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@viscountvirtue
♕ ⸻ jonathan bailey. cismale. he/him. ― is that ANTHONY BRIDGERTON i saw during this years first ball of the season? the 28 year old is avoiding finding a suiter this social season. They are known to be CARING, but also SECRETIVE, but focus on the positives when finding their chosen one.
"Truly, I do not envy you Viscount, such expectations must be truly draining." She knew of him, his family, the circumstances, no less that she often wondered what sort of life they lead. She was under no illusion, it was not easy to withhold a family name. She knew with such of her own family, the turmoil that a loss could bring upon the family unit. "A lady with such striking allure , now that is certainly the compliment of the evening -- however, no doubt calls for high expectations, such I do not wish to meet." She exclaimed with a soft shrug. "Nevertheless, my mother will ensure my presence is known, so to sneak out for a moment of peace is certainly needed."
"Indeed, you're correct," he conceded with an air of self-awareness. "Living up to expectations has always been a foreign concept to me," he mused, a wistful tone coloring his words. In his life, it seemed he was perpetually dancing to a rhythm set in stark contrast to societal norms. Where others urged him to marry and have children for the continuation of the esteemed Bridgerton lineage, he reveled in the carefree exploits of a rake. "However, in your case, I believe you embody those high expectations with effortless grace," he complimented, his lips curving into a knowing smile. "Should the pressures from your mother of selecting a dance partner prove overwhelming, consider me an available dance partner," he offered with a gallant tilt of his head.
the woman stopped mid-inhale as she gathered her thoughts - something about lady whistledown and her own theories did not match up - but ended up just sighing as she lost her train of thought. eloise has probably stayed up too late again to form any logical explanations. a rustle from her right side caught her attention and she turned -- "hello?" her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "who goes there?"
Anthony's mind was a whirlwind of restless thoughts, each vying for attention. The relentless question of how long he could dance on the edge of societal expectations, dodging the institution of marriage, whirled through his head. These reflections accompanied him like shadows as he meandered through the garden. His stride halted when a familiar silhouette materialized in the distance, unmistakably that of his younger sister. "Seems I'm not the only Bridgerton seeking solace under the open sky," he mused with a light chuckle. His eyes then drifted to the cigarette delicately perched between her fingers. With a smile, he quipped, "I'll turn a blind eye to that little rebellion."
colin bridgerton was beyond happy to see his favorite sandwiches at this party. ham and cheese. he took a few of them, some biscuits, and a few other treats, and said, mostly to himself ❝the best part of these parties... the food❞
"Save a morsel or two for the mere mortals among us," Anthony quipped, his voice laced with a touch of jest. With a mischievous grin, he extended his hand, claiming a biscuit and a blueberry scone for himself. "Mother would be aghast at the sight of us, indulging in the food rather than weaving through the crowd in search of a fitting bride." He cast a knowing glance at his younger brother, fully aware that he too felt the weight of maintaining appearances at such gatherings.
"Is that the latest whisteldown?!" Charlotte didn't even give the person a chance to answer, whickly snatching it from their hands and beginnign to read the pamphlet hurriedly. "It would appear Brimsely has failed to bring it to me before it arrived for everyone else." She shot her valet a glare. "Have you read it yet?" She was hoping for a "no" as she hadn't yet layed eyes on its entirety, scanning for any mention of her own name, which it always was. All she could hope for, was that it was benign this issue.
Anthony, ever the nonchalant observer, rarely found himself ensnared in the labyrinth of literary gossip spun by the infamous Lady Whistledown. His sisters' chatter about it had painted a picture of a scandal sheet thriving on the very essence of unnecessary drama. To add insult to injury, this mysterious 'Lady Whistledown' seemed to delight in branding him a rake. Facing the queen, he responded with a deferential dip of his head, "I haven't had the pleasure of perusing it yet, Your Majesty." A polite smile played on his lips as he added, "I trust only good things have been penned about you." How he had found himself in the rarefied air of a conversation with the queen was a mystery, but Anthony was not one to squander such a serendipitous encounter.
"Pray tell, what is it about a ball that makes you hide outside?' A smile graces her features as she moves onto the terrace, drink discarded as she enters the cool breeze. She finds such festivities overwhelming. Her father's expectations for her to we'd for money and title, she fears for whom she will marry. She hides such discomfort with sarcastic remarks, yet she knows such balls would lead to the inevitable.
"Never truly fancied ballroom dancing," Anthony quipped, his shoulders lifting in an eloquent shrug. He had ventured to this grand ball solely at the behest of his mother, who, with her repeated requests, had made her desires unmistakably clear. Such social galas had never captivated his interest; in his eyes, they were only a masquerade for the singular pursuit of marriage, a notion that sent a shiver of disdain down his spine. Yet, turning his gaze towards her, he added with a hint of charm, "A lady of your striking allure, however, should undoubtedly grace such an occasion with her presence."
"One thing is certain, they are smitten." With an exhaled sigh, Penelope raises the drink to her lips, deterring profanities, envious comments attempting to leave her lips. She did not wish to seem ungrateful, or perhaps the 'green eyed monster' was appearing, and yet no public interest was beginning to wear against her ego.
Anthony's gaze lifted at the sound of a voice, his eyes alighting upon the fiery-haired maiden he recognized as Penelope. "I suppose they might be, or at the very least, they've mastered the art of pretense," he responded with a nonchalant shrug. Wrapped in a cloak of cynicism, Anthony harbored a jaded perspective on love. While the notion of true love might dance in the hearts of others, he was convinced it was a waltz he was not destined to join. "Is that something you want?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.
