myspy

[myspy]

THE DUCHESS ~ [II]

➺ pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

➺ warnings: none (this time)

➺ summary: The Duke and Duchess of Somerset have returned to London for the first time since their marriage, two years ago. Anthony and Y/N meet again, and they are reminded of how their last entanglement left them both badly burned. Trouble ensues.

➺ word count: 1.6K

~ [MASTERLIST] ~

Your only regret upon your return to London was that you didn't make it in time to attend Lady Danbury's annual soiree; the first event of every social season, you yourself had many fond memories of it from your time as a debutante, no matter how fleeting it may have been.

You had always known that one day, after you found your love match and a household to head, you would be hosting your own balls and parties. However, you did not expect that you would be a duchess when you did it.

The added weight of your title meant added expectation. Your mother and maids had prepared you for arrival in London: You knew about the notorious gossip writer who ran wild, hunting for scandals and had a talent for puppeteering the good opinions of the ton.

Additionally, you read her latest issue, where she flexed her muscles, calling you by name. Between the lines of compliments and flattery, you could understand the message she was trying to convey to you, and only you.

The louder she sings your praises, the more deafening the silence will be when she stops. It was simple- make one misstep, and she would tear you to shreds.

That was not an option, so your efforts had only increased since. Your first ball had to be better than perfect.

"Your Grace, you should really eat first-" Mrs Ward attempted to lead you away to the dining table, but you didn't even turn your neck in her direction.

"A little to the left," You directed the servants, who were putting up paintings you could not leave unsupervised. "And up. There, that's perfect."

They lifted the frame and tilted it straight. Leaving them to fix it to the wall, you marched further away from Mrs Ward, and outside, where the florists were arranging the flowers you had ordered into large, stone pedestal vases. Picking up a long-stemmed lily, you helped the girls, ignoring the squeak of panic the florist's apprentice made when she realised the Duchess was standing beside her.

Picking up a red rose from the assortment she had laid out, you carefully inserted the scarlet blossom into the unfinished display of white gardenias.

"Add a little love to the peace and harmony." You said. "The things we cannot say, our bouquets will say for us. Are you familiar with the language of flowers?"

She nodded frantically, shoulders so tense she was barely breathing. You laughed at her stress, and placed your hand on hers. "You can calm down, you're doing a fine job."

You placed a few more roses into the display then made your way inside again. The exhale of relief could be heard from the foyer.

The maids had scrubbed the floor so thoroughly that it gleamed in the daylight; new velvet drapes, emerald coloured, were being hung over every window, and crystal chandelier's lowered, so that their candles could be replaced and lit before the guests arrived. The cooks were in the kitchen, hard at work, baking cakes and making lemonade; it seemed that the only idle person in your home was you.

"Your dresses, my lady." Mary walked in, with a box in her hands, and four other maids behind her followed suit. "They have arrived."

The packages were a shade of periwinkle, wrapped up with a satin, French blue bow to finish. Taken by surprise, you did not expect the modiste to have finished with your order so quickly. When Madame Delacroix promised to have your new gowns delivered within the week, you did not take her seriously.

You nodded. "Alright. Let us take them upstairs."

Holding your skirt up so you wouldn't trip, but making sure the height still served your modesty, you went up the stairs, waving for your maids to follow you. Arriving at the landing, you turned left, watching your servants work from the top of the mezzanine as you walked into the master bedroom.

"Open them and place them on the bed for me, please."

The maids obliged, lifting the lids off and unravelling the paper, displaying the embroidered bodices to you. Standing at the foot of your sizeable bed, you cocked your head to the side, placing your hand to the chin.

"Mary, come here."

She came closer to stand by you. "Yes, my Lady?"

"Which of these dresses do you feel most appropriate for the ball tonight?" You asked her, biting your lip in deep thought.

Each of the garments were quite beautiful in their own rights. You and Madame Delacroix- after a rather awkward encounter with the Bridgertons, where both parties kept to niceties and nothing else- discussed in detail the kind of garments that you wanted made.

You wanted class, you wanted elegance; shades that would compliment your skin's complexion, a shape that would compliment your figure but stay modest. Jewel tones and empire waists, she insisted.

"Well, your Grace, I believe that this one," Mary said, gesturing to the one in the far left. "would undoubtably capture the admirations of your guests tonight. The colour would also suit the new diamond set his Grace recently imported from France."

You reached out to touch it, its fabric was smooth and cool against your fingertips. Silk, an intense, velveteen emerald, birds embellished in rosy pink and golds sewn delicately into the sides, the puff sleeves and neckline trimmed with ivory lace. Placing your hands at either side of the bust, you lifted the garment up and out of the box, so that you could regard the skirt, cinched at the waist, pleated, flowing and floor-length.

As you analysed the dress, you didn't realize that the door to your husband's office had opened and closed. You didn't hear the fatigued footsteps that drew closer and closer to the bedroom, or the quiet creak of the doorframe as it was leaned on.

He knocked twice to capture your attentions. "It's almost as exquisite as you."

~~~~~

Meanwhile, at the palace.

Queen Charlotte, dressed in countless ruffles and her hair pinned in a nest of ringlets forming a crest atop of her head, watched the acrobats perform, bored.

A string quartet played Mozart, and maids were constantly entering the room to replenish the stock of fine pastries, tea and snuff, when she called for it. Servants used peacock-feather fans to wave air into her direction, and a handsome servant boy, whom she liked to keep close to admire, was massaging her feet as she chewed on a biscuit.

Discontent. The Queen of England was feeling discontent.

The source of her ill mood was due to many reasons, consisting of mainly: one, the King's obvious and slow deterioration; two, the season's lack of a young lady polished enough to be declared a diamond, and three- her favourite nephew's lack of visit.

She had been in foul spirits ever since she had to find out that Robert and his wife had come back to London through Lady Whistledown.

The Robbie that she knew and watched grow up would have immediately come to greet her personally as soon as he had arrived. But it had been almost an entire seven days and there was no sign of the Duke.

Huffing, the Queen kicked the servant boy off of her feet. "Get out." She ordered to the acrobats, whose flips and contortions were doing very little to provide her with a sliver of entertainment.

"Brimsely!" She yelled. The short, panicky man frantically came to her aid. "Still no word from the Duke?"

Brimsely shook his head grimly.

"So must I truly be the one to make the effort to meet them?" Charlotte was talking to herself. Cynically, she cackled, throwing her head back. Brimsely was starting to sweat anxiously from where he stood, only an arm's length away.

It must be that woman, the Queen thought. Her Robert was a sweet boy who knew how to be filial, and considered her as a second mother. Ever since her dearest nephew encountered then Lady Y/N Young, he was possessed by her, and all but vanished into the morning mist. Something in him changed for the worst when that wrench entered his life, and deep down, her majesty blamed herself for it.

If only she had seen through her; then she would have been sinking her parasitic claws into some other, poor, unsuspecting man.

So, she could not blame him for being so taken with the Duchess, she was his wife after all. But if she had known how irreverent he would have become after marrying, she would not have allowed their union at all, even if her diamond would have been reduced to nothing but a common rock without it. Not even if Lady Whistledown had publicised every detail of their scandalous rendevous.

The sly and conniving Y/N Appleton had made an enemy out of the Queen, and she would know it soon enough.

~~~~~

"Again!" Anthony demanded, pacing back and forth as Benedict struggled to lift his body off of the grassy lawn.

"Brother, won't you allow me even a moment's rest?" He asked exasperatedly, wobbling slightly as he got to his feet. "Or make Colin fence with you, please."

"Stop whining and pick up you sword." The viscount callously replied, poised, ready to engage. His opponent, however, was grumbling as he reluctantly assumed a defensive stance.

Anthony's sword clashed with Benedict's as his first strike was blocked. The two continued to spar, but it wasn't before long when the tip of the elder's swift poked Benedict's chest, and again, and again.

"Colin!" the second-born son bawled to the rather relaxed Colin Bridgerton, who was sprawled out on the bench, supposed to be watching his brothers to keep score, but had gotten distracted by a book in his hands instead,

Benedict threw the sabre at his little brother's feet. "You fence with him."

Folding the corner of his page, Colin shot up from his seat and furrowed his brows in annoyance. "Why should I? This was your idea!"

Benedict marched up to him, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance, sweat glistening on his skin. "Oh, stop being so juvenile! Just keep our dear brother occupied. Don't be such a child."

"If you cannot meet his flying blades fury, how can you expect me to?" Colin whined.

"All the better! Allow him to raise his pride for a while-"

"I can hear you, you know!" the eldest yelled at his brothers, pacing back and forth, hacking at the grass with his sword.

"Just go." Benedict thrust his blunted weapon to Colin's chest, and ran away into the refuge of the indoors.

"Fuck." Colin whispered under his breath as Anthony stalked closer to him with a deadly gaze.

~~~~~

The Featheringtons packed themselves into their remaining carriage, the ladies' brightly pigmented yellow skirts invading every free breathing space left in that tiny vessel.

Penelope tried to ignore Philippa and Prudence's irritating voices, and stared outside, watching forests go by in a blur of green. Her elevated mood had been obvious; she had been looking forward to this moment ever since she found out that the Somersets were back in London, but she could not be too happy.

Lady Whistledown was ecstatic, but Penelope Featherington had to be invisible, to the point where not even her own Mama would notice.

The carriage's wheels crunched against the gravel and stones that littered the road to Appleton Hall. It was not a long journey away, but their travelling had been prolonged by the never-ending stream of other carriages on their way to the same ball.

The entire ton was on their way to catch a mere glance of the famous Duke and Duchess.

Their time was one of London's greatest mysteries. It was before Whistledown had ever published before, and the only method of acquiring gossip was the old, traditional way- listening for them. Nobody outside of their inner circle knew what had conspired, but the few details that had been circulated said that Y/N Young was said to be promised another man, an Earl or Baron of some sort, but was betrothed to the Duke out of nowhere.

The heartbroken first suitor allegedly left the country, to flee from the anguish of seeing his love with another man.

But the ton could not blame her; the Duke was a prized catch indeed.

The identities of who it was that was cheated by the Duchess remained ambiguous. However, if there was someone who had the wit to uncover him, it would be Lady Whistledown.

And she was well on her way into the very heart of this notorious household.

As the carriage began to slow down, the faint sound of the violins, cellos and harps drew ever closer. Servants stood at the gates, taking in invitations and allowing people to enter. Another greeted them from inside the grounds, directing the carriage driver to where the other vehicles were being kept, and footmen waited to help the ladies down the steep carriage steps.

"On your best behaviour, girls." said the matriarch Featherington, as she fanned her face and led her daughters into the candle-lit mansion.

~~~~~

Three years ago...

You couldn't stop yourself from adjusting the gemstones on your neck. Thrice, your mother had scolded you for fidgeting - an unladylike habit, she said- but your nerves would not allow you to stop.

There was a heavy weight on your head, heirloom tiara, and the spines of the oversized feathers your maids had staked into your updo, scratched your scalp.

Bile was threatening to spill out of your meticulously painted rouge lips, and onto the skirt of your dress.

White, embroidered with gold thread, tiny pearls sewn in clusters, patterning the layers of gossamer. Behind you, your mother wax fixing the train of your skirt, your father stood patiently beside you, his arm interlinked with yours, clad in opera gloves.

Looking around the room, you saw that the other debutantes were accompanied by more than just their mother and father. Sisters, older brothers, maids; the family in front of you consisted of seven people, and as the doors opened for them, you and your parents were completely obscured by the small crowd.

You gulped when you caught a glance of the many dozens of people lining the walls of the room, and the sprawled red carpet waiting to be stepped on, leading right to the single most powerful woman in Europe. Your eyes flitted self-consciously at all the other girls present, feeling the little hairs on the back of your neck raise whenever you sensed them looking at you.

"Calm down, my child." Your father quietly told you, leaning to peak into your ear. "Not a single young lady here can rival you in looks or accomplishment. Do not worry what they think."

"Papa, it is not them I am anxious to impress. And you are my father, you have to reassure me."

He laughed, the aging rasp of his throat laced into the sound. "Even a blind fool would know that you are the clearest, shining diamond of the season. And her majesty is no fool."

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[myspy]

;)

women kiss each other

[myspy]

ramadan begins tomorrow, so to all of my muslim mutuals and followers, i wish you lots of love and light for the month to come. ramadan mubarak everyone 🌙🤍

[myspy]

Thomas Shelby — PEAKY BLINDERS S05E04

[myspy]

[myspy]

We wish we were them.

[myspy]

THE DUCHESS ~ [I]

➺ pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

➺ warnings: nsfw sex scenes (18+ ONLY) , Anthony visits brothels

➺ summary: The Duke and Duchess of Somerset have returned to London for the first time since their marriage, two years ago. Anthony and Y/N meet again, and they are reminded of how their last entanglement left them both badly burned. Trouble ensues.

➺ word count: 1.2K

A/N ~ //TAGLIST IN MASTERPOST// Some canon details, like Colin's trip to Greece, Benedict's art school and Daphne's baby, are not included/have been altered to suit the storyline. Please tell me where any spelling mistakes have been made, I write in standard English but the site autocorrects my spelling to the Americanised, so I try my best to keep it consistent.

If you have any ideas about what you would like to see happen in this series, message me; I cannot guarantee it will be included but I'd love to hear from you :)

~[MASTERPOST]~

Dearest reader,

The time is once again upon us. With the arrival of the new season, and the abundance of scandals and triumphs closed with the last, this author looks forward to the introduction of London's newest wave of eligible young ladies- and the long-awaited homecoming of a few familiar faces.

The rumours are true; yesterday evening, for the first time in two, interminable years, London welcomed back the eminent Duke and Duchess of Somerset into the very heart of the ton.

Duchess Y/N Appleton, the beguiling only child of Lord and Lady Young, was one formidable diamond of the first water, indeed. One of her majesty, the Queen's most illustrious picks to date, Lady Y/N truly sparkled brighter than the rest, so much so that she attracted the eye of one of England's most revered former bachelors, the Duke of Somerset.

A fitting match, destined for love. This humbled author understands that a prize as cherished and refined as the Duchess must be kept in safe, hidden and secure, which certainly justifies why the Duke has not permitted his bride out of his reach since their wedding.

Her majesty certainly chose wisely to name her the most coveted, sparkling gem of her season. Only a masterful woman could enchant a Duke so entirely- much can be learned, young ladies of the ton.

The game is about to commence. Duchess Appleton, this author implores you to teach these fledglings how a true lady plays to win.

~~~~~

Violet's eyes scanned across the pamphlet, alarmingly quick. Seated at the dining table, teacup in hand, her fingers clutched so tightly at the delicate porcelain handle that the painted cup began to tremble in her grip.

Sensing the tension radiating from their dear mama, the Bridgerton brood, with the exception of the new Duchess Daphne and the Viscount, watched their mother silently.

Her lips were pursed tightly shut; her eyes were narrowed and brows furrowed; this could only mean one of two things. Either Gregory had driven off another tutor, or someone was in big, big trouble. And Gregory currently didn't have a tutor.

Eloise kicked Benedict under the table.

"Ow!" The second-born son yelped, clutching his injured shin under the table and glaring at her. Silently, he angrily mouthed, "What was that for?"

Eloise rolled her eyes at him. "What did you do?" She whisper-shouted across to him.

"What do you mean what did I do? What did you do?" Benedict shot back.

The pair huffed at each other for a moment, exchanging dirty looks and suspicious stares, then the two snapped their heads and attentions towards Colin.

"What have you done?" They pried simultaneously.

Offended, the buttered slice of toast Colin held in his mouth dropped onto his plate as his jaw opened in offence. "I am an angel, I did nothing."

"You? An angel?"

"Your delusions, brother, they have returned-"

"I knew it, your lunacy has driven mother to the edge-"

The siblings began to bicker, and with the focus lost on their mama's concern, the two youngest decided it was time this breakfast finally looked like it did most mornings, when their mother was anything but vexed.

Gregory was the first to strike. Using his fork as a catapult, the mischievous boy launched a grape right into his sister's face. In retaliation, Hyacinth threw it right back with a battle cry that could move mountains.

The elder sibling bickering and the youngest engaging in swapping their breakfasts through air-borne warfare, Violet Bridgerton's mind was pulled back into reality.

"Stop it!" She ordered. "Now!"

Immediately, the children went silent. Violet placed her unfinished tea back onto the table, and solemnly rose from her chair.

"If you are done, Benedict, Colin, I need to speak to the two of you in private." She excused herself, and made her way to the parlour and sitting down on her chaise. Colin and Benedict followed obediently after her, seating themselves on the settee directly in front of her.

"What is it, Mama?" Benedict asked, worried.

She took a deep breath. Taking a deep, stressed breath, she handed the latest copy of Whistledown to her sons and watched their looks of concern melt into understanding.

"Oh dear."

"I thought this was merely a speculation, they say this every year, I would never have thought-" Colin bit his tongue.

Benedict shook his head and gave the paper back to his Mama. "Do you think that Anthony knows yet? He hasn't returned since yesterday afternoon."

Violet gulped, and folded up the offending article so that the distressed news was obscured within her hands. "I doubt he would have heard it yet, but in due time, he will know and we have to be prepared to support him."

She leaned her elbow on the arm of the chaise and rubbed her temples. "My time and attentions shall be occupied with Eloise's presentation, so I am depending on the two of you to keep your brother from doing anything reckless. I predict that he will not take well to this news."

"Do not worry, Mama, Colin and I will make sure of it."

~~~~~

Itchy. There was something itchy on Anthony's neck.

Eyes shooting open, the Viscount, whose head was pounding, hungover, took note of his surroundings. He was lying in bed, completely naked, with his clothes strewn around the room. The curtains were drawn, so only a strip of yellow sunlight could make its way into the darkened room.

There was a ringlet of blonde hair tickling his neck, and an arm reached across his torso underneath the covers, made of fabric cheaper than he was raised to be used to, but had gotten familiar with nonetheless.

His prized pocket watch was placed on the nightstand. Careful not the jolt his sleeping companion, Anthony rubbed the sleepiness away from his eyes and allowed his vision to focus on the ticking hands of the small, silver clock. It was nearing eight thirty.

Alarmed, Anthony seamlessly slid out of bed without a single disturbance to the girl. Pulling on his shirt and breeches, he dove his hand into his coat pocket and left a few coins on the nightstand for her.

Without making a sound, the eldest Bridgerton slipped out of the building through a lesser-known door, an exit that led to the back alleys of the town, and fixed his appearance.

The other ladies, awake, who worked at the establishment waved him goodbye as he left.

He weaved through the narrow, cobbled alleyways, looking for a certain opening into the square. He waited for an inattentive rabble of pedestrians to walk by, and he swiftly integrated himself into the crowd, as if he were always there.

Anthony made his way home, tipping his hat at very lady or gentleman who greeted him on the way. The servant at the front bowed her head and opened the gate for him as he approached, and another the front door.

He could hear his younger siblings in the dining room, Eloise squawking something about Hyacinth's aim. Hanging his hat by the door, Anthony was about to join his family at the dining table for breakfast, but as he passed the parlour he caught sight of his mother and two brothers, speaking in hushed voices.

From where he stood, observing through a crack in the door, he could see their uncharacteristically serious expressions. Unsuspectingly, Anthony opened the doors to the parlour and strode in.

"Good morning, Mother. Good morning, brothers." Completely oblivious, the eldest Bidgerton marched past them, and sat himself lazily in the arm chair, the one reserved for him to sit in.

Violet, Colin and Benedict kept their lips tightly shut.

Anthony's eyes flitted from each one of them. "What is it?"

"Oh, it is nothing, dear." His mama assured him, then called for a maid to bring them more tea.

"It does not seem like nothing," Anthony pushed, crossing his legs and eyeing his brothers accusingly. "It is far too early for the three of you to look so sombre when there is nothing wrong."

Anthony was not the smartest when it came to reading people's emotions. Nor did he care to even try, but he knew his brothers, and he saw through the small smile Colin shot him, and took not of Benedict resting his palms of his knees, looking around the room and avoiding eye-contact with him.

"You cannot fool me, just spit it out, brother." He demanded.

The three of them remained wordless, only looking at each other as they communicated silently, leaving Anthony- who liked to be involved in everything in his family- excluded.

"I think it would be more beneficial if we were the ones to tell him." Benedict spoke, completely dismissive of the person he was walking about even being there.

Their mother hesitated, but nodded her head apprehensively. She opened her fist, revealing the crumpled paper. Unfolding it, Anthony very quickly realised what the concealed article was.

He hmphed. "What has she written now?"

Violet bit her lip, and smoothed out the paper on her lap. The maid came in, with a tray full of tea, and placed the silver platter on the table beside them. Laying out the various layered plates of scones, teacakes and shortbread, the maid made her leave.

"Shut the door behind you." Violet requested.

Once the the door clicked shut and it was only the four of them within the room, Violet opened her mouth to speak.

"My Darling, we are about to tell you something, but for now you must allow us to speak." She told him softly,

Anthony nodded, not taking his mother very seriously. How bad could it be, he thought.

Clearing his throat with an unnecessary cough, Benedict turned his body towards Anthony, and handed him the latest issue of Whistledown.

The other Bridgertons in the room held their breaths as the Viscount's eyes scanned the words printed onto the paper.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, in the quieter outskirts of London, not too far of a carriage ride away from Grosvenor Square, you clutched tightly onto the edge of your husband's new desk.

Mahogany. Imported straight from the Americas, stained a rich, deep, dark red, its form was crafted with perfection in mind. The wood was carved in intricate swirls, and floral patterns meticulously chipped into the legs, sanded and smoothed.

You had always had a good eye for furniture.

Now, though its beauty was certainly one of the piece's ultimate triumphs, its attractiveness and refinery were not what you were looking for. You wanted something sturdy.

Something that could withstand the force of your body as your husband, standing behind you with his fingers bruising your waist, rammed into you in brisk, brutal thrusts.

His right hand began to trail down your body as his left stayed anchored above your hip; his grunts were muffled as his face was buried into your neck, his lips kissing the skin near your nape. You could feel his cold fingertips brush your thighs and dare to venture further, until his middle finger found that spot he was all too familiar with.

Tightening, your gripped the mahogany table harder. A mess, your skirts were hiked all the way up to your back, your undergarments discarded. Your hair, that your maid had so kindly braided and pinned up with pride, had been ruined- you would have to fix yourself before leaving your husband's study later.

Your legs were trembling. It felt as though the ground was going to crumble from under your feet, and it felt good.

Closing your eyes, you didn't think of duty. Blank and lost in your own desire, your mind focused soley on the pleasure.

Wonton moans escaped your lips as the tightening in your abdomen became stronger and stronger. Your walls clenched tighter, making your husband groan, the baritone sound filling your ears.

Your toes curled as the wave hit; for a few, fleeting seconds, your entire body was burning. Every nerve, every muscle twitched in the best way possible, every surface of your skin felt so sensitive. You cried out, but the pitiful little whimpers only spurred the Duke on.

He became erratic; chasing his high, as you desperately clung onto the wood. You hissed as his pace quickened and between your thighs felt so painfully good.

"Y/N..." He whispered into your ear you felt the warmth fill you. Pressing up close, your back touching his chest, he trailed small kissed onto your exposed skin as he held your for a few moments longer. "I love you."

You hesitated.

"I love you too."

You meant it. At the very least, you thought you did. You wanted to. You needed to.

As he withdrew from you, you picked up your garments from the floor and dressed yourself, releasing the pins from your hair, the updo more than unsalvageable. While you ran your fingers ran through the knotted locks, your husband tied the ribbons and buttoned the buttons he had undone earlier. Hair now down, you turned to face him. He buttoned his shirt, and you tied the cravat.

You could feel his eyes watching you.

Robert Appleton, the Duke of Somerset, was everything you wanted in a man and more. He had money, copious, obscene amounts of it, a large quantity he dedicated to spoiling you, with gemstones and dresses and fans and more, more than you deserved; five estates that he had inherited, each one more opulent than the last; a handsome face, well endowed, and above all, he genuinely cared for you. Loved you, and that was more than you could say about anyone else.

But you weren't going to think about that right now. Not when Robert was standing right in front of you, observing you, doting on you.

You smiled. "Do not look at me like that."

"Like what, my duchess?" He teased, placing his hands on either side of your waist, and making his forehead touch yours.

Placing your hand on his chest, You shook your head. "Like you haven't got a mountain of documents to handle. Like you you have the stamina to be seduced all over again."

Robert gasped, feigning insult. "I think you'll find, that it was I who seduced you, Lady Appleton."

"Oh hush. Now let me go, I have a soiree to plan."

He took his hands off you, and sat back in his chair. His gaze would not leave your figure as you opened the door, and left the room. Shutting it behind you, you jumped as a you heard a cough from right behind you.

"You grace," Mrs Ward, the head maid of the London estate, was waiting for you, holding up two pieces of fabric. "I need your decision on the ivory or the alabaster."

Cheeks flushed pink in embarrassment, you turned around, but did not dare to look into the woman's eyes. She was old, and you knew she understood the matters of a young, married couple, but your mother raised you to be polite and proper- the sounds that must have been echoing from your husband's office were anything but.

"Well," you thought, narrowing your eyes at the two shades, which were miniscule in difference. "The ivory will suit the floral arrangements I ordered yesterday. Remind me, I did ask for the extra gardenias and hyacinths, did I not?"

"You did, your Grace."

"Good." You walked down the corridor, Mrs Ward following three steps behind you. "What about the list of our guests' dietary needs? Have you passed them onto the cook yet?"

"Yes, and the cook has made alterations in the menu to accommodate them."

"Thank you. You may continue doing whatever you need to do, I will be visiting the modiste today. Please remember to take a rest and not to overexert yourself, take the afternoon off to do whatever you please. You've worked hard, Mrs Ward."

She quickly bowed to you, before heading the opposite direction. You made your way down the stairs to the grand foyer, were your maid was waiting for you, a cloak in hand, and the front doors opened.

As you descended down the steps, the carriage and footman came into view. Your maid draped the cloak over you and tied the cloak securely as soon as she could reach you.

"Let us go, Mary, before Mrs Ward returns to find and ask me about more tablecloths." Your maid giggled, bounding to the carriage by your side happily.

She slid into the carriage right after you. Many people, especially the butler and Mrs Ward, were mortified that you allowed your maid to be so close with you. Mary was not just a maid; you had known her since you were girls, she reminded you of home, when you left to live with Robert, she was all you had to remind you of your life as simply a girl- not a wife, not a Duchess. And most importantly, she was your friend.

The ride to Madame Delacroix was faster than you assumed it would be. You forgot that the city was much more compact than the countryside, it did not take as long to travel places, and it in such close proximity it was as if everyone knew everything.

Entering the modiste's, your eyes scanned the room. You scrutinised every detail of the rather small interior, which was decorated with heavy, satin drapes and ornate gold mirrors. There were far too many feathers for your liking, and the framed pictures were obscured by the thickness of their frames.

You shook your head at yourself, no wonder people found you intimidating. It was something that Rob didn't appreciate about you; he said that you had this look, a subtle furrow of the brows and a slight downward pull of the corners of your mouth. You did it subconsciously, and you kept your opinions to yourself, but your face tended to emulate whatever what was on your mind.

'There is nothing worse than an arbitrary woman', he said.

So you forces you lips to smile, and waited for the seamstress to appear patiently. There was chatter coming from behind the curtain.

One's voice was young and energetic, a hint argumentative- and the other was slower, more sultry and wise. It was clear which one was the mother and which one was the daughter. You chucked quietly to Mary at the pair.

The curtains opened, and through the slit between the sheets of draped fabric, Madame Delacroix stepped through.

"You Grace!" She exclaimed, her accent thick and high-pitched as she curtseyed to you. "It is an honour to finally meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine."

"I hear you are arranging a soiree at Appleton Hall, you are here for that, I presume?" Madame Delacroix asked you politely, her eyes never meeting yours.

You found it strange how people tended to do that. People used to look you in the eye all the time when you were younger, and you hadn't changed all that much since then.

"Yes. I would also like to open an account here," you told her gently. "It seems that the Duke and I will be staying here for an extended period of time."

The modiste nodded, and led you over to the wall behind her, where a large selection of fabrics were displayed.

Silk, organza, taffeta, satin, lace- you reached out to touch the soft materials, your fingers comparing which one your preferred to touch.

Behind you, the voiced from the other side of the curtain were deathly quiet.

They did not dare make a sound.

They were frozen in place, staring at each other with identical wide, large, panicking eyes; Eloise clasped her gloved hand around her mouth in shock.

The Bridgertons knew that there was no avoiding her, but it had not even been one morning since they had discovered she had returned to London, let alone running into her in town.

At the very least, Anthony had taken refuge in his office, refusing to meet with anyone, not even his mother. The maids were the only ones he permitted to come in or out, as they served him his breakfast from behind his barricades.

"You Grace, please follow me, I will take your measurements." Madame Delacroix led you to the curtains, pulling one back for you to step through.

You ducked your head as you went in, and when you raised it, it felt as though all the air had been knocked out of you. The small smile you had been persisting with dropped instantly. Your jaw dropped, but closed as soon as you heard you mother's nagging voice in your head, chiding you to stop being so unladylike.

You cleared your throat and diverted your attention to the modiste.

"Please stand here, your grace." She led you to a raised platform, in front of a floor-length mirror, the frame gilded in gold.

You followed her obediently, Mary taking your cloak from you after you swiftly untied it. She held it, draped neatly over her forearm, as you stood on the platform, pretending that Lady Violet and Eloise were not there.

Madame Delacroix held her tailoring tape to your shoulders, and writing the numbers down onto a notepad she had in the room. Then it was your back, you could feel the slight pressure has her hinger trailed the tape down your spine, then your waist.

"Please turn around." The French woman asked, and you obliged, glad to find that the Bridgertons were moving to leave. As sigh of relief.

Right after the modiste had taken in the measurements of your bust, she quickly excused herself from you for a moment.

"Lady Bridgerton!" She called after her. "When would you like for your dresses to be delivered? The new ones you have ordered will have been completed by next week."

~~~~~

Anthony was not drunk. The room was not spinning and he did not feel the urge to expel the bile that was rising in his gullet.

It was beyond late- the entire house had gone to sleep hours prior, and the noises that the servants made when their shoes collided with the floor as they rushed to complete their errands had all but disappeared.

Normally, Anthony utterly despised the commotion within his household. It distracted him from his papers- which on this rare occasion, he had finished all before sundown- and was almost always sure to bring forth a headache later on.

But now, he found himself wishing for the footsteps to start again.

He wanted to hear the doors shutting open and close; he pined for the clangour of a sting quartet and the chatter of the ton; he longed for Hyacinth and Gregory to disturb him with shouting and fighting and breaking delicate ornaments. He needed something other than this quiet; this cruel, suffocating, agonizing silence.

In the absence of sound, the incessant muttering in his mind amplified. Thoughts too intrusive for him to say aloud, even in solitude, rung in his ear as if there were someone screaming them from right beside him.

Anthony had lost control of his head after the tenth glass of liquor. It wasn't him speaking anymore, not the nonchalant, temperamental, stone faced viscount. It was a boy.

A young, naïve boy he had tried to exorcise from his body with women and alcohol, because Anthony could hear whispering while he was sober.

But drunk, completely flushed and heedless, that annoying whispering had become deafening. And that boy had only one word to say.

Y/N. Y/N. Y/N Y/N.

Again and again. And it was sheer torment.

~~~~~~~~~~

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THE DUCHESS || masterlist

➺ pairing; Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

➺ warnings; 18+ ONLY, sexual scenes, adultery, ex-lovers turned enemies

➺ summary; Two years before Daphne's entrance into society, the Duke of Somerset and his new Duchess hastily fled from the ton as soon as their nuptials were completed. Their abrupt departure and extended absence left the entire ton bewildered; speculations of an unearthed scandal infiltrated the conversations of many young misses and mamas.

Their arrival is met with welcome and intrusion- people asking why they'd left, why they had come back, why haven't they produced an heir yet; but there is one Viscount who would do everything in his power to evade the returning Duchess. In a society where every morsel of gossip was published for the entire ton to rip apart, Anthony Bridgerton could not afford to be in her presence.

Because he knows his heart couldn't take it to see her with someone else.

~[TAGLIST]~ <- Click here if you want to be tagged.

CHAPTERS:

[ I ]

[ II]

[ III ]

[ IV ]

[ V ]

[ VI ]