat. “It seems not,” he conceded, his tone reluctant. “I suppose I owe you my public admission of error.”
“Oh, there’s no need for dramatics, my lord,” you said, feigning modesty. “A simple acknowledgment that I was right will suffice.”
He arched a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching as though he were fighting a smile. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head slightly. “Miss Featherington, you were right. High Flyer was indeed the better horse today.”
Your grin widened, your victory made all the sweeter by his reluctant but good-natured capitulation. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”
He stepped closer, his voice lowering so that only you could hear. “You’re enjoying this far too much,” he said, his tone teasing yet laced with something deeper, something that sent a shiver down your spine.
“Perhaps,” you replied, meeting his gaze with a glint of mischief. “But don’t forget—this means you’ll have to endure my chosen forfeit.”
Anthony’s smile finally broke free, a rare and genuine thing that made your heart skip a beat. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said. “And I’ll face it with as much grace as I can muster.”
The two of you stood there for a moment, the lively crowd around you fading into the background. There was a spark between you, unspoken but undeniable, a sense that this was more than just a game.
“Well then,” you said, breaking the spell. “I look forward to seeing how well you handle it, my lord.”
Anthony chuckled, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “And I, Miss Featherington, look forward to our morning meeting—when Nectar’s loss will no longer matter.”
His words left you breathless, your retort caught in your throat as he offered you his arm once more. “Uh, you lost, how is the meeting still in place when I won?” you asked
Anthony smirked, his expression that of a man who had been waiting for this exact question. “Ah,” he said, his tone deceptively casual, “but the terms of our wager never explicitly stated that the meeting would be void if High Flyer won. I simply said I would admit my error. And I did.”
Your eyes narrowed, your hand tightening slightly on his arm. “That’s not how wagers work, Lord Bridgerton,” you countered, though there was a flicker of amusement in your tone. “You can’t twist the terms to suit your convenience.”
“Twisting?” he echoed, his smirk growing. “Not at all. I am merely exercising the same cleverness you demonstrated in predicting the race. Surely, you wouldn’t begrudge me that?”
“You’re insufferable,” you muttered, though the corners of your mouth betrayed the urge to smile.
“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied smoothly, his gaze flicking to yours with a glint of challenge.
You let out a soft huff, trying to suppress the fluttering sensation in your chest. “Fine,” you relented. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for losing.”
Anthony chuckled, his voice low and warm. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Featherington. I’ll accept whatever forfeit you impose. But I do hope you’ll keep it… reasonable.”
“I’ll think about it,” you said with mock seriousness, pretending to consider all the humiliating possibilities.
As you walked together, the playful banter between you was laced with an undercurrent of something deeper, something unspoken yet impossible to ignore. You might have won the wager, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that Anthony had been the winner in the end.
