#this is bridgerton ffs!

[ayashiki-i-i]

Ok but how does a show that has "deformed bunny" and "Georgie be a good boy and approve your brothers' marriages" and "virgins to the left of me, whores to the right" and "the gesture has short legs" and "I do not remember names I am female" and "sorrows, prayers" and "do you like being the bishop of Canterbury" also has "I care not for his sanity I care for his happiness" and "my heart calls your name" and "I am brand new" and "a lifetime" and "I'm not coming inside because I am not here" and "you have half a husband" and "I found a way to control my own faith" and most importantly "YOU DID NOT GO OVER THE WALL" I can't please Shonda stop! This show has range and that range ended with me sobbing so much I gave myself a dehydration headache.

[hazzashouse]

The Weight of a Name PART I

Author’s Note: This was my first attempt at writing for Anthony Bridgerton, and I loved delving into his intensity and passion. I’m considering writing a part two—let me know if you’d like to see where this story goes!

Triggers: Emotional confrontation, feelings of rejection, societal pressure

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female!Reader

Word Count: 1,703

Summary: When Anthony Bridgerton’s relentless pursuit of you reaches its breaking point, a fiery confrontation reveals the depths of his feelings.

PART TWO: here

The soft hum of violins and lilting laughter echoed throughout the ballroom. It was a scene of perfection, one carefully orchestrated by the host to impress even the most critical members of the ton. You moved with grace, your every step measured and deliberate, but your mind was far from composed.

Anthony Bridgerton was watching you.

You had felt his eyes on you all evening, and no matter how hard you tried to shake the weight of his gaze, it lingered. It wasn’t just that he watched—it was the way he looked at you. As if he already had you. As if his claim was inevitable.

But Anthony Bridgerton wasn’t the kind of man you trusted easily. His reputation was whispered about behind fans and through veiled glances. He was handsome, yes, and powerful, but he was also dangerous. The stories of his past were enough to make even the boldest debutantes wary.

You had no intention of falling for a man like him.

————————

Later that evening, you had sought refuge on the balcony, eager for a moment of quiet. The cool air kissed your skin as you inhaled deeply, savoring the temporary escape. But your peace was short-lived.

“You’re avoiding me.”

The low, irritated voice made you stiffen. You turned to find Anthony standing just beyond the balcony doors, his jaw set and his dark eyes locked on you.

“I wasn’t aware I was obligated to seek you out,” you replied evenly, though your voice betrayed a hint of exasperation.

Anthony stepped closer, his movements deliberate. “You know precisely what I mean,” he said, his tone clipped. “I’ve been trying to speak with you all evening, but you’ve been too busy entertaining every other man in this room.”

Your temper flared, and you straightened your spine. “Perhaps that’s because every other man in this room doesn’t believe he has some divine right to my attention.”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed, and he took another step closer. “Is that truly what you think of me?” he asked, his voice low but seething.

“What else am I to think?” you shot back, your voice rising. “You stride into every room as if the world should bow at your feet, as if no one could possibly resist the great Viscount Bridgerton. Well, I’m not one of your conquests, my lord, and I won’t be treated as such.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he said nothing. But then he stepped even closer, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “You think I’m trying to conquer you? That this is some sort of game to me? I have been chasing you for months. I’ve ignored every other debutante, turned down every match my mother has pushed my way, and still, you look at me as if I’m nothing more than a rogue.”

Your chest heaved as his words hit their mark. “And why shouldn’t I?” you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. “Do you deny it? Do you deny the countless women, the scandalous liaisons, the reputation you’ve so carefully crafted? How am I to believe you would ever honor a vow made to me when you’ve broken so many others?”

Anthony flinched, and for a moment, his mask slipped. There was pain in his eyes, a vulnerability you hadn’t expected. “I am not proud of my past,” he said quietly. “But you—you’ve made me want to be better. To be more than what they say I am.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “And I’m supposed to believe that? Because you’ve paid me a few compliments and danced with me a handful of times? Forgive me, my lord, but I’ve seen how easily you charm others. I won’t be another name on your list.”

Anthony’s temper snapped, and he grabbed your wrist—not harshly, but firmly enough to stop you from walking away. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me,” he said, his voice rough and urgent. “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can’t think of anything but you. Every time I see you with another man, it feels like a knife to my chest. And yet, you look at me as if I’m nothing, as if I’m unworthy of even your consideration.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. His grip on your wrist softened, and he took a step back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he continued, his voice quieter now but no less intense. “To feel so completely undone by someone. To want them so desperately, so utterly, and to know they see you as nothing more than a mistake waiting to happen.”

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, but you refused to let them fall. “Do you think this is easy for me?” you asked, your voice cracking. “Do you think I enjoy rejecting you, knowing I might be giving up on something—” You stopped yourself, shaking your head. “But I can’t ignore the part of me that’s terrified you’ll hurt me. That I’ll wake up one day and realize I was nothing more than a passing infatuation to you.”

Anthony stared at you, his chest heaving. “You think I would hurt you?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “After everything I’ve done to prove myself to you?”

“What have you done, Anthony?” you demanded, your voice rising again. “You’ve watched me from across ballrooms and interrupted my dances, but have you ever truly shown me who you are? Or are you still hiding behind the charm and arrogance that the ton has come to expect from you?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Anthony’s jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You’re right,” he said finally, his voice trembling with restraint. “You don’t know who I am. But that’s because you’ve never given me the chance to show you.”

Your heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, but you refused to back down. “Perhaps I would have, if I believed you were capable of being the man I need.”

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then he stepped back, his expression hardening into one of cold resolve. “You’ll regret this,” he said quietly, his voice laced with both pain and anger. “You’ll regret not taking the chance when you had it.”

And with that, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you alone on the balcony with your heart pounding and your hands shaking.

As you stared after him, a single thought echoed in your mind.

Had you made a mistake?

————————

PART TWO: here

[whiterosesforher]

𓍼 ⋮ FALLING FOR THE RUSE ( S.JY )

𝒾 : may i present to you dearest reader, Sebastian Hastings, Duke of Hastings, a man of charm and wit, your biggest mystery to uncover. 【 ˚⊱☁️⊰˚ 】 ♯ 𝓳𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝔁 𝓯𝓮𝓶!𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 | 𝓌 : 𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (𝐟 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞), 𝐬𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐧, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢.

disclaimer ‣ ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🩷 this is a fanfiction inspired by the duke and i, originally from the bridgerton series book and show. most elements are purposely altered.

𝓌𝒸 : 33.3k

( ‧˚꒰🦪꒱༘⋆ ) write to lady whistledown ✒️៹

You stand before the large mirror in the drawing room, your soft blue gown hugging your figure perfectly, the delicate flowers woven into your curls sitting like a crown atop your head. The maids bustle around you, smoothing the fabric, adjusting every last detail, ensuring you look flawless.

To anyone else, you might appear to be the perfect picture of grace and beauty. Yet, as you catch your own reflection, doubt lingers in your eyes.

Your mother, Violet, sits quietly in a chair nearby. She offers you a small, kind smile, the kind that would usually soothe you. But today, it doesn’t. It is the start of your second season, and you still haven't found a match yet. Unsuccessful to marry a respectable man at the age of nineteen.

“You look radiant, my dear,” she says softly, her voice warm but tinged with something deeper, something that mirrors the unease in your chest. You let out a long, shaky sigh and run your fingers over the edge of your gown. “Radiant,” you echo, the word falling flat on your tongue. “Radiant for what purpose, Mama? I’ve already endured one season, one dreadful season of rejection. What’s to say this one will be any different?”

Her smile falters, her hand rests on your arm, soothing you in a way only she can. “This is not rejection, my dear. It is simply that what you’re searching for is rare. A love match is no simple thing to find, especially when many are willing to settle for less. What you want is extraordinary, and that takes time.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you look at her. You know what she's saying is true, but you can't help but envy the kind love that your parents had. “You and Father had that. Everyone saw it. They envied it. And I—” You pause, the lump in your throat growing. “I want that, too. I cannot imagine settling for anything less. But what if...” The words taste bitter on your tongue. “What if it’s impossible for me?”

Your mother’s hand squeezes your arm gently, she chuckled lightly, “Oh, my darling, it is not impossible. It is simply uncommon. Your father was one of a kind, and men like him do not come around often. But I promise you, when the right gentleman does come along, you will feel it deep in your heart.”

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold back the frustration bubbling within you. “Last season, I felt like some prized horse on display, Mama. All they saw was my title, my dowry, our family’s reputation. None of them truly saw me.” Your voice breaks slightly. “How am I supposed to find love when all they care about is what I represent, not who I am?”

Her eyes glisten as she listens, her heart breaking alongside yours. “You are right to want more,” she says softly. “And while the process may be painful, it is worth enduring for the chance at true happiness. I know it feels unbearable at times, but do not lose hope.”

Your mother stood beside you, her hands gentle as she fastens the final pin in your hair. Your dark locks now gleamed, swept into an elegant updo that frames your face so well. You look absolutely beautiful, you thought to yourself.

She glanced at you through the mirror, “Now you look completely flawless, my dear,” she complimented while smoothing a strand of hair that dared to fall out of place. “Today is your day. I just know it.”

Dorothea turned to you, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Mama. I truly hope this season will finally bring what I’m looking for.”

“You will find it, Dorothea,” your mother's words never fail to comfort you, “I have no doubt.”

The peaceful moment was interrupted when the door to the room burst open with a dramatic thud. “Dorothea!! You. Must. Make. Haste!” Elisa's voice rang out, sharp and authoritative, as she stormed in, punctuating every word with an exaggerated stomp of her foot, glaring at you. Both you and your mother flinched at the sudden intrusion, but when Elisa came into view—her cheeks flushed with urgency, her hands on her hips like a soldier commanding an army—you couldn’t help but break into a fit of laughter.

“Elisa!” you exclaimed in shock and amusement. “What?” Elisa shot back at you, her tone exasperated. “You’re going to make us late! Again! Do you want everyone in the ton to think we Bridgertons have no sense of time?” Her mock scolding sent you into an even severe fit of laughter, shaking your head fondly at your sister’s theatrics.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming!” you replied with a teasing grin, fixing your gloves before walking beside her. Elisa crossed her arms, satisfied, though a playful smirk tugged at her lips. “Good. You’ll thank me later when we're not late to the ball and the ton won't stare and silently judge us.” As you and Elisa moved past the door, you heard your mother's soft call, stopping you on your tracks for just a moment. She walked with two of you, her hands on you and Elisa’s arm.

“Good luck, my darling,” she whispered to you, “May this season bring you everything your heart desires.” Oh yeah you hope so too, in fact you hope so hard you're willing to waste all the pennies you have at this point to throw them all in a wishing well. “Thank you, Mama.”

As you descend down the stairs, the others are already there looking at you in admiration, especially your brothers. Though as annoying as they can get, they are your biggest supporters. Benjamin held your hand as you walked down the last few steps of the stairs, and then offered his arm to you that you gladly accepted, linking your arm with his.

The first ball of the season was a whirlwind of sparkling chandeliers, lively music, and the subtle hum of whispered conversations. You entered with grace alongside your family. This time, your brother, Atticus, is the one escorting you. It was your second season, and while you tried to focus on optimism, the sting of last year’s failure still lingered.

You’d heard all the murmurs about you, on how you were far too clever, far too independent, and, most frustratingly, far too overshadowed by your brothers. But tonight was going to be different. It had to be.

As soon as you enter, it's like all eyes are on you. Gentlemen from left and right setting their eyes on you, giving you hope that you might find someone tonight who would interest you. You were instantly entertained as you watched the pairs dancing on the ball dance floor.

“They’re all staring, mother,” Atticus said as he watched each staring gentleman with a stern gaze. There's his protective nature again, you internally sighed. You could only hope your brother won't ruin this for you again.

Your mother, Violet, had whispered from behind you “Allow them to come to you, dearest.” And you smiled, eyes twinkling as your beauty didn't fail to attract attention once again.

It started off well enough. A gentleman approached with a tentative bow. You recognized him for you had already encountered him before, he's Lord Ambrose, a Baron. He has a smile on his lips, and you appreciate the sincerity in his eyes.

“Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton,” he greeted, addressing you and your mother with a polite nod of his head. But when he turned to your brother, you can see him swallow awkwardly, “Lord Bridgerton,” he nodded at Atticus.

Your mother chimed in from behind you, her tone joyous as she offered a smile to the man, “I believe you have already been introduced to my daughter Dorothea, Lord Ambrose.”

The man nodded at your mother once again, “Uh yes, we met at your brother's levee,” he specified, pertaining to Atticus who's right beside you now with a cold stare.

You started up a conversation, wanting to be approachable for tonight to open opportunities, “If I recall, my lord, you had just won your first race at Newmarket.” You said with a soft chuckle, and you were about to congratulate him.

But your nuisance of a brother interrupted, “His first and only, I believe,” Atticus said in a passively rude tone while wearing a fake smile, that made your smile falter as you turned to him. Your eyes shooting up to silently tell him “You’re unbelievable.”

You immediately saved the awkward tension and turned your head once again to Lord Ambrose, “Well, in that case let us hope his lordship has found himself a new horse.” Ambrose chuckled, appreciating your warm and kind personality.

And here goes this evil maggot ruining your chance for a match once again, oh how you want to rip Atticus’ hair at this point when he interrupts once again, looking at him in disbelief as he run his mouth while staring intensely at Ambrose.

“I haven't had the pleasure of seeing you at our club lately, Ambrose,” he paused and you were about to open your mouth to say something but he beat you to it, “Should it have anything to do with the unpaid balance you left on our betting books last winter?”

He jabbed in a passive aggressive way, airing out Ambrose’s dirty laundry regarding his history of debts and gambling that ruined your mood altogether.

Even your mother Violet who's just behind the two of you witnessing this was so taken aback her eyes widened and her head snapped to Atticus, her eyebrow raising so high.

Ambrose fell silent, and with a tight lipped smile and one last polite bow, he walked away.

“Ambrose is a cheat. A man of any honor ensures his debts are fully paid.” Atticus remarked while scanning the whole room for anyone who dares to come approach you.

You let out a dismayed sigh, “I didn't realize–”

“Well, how could you have done that? It is the very reason I am here, sister.” He said in a convincing manner, “Let us take a turn about the room.” Your brother escorted you to roam the room, your hand securely linked to his arm as you observe every gentleman there is.

A gentleman dancing with someone on the dancefloor nodded at you, acknowledging your presence. “He is rather pleasing,” you commented to which your brother scoffed, “That’s Mr. Lewis, he is rather here to shuffle about hunting fortunes. Trust Lewis knows of your sizable dowry. Leave him be.”

You nod your head to a gentleman from a distance talking to a lady, “I presume you know of him too?” he smirked, “Mr. Worthington. Second son. We shall find better.”

A gentleman walked past the two of you, bowing his head a little to you as he passed, “He is of dubious parentage.” Atticus commented.

A familiar voice called the two of you, “Atticus! Thea!” it was Benjamin, with Caleb following him as they joined you.

“Did Mother tell you yet? About my tour? I am to begin in Greece,” Caleb announced excitedly. Ah of course, your brother Caleb has always been the wanderlust, always wanting to be free and to explore.

Maybe it is the reason why he's still unmarried. Although to be fair, all your brothers are unmarried. And if you're to secure a match this season then you would be the first one to get married among your siblings.

Your mouth fell open in happiness and surprise, “Greece? How adventurous, Caleb!”

“On guard!” Atticus hurriedly said to Benjamin and Caleb as they all scattered to turn and walk away in different directions.

But they are stopped in their tracks as the Lady Danbury approaches, her cane making thud noises on the floor with each step, “Too late. I already noted you.”

Your brothers turned around with a sheepish smile, like young boys getting caught by their mom after doing something reckless.

“Lady Danbury.”

“Good evening!”

“Lovely to see you, Lady Danbury.”

They all said in chorus while bowing. Lady Danbury is a close friend to the current Queen and to your mother, Violet. She has acted like a godmother and helped you and your siblings when your father passed too early.

You bowed to her too with a genuine smile, “Miss Bridgerton, you look rather lovely this evening. Is there a reason why I've yet to see you on the dance floor?”

“All in good time, Lady Danbury,” Atticus answered for you, making the woman frown, almost rolling her eyes before leaning to you to whisper, “You poor thing,” before walking away.

The night falls deeper and you still haven't been asked out to dance, your brother whose arm you are holding to, successful in warding off interested men.

You looked around the room, your feet sore from doing nothing but standing. You turned to him, “I am quite parched, Atti.”

“Then I shall fetch you a glass of lemonade,” he tried to move but you stopped him, “No. You have already done so much for me tonight. I shall return in a mere moment.” You assured him and he let you go alone.

Walking to the refreshments table and grabbing yourself a glass of lemonade. You sipped from the tiny glass they came to serve the lemonade with.

When all of a sudden, an agitating voice disturbed your only alone time tonight. “Small glasses,” he simply said with a grin. You bowed your head to acknowledge him with a forced smile, “Lord Berbrooke.”

“Tiny little things, are they not?” He continued as you awkwardly chuckled before answering, “The glasses? I suppose.”

“Then the matter is settled,” he said with an even bigger smile that made you confused, eyebrows furrowing with a confused smile, “Pardon? I'm not entirely sure which matter are we discussing, my lord.”

He took a step closer but still maintained a distance, “You’ve always been so attractive to me, Miss Bridgerton. Ever since I was a twenty year old boy and you were…”

Your eyes widened, your whole body weirded out by this man, and you couldn't help the hint of disgust on your face as you continued his sentence for him, “When you were twenty and I was just… five?”

He only chuckled in response and slurped on his lemonade loudly while creepily staring at you. What the hell is wrong with this old man? You thought to yourself before thinking of an excuse to get yourself out of this situation.

“My brother, he summons me. Adieu.” You hurriedly squeeze yourself past the crowd, heartbeat quickening as you heard Berbrooke’s voice call out behind you, “Miss Bridgerton?” He repeated as you continued to walk fast and he slowly followed you, “A moment please! Miss Bridgerton?”

You turned your head to him, seeing he's following you, you quickened your pace even more. Not noticing you'd bump hard into an unfamiliar gentleman. You yelped, and your eyes widened.

“Pardon me” “Forgive me” you both said in chorus. You looked back at Berbrooke who's trying to approach you again but is getting swarmed with the other guests greeting him and trying to converse with him.

You held the arms of the gentleman you just bumped into, “Tell me your name,” you eagerly said with a panicked smile, the only thing that can ward off Berbrooke this time is if you're entertaining another man. If only your brother Atticus was here. Now you want to slap yourself for not letting him come with you.

The man gave you a smirk, almost scoffing at you, “Am I honestly to believe you do not already know my name?” You glanced at Berbrooke again and saw him getting closer so you faked a really loud laugh and hit the man's arm, pretending you're talking to him and he just said something funny to you.

The man squinted his eyes at your weird behavior and sighed, “If you desire an introduction, madam, I do believe accosting me to be the least civilized of ways.” You look at him in disbelief at his attitude, “Me? Accosting you?” He cut you off, still annoyed and cocky, “Truly you ladies will try anything to get my attention including bumping into me and pretending not to know me.”

This man. He thinks this is all a plan just to speak to him? You've only spoken to him for a minute yet he's already making your eyes twitch in annoyance, you want to take your heels off and use it to slap his face. Who does he think he is? You're a respectable lady, surely you will not try such thing just to get the attention of whoever this babbling baboon is. Does he think himself so handsome that you'd get desperate for him? He wish!

“Sir wha– who do you think you are?! What is your name?” You challenged, ready to report this man to your brothers. “Hastings!” Your head snapped to your brother jogging towards your direction, seemingly calling the man with you.

“Bridgerton!” The man responded with a joyful tone. They shook hands in a boyish way and pat each other's back, “Come here, old friend!” Old friend?! This baboon is your brother's friend?!

“I heard news of your father's passing– You're no longer just Sebastian Hastings, you're the Duke of Hastings!” Your eyebrow raised, ah so he's a duke, no wonder he's cocky and arrogant with that pretentious smile he has. “The Duke of Hastings, is it?” You said sarcastically, still glaring at Hastings.

“Right, Hastings, this is my sister.”

“Your sister?”

Atticus turned to you with a smile, “Dorothea, Hastings and I know each other from our days at Oxford. He is the nephew of Lady Danbury, who came to visit London for some business. Well I expect to see you at our club some time.”

“Indeed, Lord Bridgerton. Evening. Miss Bridgerton.” He bowed at you and your brother which you returned only out of politeness. You walked away with Atticus, leaving to retire for the night as your feet are already exhausted.

The rising sun came into view from your window signifying an early morning and you were already wide awake, lying on your back and staring at the ceiling, anticipation buzzing through you. Today would be different, you are a hundred percent confident.

A soft knock on the door broke your thoughts. “Miss, you’re awake!” Your maid, Rose, stepped inside with a bright smile.

You shot up immediately, a grin already forming on your lips. “Yes, yes, I am! Go to the kitchen at once and have the cook prepare plenty of biscuits. I’ll need enough for...” You paused, imagining the footmen overwhelmed by an army of callers at the door. “For a dozen callers today!”

The maid nodded and rushed out as you stood, quickly readying yourself for what you hoped would be a triumphant day. By mid-morning, you sat in the drawing room, perfectly poised in one of your favorite gowns, excitement shimmering beneath your practiced expression. Violet sat across from you with little Heather, and Elisa is seated next to you.

And yet... nothing. No carriage wheels on the gravel. No eager footsteps on the stairs. No callers. It's like your brother has successfully insulted every man that set their eyes on you.

You shifted in your seat, trying not to let your disappointment show. But your mother noticed, of course, and offered a reassuring smile. “I’m sure someone will call later, dearest. These things sometimes take time.”

You nodded and kept your smile in place, but the disappointment was becoming harder to ignore. Until finally, the sound of the door opening reached your ears. The footman entered with perfect posture, announcing, “There’s a caller for Miss Dorothea Bridgerton.” Your heart soared, and you couldn’t stop the eager smile that bloomed across your face. But the next words shattered it instantly.

“Lord Nigel Berbrooke.” The room fell silent.

Nigel stepped in, his usual clumsy gait and overeager grin making you instantly regret all the optimism you’d felt this morning. Your mother, always a gracious hostess, quickly covered for your stunned reaction with a polite smile. “How lovely of you to call, Lord Berbrooke,” Violet said smoothly. “We have freshly prepared biscuits and refreshments. Please, do sit.” She rose from her seat, gesturing for Elisa and Heather to move. “Elisa, perhaps you’d allow some room for his lordship?”

You tightened your grip on Elisa’s arm without thinking, silently pleading her not to go. You didn’t even have to look at her to know she understood you. Elisa smiled coyly, tilting her head. “I believe I should like to stay, Mother.” Violet’s gaze sharpened, her voice carrying an edge of authority as she replied, “I believe you should like to go.” Elisa froze for a moment before reluctantly standing, shooting you a look that screamed ‘good luck, dear sister.’

“Well then… I believe I should go,” Elisa said with exaggerated sweetness, though her eyes twinkled with mischief as she made her way to the other side of the room along Heather and Violet. And now, with nowhere left to hide, you were forced to face the worst caller imaginable. “Miss Dorothea,” Nigel began as soon as he took the empty seat beside you. That ridiculous, self-satisfied grin stretched across his face as if he thought this was his moment of triumph. “I just know, you and I were destined for each other.”

You stared at him, your mind blank with disbelief. How could one person be so staggeringly delusional? You said nothing, too stunned to form a response. From across the room, Heather failed spectacularly at stifling a laugh. The sound broke free, loud and unladylike, earning her an immediate look from Violet. Heather’s lips pursed tightly, and she sank back into the couch, though her eyes still sparkled with amusement. Meanwhile, you remained trapped beside Nigel, who was oblivious to the fact that his mere presence was a form of torture.

You started to talk to yourself in your thoughts instead, why is there no one else here? Why is this... whatever creature this is, sitting beside you, thinking he has a chance? What did you do to deserve this punishment?

Nigel continued to ramble on, but you barely heard him. You were too busy questioning every decision that had brought you to this moment, stuck in your own personal nightmare.

Over the following days, the Bridgerton drawing room became emptier than a ballroom during the last dance of the night. It wasn’t due to any lack of biscuits or refreshments, nor because you lacked charm or beauty.

No, the blame for the desolation lay entirely with your older brother, Atticus, who had taken it upon himself to supervise all callers. The result? A wave of men leaving before they even stepped foot into the drawing room, their nervous apologies echoing through the halls before the footmen escorted them out.

By the end of the week, even your Mother's well-practiced optimism began to falter. The grand doors to the drawing room remained frustratingly still, while you sat in a perfectly poised manner, clutching a book you’d read far too many times to actually be reading anymore. You glanced out the window for the hundredth time, the sight of the empty drive confirming your fears.

Your heart began to weigh heavier each day, especially as the whispers of society reached your ears.

On one such morning, you stayed in bed long after you had awoken, lying still beneath the covers and staring at the ceiling as your thoughts swirled like a storm cloud.

The damning words of Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers rang in your head:

“Of the many young ladies making their second appearances this season, Miss Dorothea Bridgerton remains among the loveliest. And yet, one cannot help but notice her distinct lack of callers. Is it mere bad luck or perhaps a trend that will lead to yet another unsuccessful season for her?”

You knew of this, of course, because Elisa had gleefully barged into your room the day before, holding up the latest paper as though it were some treasured artifact. Elisa adored Lady Whistledown, practically worshipped her, and her enthusiasm made the sting of the remarks all the more painful.

“What nonsense,” you muttered to yourself, replaying the words over and over in your mind despite your protests. A distinct lack of callers. Unsuccessful season. Failure.

A sharp knock on your door interrupted your downward spiral. “Miss?” You recognized your maid’s voice but couldn’t summon the energy to respond. Another knock, gentler this time. “Miss Dorothea, are you well? Shall I bring you something?” You sighed and forced yourself to sit up. “No, no. I’ll be down soon. Thank you.” The maid’s retreating footsteps gave you a moment to compose yourself, though the weight on your chest remained.

Your future seemed uncertain—hopeless, even. Atticus’s overprotective interference, the whispers of society, and the damning words of Lady Whistledown were too much to ignore. You wanted a love match, a marriage like your parents had shared, but how could you hope for that when it seemed no one was even willing to call on you?

Shaking your head, you pushed the covers back and swung your legs over the side of the bed. If there was one thing you’d learned from your mother, it was that Bridgertons didn’t give up easily, no matter how bleak things seemed.

Still, as you began to dress for the day, you couldn’t help but wonder: How on earth am I to change this?

You descended the staircase, the weight of your earlier thoughts still lingering as you entered the drawing room. Unsurprisingly, it was empty once again. The silence of the grand room was almost deafening, and your steps echoed faintly against the polished floor as you paced back and forth.

Finally, unable to keep the thoughts to yourself any longer, you turned to your mother, who sat near the window, embroidering with an air of serenity that only she could maintain in such dire circumstances. “Mama,” you began, your voice slightly hesitant but growing with determination, “perhaps we should attend the upcoming Salisbury ball by ourselves. And the Merriweather tea as well.”

Your mother glanced up at you, her expression both curious and sympathetic. “You know, without Atticus,” you added pointedly, your hands gesturing in frustration. Violet sighed softly and set her embroidery aside, giving you her full attention. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, dearest.”

“And why not?” you asked, already sensing that you wouldn’t like her answer. “Because Atticus has already replied on our behalf,” she explained, her tone gentle but firm. “He’s taken it upon himself to manage all of our social events for the season. Through June, at least.”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. “You mean to say for the entire season?” Violet offered an apologetic smile, but it only made your frustration bubble over. “Great,” you said, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “Guess I’m remaining unmarried!”

Without another word, you flopped down on the couch, crossing your arms and glaring at the door as if willing your overbearing brother to appear. And, as if on cue, Atticus strode in moments later, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your chest.

He looked from you to your mother, his brow furrowing slightly. “What’s the matter now?” You didn’t answer, only narrowed your eyes further at him.

Atticus raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your silent protest. “If you’re so intent on sulking, perhaps a ride will cheer you up,” he suggested casually. You sighed, weighing your options. Stay here and fume in silence or begrudgingly agree to humor him? After a moment of tense silence, you rolled your eyes and stood.

“Fine,” you muttered, brushing past him. “But only because there’s absolutely nothing better to do.” Atticus smirked, clearly pleased with himself, and gestured for you to follow him outside.

The two of you rode side by side through the quiet, open park, the rhythm of the horses’ hooves steady and calm. It would’ve been a serene outing if not for the unmistakable tension that hung between you and your older brother. The gentle breeze did little to soothe your simmering frustrations, and as your horse trotted forward at a leisurely pace, you decided to address the elephant in the room.

“You know,” Atticus began, his tone conversational, as if he had no idea how livid you were. “Berbrooke is harmless. There’s no need to worry about him. I’m certain there will be others.” You rolled your eyes, the mention of Nigel Berbrooke only fueling your irritation. “Oh, Atti,” you said, your voice laced with sarcasm, “thank you so much for your vote of confidence. But perhaps you’ve forgotten—Lady Whistledown has been writing about me.”

At this, Atticus cast you a sidelong glance. “And?”

“And,” you continued, your tone sharp, “she’s already spreading the word that I’m ineligible. That I failed to find a match last season, and that it looks like I’m failing again this season. From the looks of it, what man would want such damaged goods now?”

Atticus scoffed. “You speak of Lady Whistledown as if she’s the voice of the rest of the ton.” He waved a dismissive hand. “They’re just gossips, speculations. Hardly anything of substance, and certainly not true.” You sighed in frustration, gripping the reins tighter as your horse continued its steady walk. “But they are true,” you snapped. “And do you know why they’re true? Because of you, Atti!”

His brows furrowed, and he shot you a warning look. “I beg your pardon?” You didn’t back down. “You’ve managed to scare every single suitor away,” you said firmly, your words laced with equal parts anger and despair.

Atticus straightened in his saddle, clearly unimpressed by your accusation. “I’m protecting you,” he countered. “It’s my duty as the head of the house and as your older brother.” But you weren’t about to let him hide behind that excuse again. “And what of my duty?” you interrupted, your voice rising with the intensity of your emotions.

Atticus opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t give him the chance. “You have no idea what marriage means to a woman,” you continued, your voice trembling slightly. “You have no idea how we live, what it feels like for your entire life to depend on one single moment. I was raised to do this, only to fail. Women are wives and that’s all they are. If they cannot find a husband, they are worthless. I am worthless.” You expressed the sad reality of being a woman in this society. A woman who's dreaming of a love match that seemed to look only more impossible to achieve now.

“Worthless?” he repeated incredulously, clearly taken aback by your words. “Dorothea, you are a Bridgerton! A member of one of the richest families in London. Impeccably rich, in fact. How could you possibly be worthless?” You turned your gaze ahead, refusing to look at him. Your tone grew quiet, the anger replaced by something far heavier. “Maybe it would be better if I were not.”

Before he could respond, you kicked your horse into a faster pace, pulling ahead and leaving him behind. The sound of the hooves striking the ground grew louder as you rode farther, putting as much distance as possible between yourself and your brother. Atticus called after you, but you ignored him, your mind racing with thoughts of frustration, despair, and a longing for something he simply couldn’t understand.

You loved your brother, truly. But his stubbornness, his refusal to see what he was doing to you, was more hurtful than protective. He thought he was shielding you, but in reality, he was only pushing you further into the shadows, away from the life you so desperately wanted to claim for yourself.

“Duke Hastings will be joining us for dinner tonight,” your mother informed you with an air of casual excitement.

Your brow shot up so high it nearly disappeared into your hairline. “The duke? Why?” you asked, skepticism laced in your tone.

Violet only grinned, an all-knowing glimmer in her eye. “Lady Danbury suggested it, I had the cook prepare a gooseberry pie for dessert specially for him. It's his favourite.” She replied simply before turning to oversee the evening preparations.

By the time the dinner commenced, you found herself seated beside Sebastian, much to your growing irritation. You picked up the knife with a bit more force than necessary, cutting into your meal with sharp, deliberate movements. Meanwhile, the conversation at the table swirled around the latest talk of the ton.

Giovann spoke up. “I still say Lady Whistledown must be one of the Fontaines. They’re too nosy for their own good.” Elisa scoffed, rolling her eyes. “That’s absurd. Lady Whistledown clearly has wit, and none of the Fontaines can spell wit, let alone embody it.”

Sebastian observed the lively debate with mild amusement as Violet interjected gracefully. “Forgive this unruly debate, Your Grace,” she said with a warm smile, gesturing toward your siblings. Sebastian waved off the comment with a charming grin. “Nonsense. I find it entertaining,” he replied, his deep voice carrying a note of humor.

Violet’s smile widened, pleased by his response. “In that case, you should join us for dinner more often, Your Grace. You are always welcome here.”

“Giovann, stop stealing my peas!” Heather exclaimed, her small voice rising sharply. “You cannot tell me what to do. I am older than you,” Giovann shot back mockingly, grinning at her indignant expression.

The table descended into playful chaos as the siblings bickered, while Violet and a few others carried on their own conversations, ignoring the commotion. Dreadfully, Sebastian has turned his attention to you even though you are focused on your meal.

“You look rather displeased,” Sebastian commented, his tone casual but edged with curiosity. Your hand halted, pausing your cutting to glance at him sharply with a raised brow. “Do I?” you asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sebastian smirked, leaning slightly closer. “Well, you are sitting beside me. I’d like to think that surely makes you happy,” he teased, his tone infuriating you.

You stared at him, utterly unimpressed. This man truly believed every woman was hopelessly taken by him simply because of his title.

Hah, what a thick faced scumbag, “Wow, of course,” you started sarcastically. “Because a lady is only allowed to smile when she’s seated beside a duke.” You tilted your head, gaze icy. “I assure you, Your Grace, I am anything but interested in you.”

Sebastian chuckled, raising his brows in mock surprise. “Good,” he said, his smirk deepening. “Good!” You echoed.

Your synchronized reply drew a few curious glances from the rest of the table, you didn't even notice your siblings got silent, too immersed in how annoyed you are.

You swear to God that no amount of charm or title would ever compensate for how insufferable this duke is. How is he even your brother's best friend?

The warm glow of the lanterns illuminated the grounds of Vauxhall. Music drifted on the breeze, mixing with the chatter and laughter of the ton. The lively energy filled you with wonder as you walked amidst the glowing lights, a soft smile tugging at your lips as you looked up the lights.

But that peace was short-lived.

“Lord Berbrooke’s baron lineage spans over 200 years,” Atticus’ familiar voice cut through the night, making you turn toward him. His expression was firm, his tone businesslike as he approached you. “He has no debts, and he’s quite skilled at hunting,” he continued, as if reciting from a list.

You blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about, Atti?”

Atticus didn’t give you the chance to fully process his words. He cut you off with a tone that brooked no argument. “Lord Berbrooke is legitimate. He will be good for you. You are to marry him.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy fog, your breath hitching in disbelief. “What?” you managed to say, your voice laced with protest. “Atticus, no—”

“Enough,” Atticus snapped, his gaze unwavering. “It’s done. You should be grateful. I had to find you a husband, and it would be far easier for everyone if you simply fell in love with him.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in frustration and disbelief. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, shaking your head. Without waiting for his response, you turned and marched off, your thoughts swirling in a haze of anger and fear.

You sought refuge in a quieter part of the gardens, the cheerful music and laughter fading into the distance. Among the hedgerows and moonlit paths, you paced back and forth, your mind racing. How could Atticus do this to you? Marry Lord Berbrooke? The idea was unthinkable.

But your stolen peace didn’t last long.

“Miss Bridgerton,” a voice called, startling you. You turned sharply to see none other than Nigel Berbrooke emerging from the shadows, his awkward gait and smug expression unmistakable.

You sighed heavily, your frustration bubbling to the surface. “Nigel, not now,” you said sharply, rubbing your temples in exasperation.

“Oh, dropping the honorifics so soon, are we?” Nigel said with a chuckle, his grin widening. “I don’t mind. After all, I’ll be your husband soon enough.”

You glared at him, your voice icy. “You are not my husband, and I will never marry you. My brother he– he made a mistake.”

The smugness in Nigel’s face darkened, his demeanor shifting in an instant. He took a step closer, his tone lowering dangerously. “You’d do well to thank me,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “I’m your last hope. No one else wants you, Miss Bridgerton.”

The words hit you like a slap, but your anger quickly burned brighter than your pain. “Let me go,” you warned as his hand suddenly gripped your arm.

He ignored you, his fingers tightening. “You should—”

You didn’t let him finish. Instinctively, your hand shot up, pinching his face with such force that he yelped in pain. Before you knew it, Nigel’s legs wobbled, and with a dull thud, he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

You barely had time to catch your breath when a low chuckle broke the silence of the garden. “I must say, Miss Bridgerton, that was an impressive facer you planted on poor Berbrooke.”

Your head snapped up to see Sebastian, leaning casually against a nearby tree, his arms crossed as he regarded you with a smirk of amusement.

You froze in place, panic bubbling to the surface. “Your Grace, this isn’t what it looks like,” you stammered, your words rushing out in a flurry. “He—he wouldn’t let me go, and I didn’t mean—”

Sebastian waved a hand, dismissing your explanation. “No need to explain,” he said, still smirking. “From where I’m standing, he clearly deserved it. Though I have to admit,” he added with a playful glint in his eyes, “I didn’t think you had such a powerful right hook.”

You were silent, your hands twisting nervously in front of you, and Sebastian seemed to notice your unease. His smirk softened as he straightened up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice gentler now.

The knot in your chest loosened slightly at the question, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. You told him everything: Atticus’ high-handed decision to marry you off to Berbrooke, his interference with all your suitors, and the cruel whispers of Lady Whistledown’s latest issue.

“She wrote about me being ineligible again,” you finished, your voice low and strained. “This is my second season. Atticus has scared away every single gentleman, and now no one will have me. I’m ruined.”

Sebastian was silent for a moment, his sharp eyes studying you. Finally, he said, “You deserve better than that.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “It doesn’t matter what I deserve. The entire ton sees me as damaged goods now. And thanks to Atticus, they might be right.”

Sebastian tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “Not necessarily,” he said after a pause.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “I have an idea. A plan. A ruse, if you will. It would benefit us both. You see, I’ve been fending off overzealous mamas and their persistent daughters since I arrived in London. They’ve been throwing themselves at me like moths to a flame, and frankly, it’s exhausting. You, on the other hand, need to make yourself... unavailable. Make the men of the ton want you again. And what better way to accomplish both than a little pretend romance?”

Your brow furrowed, his suggestion catching you off guard. “You’re suggesting that we—what, pretend to be courting?”

“Precisely,” Sebastian said, his lips curling into a sly smile. “Think about it. If everyone believes you’ve caught the attention of a duke, it will raise your desirability tenfold. As for me, it will keep the determined mamas and their daughters at bay.”

He continued in a persuasive tone, “We’ll both get what we wanted. Me, unavailable, you, desirable.”

You hesitated, your heart racing at the prospect. It was a daring plan, and yet... there was a certain logic to it. “And you think this will work?”

Sebastian’s grin widened. “Oh, it will work. But we’ll need to sell it. Starting now.”

Before you could respond, he offered you his arm. “Shall we?”

You stared at him for a moment, your nerves bubbling to the surface. But then, with a deep breath, you placed your hand on his arm and allowed him to lead you back toward the lively Vauxhall scene.

The moment you stepped into view, the music and chatter seemed to dull as heads turned in your direction. The crowd’s gaze followed the two of you as Sebastian guided you onto the dance floor, his expression calm and confident.

Your heart pounded as he turned to face you, bowing slightly before taking your hand. “Just keep your eyes on me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady.

You nodded, your gaze locking with his as the music began. The dance started slowly, your movements tentative as you adjusted to the attention of the room. But Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible over the music. “Look at me as if you’re in love, Thea. And I’ll do the same. We need to make them believe it.”

You swallowed hard, your nerves still thrumming, but you followed his lead. The steps of the dance brought you closer together, your gazes locked as if the rest of the world had faded away. There was an unexpected intimacy in the way he looked at you, his eyes warm and reassuring.

“Good,” he murmured, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Now, imagine you’ve just heard the most wonderful compliment. Something that makes your heart flutter. Let it show on your face.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes slightly, but you did as he instructed, softening your expression as you gazed at him.

“There,” he said, his tone approving. “You’re a natural.”

The dance continued, and with each step, you felt your confidence grow. The room was watching, and for the first time in a long while, it didn’t feel daunting.

When the music ended, Sebastian bowed to you, and you curtsied in return. The applause of the crowd seemed to echo around you, and as you glanced around, you saw the intrigued and impressed faces of the ton.

Sebastian offered you his arm again, leaning in slightly as he said, “I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

You couldn’t help but smile, your earlier worries momentarily forgotten. “It was... effective,” you admitted.

“Good,” he said, his voice low and amused. “Because this is only the beginning.”

The park was alive with the hum of conversation, the laughter of children, and the rustle of parasols as the ton gathered for an afternoon of leisure. You sat with your family on a neatly arranged picnic blanket, trying to feign interest in the endless chatter around you. The previous night’s events still loomed large in your mind, no matter how much you tried to push them away.

Then, as if the day couldn't get more taxing, a familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Lady Bridgerton,” Sebastian greeted with his usual confident ease. His presence was impossible to ignore as he approached your family, his dark eyes locking on you. “Might I have the honor of promenading with Miss Bridgerton?”

You nearly groaned aloud but quickly masked it with a polite smile. Your mother, clearly pleased, didn’t miss a beat. “Of course, Your Grace,” she replied warmly, glancing at you. “Dorothea, dear, go on.”

You rose from your spot on the blanket, smoothing the front of your gown as you pasted on the brightest smile you could manage. “Your Grace,” you said, your voice level, though internally, you sighed.

Sebastian extended his arm, his smirk already in place. “Shall we?”

Taking his arm, you allowed him to lead you away from your family and the crowd of spectators, the two of you stepping into the designated promenade path. As soon as you were a safe distance away, the mask of propriety fell, and you glanced up at him with a knowing arch of your brow.

“Four balls,” he said abruptly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You scoffed, your brow furrowing. “Six,” you replied firmly. Sebastian’s eyes gleamed with amusement as he glanced down at you. “Four is plenty. I’ll not subject myself to more than that. Any more and it would look tedious.”

“Tedious?” you repeated indignantly. “You forget, Your Grace, that this arrangement isn’t just for your benefit. Six balls, and you’ll send flowers after each one. Expensive ones, mind you.”

“Expensive flowers?” he repeated, a laugh rumbling in his chest. You tilted your chin up, your tone sharp with sarcasm. “If you were truly courting me, you’d buy out every florist in town.”

Sebastian chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re relentless, Miss Bridgerton.” You gave him a pointed look. “And you’re insufferable, but I suppose we’re even.”

“Fine” he said, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll agree to expensive flowers every day but we will only go to four balls together. Consider it my final offer.”

You rolled your eyes but reluctantly relented. “Fine. But this arrangement stays between us, especially after last night.”

His smirk faded, his expression softening. “You’re worried about Berbrooke?”

You nodded, your voice dropping to a near whisper. “If anyone finds out I was alone with two men last night, one of whom ended up unconscious, I’ll be completely ruined.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his tone steady as he replied, “No one will find out, Dorothea. I won’t allow it.”

Though his words were reassuring, you couldn’t shake the knot of worry in your chest. Still, as the promenade continued, you kept your focus on him. The eyes of the ton were on you both, whispers flitting through the air like the rustle of leaves.

“Keep your gaze on me,” Sebastian instructed under his breath. “Smile like you’ve just heard the most charming thing I’ve ever said.”

You arched a brow. “You’ve yet to say anything remotely charming.”

His grin widened, but he leaned in just enough to murmur, “Pretend, then. You’re quite good at that.”

Despite your nerves, you allowed yourself a soft laugh, your expression warming as you followed his lead. The whispers grew louder as the two of you returned to the center of the ton’s attention, a picture-perfect couple strolling with easy grace.

The drawing room was abuzz with the quiet activity of your family. You sat at the piano, letting your fingers glide over the keys as you played a light melody. Your brothers lounged on the sofas, and Heather sat poised with her embroidery in hand. Violet paced near the table, sharing her thoughts about last night’s events.

“Two dances? With the Duke?” Heather asked, her voice tinged with amusement and curiosity, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Your mother nodded, helping herself to a small snack. “He was quite taken with your sister, Heather. All eyes are on Dorothea.” She walked over to you, a plate of toast in hand, her expression warm and expectant.

You paused your playing just long enough to shake your head politely. “I’m not hungry, Mother.”

From behind you, Caleb’s teasing voice broke the moment. “Are you sure they’re not eyeing her because she dances funny?”

Before you could respond, Benjamin chimed in, his laughter low and mischievous. “Or perhaps a tear in her dress?”

Your fingers stilled on the keys as you turned sharply to glare at them, your patience wearing thin. “Very clever,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes before resuming your melody, determined to ignore them.

The peaceful atmosphere shattered moments later as Elisa burst into the drawing room, her face flushed with urgency. “How does a lady become with child?” she asked, her voice loud enough to make the entire room freeze.

Your hands stuttered over the keys, the abrupt question catching you completely off guard. Violet blinked, clearly startled, and stammered, “E-Elisa, what a question!”

You furrowed your brows, the question lingering in your mind. It was, admittedly, a good one.

Come to think of it, you actually have no idea what to do to have a child, or what the actual process is. All you know is it happens when you're married.

You turned toward your younger sister and, with genuine curiosity, said, “You need to be married, right?”

Elisa nodded vigorously. “Exactly! But what do you do to have a child?”

“Enough!” Violet interjected, her voice firm yet flustered. She quickly tried to redirect the conversation. “Elisa, that is more than enough. Dorothea, dear, you were playing so beautifully. Do continue.”

Reluctantly, you turned back to the piano, though the exchange was far from over. Elisa plopped herself onto the couch between Benjamin and Caleb, her questioning gaze now fixed on them. She nudged their arms, “I take it you two know the answer?”

Benjamin pressed his lips together, clearly suppressing a smile. “Do not look at me,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

Caleb, on the other hand, grinned mischievously. “Have you ever visited a farm, El?”

Benjamin immediately smacked the back of Caleb’s head, his laughter barely contained. Violet’s glare was swift and sharp. “I hope you two are not encouraging improper topics of conversation.”

Benjamin held up his hands, his expression feigning innocence. “Not at all, Mother.”

Caleb, however, stood with a sly smile. “In fact, Benjamin and I were just about to take our sticks out—”

“Caleb Bridgerton!” Violet exclaimed, her tone scandalized.

Caleb laughed, holding up his hands in surrender. “A round of fencing, Mother. A perfectly proper activity.”

Benjamin chuckled as he stood to join his brother. “Of course, Mother. Nothing improper.”

Their laughter trailed behind them as they left the drawing room, leaving you shaking your head and Violet muttering under her breath about the impropriety of her sons.

A footman stepped in, bowing slightly. “Callers for Miss Dorothea, ma’am,” he announced, his tone polite but carrying a hint of surprise.

You immediately stood, your face lighting up as you let out a squeal of delight. The plan was working, and it's working better than you could have imagined.

Violet looked up, her expression both pleased and puzzled. “But the Duke– he is already calling on you, dearest,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged playfully, unable to keep the grin off your face. “Well, I suppose now I have more callers,” you replied, your voice light with amusement.

Curious, your family crowded by the window, peering out at the astonishing sight. The usually serene street in front of your house was now bustling with carriages, footmen, and gentlemen waiting to call on you.

The once-empty drawing room was rapidly filling with visitors, each gentleman carrying lavish bouquets, some of which were already being arranged in vases by the maids.

Your little sister Heather nudges you with a smirk. “You’ve created quite the stir, sister,” she teased, her tone a mix of pride and mischief.

The atmosphere turned lively, the room filled with polite conversation, though you couldn’t ignore the nervous energy building within you. It was everything you and Sebastian had planned, but you hadn’t quite expected it to be this overwhelming.

You were indulged in conversations of multiple gentlemen each waiting patiently to get a turn to talk to you.

You didn't even notice your brother and Berbrooke entering the busy scene, too emerged in your conversations.

Nigel’s face turned red with fury as he took in the crowd of gentlemen surrounding you, the extravagant bouquets scattered around the room.

“This is outrageous,” Nigel muttered under his breath before turning to Atticus. “You said you wanted this handled quickly! You gave me your word, Bridgerton!”

Atticus’ jaw tightened, his tone firm,“And I intend to keep it,” he replied, his eyes scanning the room. Atticus turned to him, his expression unreadable. “For now, you must leave as well, Berbrooke. Along with everyone else.”

Nigel’s face twisted in anger. “What are you playing at, Bridgerton? You said—”

“I said,” Atticus interrupted, his voice low and authoritative, “that you are the only one I would consider for my sister. That decision has not changed. Now go.”

The door slammed shut with a finality that made you flinch, your heart pounding in your chest. Atticus stood before you and your siblings, his face dark with irritation, his voice cutting through the tense silence. “I should like to know what’s going on,” he said, his tone sharp as his gaze swept across the room.

Violet, clearly unimpressed by his entrance, snapped back, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowing. “I would like to know the very same. Perhaps we might begin with why you chose to interrupt such an exquisite morning?”

Atticus ignored her retort, pointing directly at you. “Because she’s already engaged to someone,” he declared, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your mother’s expression changed in an instant, her surprise evident. She turned to you with wide eyes. “The Duke has already asked for your hand?”

You stepped forward, meeting her gaze, your voice firm as you shook your head. “I am not engaged, Mama.”

Atticus turned to you, his glare sharp and his voice warning. “Do not be disrespectful, sister.”

That was it. You’d had enough. The frustration that had been building all morning finally spilled over. “Disrespectful?” you said, your tone laced with disbelief and fury. “I can’t imagine a greater disrespect than what you’ve done to me! Promising me to Nigel Berbrooke without my permission?!”

The room fell silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Violet’s eyes widened, and she let out a horrified gasp. “Atticus, tell me you did not!”

“Oh, but he did, Mama!” you exclaimed, your voice rising with your anger.

Atticus cut you off, his tone defensive and resolute. “Nigel is a fine choice. I looked into him. He is well-connected, wealthy, and perfectly suitable.”

Violet’s voice rose, her disapproval evident as she addressed your brother. “You promised your sister to that man? Your sister has charmed a Duke, Atticus! You must know this changes everything.”

Atticus groaned, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Do not tell me this little rebellion is because of Hastings,” he said dismissively.

“They are courting!” Violet shot back, her voice filled with certainty.

“They danced together!” Atticus countered, his voice rising with incredulity. “Caleb does the same with Pearl. That doesn’t mean they’re courting!”

“They promenaded together this morning,” Violet retorted, her tone sharp. “And he sent flowers—to both Dorothea and myself.”

“Expensive ones,” you interjected, crossing your arms as you met your brother’s glare.

Atticus sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose as though trying to stave off a headache. “The Duke is not a serious suitor,” he said, his voice calmer but no less resolute. “I have known him since we were boys. He is my best friend, and I am well aware of him. The contract has already been drawn up. Dorothea is to marry Nigel.” His declaration was final, and without waiting for a response, he stormed out of the drawing room, leaving the door ajar behind him.

You stood frozen, your anger giving way to dread as you turned to your mother. “Mama…” you said, your voice trembling slightly.

Violet moved toward you, her expression softening as she enveloped you in a reassuring hug. “Don’t worry, dearest,” she said with a confidence that you couldn’t quite share. “The Duke will handle this.”

You rested your head against her shoulder, but guilt gnawed at you. The entire arrangement with Sebastian was nothing more than a ruse.

There was no reason for him to intervene on your behalf, and you sure knew deep down that he wouldn’t.

Your arm is locked in Atticus’ in a ball. What is even new in this situation? It has always been this way.

As you entered, you were greeted by the sight of Lady Danbury, the formidable woman’s eyes gleaming with mischief as you face her.

Standing beside her is her nephew, none other than Sebastian Hastings. When his gaze lands on you, something playful sparks in his expression.

“Miss Bridgerton,” he says, bowing slightly. “A dance?”

Before you can speak, Atticus stiffens at your side, his mouth about to open but Lady Danbury with her matchmaking habits, interrupted.

“Oh, Lord Bridgerton!” Lady Danbury interrupts, her tone as smooth as the finest silk. “I do believe I saw a footman bring in a tray of ratafia. Be a dear and escort me to fetch a glass, won’t you?”

Atticus falters, clearly torn between his protective instincts and the commanding presence of Lady Danbury. She doesn’t wait for him to decide, linking her arm through his and steering him toward the refreshment table. You bite back a grin as they disappear into the crowd, leaving you blessedly free for the first time tonight.

Sebastian steps forward, extending his hand to you. “Shall we?”

You nod, slipping your hand into his. As he leads you to the dance floor, the weight you’ve carried all evening seems to lift. The music swells around you, and for the first time in far too long, you feel light. Truly light.

“I think,” you murmur as you take your places, “that we should make Nigel Berbrooke believe you’re on the verge of proposing.”

Sebastian raises a brow, a teasing smile curving his lips. “On the verge, you say? I’ll have to ensure I don’t lose my balance during this dance, then.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, the sound startlingly genuine. As the music begins, Sebastian’s hand rests lightly at your waist, guiding you effortlessly through the steps.

The rhythm of the waltz carries you both, and for the first time, you’re not counting the movements in your head or worrying about your posture.

“Are you always this insistent?” he asks, his voice low and playful as he spins you. “Six balls, expensive flowers, and now a proposal?”

You tilt your head, meeting his gaze with mock seriousness. “I only insist on what’s necessary, Your Grace.”

His laughter is quiet but rich, a sound that feels like it was made just for you to hear. As the dance continues, you notice the way his eyes linger on you, not just as part of the ruse, but as if he’s truly looking at you. The thought sends a strange flutter through your chest, one that you had hastily push aside.

The world around you fades, the crowd and their prying gazes melting away until it feels like it’s just the two of you. You can’t remember the last time you felt this…happy.

The ballroom, so often a source of dread and obligation, feels almost magical tonight. You don’t even care if Lady Whistledown is scribbling furiously in the corner, let her write what she will. For once in your life you are actually happy.

As the music swells toward its final notes, Sebastian leans in slightly, his voice a soft murmur near your ear. “I must say, Miss Bridgerton, you do look rather convincing tonight. Almost like a lady truly in love.”

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze once more. His teasing smirk is there, of course, but beneath it, there’s something else. Something you don’t dare name. Your heart stirs, a traitorous thing, but you quickly force it back into submission.

“And you,” you reply with a lightness you don’t quite feel, “almost resemble a gentleman worth falling for.”

His grin widens, and as the final notes of the waltz play, he dips his head slightly, just enough to make it seem like a private moment. “Almost?”

The applause breaks out around you, and reality crashes back in. You step apart, but not before catching the amused glances of those watching. The dance has done its job. For now, you’ve ensured that the ruse will continue.

While Sebastian escorts you off the dance floor, you are wondering if it’s truly the ton you’re trying to convince… or yourself.

“Tell me, Hastings,” Atticus began, his voice low but sharp. He reached for a glass of wine, though his grip on the goblet betrayed his irritation. “Do you mean to embarrass my sister? Is this some elaborate jest at her expense?”

Sebastian leaned casually against the table, swirling his wine glass with deliberate ease. “Embarrass her? I wouldn’t dream of it, Bridgerton. In fact, I daresay I’ve done far less to harm her reputation than you have.” He tilted his head, his smirk biting. “Marrying her off to Berbrooke? That’s quite the choice.”

Atticus’ eyes narrowed, his shoulders tensing at the insinuation. Before he could respond, another voice joined the fray.

“Lord Bridgerton!” Nigel Berbrooke’s figure waddled into view, his face red with indignation. He gestured animatedly, his words dripping with frustration. “I must insist you handle this situation at once. We had an agreement!”

Atticus exhaled sharply, his patience visibly thinning. He turned to Berbrooke with a cold glare. “The matter is handled,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the din of the ballroom. “I’m just here to remind the Duke,” he added, casting a glance toward Sebastian, “that this is none of his concern.”

Sebastian arched a brow, clearly unfazed by the warning. His attention shifted to Berbrooke, the edges of his lips curling into a devilish grin. “None of my concern, you say? I beg to differ. After all, I find it rather curious that Lord Berbrooke here failed to mention the cause of his rather striking black eye.”

Berbrooke stiffened, his face paling as he instinctively reached to touch the faint purple bruise beneath his eye. “I… It’s nothing of consequence.”

Sebastian chuckled darkly, his gaze boring into Berbrooke. “Oh, but I think it is. Shall we tell Bridgerton how you earned it? Or shall we let him figure it out for himself?”

Atticus’ eyes darted between the two men, his suspicion growing. He stepped closer to Berbrooke, his voice a low growl. “What is he talking about, Berbrooke? What happened?”

Berbrooke faltered, his composure crumbling. “I—it was a misunderstanding,” he stammered.

Sebastian’s smirk deepened. “A misunderstanding? You mean the part where you attempted to force Dorothea to return your affections in the gardens at Vauxhall? Resulting to her punching you and giving you that black eye?”

Atticus froze, his breath hitching as the weight of his best friend’s words sunk in. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, and for a moment, the rage in his eyes was palpable.

He took a step toward Berbrooke, who immediately shrank back, “You—”

Sebastian moved swiftly, placing a firm hand on Atticus’ shoulder to restrain him. “Easy there, Bridgerton. Not here.”

Atticus’ jaw tightened, but he relented, stepping back with visible effort. His voice, however, remained icy and dangerous. “The agreement is nullified,” he said, his tone brooking no argument. “I suggest you never show yourself again to my sister if you wish to avoid tasting the fists of me and my brothers. Is that clear?”

“I will bury you with my own hands if you so much as look in her direction, Berbrooke.” Atticus took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself, before turning to Sebastian. “You knew about this.”

Sebastian met his gaze evenly. “I did. And I’m surprised you didn’t.”

Atticus’ face darkened, but he said nothing further, striding away from the table with Sebastian following closely behind.

As they walked, Atticus ran into you. You gave him a smile, a smile that fell when you noticed the storm in his eyes.

Atticus stopped in front of her, his shoulders sagging slightly as he looked at you with something almost resembling guilt. “Dorothea,” he began, his voice intense but apologetic, “You do not need worry about Berbrooke, he is handled now. You will not marry him.”

And without waiting for your reply, he turned and walked away, his steps heavy as though burdened by his thoughts.

Sebastian lingered for a moment, his gaze meeting yours. There was something in his expression, a knowing look that sent a shiver down your spine. You swallowed hard, realization dawning as you pieced together what had transpired.

He had protected you. Despite the charade, despite his reputation, Sebastian Hastings had stepped in to save you from ruin.

For the first time, you wondered if there was more to the Duke than you had originally thought of him.

Your hand rested delicately on Sebastian’s arm, your gloved fingers brushing against the fabric of his sleeve with every step.

The promenade was nothing out of the ordinary at first, a routine outing to keep appearances and escape the confines of the house.

You both are too engaged now in your conversation. “So your dream is to marry out of love and have children?” He asks to which you nodded in response, “I shall want to busy myself taking care of my husband, the house, and of course our children.”

Sebastian turned oddly silent, but you didn't press further.

“You know, my mama told me something curious the other day,” you began, glancing up at him, “that one should marry one’s best friend.”

Sebastian let out a hearty laugh, his deep voice vibrating through the air. “Your brother is my best friend. Am I to marry him, then?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as well, the corners of your lips lifting despite your usual composure. “No, but I do wonder… Is that truly what marriage is all about? Friendship?”

His expression softened, and he tilted his head thoughtfully. “I imagine it’s a good start. Although, realistically, most marriages are more like battlefields.”

You furrowed your brows, pondering his words. “What I mean is, there are other things—physical or perhaps intangible—that bring a couple together.”

Sebastian arched an eyebrow at you, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Well, of course, there’s more to marriage—physical and intangible. Both.”

“Both?” you asked, a flicker of confusion and curiosity crossing your face. “But how could those two things coexist when they’re the exact opposite?”

His silence stretched for a moment, his gaze turning skyward as if searching for an answer in the clouds. Then, he laughed—a low, rich sound that sent heat creeping up your neck.

You folded your arms, pretending to pout as you quickened your pace. “Never mind. You’re a bully.”

Sebastian’s laughter grew louder, and he caught up with you in a few swift strides. “No, no, I’m not laughing at you,” he said, amusement laced in his tone. “I’m laughing at the absurdity of how little mothers tell their daughters.”

“They tell us nothing,” you admitted, glancing at him with a mix of irritation and intrigue.

He smirked. “I certainly can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not my place,” he replied, his tone suddenly more serious, his eyes locked on yours.

“In real courtship, yes,” you pressed, “it’s scandalous to discuss such things with a lady. But you’re not a real suitor. And besides, no one tells me anything. So how am I to find a proper husband if I don’t even know what I’m searching for?”

Sebastian hesitated, his jaw tightening as though weighing his next words carefully. “I cannot tell you.”

You stopped walking and turned to him fully, your voice dropping to a soft but firm tone. “I thought we were friends.”

“Dorothea…”

“Sebastian,” you said, stepping closer, your heart pounding in your chest, “tell me.”

His gaze flickered with something you couldn’t quite place—hesitation, temptation, and perhaps even desire. “What happens between a husband and a wife continues at night,” he said finally, his voice low and measured.

“At night?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “What happens at night?”

“When you are alone.”

You blinked, the meaning behind his words still eluding you. “When I am sleeping?”

Sebastian’s lips quirked into a small, almost predatory smile. “Not when you’re sleeping… When you touch yourself.”

The words sent a jolt through your entire body. Confusion and a strange sense of awareness rushed over you as you stared at him, your lips parting slightly.

“You do touch yourself, don’t you?” he asked, his voice soft yet undeniably suggestive. “When you’re alone, you can touch yourself anywhere on your body that gives you pleasure…” His eyes bore into yours, intense and unrelenting. “But especially between your legs.”

Sebastian’s gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable, but the tension between you was undeniable. You quickly averted your eyes, unable to meet his as heat flushed your cheeks, spreading all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Shall we continue our walk?” he asked, his voice deceptively casual as if nothing had transpired.

Without a word, you nodded and resumed walking, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion, curiosity, and something else entirely, something you can't name.

The bustling café was alive with the hum of morning conversation, you had stepped out early with your maid to enjoy a simple breakfast.

That was, until you saw him.

Sebastian sat by the window, a steaming cup in hand, his gaze distant and contemplative.

You hesitated for only a moment before making your way over, your maid lingering behind at a discreet distance.

“Sebastian,” you greeted, your voice carrying that soft, cheery lilt you always used only with him.

He looked up at you then, and the warmth you’d grown accustomed to in his eyes was gone, replaced by a cold, measured expression that made you falter.

He straightened in his chair, his posture stiff and formal, as though he were a stranger greeting an acquaintance.

“It is time for us to stop all of this,” he said abruptly, his voice low and devoid of emotion.

Your heart stuttered at his words, and for a moment, you were certain you had misheard him. “Stop all of what?” you asked, your brow furrowing in confusion.

Sebastian set his cup down with a deliberate clink, his gaze meeting yours with a sharpness that felt like a slap. “This… ruse. Whatever it is you think we have. It ends now.”

Your breath caught, and a lump formed in your throat as the weight of his words settled over you. “Sebastian, I don’t understand,” you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your effort to keep it steady.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair as though the very sight of you exhausted him. “You’ve misunderstood everything, Dorothea. We were never friends. You were merely… a convenience.”

The words struck you harder than you thought possible, and you stared at him, your chest tight with disbelief and hurt. “A convenience?” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression unreadable as he continued. “You are clever and amusing, yes, but I indulged you because it was easier than refusing. That is all.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the room around you blurring into nothingness as your mind tried to reconcile the man before you with the Sebastian you thought you knew.

The one who made you laugh, who danced with you, the man who was always sweet, warm, and adorable with you, who teased you with a charm so disarming you hadn’t realized how deeply he had crept into your heart.

“Why are you saying this?” you asked, your voice breaking as tears stung your eyes.

“Because it is the truth,” he said firmly, though his gaze flickered for just a moment, betraying the conflict beneath his icy exterior.

He averted his gaze, unable to meet your hurt stare. “You have the attention of a prince,” he said quietly, his voice softer now but no less cutting. “A future far beyond anyone could offer. You should embrace it.”

Your lips parted, but no words came. The betrayal, the confusion, the heartbreak. It was all too much to process. Finally, you swallowed hard and straightened, forcing yourself to stand tall despite the ache in your chest.

“If that is what you truly think of me,” you said, your voice wavering but resolute, “then I have nothing more to say to you.”

You turned on your heel and walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last as the tears threatened to spill. Your maid followed quickly behind, casting a concerned glance at you but saying nothing.

His heart aching, he longed for you for every step you took. For a moment, he even considered going after you to take back everything he said. But he remained still, assuring himself that this was for the best.

He is doing you a favor. It had to be done.

But you are about to make sure he's to regret this decision.

Everyone's heads inside the ballroom collectively turned toward the grand staircase at the same time, where she was descending.

You.

Star of the night. The prettiest among the ton. Miss Dorothea Bridgerton.

The lady who stood out in pure confidence rather than the usual timid attitude.

Sebastian stood still, his eyes, sharp and focused, latched onto the figure moving down the stairs as if drawn by an invisible force.

You glided down each step, your white dress a vision of pure grace. The delicate adornments along the neckline framed your features perfectly.

Your hair, styled elegantly, exposed the curve of your neck, making his throat tighten.

It was unbearable how beautiful you looked.

Sebastian could feel the room holding its collective breath, the crowd parting like the sea to make way for you. But his chest ached as he noticed the Prince of Prussia among them, his face alight with wonder as he stepped forward.

Sebastian’s eyes darken, his mind racing. He could see the way your lips curled into a soft smile, your head inclining slightly as you accepted the prince’s offer to dance.

The sight of that smile, the one that used to belong only to him, struck like a blade.

You moved with the prince to the center of the ballroom, your posture poised and practiced, each step a testament to the elegance you’d grown into.

But it wasn’t just the way you moved, it was the way the entire room seemed to orbit around you and the prince. Even the faintest flicker of your fan as it slipped from your hand seemed intentional, a moment of quiet magic.

The prince caught it swiftly, his smile widening as he returned it to you, and the applause that followed was thunderous.

To Sebastian, it felt like a declaration of your beauty, your worth, your unattainability.

When the music began, you danced.

It wasn’t just the movement; it was the connection, the way you flowed together as though the world beyond that ballroom didn’t exist. To the others, it was mesmerizing. To Sebastian? It was a nightmare he couldn’t wake from.

His chest felt tight, his breath shallow as he tried to focus on anything but you. Yet his eyes betrayed him, constantly drawn back to the sight of you smiling, laughing, spinning in the arms of another man. A prince, no less.

He felt the longing rising in him like a tide, swallowing his resolve. Every curve of your movement, every flicker of emotion on your face. It was agony to behold.

He wanted to be the one guiding you, the one you looked at with such brightness in your eyes. But he knew he couldn’t. He had chosen this, hadn’t he? To step away, to give you to a world he thought he could never offer you.

But standing here now, watching you drift farther and farther from him, he could feel his decision breaking him.

His jaw clenched, even the hum of his own thoughts faded into silence as he turned away from the scene. He couldn’t bear to watch it any longer.

For the first time, Sebastian allowed himself to admit the truth that had been gnawing at him since the beginning.

He had never wanted anyone the way he wanted you. And now, he had to live with the knowledge that he would never have you.

But who's to blame? After all, it is his own decision that led him into this. His own decision to throw away what he had with you, because he let his fears from the past prevent him from ever imagining a marriage with you.

Could it be true? The failed Miss Bridgerton seems to be even more precious and rare a stone than previously thought due to her first season? For it now appears this treasure is set to join the likes of the queen's ever-so-cherished crown jewels themselves. The Duke of Hastings I heard was left looking rather tongue tied last night, as Miss Bridgerton seems to have finally grown tired of waiting for him to pose that all-important question. Or, perhaps, the young miss has simply traded up. Surprising? Quite. Unreasonable? Of course not. After all, why settle for a Duke when one can have a prince?

Sebastian wandered into the halls of his estate, his gaze scanning the assortment of items yet to be packed. His eyes halted on a canvas propped up against the wall.

It was a painting.

His mother's favorite painting.

He frowned, stepping closer. “What is that doing here?”

His right-hand man, Henry, appeared from behind a crate, a list in hand. “The painting, your grace?”

“Yes, Henry. The painting. I distinctly remember donating it to the gallery months ago.”

Henry hesitated before clearing his throat. “You did, your grace. But... you also ordered it to be returned to you not long after. It was no easy feat to retrieve it, I might add.”

Sebastian stared at the canvas, his brows furrowing. For the life of him, he couldn’t recall making such a request. But as he studied the painting, the memory came rushing back like a strong wave hitting him in the face.

The day Dorothea had stood by his side, her eyes alight with admiration.

“This one is beautiful,” she had said, her voice soft yet full of conviction.

Sebastian had tilted his head at the painting, unimpressed. “It’s my mother's favorite painting according to Lady Danbury. Not that I'd know, she was no longer around after giving birth to me.”

“It's empty,” he had replied. “There’s nothing there. Just a field, a tree, and a vague attempt at depicting the glow of sunlight amidst the sky. It’s boring.”

Dorothea had turned to him then, her brows arched in disbelief. “You see nothing?”

“I see what’s there. A field. A tree. Some paint trying to be sunlight.” He had smirked, expecting her to laugh at his cynicism.

But instead, Dorothea had shaken her head, stepping closer to the canvas, her eyes drinking in every brushstroke. “There’s more to it than what the eyes see, Sebastian. You have to feel the art.”

“Feel it?” he had echoed, amused. “And what, pray tell, am I supposed to feel?”

She had smiled then, a wistful curve of her lips that had taken his breath away. “It’s the feeling of being free,” she had said, her voice quieter, as if confessing a secret. “Of living a peaceful life, far away from the judgment of the sun, from the crushing expectations of society. It’s just... being. Being yourself, at peace with the world.”

He had stared at her, the painting forgotten as her words settled over him like a balm he hadn’t realized he needed.

In that moment, it wasn’t the painting he envied. It was her. Her ability to see beauty in simplicity, to long for something as pure as freedom when all he could see was duty and expectation.

Now, his fingers absentmindedly grazed the edge of the frame, his chest tightening with something he didn’t want to name.

He swallowed hard. “Have it packed,” he said, his voice steady despite the storm within him.

Henry gave a short nod and returned to his task.

As the Prince Friedrich guided you through another perfect dance, with eyes brimming with intention, you felt trapped. Each step was a chain pulling tighter, each smile he gave was a reminder of the question you knew was coming.

And then, his gaze softened, tender yet sharp, as though he had already decided. “I know we've only known each other for a short period of time, but I feel something for you. And if you'd grant me the honor of–” Panic swelled in your chest like a rising tide as you realize he's about to propose.

“I— I need a drink,” you lied as you hurriedly removed your hands on him and took a step back, bowing politely with a tight trembling smile. “I am parched. Please excuse me.”

Before he could respond, you turned, walking briskly away from the glowing ballroom, away from the music and the eyes of the ton. And when the fresh air of the night hit your face, the tears came. Silent at first, then spilling over uncontrollably as you stumbled into the quietness of the night.

You tried to stifle the sobs, clutching the wrought-iron railing of the fountain as if it could anchor you. You didn’t want this. You couldn’t. A marriage built on wealth, duty, and pretense wasn’t the life you imagined for yourself. You wanted love, a love you grew up with, like your Mama's and Papa’s before.

But then, a voice broke through your haze.

“Dorothea,” came the soft, low timbre. Your body stiffened, recognizing it instantly. The voice you love so much.

You turned sharply to find Sebastian standing in the shadows, his face a mixture of regret and longing.

“What are you doing here?” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger, frustration, and the vulnerability you hated to show him.

“I wanted to apologize,” he began, his words measured yet heavy with meaning.

“For what?” you demanded. “What is the purpose of your apology? You already made it perfectly clear. We were never friends. That is what you said.”

He hesitated, his mouth opening to speak, but you shook your head fiercely, cutting him off.

“Do not bother me, Your Grace,” you said bitterly, wiping angrily at your tears. “I am to marry the Prince of Prussia. I am going to be a princess.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening with something unreadable. “Really?” he said, his voice a low murmur, tinged with disbelief and something softer, aching.

You looked away, as though his gaze burned too bright. “Yes,” you answered. “He is perfect. A good, honest man of high status. He will be a good father. He will—”

“Is that the truth?” Sebastian interrupted, stepping closer. “Or the lie you’re forcing yourself to believe?”

His words shattered the fragile wall you’d tried to build, leaving you utterly exposed. You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You spun around and rushed toward the garden, the tears blurring your vision again as you fled further into the night.

“Dorothea, stop,” he called after you, his voice pleading. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“Go away!” you cried, refusing to look back. But you could hear his footsteps behind you, relentless.

“Dorothea, please,” he said again, closer now. “It’s unsafe. You shouldn’t—”

“Why do you care?” you shouted, whirling around to face him, your chest heaving. “You told me we were nothing. You—”

But you didn’t finish. Because Sebastian was standing so close now, his face inches from yours, and the intensity in his eyes stole the breath from your lungs. Before you could think, before either of you could think, he reached for you, his hands firm but tender as he spun you around and pulled you toward him.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant. It was desperate, aching, and all-consuming, like he was pouring every unsaid word, every unspoken feeling into you.

His lips moved against yours with a passion that left no room for doubt, no room for air, his hands wasted no time into pulling you closer and roaming on your beautiful curves underneath your dress.

Your hands found their way to his chest, not to push him away, but to anchor yourself, to feel the wild, erratic beat of his heart beneath your palm.

You felt your whole body becoming warmer as though it had been set on fire, you held the back of Sebastian's neck as he raised one of your leg and held it around his waist, your hips immediately grinding against his, the friction not even enough to satisfy the ache in your core.

You want him. You need him.

In ways that you imagined when you touch yourself every night at the thought of him ever since he taught you how to.

His kisses trailed down to your neck, sucking aggressively, as if he wants to mark you and ruin you for everyone else.

But there's a sound of hurried footsteps that cut through the hushed sounds you and him are making, and before either of you could react, Atticus’ voice thundered like a crack of lightning.

“Bastard!”

You barely had time to pull back from Sebastian’s arms when Atticus’ fist collided with Sebastian’s jaw, sending him stumbling to the ground. The sound of the impact echoed, and your breath caught in your throat as you watched in horror.

“Atticus, no!” you cried, rushing forward, but he's too deep in his fury, you can't pull him back.

“You dare lay a hand on my sister!” he roared, bringing another punch down on Sebastian, who did little to defend himself. The force of it sent him sprawling onto the gravel path, blood dripping from his split lip.

“Stop it! Please!” you pleaded, grabbing at Atticus’ arm, finally pulling him away. “It’s enough! Stop!”

Sebastian pushed himself up onto his elbows, and slowly stood back up, his face bloodied and bruised, yet somehow calm.

Too calm.

“You will marry her,” Atticus said, his voice deadly quiet now, every word laced with finality. “You will marry her and make this right.”

“Brother–” but before you could even protest, he silenced you, “He dishonored you, sister.”

You glanced at Sebastian, there was no anger in his expression, no defiance, only guilt. And something deeper, something hollow. And you can't figure out what it is.

“I cannot marry her,” Sebastian said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The world seemed to crumble as the words sank in. You stared at him, your heart twisting painfully.

“What?” Atticus said, his tone sharp with disbelief, “You defiled my sister's honor and now you refuse her hand?!”

“I can’t,” Sebastian repeated, wiping the blood from his lip with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and filled with something you still can't name.

Atticus stepped forward, his hand twitching at his side as though he might strike him again. “Then you leave me no choice, we will settle this at dawn. A duel.”

“Atticus, no!” you cried, your voice breaking.

“It must be done,” Atticus said firmly, his gaze never leaving Sebastian’s.

Sebastian nodded once, silent. He didn’t argue. He didn’t protest. He simply stood there, still as a statue, while your world fell apart around you.

You turned to him, your voice trembling with disbelief. “You’d rather die than to marry me?”

Sebastian flinched, the words cutting through him like a blade. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His chest burned with the weight of everything he couldn’t say, that he didn’t deserve you, that you deserved a life free of his demons, that his past haunted him too deeply to ever love you the way you should be loved.

“I see,” you whispered, your voice heavy with unshed tears.

Atticus grabbed your arm, his touch firm but not unkind, and began leading you away. You glanced back over your shoulder, hoping, praying that Sebastian would say something, do something to stop you.

But he didn’t. He simply stood there, watching as you were escorted away, his fists clenched at his sides, his face a mask of anguish.

As the garden fell silent, Sebastian’s legs buckled, and he sank back onto the ground, staring at the blood on his hands.

His past swirled around him like a storm, the shadows of every misery he went through whispering into his ears.

He thought of you, your laughter, your light, your touch. And he thought of the way you looked at him tonight, the way you kissed him back, as if he were your entire world.

He wanted to hold onto that moment forever. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Because he was not the man you deserved.

The ballroom lights felt blinding as Atticus led you back inside. Your legs felt unsteady, your heart still racing from the recent events. Tears clung stubbornly to your lashes, your mind a whirlwind of pain and disbelief.

You didn’t dare meet anyone’s eyes, though you could feel their curious stares following you.

Atticus kept his composure, his face set in an expression of calmness, but you knew him well enough to sense the storm beneath.

When you reached your mother and siblings, Atticus spoke quickly, his tone polite but firm. “Dorothea is unwell,” he said, his words calculated and careful. “She has a headache, and I believe it’s best I escort her home.”

Your mother’s brow furrowed with concern, her hand reaching out to touch your arm. “A headache, dearest? Are you sure it’s not something more? You look pale.”

You could barely form the words, the lump in your throat growing heavier by the second. “I’m fine,” you whispered, though your voice cracked. “I just need to rest.”

Your mother nodded, though worry lingered in her eyes. “Of course, darling. Let Atticus take you.”

Just as Atticus began to guide you toward the exit, a voice sliced through the din of the ballroom, low but sharp enough to catch your attention.

“Whatever happened to you in the garden, Miss Bridgerton?”

Your steps faltered, and your breath stopped for a moment as you turned. Cressida Cowper stood there, her lips curled in a smile that was far from friendly. Her gaze bore into yours with a cruel gleam, her words heavy with implication.

Your heart plummeted, and a cold dread seeped into your chest. She knew. Someone had seen you and Sebastian.

Atticus’ grip tightened slightly, his attention snapping toward Cressida with a glare, though he said nothing. He couldn’t say anything without drawing more attention.

Your breathing quickened, your hands trembling as you clutched the fabric of your dress. The walls seemed to close in around you, the vibrant music and laughter of the ball fading into a dull roar in your ears.

“Come,” Atticus said as he began to lead you away once more. But the damage was done. Someone had seen you and your reputation is about to be damaged if Cressida decides to run her mouth.

You became sleepless at night, turning and tossing on your bed until dawn came. Your mind reeled as you imagined the outcome. One of them is bound to die, and it's either your brother, or the love of your life. Either would shatter you nonetheless.

By the time the pale light of dawn started to sleep through your windows, you could no longer bear the agony. Your brother already warned you beforehand not to get in the middle of it, but you seriously cannot just sit there and wait for disaster to strike.

No, you have to disobey your brother. You have to interrupt.

Throwing on a coat over your nightgown, you quietly went out of your room and tiptoed hurriedly down the stairs.

The house was still quiet, the servants not yet up and about round the house. Perfect time to go out without being noticed.

There was no time for a carriage, so you ran straight for the stables, heart pounding in rhythm along with your footsteps. Your horse, a sleek white mare, whinnied softly as you approached.

“Steady, girl,” you whispered, fumbling with the reins. “We need to move quickly.” You wasted no time, mounting the horse and spurring it into a gallop. You prayed under her breath, over and over again: “Please let me get there in time.”

The moment you finally arrived, the scene before you made your blood run cold. Atticus stood a short distance away, his pistol already pointed to Sebastian, his expression one of anger. Sebastian on the other side, is armed but his gun is pointed upwards, standing tall, his face a mask of calm like he has accepted this fully.

Benedict and Giovann stood to the side, their expressions grave, while a man you didn’t recognize who is likely a friend of Sebastian, all watched in silence.

You were too late.

“No!” you yelled, urging your horse forward with reckless speed in between them.

Atticus’ arm jerked in surprise at your sudden appearance. His pistol was already mid-trigger, the shot ringing out like a thunderclap, but he managed to divert the direction of the gun upwards.

Your horse reared, startled by the sound, and you barely managed to cling on before you were harshly thrown to the ground with a painful thud.

Gasps echoed around you as the horse bolted, leaving you sprawled, your breath knocked from your lungs.

“Dorothea!” Atticus’ voice boomed as he ran to her side. Sebastian was there in an instant too, his face pale with panic as he knelt beside her.

“Are you all right?” Sebastian asked urgently, his hands hovering near her as though afraid to touch her.

“Perfectly fine,” you answered sarcastically, pushing yourself up with a wince. “All thanks to you idiots.”

Sebastian’s jaw tightened, guilt flashing in his eyes. Your brother, meanwhile, looked utterly exasperated, though there was an unmistakable relief in his expression as well.

“What do you think you're doing getting in the middle of a duel?” Atticus demanded, his tone sharp but his eyes displayed concern.

You shot him a look that could have melted steel. “I need a moment with the Duke,” you firmly said, brushing dirt from your coat.

“Absolutely not,” his tone brooking no argument. You turned to him, gaze fierce and voice steady. “I need a moment with the Duke.”

“Dorothea—”

“Atticus.” Your voice was cold, commanding in a way. You're to stand up to your brother now in order to save both of them from this madness. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

Finally, with a growl of frustration, Atticus threw up his hands. “Fine. A moment,” he said, giving a warning look to Sebastian before stepping back to join the others.

Dorothea turned to Sebastian, her heart pounding not from fear, but from the weight of what she was about to say. He stood there, tense and quiet, his expression unreadable.

The tension between them crackled in the cold morning air as they stood face to face, the world around them fading into silence.

You walked away to create a distance away from the others while Sebastian follows you.

Now, it was just you and him.

“Someone saw us,” you began, your voice trembling but firm. Sebastian’s gaze snapped to yours, his expression guarded yet already tinged with a flicker of pain.

You swallowed hard, trying to steady your breathing, “Cressida Cowper. She knows.”

He stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

“If she decides to tell anyone what she saw—” your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to push through, “—it will ruin me. My reputation, my life, my family’s honor. It will all be over.” You felt a tremor of desperation rising in your chest as you stepped closer to him, searching his face for a reaction. “You need to marry me.”

Sebastian’s face twisted with anguish, his lips parting to speak before he clenched his jaw shut. He looked away, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“No,” he finally said, his voice barely audible.

The word hit you like a physical blow, and you took a step back, disbelief and hurt rippling through you. “No?” you repeated, your voice shaking.

Sebastian’s gaze fell to the ground, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. “I cannot,” he said softly, the words laced with sorrow.

“Why?” The question burst from you, your voice raw and desperate. Your heart felt as though it were splintering apart, piece by piece, as you stared at him. “Why are you so determined to refuse me? Have I been so intolerable to you? So unworthy of your affection? Tell me, Sebastian! What have I done wrong? I swear to you I will fix it! Why don't you love me?!”

He raised his head, and the look in his eyes, haunted, pained, yet filled with unspoken longing, his voice was quiet but heavy with emotion, “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Then why?” you demanded, tears brimming in your eyes. “Why do you refuse me? Why do you push me away, knowing the cost?!”

Sebastian took a deep breath, “Because I cannot give you what you want,” he said finally, his voice thick with guilt.

You froze, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. “What I want?” you echoed faintly.

“You want marriage,” he said, his tone cracking with emotion. “You want a family—children. That is your dream, Dorothea. And it should be. You would be a wonderful mother, and I would never want to take that from you.” He swallowed hard, his voice faltering. “But I can’t give you that. I can’t give you children.”

His confession hung in the air in silence. You stood motionless, as you struggled to process what he had just admitted.

So that is the reason. That is why he's so adamant in keeping you so close yet so far.

Sebastian’s gaze fell to the ground again, his shoulders slumping under the weight of his shame. “This is why I can’t marry you,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “I won’t trap you in a life where your greatest dreams are denied.”

For a long moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. The ache in your chest was unbearable, but it wasn’t from rejection. No, it was from the realization of just how deeply he cared for you, enough to deny himself the very thing he wanted most.

And yet, as his words sank in, so did your own truth. Maybe you don't care after all.

“Dorothea,” Atticus’ voice snapped you out of your thoughts, “Enough of this. It's getting brighter, we have to hurry or someone might see us.”

Sebastian turned away from you, his face once again closed off, as if retreating back into himself, still stubborn. He moved to follow Atticus.

But something inside you refused to let this moment end like this. If Sebastian is this stubborn and firm, then you will be too.

"There is no need," you said, loud enough for everyone to hear. Atticus turned, frowning, while Sebastian froze in place, his back still to you.

"The Duke and I are to be married," you declared, your voice ringing out in the still morning air. Everyone froze, Atticus’ expression was one of utter shock, while Sebastian turned to you slowly, his face pale and stricken.

You met Sebastian’s gaze, your heart pounding, but you're not gonna back down. You knew what you were doing. You knew what you wanted. And you weren’t going to let fear or convention take it from you.

Even if it meant forcing Sebastian’s hand, you would fight for the love you knew was worth everything.

When you informed your mama about the news, she was overjoyed. She wished for nothing but your happiness and for you to find the true love you have always wanted, and now you're getting married to the Duke, the man she can clearly see that stares at you with a look of love.

This news spread faster than wildfire and it reached the Queen's ears in no time.

And when your license request to marry immediately came back denied, by no other than the Queen, you already know the reason why. She's upset with you for misleading her nephew.

So you found yourself standing before Queen Charlotte, your heart pounding against your ribcage.

The Queen sat perched on her throne, her piercing gaze fixed on you and Sebastian.

“It seems like your license to marry has been denied,” the Queen said, her tone sharp and impatient. She gestured with a flick of her hand, commanding attention. “Well, plead your case.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward, curtsying with poise. “Your Majesty, while I appreciate the attention from your nephew, the Prince Friedrich of Prussia, I simply cannot ignore my long-standing affection for the Duke.”

The Queen’s eyes narrowed slightly, a look of utter boredom spreading across her face. She sighed deeply, clearly unconvinced by what she must have deemed an overly practiced excuse.

You felt the pressure mount, but you pushed forward. “You see, Your Majesty, it was love at first sight—”

Sebastian suddenly interrupted, his deep voice cutting through your words like a blade. “It is not!”

Startled, you turned to look at him, but his gaze was locked on the Queen. There was an intensity in his expression that both alarmed and captivated you.

“It was not love at first sight for either of us,” he admitted, his voice firm yet steady. “At first, we didn’t like each other. Miss Bridgerton finds me annoying, presumptuous, arrogant…fairly so. Not to mention she is the sister of my best friend, so romance was immediately out of the question.”

The Queen’s brow raised slightly, but she did not interrupt.

Sebastian continued, his words now softer, as if revealing a part of himself he had long kept hidden. “But we found something else instead. Friendship. We’ve been fooling everyone with the ruse of us courting to drive away eager debutants and to attract more suitors for her, but in reality, we simply enjoy each other’s company so much that it became difficult to stay away from one another. I was never a man fond of flirting, let alone talking. But with Dorothea—Miss Bridgerton—conversation has always been easy. Her laughter brings me joy.”

You felt your breath hitch as his words sank in, your shock mirrored in the way your eyes widened slightly.

“To meet a beautiful woman is one thing,” he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper, “but to meet your best friend in the most beautiful woman is something entirely apart.”

The silence in the chamber was deafening. Even the Queen seemed to lean forward slightly, her skepticism fading.

“And it is with my sincerest apologies to Prince Friedrich,” Sebastian concluded, his voice resolute, “that I must say it took his arrival to make me realize I do not want Miss Bridgerton as my friend. I want her to be my wife. So now, I plead with you, Your Majesty, do not make us wait.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You stared at Sebastian, your heart both aching and soaring at his declaration. Never had you expected this flood of honesty, this raw admission from the man who had always seemed so guarded.

Queen Charlotte regarded you both for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then, she leaned back against her throne with a small, approving smile. “You are wise, and lucky enough to understand that friendship is the strongest foundation for marriage.”

Her voice was calm, but her words carried a finality that brought tears of relief to your eyes.

“I shall grant you your license,” she declared, her gaze sweeping over you both, “for an immediate wedding. In three days.”

The weight in your chest lifted as the Queen’s words settled over you, and you turned to Sebastian. His eyes met yours, and for the first time, you saw no hesitation.

The wedding soon came in just a blink of an eye.

You stand in the small bridal room, your hands trembling slightly as your maid tightens the delicate lace of your gown. The reflection in the mirror reveals your radiant beauty, but your heart is not as steady as your outward appearance.

You glance at your brother, Atticus, standing to the side.

“You still have time to change your mind,” he says quietly, his voice softer than usual.

You shake your head. “I love him, Atticus. No matter what lies ahead, I know I would regret it forever if I didn’t marry him.”

Atticus looks at you, his jaw tightening slightly, but he nods. “Then let’s get you to the altar.”

The doors open, and the weight of every gaze in the church falls upon you. The sound of the organ swells, a melody of promise and solemnity. As you take your first step forward, your heart pounds, not from fear, but from the gravity of what this moment means. You look ahead, and there he is.

Sebastian stands at the altar, his face unreadable at first, though his lips press together as if trying to hold back his real emotions. His hair is perfectly combed, his tailored suit fitting him as if it were made by the hands of fate itself. Yet, what strikes you most is his eyes. They meet yours, and for a fleeting moment, his guard slips. In that single look, you see his vulnerability, his longing, and his unspoken fear.

As you move closer, each step feels heavier with the weight of your emotions, but also lighter, as if being drawn toward him by an invisible thread. When you finally reach him, Atticus gently places your hand into Sebastian’s. His hand is warm, though there’s a subtle tremble.

The ceremony begins, and the words of the officiant blend into a distant hum as your focus narrows only on him. When it comes time for the vows, Sebastian clears his throat, his voice lower than usual but steady.

“I take thee, Dorothea,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours, “to be my wife. To have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer… till death do us part.” His voice breaks slightly at the last words, and for a moment, you see the depth of his emotions laid bare.

Your voice wavers as you repeat your vows, but the conviction in your words carries through. “I take thee, Sebastian, to be my husband. To have and to hold… in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer… till death do us part.”

As the officiant pronounces you husband and wife, there is no hesitation. Sebastian lifts your veil with a gentleness that makes your breath catch. The moment his lips meet yours, the world seems to still, and all your fears and doubts were forgotten.

The reception was bustling with laughter, chatter, and the faint clinking of glasses as the Bridgerton household celebrated your marriage.

You stood near the edge of the room, silently nibbling on grapes. Your gaze kept drifting toward Sebastian, who remained at a distance, engaged in conversation with various guests.

He looked just as distant as you felt. Not a word had been exchanged between the two of you since the ceremony, and the weight of the silence gnawed at you.

You tried to focus on the sweetness of the fruit as Atticus approached you from behind, standing beside you.

“I spoke to the Duke,” he announced casually, taking a sip from his glass.

You let out a dry chuckle, barely hiding your frustration. “That makes one of us.”

Atticus raised a brow, his humor undeterred. “He refused your dowry.”

“Is this your attempt to raise my spirit?” you replied, your tone clipped, though you knew he meant well.

He smiled faintly. “He refused your benefit, sister. I shall put the money in trust, so you may use it how you see fit. For your children, perhaps. Certainly, you two will have a brood large enough to put Mother’s to shame.”

His jest should have brought some comfort, but instead, you felt a sharp tightening in your chest. Right, children. You struggled to breathe, your vision blurring as the room suddenly felt stifling.

Atticus noticed immediately, concern etching across his face. “What is it? Is something wrong?”

“I am... This is all...” Your words were halting, your lungs feeling as though they’d collapsed under the weight of it all. “I must take a moment. Excuse me.”

Without waiting for a response, you turned and hurried toward the staircase, your legs carrying you upstairs as your mind raced.

When you reached the privacy of your room, you collapsed onto the couch at the foot of your bed, clutching the fabric as though it could anchor you. Your breaths were shallow, your hands trembling as you slowly composed yourself.

A soft knock interrupted you, and Rose, your maid, peeked inside with a smile. “Miss? It is time, they are bringing the carriages around.”

You took a deep breath, it is indeed time, you are to leave the house.

“Well, perhaps I can come with you,” Giovann suggested, his tone light and teasing as he walks alongside you, “I’ve always wanted to live in a castle.”

Before you could respond, Heather, who's walking on your other side, interjected. “If Dorothea is going to take anyone with her, Giovann, it will be me.”

Caleb rolled his eyes at their antics and pulled you into a tight hug. “The two of you are staying here until our dear sister allows us to visit.”

Benjamin stepped forward, his smile a mix of humor and sentiment. “You mean, if she allows us to visit. I’m quite sure you’ll enjoy the peace and quiet, sister.” He hugged you warmly, his words softened by genuine affection.

You smiled at them all, your heart swelling with love and sorrow. Although as chaotic as they can be, you'll miss them. “I’m going to miss all of you. Terribly.”

Atticus quirked a brow, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Even me?” You laughed softly, pulling him into a hug. “Even you.” You kissed his cheek, and he chuckled.

Your gaze landed on Elisa, and you couldn’t help but joke through the emotion. “I’m going to miss my sister... and my enemy.” Elisa let out a laugh, shaking her head as she stepped into your embrace. “Goodbye, Dorothea.” You whispered, “Goodbye, Elisa,” holding her tightly.

Finally, your mother approached, she looks composed but the hint of sadness in her eyes betrays her as she embraces you. “Write to me as soon as you arrive, dear.” You nodded, hugging her back. “Of course, Mama.”

She reached out to cup your cheek gently. “You’re going to be a wonderful Duchess. You’re no longer Miss Dorothea Bridgerton, you’re now Duchess Dorothea of Hastings.”

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the gate and walked toward the waiting carriage. Sebastian stood near it, his eyes fixed on you. He gave you a slight nod, waiting patiently as you approached.

You glanced back at your family one last time, offering a faint wave from the windows of the carriage.

Sebastian offered you his hand as you got off the carriage. You looked at the grand estate with wide eyes and a smile, completely amazed at the beautiful castle.

The grand doors of the castle opened to reveal the long line of servants, all standing neatly in formation to welcome their new Duchess.

One by one, they bowed and curtsied, their smiles warm and respectful. The butler at the front, an older gentleman, stepped forward and gave a courteous bow. “Welcome home, your majesties. It is an honor to serve you both.” You offered a polite smile, though your heart still felt heavy from the farewells earlier. “Thank you.”

“This is Fred, he's been a loyal servant to the family for years.” Sebastian introduced. “Please, this way,” the butler said, gesturing for you and Sebastian to follow him inside.

The interior of the estate was breathtaking, immaculate even. The sort of place that looks straight out of a painting. As the butler led you up the grand staircase, you couldn’t help but glance at Sebastian, who remained silent and unreadable. “Both rooms are cleaned and prepared, Your Grace,” the butler said over his shoulder, continuing up the corridor.

You furrowed your brows, confused, and leaned slightly closer to Sebastian as you walked. “Both rooms?” you whispered.

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed ahead. “I forgot to inform you,” he said evenly, his tone detached. “We are to stay in separate rooms.”

You blinked, taken aback at what you just heard. Your mouth opened in disbelief. “On our wedding night?!”

Sebastian remained quiet, offering no explanation, no defense. The realization hit you like a cold splash of water, and you straightened your posture, forcing a small, bitter laugh. "Right... I don’t know why I did not expect this."

The butler stopped at a set of doors, each on opposite sides of the hall. He gestured first to the left. “This will be your room, Duchess,” he said, addressing you with a polite smile. He then gestured to the right. “And this will be yours, Duke,” he added, looking at Sebastian. “Thank you,” Sebastian said curtly, already moving toward his door.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing between the two rooms, the space making your heart ache. You forced a smile to the butler and nodded before stepping into your room, closing the door softly behind you. The lavish room was beautiful, every detail meticulously arranged to exude elegance and comfort. Yet you feel no excitement nor any ounce of happiness for it.

You let out a long, shaky breath, this is it. This is your new reality. A love marriage indeed, but a one-sided kind.

What a life, so much for happily ever after.

You sat on the edge of your bed when a soft knock at the door disturbed you. Rising reluctantly, you made way to the door and opened it, revealing Sebastian standing there.

“We should go down to dinner,” he said formally.

You turned away without answering, retreating back into the room, your frustration bubbling.

“Thea?” he called after you, his voice softer now. “You’re not hungry?”

You stopped in your tracks, your back still to him, your shoulders stiff as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “I do not want any dinner,” you replied, your voice sharper than intended.

Silence stretched between you, until you could no longer hold your thoughts inside. “I’ve spent the last three days wanting to be alone with you,” you began, your voice trembling.

You turned slowly to face him, meeting his gaze with a mix of anger and pain. “Wanting to talk to you. Wanting to know you.” You took a deep breath to steady yourself, your words spilling out like a dam breaking. “I understand that you do not wish to see me. That you would prefer to stay in your separate room and endure a wordless dinner together on our wedding night.”

“That is not what I prefer,” Sebastian said softly, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Sebastian,” you interrupted, your voice sharper now, laced with frustration.

“You are mistaken,” he said, his tone calm but firm.

You shook your head, disbelief flashing in your eyes. “You have avoided my presence,” you accused, your voice rising with the hurt you could no longer contain.

“In order to allow you your liberty,” he replied, his gaze steady.

“You’ve said all but a few words to me,” you pressed, stepping closer, anger overtaking your hurt.

“In order to keep myself from saying the wrong things,” he countered, his tone softening, as if he were pleading with you to understand.

“You’ve barely been able to look me in the eye,” you continued, your voice breaking slightly as the pain welled up inside you.

Sebastian’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, you saw something crack in his carefully constructed facade. “Because I could not bear witness to the misery I have caused you,” he admitted, his voice quiet, heavy with regret.

You froze, your breath catching. “You did not… I am the one who trapped you into this marriage,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I trapped you,” he replied, shaking his head slowly, his expression one of deep self-reproach. “I have spent the last three days in agony. Unable to talk to you. Unable to be alone with you. Because I knew you wanted nothing to do with me. And understandably so, after forcing you to make an unimaginable sacrifice.”

He took a slow breath, his dark eyes meeting yours with painful honesty. “You wanted a life with children. A family. You wanted a life with a man you truly knew. You wanted a love match. And yet—”

“And yet,” you interrupted, bitterness creeping into your tone as you turned away from him, your hands trembling as you began to fold the clothes from your travel trunk. “This could not be any more different. Is that what you hope to say?”

You kept your back to him, focusing on the task in front of you as the tension in the room grew unbearable. “I shall join you for dinner momentarily,” you said at last, your tone clipped, dismissing him to shield yourself from further hurt.

Sebastian didn’t move. The silence stretched between you until it was nearly suffocating.

“Everything I told the Queen was true,” he said. “I cannot stop thinking of you. From the mornings to the evenings. To the dreams you inhabit. My thoughts of you never end.”

Your movements halted. Slowly, you turned back to face him, your brows drawn together in confusion.

Sebastian stepped closer, “I am yours, Thea,” he said firmly, every word laced with sincerity. “I have always been yours.”

You turned to face him fully, your heart pounding in your chest, his words echoing in your ears. “I do not understand,” you whispered, your voice shaky, as if you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

Sebastian ran a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling with every passing second. His expression twisted with frustration, and his tone even turned harsh as he said, “I do not know how to be any clearer.”

You flinched slightly, your eyes softening as you took in his agitated state. “Do not get angry,” you said softly, your tone a quiet plea.

“I am not angry. I—” He stopped, inhaling sharply as if trying to steady himself.

You studied him, your gaze tracing the tension in his jaw, the flush spreading across his cheeks. “You look angry and bothered,” you said gently, tilting your head. “Look at you. You are downright flushed.”

“Yes, that is what happens—” he began, his voice rising slightly in exasperation.

“When one is angry,” you interjected, matter-of-factly, your tone almost teasing despite the heavy emotions hanging in the air.

“No!” Sebastian snapped but not in a mean way. “When one burns for someone who does not feel the same.”

His words hung between you, a revelation that stole your breath away. Your lips parted, but no sound came out as you stared at him, your chest tightening. “Y-you burn for me…?” you finally managed to say, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Sebastian exhaled slowly, the tension in his body visibly releasing as if he had been holding his breath. “Why do you think I followed you into that garden?” he asked, his tone softer now but still heavy with intensity.

Your pulse raced as you stepped closer to him, your eyes searching his for any trace of doubt. “Why do you think I went into that garden?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your words filled with urgency.

He faltered, his expression shifting to one of confusion and hope.

“If you would have only looked at me this week for longer than two seconds,” you continued, finding your courage, “you would have seen. It is you I cannot sacrifice.”

You took another step closer, the truth spilling out of you, uncontrolled. “I burn for you.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, the weight of your words sinking in and finally made him snap.

You barely had time to breathe before he closed the space between you, his hand cupping the back of your neck as his lips crashed against yours.

He quickly picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to your bed not so far away without breaking the kiss.

The kiss was anything but gentle. It was messy, unrestrained, like he’d been starving for you, and now there was no holding back.

His lips moved over yours with fierce urgency, parting them effortlessly. His tongue slid inside your mouth, tangling with yours that sent a jolt of fire through your veins.

Your back hit the soft mattress, but you barely noticed. All you could feel was him. His hands gripping your waist, his lips demanding, claiming, pulling every shred of air from your lungs.

His teeth caught your bottom lip, biting just hard enough to make you gasp before soothing the sting with a slow, deliberate lick that sent a shiver down your spine.

You clung to him, your hands threading into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, guttural sound from his throat. The sound ignited something primal in you, and you kissed him back just as hungrily, your lips bruising against his as your tongues clashed and tangled.

It was chaotic, desperate. His hand slid lower, gripping your hip to pull you closer, and your bodies molded together as though you were trying to erase every inch of space between you. His taste was warm and addictive, it filled your senses.

When he pulled back, his lips were slick and swollen, his breath ragged. He didn’t move far, his forehead resting against yours, his lips brushing yours in quick, teasing pecks as if he couldn’t bear to fully let you go.

“Still breathing?” he rasped, his voice rough and thick with need.

“Barely,” you managed to respond playfully in between pants.

His weight pinned you down, but there was no hesitation in the way his hands moved to your back, lifting you just enough to slide your dress upward. The fabric gathered between you as he tugged it over your head, tossing it aside without a second thought.

His eyes roamed over your fully naked form for a moment, dark and heavy with desire, before he dove back down.

His mouth found your neck, his lips trailing hungry, open-mouthed kisses along the delicate skin. Each kiss grew more urgent, more insistent, as his teeth grazed and nipped, leaving marks behind.

Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his shoulders as he devoured you, his breath hot against your skin. His tongue darted out, soothing the stings of his bites before returning with the same fiery hunger.

You could feel his lips curve into a smirk against your neck when you let out a soft moan, his grip on your waist tightening in response.

His hands did not stop. They explored every curve of your body, gliding over your sides, your hips, the softness of your thighs, and then up again, tracing your skin with a touch that sent sparks racing through you.

His palms finally settled on your mounds, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, drawing a shuddering breath from you as his kisses trailed lower to your collarbone.

“Every inch of you,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and tinged with awe. “I want all of it.”

“Then have me,” you whispered before his lips found yours again, claiming them in a bruising kiss that left you breathless. His hands continued their exploration, his touch deliberate and unrelenting as though he was determined to memorize every inch of you.

He paused, his weight braced on his forearms as his eyes searched yours. “Are you sure you are ready?” His voice was low, gentle, but his breathing was still uneven, and the hunger in his gaze made your pulse race.

You gave him a firm, reassuring nod, your fingers curling against his back. “I’m sure.”

A flicker of relief crossed his face, and then his lips curved into a small, almost teasing smile.

He sat up, pulling away for just a moment to strip himself of the last barriers between you. With a quick motion, he discarded his clothes, leaving nothing but bare skin in front of you.

You couldn’t stop staring, your breath catching as you took in the sight of him. The lean lines of his body, the way his muscles moved under his skin, and his length. Oh his length, it all left you in awe.

He noticed, of course. His smile turned smug, and he tilted his head, his voice laced with amusement. “Enjoying the view?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks, but before you could respond, he leaned back down, catching your lips in a quick, playful kiss. It was softer than before, but no less electrifying, and it left you wanting more as he pulled back just enough to speak.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his words making your heart flutter even as his hands slid down your body once more.

He shifted slightly, his hand moving between the two of you as he spat into his palm. The sound sent a jolt of anticipation through you, and your breathing hitched as he used that on his manhood to slick himself, all while his eyes never leaving yours.

With one hand, he guided himself to you, the tip brushing against your entrance with a teasing pressure that made your body tense and heat flooded your core.

His other hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin in a tender contrast to the intensity of what was about to happen.

“Legs up, baby,” his gaze locked onto yours as he opened you wide for him, raising your hips off the mattress to wrap your legs around his waist, before slowly pressing forward, his movements deliberate and careful, scared to hurt you.

The stretch was overwhelming, the way his manhood entered and the veins on it grazed your soft gummy walls for the first time.

Your body instinctively tensed as you felt him inching deeper, stretching you more and more. A soft whimper escaped your lips, and his heart clenched at the sound.

“Shh,” he murmured softly, his lips pressing a series of tender kisses to your temple, then your cheek, and finally the corner of your mouth. “I’ve got you. Just breathe for me.”

His hand found yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he paused, letting you adjust.

You tried to focus on the comforting press of his lips against your skin, the gentle weight of his body, and the warmth of his breath fanning over your face. His whispers filled the silence, soft and soothing, each word meant to ease the sting.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmured, brushing his lips over your forehead. “Just a little more. I’ll take care of you.”

He continued, inch by inch, his movements still slow and careful as he gave you time to adjust.

You couldn’t stop the small, pained noises that slipped from you, but he was relentless in his tenderness, his mouth trailing over your jawline, your cheeks, your nose, everywhere he could reach. Each kiss was him silently saying that he wouldn’t rush you.

You let out a particularly loud moan, throwing your head back into the soft pillows as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. He stayed still, his forehead pressing against yours as he released a shaky breath. “Good girl, baby,” he whispered, his voice tinged with awe and restraint.

You exhaled shakily, your body slowly relaxing as the initial discomfort began to subside. He didn’t move, his hands stroking soothing patterns along your sides as he watched you closely. “Tell me when you’re ready,” he said, his voice soft, his lips brushing over yours in a featherlight kiss.

After a few moments, you nodded softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m ready.”

His breath hitched, and he kissed you again, slow and tender, before pulling back just enough to start moving.

His hips rolled into you, slow but deliberate, each movement deep and precise. The stretch still lingered, but the sting had dulled, replaced by something else entirely.

Pleasure.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against your skin, his lips brushing along your neck between each soft praise. “So good. Taking me so well.”

Every inch of you felt like it was on fire, his voice only fanning the flames as his movements remained controlled, careful.

His mouth moved along your jaw, peppering kisses in a trail to the sensitive spot just below your ear.

The way he worshiped you with his touch and words made you cling to him, your hands gripping his shoulders as your breathing grew heavier.

But then you noticed it, the slight tremble in his arms, the way his muscles strained, his jaw clenched tight. His movements, though steady, were deliberate in a way that betrayed his restraint. The sounds he made were muffled, controlled, and you could feel the effort it took for him to hold back.

Reaching up, you cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the line of his jaw as you whispered, “Don’t hold back.”

He stilled, his gaze snapping to yours as if he hadn’t expected your words. “What—”

“You don’t have to,” you murmured, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “I want all of you. Don’t hold back.”

Something in him shattered.

His lips crashed onto yours in a fiery kiss, and before you could catch your breath, he pulled back and pushed inside you with a force that stole the air from your lungs.

His restraint was gone, replaced by something primal as his hips snapped against yours, again and again, the sound of skin slapping filling the room.

You cried out, your back arching as the sudden shift sent waves of sensation coursing through you. He groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and untamed, his mouth returning to your neck as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he rasped, his voice ragged as his teeth grazed your shoulder. His pace was relentless, each thrust hitting deeper, harder, his hands gripping your hips to keep you anchored beneath him.

Every movement was wild, desperate, like he’d been holding himself back for far too long and now there was no stopping him. Your nails dug into his back, and he only growled in response, his lips finding yours again in a bruising kiss that left you breathless.

You were overwhelmed, consumed by him, by the way he claimed you so completely.

His head dipped lower, his lips leaving a heated trail down your neck and chest before capturing one of your mounds in his mouth. The warmth of his tongue swirling over the sensitive skin made your back arch into him more, a gasp spilling from your lips as he sucked with pleasure, toying with the bud using his tongue.

His arms wrapped around you, one sliding beneath your waist and the other gripping your backside. He held you close, hugging you tightly to him as his hips continued its merciless rhythm.

Every thrust was wild, untamed, each one pulling sounds from you that you couldn’t suppress even if you tried.

Then, suddenly, he shifted his angle. His hips tilted just slightly, and when he plunged into you again, he hit a spot so deep, so perfect, that your vision blurred.

“Hmp–Ahh Sebastian!” A cry tore from your throat so loud London could hear it.

“There,” he growled, his voice triumphant as he felt your reaction. “I’ve got you.”

He focused on that spot, his thrusts hard, each one sending shockwaves through you. He managed to fuck you so good the only thing you can see, feel, hear, is him.

The heat of his body, the way he filled you so completely, and his hips jerking you up pushing you higher and higher.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, your nails dragging down his back leaving scratches as you clung to him, lost in the overwhelming sensation. “God baby you feel so good,” he murmured, his lips returning to your neck as he continued to praise you between breathless groans.

The coil inside you tightened impossibly, your body tensing as you clamped down around him. He groaned at the sensation, his thrusts faltering for a moment before he chuckled breathlessly, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Are you close?” he asked, his voice rough.

You nodded frantically, your body trembling as pleasure coursed through you. Tears pricked at your eyes, spilling down your cheeks at the intense pleasure.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice laced with encouragement. His hips snapped against yours, each thrust deeper and harder, making you feel him in places you didn’t know were possible. Deep in your womb. “Let go for me.”

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and when his hand moved between your bodies, his fingers found your sensitive clit, pressing down with just the right amount of pressure before rubbing tight circles on it.

Your eyes shut tight, a loud cry tearing from your throat as his touch sent shockwaves through you.

The combined force of his deep, relentless thrusts and the skilled movements of his hand was too much, and you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Come for me,” he whispered, his voice thick and strained as he pounded into you, his hips driving with a force that turned your brain into mush. “Let me have all of you.”

The tension snapped, and a wave of euphoria crashed over you, drowning out everything else. Your walls fluttered and tightened around him as your release hit, “F-fuck fuck! Sebastian! I can't–ohh,” your babbled sobs filling the room as tears continued to spill from the sheer intensity.

“Yes, that's it,” he groaned, his fingers still working your sensitive nub to prolong your high.

He soon slowed his movements until he eventually stilled, his chest heaving above you. A soft, almost smug smile played on his lips as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“You were amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, his hand brushing gently over your hair. “So perfect for me.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze searching yours with a mix of admiration and something deeper, something you couldn’t quite place.

Despite his own body tense with need, his breath coming in ragged gasps, he didn’t move to continue. Instead, he slowly eased himself out of you, his touch careful and considerate.

You sighed, your body relaxing into the mattress as he settled beside you, still catching his breath. He reached out, his fingers lightly tracing patterns on your skin as he whispered more praises, his voice soft and honeyed.

What you didn’t know—what he had made sure you would never suspect—was that he had no intention of letting things go further. He’d lied to you once, telling you he couldn’t give you children, a story you’d accepted without question. It had been easy to take advantage of your innocence, your lack of understanding about what it truly meant to create a child.

And so, he let his desire linger, unfulfilled, content to keep the truth hidden. He watched you as you dozed off in his arms, a faint smile still on your lips, completely unaware of the secret he carried.

That was just the start of your honeymoon. Ever since you two got a taste of each other, there's no holding back anymore.

Every morning,

A sleepy groan escaped his lips, one hand tangling in your hair as you took him fully into your mouth. The warmth of you surrounded him, and he couldn’t help but let out a low, raspy “Good morning, baby,” his voice still thick with sleep.

“You’re gonna spoil me like this,” he murmured, his voice amused, though his grip in your hair tightened slightly, betraying how undone he was. “I won’t ever want to wake up any other way.”

In the Library,

The library was huge and full of spaces. You were perched on its edge, your breath hitching as Sebastian knelt before you, his hands gripping your thighs like a man starved while you try to push his head away, “Sebastian, not here!”

“You taste so sweet, how could I resist?” Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging gently as his mouth worked its magic. His tongue traced slow strokes on your folds. Each flick of his tongue and gentle nip of his teeth sent sparks through your body, making you arch against him.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he murmured against you, though the smirk on his lips betrayed his delight in unraveling you like this.

And even outdoors beside the pond at your castle,

The gentle hum of nature surrounded you as the two of you lay on a soft blanket near the pond. It is late in the afternoon and Sebastian was behind you, his chest pressed against your back as his arm draped over your waist, pulling you closer.

His lips brushed over your shoulder and up to your neck, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses, making love to you shamelessly outdoors.

Not that there's someone else around anyway.

“My pretty wife,” he whispered, while he moved slowly and passionately against you, taking you from behind.

“Sebastian,” you moaned out his name softly at how warm and big he feels inside you. It didn't take too long for you to finish.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured, slowly pulling his length out of you. “I could do this forever.”

All is well until...

The kitchen bustled with life as maids moved about, the aroma of freshly baked bread and simmering stew filled the air, accompanied by the soft clatter of pots and pans.

You stepped in quietly, curious about the lively chatter that echoed from within.

The maids were huddled near the counter, laughing amongst themselves. Your personal maid, Rose, was at the center of the group, her laughter ringing the loudest. None of them noticed you at first, too engrossed in their conversation.

“And then she said, ‘Is that really all it takes?’” one of the younger maids said, giggling as the others erupted into laughter.

Rose wiped her hands on her apron, grinning. “Well, it’s not as simple as that! You need to make sure he—” Her words stopped short when her gaze landed on you standing in the doorway.

“Your grace!” Rose quickly straightened, bowing her head with a warm smile. The other maids followed suit, their laughter replaced with nervous politeness.

You waved a hand dismissively, a gentle smile on your lips. “Please, don’t stop on my account. What were you all discussing so eagerly?”

The maids exchanged hesitant glances before one of them replied with a shy laugh, “Just silly things, my lady. Joking about... marital life.”

Rose stepped forward, her smile softening. “Is there something you need, your grace? Shall I prepare something for you?”

You shook your head, your curiosity piqued. “No, I don’t need anything. I was just wandering. But tell me, what exactly were you joking about?”

The younger maid from before blushed, glancing nervously at Rose. “Oh, um, just about... how to, uh, make a man finish faster to... you know, conceive children.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, your head tilting slightly. “Finish? Whatever do you mean?”

The room fell silent for a moment. Rose’s smile faltered, her expression shifting to one of cautious confusion. “Finish, your grace. You know, the... the climax for men. When they release their... seed inside. It’s the essential part of bearing a child.”

Your confusion deepened, your lips parting slightly. “Seed? And this happens during the... marital act?”

Rose nodded slowly, her tone gentle as she continued, “Yes, my lady. When a man and woman are intimate, it’s important to continue until the man reaches his climax and, um, releases inside. That’s how children are conceived.”

A heavy silence settled over the kitchen as the weight of her words sank in. Your expression remained still, but realization dawned in your eyes. Pieces of information began to click together, forming a picture you hadn’t seen before.

Sebastian’s actions replayed in your mind, the way he always stopped, always pulled away immediately after you're done. You’d trusted him without question, never suspecting anything amiss.

Rose, noticing the shift in your demeanor, stepped closer. “Your grace, are you alright? Have I said something to upset you?”

You forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “No, Rose. Not at all. You’ve been... most helpful.”

The maids exchanged uncertain glances, sensing the change in your mood. You turned abruptly, excusing yourself from the kitchen.

As you walked away, you can't bring yourself to believe it. Sebastian had lied to you? No, you can't fathom. You have to find the truth out for yourself. You will try and see tonight if this is true.

The bed creaked as Sebastian sat up, his face pale and his jaw clenched. The intimacy you had shared just moments ago was now a distant memory, replaced by an overwhelming storm of betrayal and anger.

You finally did it, it was true. You rode him and did not stop until he accidentally finished inside you. Your world came crashing down, you didn't even know this was possible.

“Thea!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp and accusing.

You turned to him, your body still trembling, but this time not from passion. “What?” you snapped, your voice laced with confusion and defiance.

“What did you do?” he demanded, his tone teetering between disbelief and fury.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as your suspicions were confirmed. “I’d hoped it was not true,” you said bitterly, your voice shaking. “I’d hoped they were mistaken, but clearly, they were not.”

Sebastian’s brows furrowed, his face etched with frustration. “How could you?” he asked, his voice rising.

“How could I?” you repeated, your voice growing louder with every word. “How could I? You lied to me!”

“I did not lie,” he countered firmly, his voice defensive.

You laughed, the sound humorless and sharp as a blade. “I trusted you,” you said, your voice breaking. “I trusted you more than anyone in this world, and you took advantage of that. You seized an opportunity, and so I did the very same.”

His eyes widened in disbelief, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words. “I told you I cannot give you children.”

You stepped forward, your fists clenched at your sides. “Cannot and will not are two entirely different things,” you retorted. “You chose this for yourself. You chose to lie to me.”

Sebastian stood, his hands running through his hair as if he were trying to ground himself. “I did not lie,” he said through gritted teeth. “I thought you were prepared. I thought you understood how a child came to be.”

Your chest heaved as tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “You took my future from me,” you said, your voice cracking. “The one thing I wanted more than anything. You knew that becoming a mother one day, to have a family of my own one day, you knew that was all I ever wanted. Why?!”

Sebastian's face crumpled in sadness, “My father… cared more about the continuation of the Hastings line than anything in the world. More than my mother. More than me. He knew my mother should not have a child, but he did not care—not even when my mother died after giving birth to me. So I made a vow that his efforts would be in vain. That this line would die with me. You said I was enough for you!”

You shook your head, the weight of his words pressing down on your chest. “That was before I knew you,” you said, your voice trembling with anger. “I never asked for your betrayal.”

“Thea, I—” he began, his voice desperate.

“You what?” you interrupted, stepping closer as your voice rose. “You love me? No, you most certainly do not. You do not know the meaning of the word.”

Sebastian’s mouth opened, but no words came out as your accusations hit him like a blow.

“You do not lie to the one you love,” you continued, your voice breaking. “You do not trick the one you love. You do not humiliate the one you love.”

You paused, your chest heaving as tears finally spilled down your cheeks. “I may not know much, as you have made abundantly clear, but I do know one thing,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper now. “I know that is not love.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sebastian stood frozen, his face pale and his eyes wide with shock and regret. But you couldn’t look at him anymore. The weight of his betrayal was too much to bear.

Turning away, you walked to the other side of the room, your shoulders trembling as you tried to compose yourself.

The man you thought you loved, the man you thought you could trust, had taken everything from you.

You are not certain if you can still forgive him.

Over the next few days, you busied yourself instead in being a great duchess to your people, checking over the town and actually attending to their concerns.

You were doing quite well already when all of a sudden, you received a letter from your mother. Requiring your presence back in the estate to settle the scandal that your brother, Caleb, got himself into.

The Bridgerton family name has been the talk of London again ever since Lady Whistledown wrote about Caleb Bridgerton being roped into an entrapment marriage planned by his supposed bride-to-be, Miss Karina Trusova. A young miss who Caleb was flirting with this season and insisted that Caleb marry her immediately.

The reason for the rushed need to marry someone of Caleb’s status? To have a husband and a father for her unborn child. She's pregnant and the man abandoned her, pushing her into a desperation of luring a young man into marriage.

Great. Another scandal that your family has to face after facing yours.

Although now with your status as a Duchess, it was definitely more simple to remedy your brother's problem. Having the power to divert the ton’s attention and the respect they have to put on the Bridgerton Family who has a Duchess as one of them.

That simple solution caused you to get back at the castle earlier than expected.

But someone did not came back home early.

You waited anxiously by the staircase, the sound of the clock as it ticked away the late hours.

The tension in your chest tightened when you heard the faint creak of the door opening, and your husband stepped inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

He paused, tilting his head slightly as if the question puzzled him. “I did not think you were concerned about my whereabouts.”

The casualness of his response stung, but you ignored the sharp pang in your heart and stepped closer to him. “Are we going to stay like this forever?” you asked softly, reaching out to cup his cheeks in your hands.

His skin was warm, but his gaze remained distant, his body tense beneath your touch. “I do not want to live like this,” you pleaded. “Let’s just... please forgive each other.”

His jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he gently pulled away from your hands. “No,” he said, his voice firm, almost cold.

Your breath hitched as you stared at him in disbelief. “No?” you repeated, the word hanging heavy between you both. “What is to become of us, then?” you demanded, your voice rising in frustration. “Sebastian!”

“If you are with child,” he said abruptly, “then I shall stay and do my duty to support you both.”

The finality in his words made your stomach twist. “And if I am not?” you whispered, dreading his answer.

“Then we shall remain married, in name only,” he replied, his expression unyielding. “You will be provided for, of course, in a manner befitting the Duchess. But I shall not darken your doorstep again. Our lives will be entirely separate. This…” He gestured between the two of you, his voice breaking slightly before he regained control. “This cannot happen. This will not happen. Do you understand me?”

You swallowed hard, his words cutting deeper than you could have imagined.

The man who once burned for you now seemed determined to extinguish whatever bond you shared.

“That we will never love each other the same way again?” you said, your voice quiet but filled with heartbreak. “Yes, your grace. I understand that quite well.”

Sebastian stood there for a moment longer, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes searching yours for something he could not seem to find.

Then, without another word, he turned and left, your heart heavy with the emptiness of his absence.

He no longer burn for you.

He now burns you.

The days that followed were a week of avoiding glances and sidestepping one another in the vast corridors of the castle.

It was in the late afternoon when your paths finally crossed again. From the opposite direction, Sebastian approached, his footsteps slow and deliberate, his gaze locking with yours for the first time in days.

Neither of you spoke at first, the air between you tense and uncertain. But as you stopped in front of one another, you drew in a deep breath, forcing yourself to break the silence.

“My monthly courses came,” you said, your voice steady, though the words themselves felt like a blade against your heart. “I am not with child.”

Sebastian’s expression didn’t shift, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes. Relief, perhaps, or resignation.

He gave a small nod, his voice quiet and devoid of emotion as he said, “That is for the best.”

You tilted your head, studying him, and for the first time in days, you found the courage to push the boundary of his guarded walls. “Why?” you asked, your voice soft but insistent. “What did your father do that made you so spiteful? What has he done to warrant such... vengeance from you?”

You did not miss how his jaw tightened, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. He averted his gaze, the muscles in his neck taut. The question had struck a nerve. “You should not concern yourself with that,” he said in finality.

“Sebastian,” you pressed, stepping closer, refusing to let him brush it aside. “If this vow you made is to define our lives, if it has already destroyed what we could have had then don’t I at least deserve to understand why?”

His gaze snapped back to yours, a flicker of frustration crossing his features. “You do not need to understand, Thea. You only need to trust me. Trust that it is for the better that you are not with child.”

Your breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, you stood frozen, searching his face for answers he clearly wasn’t ready to give. “Trust?” you echoed bitterly, the word tasting sour on your tongue. “How can I trust a man who does not trust me with the truth?”

His eyes softened, just for a moment, and you thought he might finally let you in, might finally reveal the pain he kept buried so deeply. But then he took a step back, his expression hardening once more.

Ah there it is, the constant cycle of seeing a hint of vulnerability only for him to harden again.

“I cannot,” he said quietly. “Not now. Perhaps not ever.”

With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing down the hallway, leaving you alone with unanswered questions.

But you are not one to give up on this. You're going to find the truth no matter what it takes.

The late duke’s office was cold and quiet, a ghost of the man who once inhabited it. Dust blanketed the furniture, white sheets thrown haphazardly over the grand desk and chairs, muting their presence. You hesitated as you stepped into the space, the air heavy with abandonment. The late Duke Hastings might have been gone for years, but the scars he left on Sebastian were still raw, still fresh, and you couldn’t help but feel that the answers you sought were buried here.

Pulling the sheet off the desk, you coughed as the dust clouded the air. You rummaged through the drawers, finding nothing but old quills, dried ink pots, and a few blank sheets of parchment. Frustration began to gnaw at you until you opened the bottom drawer.

Inside, you found something that took your breath away.

A stack of letters, bundled tightly with a frayed ribbon, lay untouched. The envelopes were yellowed with age, the Duke’s seal unbroken on each one. Your hands trembled as you untied the ribbon, curiosity outweighing hesitation. Carefully, you opened the first letter, the ink smudged in places but legible.

"Father, today I recited my lessons perfectly, without stumbling. Lady Danbury says I am improving. I hope you are proud of me. Please come home soon."

The letter was short, heartbreakingly simple, and heavy with yearning. You opened another.

"Father, I practiced for hours today, just as you told me. My tutor says I am doing well. When can I see you again?"

And another.

"Father, I said a full sentence today without stuttering. It was hard, but I did it. Are you proud of me? Will you write back?"

Tears pricked your eyes as you went through letter after letter, each one filled with hope, progress, and desperate longing for approval that never came. The final one you opened was the most poignant.

"Father, I will not trouble you with letters anymore. I will do as you wish and make you proud in silence. But I will still hope. I will always hope."

Your heart shattered. These letters were the voice of a child begging for love, a child who had been cast aside for not meeting impossible expectations.

You could only imagine your husband as a child, longing and begging for his father's attention and love only to be ignored and have his efforts not recognized.

Oh the thought made your heart ache so much you feel physically sick, you cannot bare the thought of it. It all makes sense now.

The sound of footsteps startled you, and you turned quickly, clutching the stack of letters against your chest. Lady Danbury stood in the doorway, her expression unreadable but her sharp gaze softened by understanding.

“Your Grace,” she greeted. You quickly placed the letters on the desk, brushing away the tears you hadn’t realized had spilled. “Lady Danbury.”

Her eyes flickered to the letters. “Did you forget we were to come and help with preparations for your ball? Your Mama is waiting in the parlor.” You nodded, your voice shaky. “I shall be there momentarily.”

But as she turned to leave, you called after her. “Lady Danbury,” you said hesitantly, gesturing toward the letters. “Did you know about these? The ones the Duke seems to have written to his father as a boy?”

She paused, then gave a small nod. “I did. And now, apparently, so do you.” You swallowed hard, glancing back at the letters. “I had no idea that Sebastian had trouble speaking as a child.”

Lady Danbury’s expression softened, though there was still a sharpness to her tone. “He worked very hard to eliminate that difficulty. He was so very proud. It is why he wrote those letters in the first place.”

“To keep his father informed of his progress,” you murmured, shaking your head. “The late Duke never even deigned to read them. How could... What kind of father—”

Lady Danbury’s tone turned steely. “One that demands perfection in his son. And when that was not achieved… Well, I shall leave it to you to imagine.” Your throat tightened with anger and sadness. “You helped him overcome his impediment,” you said softly.

She gave a small smile, her head tilting as though recalling those years. “I merely showed him what he was capable of all along. And if he needed some encouragement, a push from time to time, that was something I was happy to provide. But, at the end of the day, the Duke’s triumph was his and his alone. It had to be.”

You looked down at the letters again, your emotions were a mix of sadness for your husband, and hatred for his father. You hadn’t fully understood until now.

The first dance of the ball to honor the marriage of the Duke and Duchess had been perfect.

But as the second song began, the heavens opened, and a sudden downpour brought the evening to an abrupt end.

Guests scrambled for shelter, their gowns and suits quickly soaking through as the rain poured relentlessly.

You stood at the center of it all with Sebastian, watching everything unfold as people hurriedly retreated to their carriages.

Soon, it was just the two of you, soaked to the bone under the unrelenting rain.

“I am so sorry,” Sebastian said suddenly, his voice heavy with regret.

You turned to him, rain dripping from your hair and lashes, giving him a puzzled smile. “For what? Even a Duke cannot control the weather.”

“I know,” he sighed, his expression strained. “But I know this is not what you had envisioned for the evening.”

You paused, the rain mingling with the flush on your cheeks. “Certainly not.”

“And for that, I apologize—”

“It is better,” you interrupted gently, your voice soft yet firm.

Sebastian froze, his brow furrowing as he studied you, confusion flickering in his eyes.

You stepped closer, your heart racing as your trembling hands reached for his. Your voice wavered, but you held his gaze. “I know why you made that vow to your father. I found the letters you wrote to him as a child, and I read them.”

Sebastian stiffened, his body tense under your touch, but you refused to let him pull away.

“Just because it’s not perfect,” you continued, your voice breaking with emotion, “does not make it any less worthy of love.”

Sebastian’s breath hitched, his eyes wide with surprise, pain, and something you couldn’t quite place.

“Your father made you believe otherwise,” you said despite the tears mixing with the rain on your cheeks. “He made you believe that you needed to be without fault to be loved, but he was wrong. If you need any proof of the matter, then look just here.”

You released one of his hands and pressed your palm lightly to his chest, right over his heart.

“I am tired of pretending,” you admitted. “And I cannot continue acting as if I do not love you. Because I do”

“I love all of you. Even the parts you believe are too dark and too shameful. Every scar. Every flaw. Every imperfection. I love you.”

Sebastian’s face twisted with a mix of emotions, his mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came out. He cannot form a single sentence.

“You may think you are too damaged and too broken to ever allow yourself to be happy, but you can choose differently, Seb. You can choose to love me as much as I love you. That choice is not up to anyone else. It can only be up to you.”

The rain fell harder, soaking both of you, but you didn’t care. You smiled up at him, your heart laid bare to him.

Sebastian’s gaze searched yours, his walls crumbling with every word you spoke.

Slowly, he reached out, brushing a strand of wet hair from your face, his hand lingering on your cheek. His touch was warm despite the cold rain, and his lips parted as he whispered, “Dorothea…”

Your smile widened, tears streaming down your face, indistinguishable from the rain. “It’s up to you,” you repeated softly, your voice trembling with hope.

He leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. Though he didn’t speak further, the way he held you close said more than words ever could.

He stared into your eyes with happiness, love, and… lust.

His thrusts grew increasingly messy, each one harder and deeper but lacking the rhythm they once had.

His groans turned into desperate whimpers, his forehead pressing against yours as he fought to chase his high.

His breath was hot and ragged against your skin, his body trembling as his need completely consumed him.

You whimpered beneath him, your body still sensitive and overstimulated from your own orgasm, every thrust sending jolts of sensation that had your nails digging into his shoulders. “It’s too much,” you gasped, your voice trembling.

He panted, his hips snapping into yours with a bruising grip on your waist. “Just a little bit more, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained and desperate. “You can do that for me, right? Just hold on for me.”

The sound of his voice, thick with need, made you shudder even as your body ached from the intensity.

He buried himself in you again and again, his pace erratic and unrelenting as his grip tightened on your hips, sure to leave marks, “I’m close… f-fuck gonna give you that baby you so wanted.”

Then you felt it—his cock twitching uncontrollably inside you, his breath hitching as he stilled for a brief moment before delivering one last, harsh thrust that sent the headboard slamming against the wall with a loud crash.

His hips pressed flush against yours as his body tensed, a guttural moan tearing from his throat. “Shit take it, take it all. Milk my cock out, just like that.” He groaned, his voice thick with pleasure as he threw his head back, eyes closed and lips parted, lost in the sensation.

You gasped at the feeling of him pulsing inside you, his release coming in hot, thick waves that filled you completely. His body shuddered against yours with each rope of his release, his grip digging into your skin as he rode out his high.

You felt it inside you, drowning your walls in his warm seed. He finally came inside you, and the feeling is incomparable. It made you blush and glow like no other.

He collapsed onto you gently, his weight comforting rather than overwhelming as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“I love you,” he murmured breathlessly, his lips brushing over your damp skin. “I love you so much.”

If there is to ever be a grander finish to a season than the one provided by the Duke and Duchess of Hastings this year, this author will need to feast upon her own words. For it was this couple's memorable affair that brought another scandalous London season to a close. As many now leave the city behind for greener pastures, some endings seem more happy than others.

The carriage came to a halt in front of the Bridgerton House, its familiar architecture as comforting as ever. It had been two years since you last visited, but the sight of your childhood home felt like stepping back into a world that had remained unchanged.

Sebastian stepped out first, holding little Amelia in his arms. The one-year-old giggled, tugging at the collar of her father's coat as he grinned down at her. Turning back, he extended a hand to help you down, his other hand instinctively resting on your arm to steady you.

Your pregnancy was beginning to show, the rounded swell of your stomach an obvious visible sign of another life growing within. As you stepped onto the stone pathway, the doors of the estate opened wide, and your mother, Violet, appeared, her face lighting up with joy.

“My darling!” Violet exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace you. Her arms wrapped around you carefully, mindful of your condition. “It’s been far too long.”

You smiled warmly, leaning into her embrace. “It’s good to be back, Mama.”

Amelia squirmed in Sebastian’s arms, her tiny hands reaching out to Violet. With a laugh, Violet took the child into her arms, cooing and pressing kisses to her rosy cheeks.

Behind her, your siblings began to spill out of the house one by one. Atticus, followed by Benjamin and Caleb, both of whom greeted you with teasing grins. Elisa, Giovann, and Heather trailed behind, their excitement evident as they called out.

Atticus stepped forward, “Welcome home, sister,” he said, his voice warm. His gaze flickered to your rounded belly, and a small smile tugged at his lips. “I see congratulations are in order again.”

You laughed softly, resting a hand on your stomach. “Thank you, Atticus. And how have you been? Still busy avoiding the marriage mart?”

For the first time, he hesitated, his expression softening. “Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought. I believe it’s time for me to settle down.”

Your brows lifted in surprise, a delighted smile breaking across your face. “Truly? That’s wonderful news!”

Atticus nodded, his composure unshaken. “I plan to participate in this upcoming season. It’s time I find a wife and start a family of my own.”

“I’m so proud of you,” you said sincerely, reaching out to squeeze his arm. “I’m sure you’ll find someone perfect.”

“And I’m proud of you as well,” he replied, his tone gentle. “You’ve always been strong, but seeing you now, with a family of your own,” he paused, observing you with a smile and proud eyes, “It suits you, sister.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and before you could respond, Amelia’s squeals of laughter filled the air. Turning, you saw Sebastian spinning her gently in his arms, her giggles echoing across the front lawn.

Atticus followed your gaze, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He seems to adore her.”

“He does,” you said softly, watching your husband with a fondness that could not be contained. “And she adores him.”

“Congratulations, sister,” Caleb stepped into the conversation with a smile that you mirrored, “Thank you. And what of you, Caleb? What are your plans?”

Caleb's smile only widened as he informs you of a great news, “I am to leave London in a few days to explore and travel Greece.”

“Oh that is amazing! You better keep writing to us when you get there,” you exclaimed and hugged your brother.

The rest of your siblings crowded around you, showering you with hugs, questions, and congratulations.

Dear Readers,

My story was not without its trials. Some would say my husband and I weathered storms that would have capsized even the strongest of unions. There were moments of doubt, of tears shed in the dark, and of truths we were unprepared to face. Yet, through every challenge we faced, one constantly remained with us: love.

We now have been blessed with five lovely children that we so adore. Amelia, Bernadeth, Caroline, David, and our newborn, Eros. They are the final pieces of our puzzle, completing a family that, against all odds, found its happily ever after.

Looking back, it feels almost surreal to think of the hardships we endured. All the secrets, the misunderstandings, and the moments of despair. Yet, those very challenges are what forged the unbreakable bond we now share.

To any who may doubt the power of love and perseverance, let this be a testament: happiness is not something handed to you, but something earned through faith, effort, and a willingness to embrace imperfection.

As I pen these final words, I am reminded of how far we have come. From the innocence of our beginnings to the trials that tested our resolve, we have emerged stronger and wiser.

Anyhow, I shall get going, the house is a mess with my husband joining in on the chaos in the drawing room instead of making the children behave. And I can hear our little Eros starting to cry and being fuzzy once again in his nursery room. It is time for me to feed him.

But may this tale inspire you to face your own challenges with courage and hope. After all, dear reader, love is definitely worth every battle.

—From Dorothea, Duchess of Hastings, to you.

[polinsated]

colin, baby.. read the room

[leejungjaes]

i can't fucking cope with colin being like "no one blackmails my wife!" and then returning hours later like "so....i made everything worse...she now wants £20,000 and penelope to restore her reputation. lol my bad!"

[sugaldean]

Let Charlotte legalise gay marriage in one of the seasons to come.

She ended racism with her love for the king surely she can end homophobia as well

[wikitpowers]

kitty bridgerton au in which johnny tries to force kit into marriage with livia blackthorn but instead the only person kit has eyes for is her quiet, gorgeous brother, tiberius blackthorn…. i need it now

oh and livvy would totally try to set them up

[maidenrevenge]

Hermione’s brow pinched in confusion as she watched woman after woman apparently reject Lord Malfoy’s attempts to speak with them. Witches who she knew were seeking a titled husband and even those who were married continually blocked his opening remarks or even gave him the cut direct. But… why? Was his reputation so ruined by his association with the wrong side of the war? She would have thought that his title and wealth would have more than made up for that within the eyes of society.

She paused, her frantic pacing to dab her brow with the back of her glove, starting when she realized the man whom she had been watching was heading directly towards her, his intentions obvious. Flicking her fan open a bit too forcefully, it skidded across the polished parquet flooring, landing directly at the approaching lord’s feet.

Lord Malfoy let out a warm laugh as he picked it up. Funny, Hermione had never thought anything about Malfoy could be warm. He was the antitheses; cold, aloof, and distant.

“Miss Granger,” he said with a polite bow before depositing the fan back into her hand magnanimously. The brush of his fingers across her gloved hand lingered long after the warmth of his touch was gone.

Read the rest here

[bellessimaa]

No but hear me out, Kanthony in India could be quite the story.

Anthony Bridgerton in a kurta! Him seeing Kate in a saree or lehenga because lets face it, the man will lose whatever braincells he had left and simply disintegrate.

The only problem with the writers trying to send Kanthony away to India is the timing of it. Edwina is already married and Kate is with child. After the trauma of Hyacinth’s birth, nothing on earth can convince me that Anthony Bridgerton would willingly let his wife take a hazardous six month journey back to India. Tha just doesn’t make sense.

Another thing that does not make sense woth the timeline is that, if Edwina made a match in India, it must have been while Kate and Anthony were on their honeymoon and I’m sorry but how on earth do you expect me to believe that Kate would miss her little sister’s wedding?

It is all tempting me to write again, something like a fix it where Kate and Anthony embark on a journey to India, because Edwina is supposed to get married, maybe to someone from the maharaja’s court because why not?

Kate leaves for India, but with her endearing, besotted husband who worships the grounds she walks on. They come to India and they do all the things that we are craving to see on screen (Anthony in Kurta? Another sneaky, playful haldi ceremony in the privacy of their rooms? Another mehendi ceremony because ofcourse Kate will have Anthony’s name sneakily written on her hands in hindi? Vexing one another? Potentially some old suitors of Kate, just to make Anthony sweat? Her taking him to all the spots of her childhood, just the way he did in Aubrey hall? Babymaking? Recieving the happy news firsthand?)

Anyway this list will never end. I dont know if we would get a spin off or not, but I might just get around to writing this.

[winters-rose-daughterofcain]

I've been trying to phrase things eloquently and I really can't so here you go. Part two really felt like it was trying have its cake and eat it as well in a lot of ways, and it really didn't work.

You give Cressida a whole redemption arc and friendship and put her in an impossible situation and humanise and make you sympathise with her, then want me to hate her again?

You show how Pen uses LW as a coping mechanism and how it's not good for her or those around her and not have her drop it?

You want LW revealed to the ton but no real consequences?

You double down on how Pens family treat her only to have them all come together and be forgiven at the end?

You sideline Colin in his own damn season and butcher Penelope so badly I almost wanted less of her as well?

You can't have everything. Not in such a short time span at least, and it really suffer from it. If you wanted to give Cressida more depth and expend on her role why was she tossed away like nothing at the end? Why did Eloise abandon her? Why was she treated as awful in part two after being put in an actual horror show of a situation? I know they needed the blackmail plot but you can't just give her depth, make her the antagonist and then drop her storyline in the drain that's not how that works. That's not complexity that's laziness, and laziness they created mind you.

They didn't have to write Cressida the way they did this season, if they wanted to make it easy they could have had her marry off screen between seasons to a rich man, they could have had Eloise befriending her be a mistake and had a different arc there, they could have had her LW claim be for any number of reasons, and her blackmail because she still has it out for Penelope. They added this to the story, and as much as I was sceptical at first (I have seen far too many botched bully redemptions) I was glad they did it aded a lot of depth and character interaction, it created some interesting parallels between Cressida and Penelope and seeing Eloise in a different, less intimate friendship with someone who, ironically, is a lot more open with her was interesting. Incomplete, but interesting. It was good, or it could have been. But you can't just turn like that and have it still work. You can't just have Eloise abandon her and have it treated as the right thing to do. You can't leave her with that ending and consider it a happy one. You can't have your cake and eat it too. You didn't create a complex antagonist, you created a scared lost girl who was cruel because she was taught to be and you left her to burn.

You could have had Penelope and Cressida talk to each other, could have explored the ways the mirror and the ways they differ. You could have had Penelope struggle, but untimely empathise with Cressida and help her out, she could have forgiven her for her years of torment because she of all people understands why she did it. You could have had her forgiveness mirror Colin and Eloise forgiving her for LW. You could have looked at how Cressida's openness helped her friendship with Eloise and how Penelope might start to incorporate it. About how by nature of Cressida's openness Eloise is learning to see other perspectives and listen more even if she still has work. You could have done so much with female friendship and camaraderie and empathy and you just... didn't.

The Lady Whistledown this season was just... I think I have a thesis which is most of my thoughts on Polin.

Whistledown was meant to be the subplot to the Polin storyline, not the other way around.

Putting aside my own wishes to have her end Whistledown for her character and for her and Colins relationship, and her love of Colin, her continuing it isn't unexpected I was afraid of this and thought it might happen even if it's lazy. If that was it and if it was handled better I think I could begrudgingly live with it. But it's not. Not only was it handled so so poorly it was the whole second part and for what? Part one was Polin. Part two was Lady Whistledown drama with some cute Polin moments sprinkled in-between with some mandatory angst. Tell me the resolution to Colins arc now. Quickly. You can't he didn't have one, we barley even saw him through Episode seven and eight. There is so much romance in your purpose being the person you love, IF and only IF, it's reciprocal. Penelope literally says in season two, when she has been Whistledown for over a bloody year that she hasn't found her purpose yet. They were meant to find each other. To both have their writing as their passion and creativity and fulfilment, not Whistledown, but her manuscripts, his stories from around the word their joint and secret words. But their centre, their purpose, their guiding light was always meant to be each other. It's what kept Penelope sitting at that window, it's what draw Colin to her at every ball. They had all the potential and set up to be the most beautiful, genuine, heartfelt relationship. But no.

Colin deserved to be angry. The woman he loves has lied, has hurt him, has his from him after all the times he was venerable with her and so, so much more. They deserved to argue. Penelope deserved to be more upset over this than crying in the moment and walking past him later. That's the man she loves, who she thinks hates her, who she know if he did hate her she would deserve it and she wouldn't blame him for a second. They deserved time and space and Colin deserved explanations and apologies. They deserved a later, happier wedding, they both deserved to have their feelings heard and said and listened too. Is that not the core of their relationship? Listening to and seeing each other? Would that not lay the groundwork for some really good well earned conflict and a really rewording resolution? The groundwork was all there that's what's killing me. The set up was all there for something so good which is why I was excited. I know screen time is limited, I know there is only so many emotional conversations you can have on screen, but Bridgerton primarily just people talking on conversations, when it's there bloody season surely they can space out the conversations that need to happen in a way that works with pacing. And to be honest, the screen time defence only works when the screen time that they did have was allocated well. And I'm not taking subplots. Even if I think a few could have been trimmed, the screen time Polin did get was just used so so badly. Colin got dust and that didn't even feel like Penelope had the time, just a mouth piece for the writers.

Rapid fire stuff because I need to expand on the above in more detail later lol.

The acting was flawless give everyone on that set their flowers.

I really like the Mondrich's and seem to be the only one who likes seeing them lol, their sweet and always a good time they just need a better storyline, or you know, one that actually has a resolution.

Not what I would have done for Benedict and I still want to see him look at art again but let's hope season 4 is better lol.

Don't like the way Penelope's family stuff was done, specifically Portia but it is what I thought would happen. Disappointed but not surprised. I'm biased tho so I won't speak on it too much. I lose too much objectivity.

Hate hate hate the baby thing tho, it was fine as a subplot with her sisters but her having the boy was predictable and also dear god the girls nineteen for fucks sake. No. Hated that.

Francesca the absolute love of my life. I adore her and John, I liked the conflicted with Violet, loved everything about her storyline this season she was perfect, my favourite part honestly lol. Also Michaela Stirling get behind me NOW. Sapphic Bridgerton fans truly are the bravest soldiers cause istg. Also I don't trust this fandom with any actor or actresses period but especially not a Black actress who's "ruining" your favourite storyline. So I will be greatly enjoying everything I see of all three of them Francesca John and Michaela, while watching with a sharp eye for any bullshit.

Kate, also the love of my life it was so lovely to have her back even if just for a bit. Wish they did more with Anthony especially him and Colin tho, but again, wasn't expecting much more. I do wish they would write them out with a bit more subtly tho it's getting almost funny how obvious it is.

The Violet, Marcus, Lady Danbury plot I didn't actually mind. Could have been trimmed a bit but it was good seeing the adults in more depth, I haven't watched queen Charlotte tho so I kinda feel like I missed some things.

Overall, I liked certain parts of this season I really did, especially if I fully ignore the context, and I'm happy for everyone who enjoyed it truly, but it was have an entirely different ending in my head. I'll definitely write about at some point but who knows if anyone wants to see that lol.

[lapelduide]

SAY IT LOUDER NICOLAA

[leejungjaes]

them: you ok?

me: no i've not listened to colin's love confession since the 13th because it makes me cry but i thought id test myself and listen again and i started to sob like a baby like wtf why is it so good the fucking basking in your light smooth bastard i hate this show so much

them: really?

me: no

[alphabetboyluvr]

dance with the devil | jjk

REQUEST | jktaee3 on wp

VIBES | angst, royalty - bridgerton vibes, childhood friends to enemies to ?luvrs?

SOUNDTRACK | die for you - joji

HOLLY'S NOTE | (originally posted april 2023) so fun facts, i've never watched bridgerton. i actually put it on in the background as i was writing, which is where the lil line about being diamond comes from. i also do fuck all world-building in this, so just... use your imagination lol. i have no idea if this is like... correct? i dont read nor write period pieces and haven't done since school so.... go easy on me hahaha <33

also!! went for jeongguk instead of jungkook. feels more dramatic? time appropriate?? idk! mix of eng and Korean inspo for titles / locations!!

WORD COUNT | 2.5k

There are easily a hundred pairs of eyes on you as you walk into the ballroom. Maybe more. The room is grand, gilded in gold—grotesque in its display of wealth, but nothing new to you. You've been in a dozen rooms like this within the last month alone. More money than taste—but you can't buy class.

Despite the influx of unwelcome stares, there's just one you can actually feel. It comes from a pair of deep brown eyes in the corner of the room; a glass of red in one hand, the gloved fingers of your least favourite cousin in the other.

Dark and brooding, Jeon Jeongguk has no right to look at you in the way that he does. Duke of Busan, womaniser of more counties than you care to imagine, he's troubled wrapped up in a waistcoat and ruby-encrusted signet rings.

But you've always liked trouble. Shame.

The grip that Lord Min of Daegu has on your hand tightens. He can notice it too; Jeongguk's stare. Your satin gloves are silky against Lord Min's skin, and he must admit he enjoys being the focus of Jeon Jeongguk's envy. He thinks it's about time that the over-egotistical tyrant of hearts had his comeuppance.

"Remember," Lord Min whispers quietly to you as the crowd watches on. He's a trusted confidant; not suited for marriage. At least not with you. It's the county's worst-kept secret that he retires to the boudoir with Master Park each and every evening. No one at the ball is under any illusion that he is a suitor of yours. "You're a diamond in a mine of sapphires."

"Oh, but sapphires are far prettier than diamonds," you pout, voice dulcet as you scan the room. It's approaching your birthday, and time is running out. A suitor needs to be found, and found promptly. Too much time squandered on frivolous pursuits during your youth had prevented such a search.

It's something you're reminded of whenever your eyes catch Jeongguk's. Endless days spent under beating midsummer sunshine; burnt skin and freckled cheeks. Youth well-spent. Youth wasted.

"So? It matters not." Lord Min smiles. "Diamonds are far stronger. Sharper. And still just as exquisite as sapphires. Do not sell yourself short."

And by that, you know exactly what he implies: steer clear of the Duke of Busan.

It would be a fruitless endeavour. No good would come from it.

Years of your childhood had been spent in a whimsical land with him, full of castles and fairies, and witches and warlocks. Potions had been made in his garden using his mother's best perfumes and items stolen from the pantry; make-believe scenarios came to life in the forest between your family's estates.

Summers had been frittered away together by the sea; Winterton Manor the backdrop of your dreams, your hopes, your fears.

But the Duke did as Dukes so often do; embroiled himself in debauchery and distasteful pleasures.

You had watched on, bemused for the most part, and also intrigued by what compelled him.

Had you not been enough?

Grapevines whisper, and Jeongguk had spent far too much time frolicking in vineyards. Drunk on the delights of his youth, he'd forgotten that there would be life beyond the present.

It's a price he pays, now. A debt he hadn't realised he had racked up.

One that he's reminded of every single time you glance his way. He cannot afford a diamond.

Somehow, however, he can seem to afford the audacity of approaching you in the powder room towards the end of the evening.

You've had lacklustre dances with half a dozen bachelors, and they've all been uninspiring. Only two of them managed to make it through the waltz without stepping on your toes.

Time is running out.

And Jeongguk?

He's running in circles trying to get you out of his head.

Seems apt that he'd bump into you at some point.

Not like he sought you out. Not at all.

Not like he handed the maids by the staircase a few silver coins to divert other partygoers elsewhere, either. He wouldn't dream of doing such a thing.

The Duke of Busan knows you well.

Knows that it takes all of your might to not glance in his direction as he makes his presence known.

"Really?" He asks with a cocked brow and arrogant smirk, leaning against the doorframe. You're preening at your hair. Making sure your pins remain in place. "That's what you chose to wear? To a ball of this grandeur?"

You're wearing white. It's tight against your chest. Too tight. Pleated beneath the satin ribbon under your bust, encrusted with sequins and finished with lace. It's beautiful. Matches the white satin gloves that finish just above the crease of your elbow. You carry yourself with elegance.

In fact, your posture is so well-poised that Jeongguk is the only attendee of the ball who has noticed the split in your skirt. When stood, it is hidden by the pleats. When dancing, it is camouflaged by the lace. When you lift your skirt to meander up the stairs? He becomes reacquainted with the curve of your ankle. The split is no larger than the length of a letter inviting him to tea, but it feels overwhelmingly large.

As far as the Duke is concerned, you may as well be wearing lingerie.

You smooth the skirt of your dress and consider rearranging your tits just to give him something to stare at. You decide against it. Think he would enjoy it far too much.

"Oh precisely," you respond with an equally arrogant grin, before turning to face him. You're haughty in the way you position your body, almost as if you're trying to entice him. "Haven't you heard? I've a suitor to find."

He scoffs. "And you think dressing like a whore is going to find you one of any value?"

A whore.

Very rich of him, you think, as if the entire party doesn't know what he gets up to in the dark. And the daylight. And just about any time of the day, actually.

What they really don't know?

That he used to get up to it with you.

"Absolutely not," you smile. Your father might want you married off, but there's no suitor here for you. Not tonight. If you have to bring a man home, it unquestionably has to be one that your father won't approve of. "That's the point—although, now I come to think of it—this dress did seem to find you, didn't it, Jeongguk?"

He stays quiet for a moment. He doesn't enjoy you being correct. It's part of the reason you bicker so much. You're always correct.

"White really isn't your colour," he tells you with an ambivalent shrug. "We both know that."

Innocence. Purity. Virginity.

For once, The Duke is correct. It really isn't your colour.

Humorous, how he's dressed head to toe in black. Perhaps you should be, too.

"And green isn't yours," you tease, walking towards him. "Yet you seemed to be full of it when I entered the ballroom with the Lord of Daegu."

He remains silent. Can sense you have more to declare.

"Moreover," you hum, proving him right as you pause beside him, "as I'm sure you're well aware, Duke, it's the colour beneath the dress that counts."

"And what is beneath the dress?" Jeongguk husks, not looking over towards you. He doesn't want to let you know how much you affect him, still.

"The same lace that greeted you last summer in the stables of Winterton Manor."

Red. Fuck.

His favourite.

"Tell me, Duke," you tease. He deserves it, you think. "Does the Viscount of Gwangju like red?"

"Hoseok?" Jeongguk scoffs, addressing him by name, not title. The lack of respect shown by the young Duke is asinine, truly. A show of his immaturity. "Despises it."

Truthfully, he has no idea of Viscount of Gwangju's preferences.

"Good," you taunt. "I'm enthralled by the prospect of a challenge."

Jeongguk will be damned if you end up betrothed to the Viscount of fucking Gwangju.

"He concedes easily," he says. This is another lie. He just doesn't want to give you any further ideas. "Do not expect a challenge. Anticipate disappointment."

"Oh, but Duke," you laugh and it's so exquisite that he thinks he might just melt. "Disappointment has always been your forte, has it not?"

During the balls of recent years, where Jeongguk would only ever offer his hand to other women, and never you? Yes. Disappointing.

In the smoky parlours, where he laughs and jokes with the other gentlemen, about which debutantes are simply destined to become spinsters? Oh, incredibly disappointing.

In the drawing room adjacent to his bedroom, while you had waited beneath his sheets for his return, as he was agreeing to court your cousin instead of you? Perhaps the most disappointing he'd ever been.

It's been a year—the worst of your life.

"You've made your bed, Duke. Sleep in it."

"I've tried," he says sternly. He doesn't want to joke any more. Doesn't want to flirt. "I cannot bear to sleep in it without you."

You shake your head. Such a devil.

"You seem well rested enough."

"It's a facade."

And you find yourself quite annoyed; frustrated by his apparent disdain for a life he chose. A destiny brought upon you both by his inability to be discreet—though you're unaware of this caveat.

You see, everyone does know of his reputation, but he always kept your pursuits of passion hidden. Private. To the world, you're pristine.

"What do you require, Duke? My pity?"

He knows he doesn't deserve it.

"I require nothing of you."

"Then seek me out no longer. Do not pursue what you cannot commandeer, Jeongguk."

It's a lesson he would have done well to learn many moons ago; one remembered by you even if it was lost on him.

And yet, at quarter past twelve, as he loosens the black satin bow of his collar in his bedroom, Jeongguk pauses.

A knock has just sounded at his door. His chambermaid, he assumes, just checking on the fire—or maybe Master Park's chambermaid, instead (though Jeongguk's business with Master Park's staff isn't ever entirely 'business').

Regretfully, he thinks it could be Lord Kim Namjoon of Ilsan, here to reprimand him for his manners. His mentor in all fashions, Namjoon is always the first to discipline the young Duke following his nights of debauchery—though all things considered, he feels he's been quite well-behaved tonight.

He sighs as he rests a palm flat against his bedpost, and bellows, "Enter."

A sternness settles on his brows, hard and uncompromising, as he turns to the door. There's a dishevelled nature to his hair, undone and falling slightly over his dark eyes. His loosened collar and unbuttoned waistcoat only aid to make him look even more rugged.

He's marred in vulnerability, though. His pretty pink lips rest ajar, as his eyes fall on the intruder of his thoughts.

Amusing, you think, how the bedroom is where he domineers best, and yet is always where he seems the most unfortified.

Perhaps he hadn't been lying about his facade.

Perhaps he really doesn't sleep well without you.

Perhaps—just perhaps—you might indulge him one last time.

"Tell me, Duke"— You walk into his room and close the door behind you, eyes not leaving his —"Do any of them compare?"

He watches you strut past him and crawl on the luxe quilt on his bed. Oh, how you've missed it.

"Any of who?"

"The maids," you shrug. You aren't naive. You know exactly what he does, and who he does it with. "Master Park's maids? Surely Lord Kim's, too. And the working girls. The debutantes—need I go on?"

"No," he says, watching as you loosen your heels and kick them to the floor. They land with a thud. He knows the noise will have echoed throughout the house. "You needn't."

The truth of the matter is that his escapades are well-known amongst high society. He has a reputation, which is why his courtship with your cousin was forced upon him.

You're surely too good for him, but he's of too much value to remain without an heir.

A marriage is needed for him before the end of the year. His father says so.

Contrarily, your father would never agree to the Duke of Busan proclaiming you as his Dutchess.

Jeongguk knows this, for he's already asked.

Of course he has.

Last spring. Kept his mother's ring in his pocket just in case. A proposal was planned for early summer, before your trip to Paris.

He thought perhaps he would go with you—a pre-honeymoon, maybe—but your father had refused his request for your hand, and who was Jeongguk to go against the will of the man who had raised you?

Jeongguk won't burden you with this knowledge. Your life will be far more fruitful if you remain silently furious with him for never giving you what you deserved.

"And do they?" You enquire once more. unaware of his anguish. "Do they compare?"

Jeongguk leans down to his boots. Unties his laces and stands on his heels to remove them. He kicks them away. Is just as undressed as you are. Equal.

"Do you think my bed would be empty right now if they did?"

"It isn't empty," you tease.

"No," he acknowledges. "But it has been. It's been empty for months."

"Months?"

You don't believe him.

"I've had an empty bed since I returned from Winterton last summer," he declares.

"Though your hands have been full?" You sneer, painfully reminded of the way he'd held the hand of another woman in the ballroom that evening. You've had to bear witness to it on multiple occasions by now. It never gets any easier. Your fucking cousin, of all people.

"Pay no mind to the fact my hands have not been empty in ballrooms," he speaks quietly, shame washing over his features. Yes, it would be far more desirable if you were to be furious with him, but he wants to alleviate the hurt that you are quite clearly encumbered with. "As I said, it's a facade."

"Why? What are you hiding, Duke?"

As if you don't know—he laments—that I'm utterly besotted with you.

He glances away from you to watch the fire as it crackles in his hearth. He wonders if it would be less painful to tear his heart from his chest and roast it in the flames, than it is to be in love with you.

"I hide nothing from you," he says with a broad smile as he turns to face you once more. Jeongguk is adept at falsifying his discretions. "But I am without at a dance."

You grin, now. "A dance?"

"I'd love one," he smirks as he holds out his hand. He twists your words almost as elegantly as he used to twist you around on empty ballroom floors; just two of you after the parties had died down and the revellers had hung up their dancing shoes.

He strides to the side of the bed. Satisfaction sinks into his features when your gloved hand slips into his palm. He pulls you up. Pulls you closer. Rests a hand upon your waist and positions himself perfectly for you. He was raised a gentleman after all, even if grew up to be a rogue.

"May I have this dance?" He says quietly, only needing to whisper.

You're so close you probably count the beat of his heart.

One, two.

Does anyone dance better than I do?

Three, four.

Do you lose your breath when someone else draws you closer?

Five, six.

I could dance with you forever.

Seven, eight.

Would that be agreeable?

Nine, ten.

As if you can read his thoughts, you just nod.

"You may."

[thelesbianluthor]

What's a Kanthony fanfic that you think it's a MUST READ ? Fyi I love me some angst and I prefer to read complete stuff to be on the safe side

I have been reading some lately but I would love some recommendations

[darlingpeasant]

Istg… if I see another “oh I’m so upset Luke and Nicola aren’t together how could they do this to us, how dare they, this is awful�� post I’m gonna throw fucking hands

Shipping characters together is great, amazing, wonderful, etc, etc but real people??? Man it’s just so icky… like… stop?

Don’t get me wrong, the two have great chemistry and obviously care very much for each other but that doesn’t automatically mean oh, they’re dating. Having a strong and meaningful friendship is just as important and it is clear that’s what they have…

They are two of my favourite people, they have amazing energy, they’re chaotic, they’re funny and just very very sweet. But I’m not gonna throw my weight around because Luke has a girlfriend and has ‘betrayed’ Nicola and the fandom??? That is insane behaviour…

And once again, their private lives have NOTHING to do with us, they don’t owe us ANYTHING

[dollypopup]

'penelope is gonna be irresistible' 'penelope is gonna have multiple suitors' 'penelope is gonna be the diamond of S3' ENOUGH!!!! penelope is for us fuckups! the 'alone on friday night' babes! she's for our messy gals! our clumsy weirdos! us disasters! us 'hanging out by the wall because if i go on this dancefloor i'll have a panic attack' bitches!

i wanna see colin show up going 'her swagless looks and cringefail personality has captivated me' or i don't wanna see it at ALL