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It is storming when Queen Charlotte names her Diamond of the First Water in 1815. Ironic, Kate thinks, fists clenched every time a rip of thunder echoes through the ballroom, that anything of “first water” be named in a torrential downpour.
Kate takes a deep, stilling breath and straightens the glittering white lace of her gown layered over gleaming silver silk. Violet had assured her it was of the upmost importance that she dazzle everyone at the Queen’s grandest celebration of the year, so she keeps a serene smile on her face and holds her head high.
“It is far more enjoyable to be in Her Majesty’s presence when one does not have to worry about winning an empty title, is it not, Didi?”
Edwina, beside her, is also dressed in a pearly white gown, but her posture is less rigid and her smile less rehearsed.
“I had no concerns over winning that title last year, Bon,” Kate says snidely.
“And yet you won the most eligible gentleman of the season,” Edwina retorts with a twinkle in her eye. Kate cannot argue that.
Her husband is across the room, conversing with his brothers. Presumably feeling her eyes on him, or perhaps simply because he feels like it, he glances over his shoulder, catching her eye. His lips curl into a small smile, just for her, and her chest warms at the gesture. She’d told him not to hover despite her discomfort from the rain, but Kate will not pretend it isn’t immensely satisfying to know that he is always aware of her, no matter what ballroom or situation.
Anthony Bridgerton is hers.
“None of this is helping my nerves,” Francesca Bridgerton, standing beside Kate while Violet and Lady Danbury scour the room for acceptable suitors who might bring Queen Charlotte’s eye Francesca’s way.
“You are entirely more impressive than I was for my debut,” Daphne says. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“Just remember,” Kate says, “what it is you’re looking for.” Edwina shoots her a sly look.
“And what is it I’m looking for, exactly?” Francesca asks.
“That is completely up to you,” Daphne responds, taking the words out of Kate’s mouth.
As Kate had suspected, her mother and mother-in-law’s exploits bear fruit, and soon both Edwina and Francesca’s dance cards are quite full, leaving Daphne and a very awkward Eloise as her primary companions for the night.
“Lord Barber is deathly afraid of catching ill,” Daphne says to her sister. “If he asks you to dance, simply sneeze and he will flee the premises.” Kate makes a note of that to pass along to her own sister.
Eloise looks at her sister in surprise. “You’re not going to urge me to dance?”
“I now have the means to ensure your independence for as long as you desire it,” Daphne says. “And I know Anthony and Kate are of similar minds.”
Daphne’s eyes drift to Kate, still feeling rather fidgety from the distant sounds of the storm.
“If you need a moment of respite, Kate, I can keep an eye on Miss Edwina,” she offers, reaching a gloved hand out and brushing Kate’s wrist gently. “I can also fetch my brother.”
“You are too kind,” Kate says with a smile. “But I wish to leave a good impression tonight.”
“Even a Viscountess needs some quiet from time to time,” Daphne points out. “You need only ask.”
“I could always start an argument with some gentleman,” Eloise says. “Distract everyone.”
“Why do I sense that might happen regardless of Kate’s need?” Daphne mutters, but her eyes crinkle with the amused smile she sends her sister’s way.
“Thank you,” Kate says. “Both of you. I shall bear it in mind.”
It is then that Anthony makes his way over to them, eyes only on Kate. She revels, then, under the heat of his gaze, in the gratification and liberation of not needing to hide how much she enjoys everything he does from the world any longer. She can wink, can touch, can look however much she desires.
“Ah, the trouble brigade,” Anthony says with a wry smile, nodding at his sisters. “Devising new plots to disrupt Her Majesty’s plans?”
“Francesca has things well in hand,” Daphne says primly. Kate looks to the dance floor, where Francesca is twirling in a country dance with a young gentleman.
Anthony nods, and looks back to Kate. “I have been informed that Her Majesty seeks an audience with us both.”
“Us?” Kate asks in surprise. “Not Edwina?”
“Us,” Anthony confirms. His eyes dart down to her hands, still clenched into fists, then back up to her face in an unspoken question.
“I am ready,” Kate says, steeling herself as she takes Anthony’s arm.
He guides her through the ball in silence, but he holds her close and steady as they weave through the crowd.
“Would you be up for a dance tonight?” he murmurs. “I hear I am an excellent distraction from the rain.”
Kate leans into him. “I might be persuaded,” she replies. “But only because you asked so sweetly.”
Anthony rolls his eyes. “I am not sweet.”
“And nice. The nicest man in London.”
He prickles under the compliments, but Kate knows he secretly adores the way that she sees him, relishes in his newfound ability to express warmth and feel unadulterated joy.
They reach Queen Charlotte, and Kate dips into a deep curtsy as Anthony bows.
“Ah, Viscountess Bridgerton,” Queen Charlotte says. Kate allows herself a satisfied smile at the title. “You are a sight to behold, my dear. Well done.”
“You are too kind, Your Majesty,” Kate replies. “I am most grateful to be here.”
“You have quite the season ahead of you, it seems,” the Queen comments. “Two young ladies on the mart, and your sister, of course.”
“A responsibility I fully embrace, Your Majesty.”
Queen Charlotte’s lips curl, as if in understanding. “Yes, you are certainly the type.” She fans herself. “It is because of this that I wanted to inform you of my nephew’s impending arrival later this season.” She shoots a look Anthony’s way. “You are well-acquainted with Prince Friedrich, Lord Bridgerton, as I recall.”
“Indeed, my Queen,” Anthony responds. “I hold him in the highest regard.”
Queen Charlotte nods, the flattery doing its job. “I thought he and Miss Edwina might make a fine match,” she says. “I wished for you, Lady Bridgerton, to know.”
“I appreciate the news, Your Majesty,” Kate says. “My sister’s heart may guide her as she wishes, but I do so look forward to meeting His Highness.”
The Queen smiles, more openly this time.
“It pleases me to see how well Lord Bridgerton chose his Viscountess,” she says. “I shall follow your progress with great interest.”
“I am honored by your favor, my Queen,” Kate responds with another curtsy as Charlotte moves on to her next guests. Anthony holds her close as he guides her towards the dance floor.
When they are far enough away, Kate exhales, relieved. Not very many people in the world intimidate her. But Queen Charlotte is like Lady Danbury with thrice the power and influence.
“She barely even looked at me,” Anthony jokes, looking quite smug.
“My apologies,” Kate replies with an arched brow.
“No, no,” he insists. “This is excellent. You, my Viscountess, have the favor of the most important woman in the country.” He pauses, and then adds under his breath, “-to most.”
Kate rolls her eyes. “Not that it will keep the gossips from their chattering.”
“Perhaps not,” Anthony allows. “But I have heard that happiness is the best balm to the envy of others.”
“You just want to dance with me,” Kate accuses with a smile.
“And dance we shall,” Anthony proclaims. Another peal of thunder sounds, and Kate grips his hands tightly. “I should think no one would fault you for retiring after a rigorous dance with your besotted husband.”
Of course, Anthony has been scheming a way to get her somewhere quiet where she can work through her nerves from the storm. His kindness is as incessant as his obnoxiousness, it’s half why she fell in love with him in the first place. As she stands across from him with the others couples, she allows him a grateful smile.
He mouths, Always.
Dancing with Anthony is as natural as breathing. Sometimes, Kate still has to remind herself that she is not leading, but Anthony does not so much lead her through the dance as he journeys through the steps with her. A tether forms between them on the dance floor, a link that keeps them always in-step, always on beat.
She feels the envious looks of the women of the ton, the spiteful glares of its men. And she cares not one bit, because they hold no sway, no power over her. She is not alone anymore.
“My private lodgings are closer than Bridgerton House,” Anthony says softly as they step together, then apart. “If you do not wish to be in a carriage for long.”
“Your sisters might need-“
“My mother can handle any urgent conversations,” Anthony reminds her. “And we can meet Fran and Eloise for breakfast.” When they step close to each other, he lowers his voice and murmurs, “If you’re feeling unsettled, I want you to have your peace.”
Kate thinks that as long as Anthony, with his kind eyes and frown lines, is distracting her, she might very well never feel unsettled again.
A clap of thunder sounds, and she flinches, though Anthony keeps her in time with the music.
Completely unsettled, she amends in her mind.
Once they have danced enough to please the curious eyes of the ton, Anthony leads Kate to a dark, secluded hallway. She can see the steady fall of rain and occasional flashes of lightning, but then Anthony gently presses her against a wall and kisses her gently, hands cupping her face tenderly.
“Relax,” he whispers, lips trailing a path from her mouth to her neck.
“You tell me to relax then try to excite me,” Kate murmurs, tilting her head back to give him easier access. “Make up your mind.”
Anthony pulls back and gives her a look. “You snark at me when you feel tense, you know.”
“I snark at you when you vex me.”
“Kate.”
She sighs, resting a hand on his chest. “Oh, fine. Yes, this thunder and rain has me feeling a little less than myself. Are you happy now?”
“I am always happy with you,” Anthony says as if by reflex. When Kate rolls her eyes, he leans in. “What do you need?”
“In an ideal world, I’d just ride home now and drink a glass of wine in our room,” Kate sighs. Anthony raises a brow. “You take issue with me riding in the rain?”
He blinks. “Yes. Was that really a question you had to ask?”
“I would ride slowly,” Kate says haughtily. He does not believe her, she can see it in the furrow of his brow. And he’s right to not believe her. Kate would happily sprint through a storm on horseback in defiance of the storm and in defiance of death itself, just to prove a point. She’s well aware that her ego could very well be the death of her someday.
Anthony knows it too.
“I would like to go home,” Kate says finally. “But I would like to claim victory over the ton by remaining more.”
Anthony’s lips curl up into a smile. “You’re sounding more like yourself already.”
A clap of thunder sounds, as if to spite her. She bites down on her lip, hard, hands clenching.
“Bloody thunder,” she mutters before looking up at her husband. “Come, people will be missing us by now.”
Kate misses the anonymity that came with her lack of prestige last year. She grew adept at slipping through throngs of the rich and lazy largely unseen, especially if Edwina was in the vicinity. Anthony, however, had always seemed to know where she was, eyes seeking her out with ease that should only have come with familiarity.
She appreciates that ability now as Francesca excitedly tells her and Eloise about the men she danced with, Eloise leaning against a column with a bored expression. Edwina is on the floor now.
“Oh, she’s dancing with Lord Kilmartin!” Francesca says brightly. “She promised she would, to discern his character.”
“Oh did she?” Kate asks with a demure smile. Looks like Edwina is taking a page from her book. She knows all about John, the Earl of Kilmartin, of course. A perfectly affable man from a good family.
“He’s wonderful,” Francesca says. “I can’t believe it, what with his cousin’s reputation…”
“Michael Stirling is perfectly charming,” Kate says with an eye roll. “You simply have not met him yet.”
“Is he not considered London’s most infamous rake now that Anthony has given up the title?” Eloise asks. Francesca’s jaw drops, and even Kate cannot stifle a laugh.
“Well, you know what your mother says about reformed rakes,” she says. Eloise snorts.
“I think you and Michael would get along splendidly,” Kate says to Francesca. “He shares your wit. And he talks so much that you would hardly need to put any effort in getting to know him at all.”
Kate can hardly judge Michael for his exploits, she muses, considering who she married.
“How did you get to know the ton so well?” Eloise asks.
“My title has made me many chatty friends,” Kate sniffs. Eloise’s lips curl into a smirk. “I could be the next Whistledown.”
“You would certainly be an improvement over the current one,” Eloise says stiffly. Kate offers her a sympathetic smile before turning back to the dance floor.
She had once resented the posh extravagance of these balls, longed to return to the life she had known in India. But there’s a power she has gained in staying, in earning influence. None of the ton’s whispers or laughs can truly touch her now, not really. Her spirit gained the allyship of the country’s most powerful woman — no one has leverage over her here. Their judgements must now be confined to the shadows. It is them now on the edge of things, not her.
The rain begins to ease, and Kate lets herself relax as Anthony approaches her, taking her arm to lead her about the room.
“I heard from a certain Earl that my sister is an admirable dancer and even more admirable conversationalist. I don’t suppose you have any further information for me?”
“None that I would share as long as that pout is on your face,” Kate replies with a simpering grin. “What do you know about him?”
“I like him,” Anthony admits, looking almost frustrated at the fact. “A little less now, perhaps.”
“Could be worse,” Kate says blithely. “Could be Michael.” Anthony shoots her a simpering look, and she cannot help but go on. “He’s quite handsome. And he’s a known rake, but cares deeply for his family.”
“You’re truly comparing me to him?” Anthony asks, flabbergasted. Kate winks.
“Are you denying the similarities?”
“A question does not answer a question.”
Kate shrugs. “I never promised to answer your question, my lord.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“But it gets you so irritated.”
Anthony purses his lips. “Irritated is not the right word for what I’m feeling about you right now.”
Anthony Bridgerton had thought his life would be simpler after finding a wife. And in many ways, it is. Kate has brought an ease to his existence he never could have found on his own — or even with any other woman, no matter how genteel her manners. But he hadn’t banked on his brothers, who had mocked him relentlessly during his romance with Kate last season, finding new and unique ways to be utter fools.
Benedict is… Benedict. Anthony is positive that he will find his way. But Colin — stupid, romantic, travel-sick Colin, with his grand schemes and desperation for grandeur — is now declaring to Anthony and Benedict both that he is going to help Penelope Featherington find a husband.
The same Penelope Featherington who hasn’t spoken with Eloise in a year.
The same Penelope Featherington who told Kate that she had overheard Colin declare he could never court her.
The same Penelope Featherington who spent the better part of her life utterly in love with Colin, who never thought to notice.
Were it anyone else, Anthony would encourage them to give the poor youngest Featherington daughter all the help they could offer. Penelope has always had a charming face and sweet, gentle manners, but men are cruel. Anthony knows that few bachelors of the ton are truly seeking a kind and supportive wife if she does not also fit their own lazy standards of beauty. Penelope may be one of the more clever and steadfast women of Anthony’s acquaintance, but entering the marriage mart without confidence is very difficult indeed.
Truly, if it were anyone but Colin offering support, Anthony would be jumping for joy.
But alas. It is Colin, and Anthony is horrifically certain that he is going to either foolishly do something to compromise Penelope’s virtue, or even more foolishly fall in love with someone who has moved on from him completely.
“All she needs is a push!” Colin insists. “I swear to you all, I will find Penelope Featherington a good man, and when I am through with Penelope, the entire ton will be half in love with her.”
“It astounds me, Colin, that you think you know Miss Penelope so well, even now,” Anthony says. Benedict is of no help; his face has gone red with laughter. “This plan is madness.”
“Do you doubt my abilities so completely?” Colin asks, aghast.
“Not your abilities,” Benedict chimes in. “But perhaps your sanity.”
“Explain.”
Anthony and Benedict exchange a weary look. Colin blinks.
“Colin,” Anthony says, exasperated. “The girl is in love with you.”
Colin, the dolt, has the audacity the laugh. Anthony could kill him.
“That’s ridiculous,” Colin chuckles. “She has hardly spoken a word to me all year. And I think I would have noticed if she-“
“Well, you haven’t.”
Eloise steps into the drawing room, Kate in tow. Anthony cannot hide the smile that blossoms on his face when he sees his wife, despite his annoyance at his ridiculous brother.
Kate wanders over to stand next to Anthony, pressing a kiss to his cheek in greeting.
Colin glares at Eloise. “You two haven’t spoken in months. Why should I believe you about how Pen feels?”
“Because I know better than you,” Eloise snarks. “And this is not about me and her. It’s about you being so stupid that you’ve convinced yourself she followed you around for years because of what? Platonic affection?”
Colin scoffs, looking to Kate for backup, but she can only grimace.
“I’m afraid I must agree with your brothers and Eloise,” she says apologetically.
Colin groans, throwing his arms in the air. “I cannot win with you people!”
“Perhaps that is why he insists on constant travel,” Eloise mutters.
Anthony wraps an arm around Kate’s waist, pulling her closer. “I am afraid one man of my family must be an utter fool each year,” he murmurs into her ear. “Last year was me, this year it’s Colin.”
“You managed to find a wife in the end,” Kate responds softly, eyes twinkling.
“And you two can stop acting like newlyweds any day now,” Colin snaps, apparently having been waxing poetic the entire time. Benedict snorts.
“Do I detect jealousy, brother?” Anthony asks, glee evident in his tone.
“How will you teach Miss Featherington about the finer points of envy?” Benedict asks. “She has surely mastered hiding it better than you.”
“I am being attacked!” Colin proclaims. “You are all of no help!”
“Because you were such a great help when I was about to get married,” Anthony snorts.
Colin stands straighter. “I was always in support of Kate.” Anthony glances sidelong at his wife, who offers Colin a small smile.
“Just be careful,” she offers. “If feelings are present, they will reveal themselves whether you think you can hide it or not.”
Colin’s expression softens at that. “I appreciate the real advice, Kate.”
“Your brother has a difficult time expressing himself,” Kate says blithely.
“Don’t I know it,” Colin agrees.
“I am standing right here!” Anthony protests, affronted. Kate nudges him admonishingly with her hip, and it does more to spark desire in Anthony than make him regret anything about his behavior. He’s not perfect, after all. “I’m going to do some work, a concept I understand is foreign to you both. Try not to accidentally get engaged while I’m gone?”
“No promises!” Benedict says cheerfully.
Kate follows him as he retreats to the library, humming with amusement.
“Is it too much to wish that ours would be the most complicated love story?” he asks.
Kate chuckles. “I think complicated runs in your family’s veins, my love.”
Anthony thinks of Daphne and Simon, of him and Kate. He imagines Eloise, determined to remain alone, and Francesca, already the apple of an Earl’s eye. He thinks of Benedict’s trail of fizzled romances, and of Colin, blind to his own ignorance.
“I will know no peace until my siblings are married,” he realizes. “I owe my mother a bottle of brandy.”
Kate laughs.
“They’ll find their way, Anthony,” she assures him. “We did, didn’t we?”