Chapter Text
She feels a storm coming even before the sky turns gray.
The scent of the grass and dirt becomes enhanced, the air around her turning electric with the promise of a downpour and lightning that would precede the loud boom – which never fails to chill her down to her very bones – while they're still making their way back to the large Bridgerton mansion.
She knows right then that it will be a long night.
Tossing and turning does nothing to block the sounds of the storming rage outside. The perfume of freshly washed sheets does not help her take her mind off of the musky scent that is sure to be felt outside. And despite it all, incredulously, Edwina sleeps on, unbothered.
Sitting down after realizing she will not be getting any sleep while it’s raining, Kate watches her little sister, wondering for a second how she could ever wake her up without having to explain this unconscious fear both Edwina and Mary believe has left even before Appa passed away.
It indeed has not.
In fact, it might have gotten worse upon being deprived of the comfort her father once provided. Rain reminds Kate her mother died before she could capture an image of her smile and imprint it on one of the many boxes carrying her memories, while storms emphasize the fact that her father is not present to comfort her any longer.
How could she ever admit that to Mary when she’d taken Kate under her wing so kindly? Or Edwina, her little sister, so joyful and innocent, how could she describe the utter terror that storms bring to her without robbing her sister of peace? Edwina would most likely stay awake with her and lose much precious sleep, which then would leave her too tired to speak with gentlemen during the day, therefore ruining any chances of a love match down the road.
No, Kate cannot wake her sister, she does not even know why she entertained such thoughts.
A loud rumble echoes through the chambers and Kate is quick to throw the duvet away from her shivering body and place her feet on solid ground, sitting on the bed while hastily lighting a candle to accompany her on her journey to find a quiet place in this gigantic mansion.
Wandering through several corridors, Kate does her best to sneak past every door, every hallway and stairway, because although she is not doing anything out of the ordinary, she would much rather not have to explain why she is walking around Aubrey Hall in the middle of the night.
She roams the decorated halls, stopping occasionally to stare at big portraits of the Bridgerton family: one with all the brothers, another with all the sisters, and a final one with the Dowager Viscountess and late Viscount Bridgerton sitting on a loveseat staring at one another, affection evident even in the worn out piece of art.
They had been a love match indeed.
A strike of lightning illuminates the walls with white and Kate can’t help the shiver that creeps under her skin, immediately pulling the light shawl she plucked from her wardrobe before leaving the room so she can conserve some of her remaining warmth, continuing her search for some solace.
A house so big and she cannot seem to find any place able to bring her comfort.
Then, when Kate has almost made up her mind that she should just return to her chambers and accept the fact that she will be not sleeping tonight, she walks past an ajar door, which, upon further inspection, seems to be guarding a haven of books and reading materials inside.
Kate takes a final look at her surroundings before pushing the rest of the door open, gasping softly when she catches sight of the sheer size of the library in front of her.
Books fill the stands on the walls from ceiling to floor, a large desk placed in the middle with papers neatly organized on the side and hints of ink splattered around the wood. An unlit candle sits atop one of the corners, the wax still slightly liquid showing Kate someone has been here not too long ago.
It is the scent , however, that causes Kate to unconsciously step foot further into the study, placing her own candle next to the other while she eyes the plethora of books in front of her to choose from. She feels oddly comforted by it, the smell being familiar in a way Kate does not understand.
Deciding it really does not matter as long as it keeps her from thinking about the storm still going strong outside, Kate diligently chooses a book from the shelf furthest from the window and opens it, immediately beginning her reading, her back turned to the light coming from outside.
It helps slightly, thankfully. Kate might not sleep tonight but at least she is not wasting her time helplessly turning in bed.
She’s fully immersed in the story not even ten minutes later.
“Miss Sharma?”
Kate shrieks, the book closing with a loud thud as she turns to the door, immediately locking eyes with none other than him .
“Lord Bridgerton!”
He’s standing on the threshold, not inside but not outside either, and Kate is quick to notice his informality at this hour of the night. He surely was not expecting to see anyone, if the slight unbuttoned white shirt and bare feet are any indication of it.
“I apologize for startling you, I did not mean to do that,” He blinks at her, most likely surprised to see her as well. “I just saw a light while passing by and thought I had left a candle lit.”
Allowing her heart to finally slow down, Kate pulls the shawl closer to her, “No, it is only me.”
“Is everything alright?” He sounds genuinely concerned, and with the warmth of the light coming from the corridors, she almost believes he is.
“Yes, my lord, I apologize for intruding.”
“No, please, it is no matter,” he remarks, taking a step inside the study while studying her figure. “Is something bothering you? If the rooms are not to your liking-”
“It is no such thing, I promise,” she interrupts, slightly amused, “It is the storm. I have always despised them deeply.”
His eyes widen before they soften slightly, “Oh.”
Placing the closed book on the desk in front of her, Kate gives him a small explanation. It is his house and she just so happened to be walking around as if it were hers too. “I apologize, I just needed a moment to myself,” she begins her walk to the door, “I shall trouble you no further.”
“No, please,” he reaches out to her, pulling back at the last second before holding her elbow. Kate finds herself wishing he would just break the distance between them.
They're suddenly side to side, him facing the library and her the hallway, yet their eyes meet in the middle. His, incredibly gentle, features soft in a way that almost feel vulnerable to Kate.
It feels refreshing to see the Viscount so open for a change.
“Stay.”
The flashing light overtakes the warm atmosphere and Kate flinches slightly.
“My Lord, this is highly improper.”
“Please just-” he sighs, “just stay.”
She should deny it. She should just ignore his request and leave like she intended to, as the last thing they need right now is a scandal that can destroy her family's future.
However, upon noticing how his suspenders fall to his sides unceremoniously, how a small strand of hair lays gently on his forehead despite his many attempts at fixing it, or how he's looking at her as if he cares , Kate finds herself nodding, retreating back to the desk so she can retrieve the book.
She watches from the corner of her eye how Anthony slowly makes his way towards the window, stopping in front of it with his hands behind his back, the image of a distinguished gentleman. The occasional bursts of light illuminate him with a halo that manages to swap Kate's attention from the words in front of her to the man standing on the other side of the room.
The Viscount has been a very large unsolved puzzle ever since they crossed paths that morning at the park, one she didn’t expect to be trying to solve, yet the way he occasionally gives her some snippets into his heart, a corner piece that suddenly helps the image come to life, Kate has to admit that there is some part of her that finds him incredibly appealing. Although looks aren’t everything, she cannot help but notice how handsome he looks like this, relaxed in his own study, watching the night sky outside.
A warmth fills her whole body when, upon connecting one more piece with another, she realizes the scent inside the room, the one that has brought her comfort for the past quarter of an hour, belongs to none other than him.
It catches her slightly off guard, just how much that one realization changes nothing yet everything at the same time.
Surely she cannot be comforted by the scent of a stranger?
Then again, Anthony is not really a stranger, is he?
Shaking her head to rid herself of such unsolicited thoughts, Kate notices that Anthony catches her reaction.
He must have mistaken her running thoughts for fear. “Is it recent, this dislike of yours?”
“I do not think so,” Kate starts, eyes fixed on the words in the book but not reading, “It has been here ever since I can remember myself. It used to be worse a few years ago, now it simply feels like a wound that never really heals.”
Turning her gaze up to him, she watches as he slowly turns to her, still facing the window but he’s now able to look at her. Their eyes meet and Kate feels her shoulders relax. It is one thing to share burdens with someone, and it is another completely different to share her burdens and see that the other person understands .
“My mother she… she died during a storm,” she finds herself walking towards him, stopping next to his figure, “Or at least that is what I have been told my whole life. My Appa confessed once that he had not been able to keep me still while she was sick so I must have sneaked by him and caught her already lifeless in her room. I guess I started associating storms with someone I loved dying.”
“How old were you?”
“Three.”
Anthony nods, gently, and Kate does not miss how his eyes, which have not left hers through the five steps she took to meet him at the window, drift downwards to her chest. She would protest, really, if she caught any gentleman taking a glimpse of her bosom unprompted. Though as she watches how his face flinches slightly while he stares unblinking, she knows Anthony is not looking at her cleavage in a perverted way.
“How did he die? Your father?” And although she has an inkling of how it might have been, Kate finds herself asking anyway.
Blinking before moving his eyes up to hers, Anthony inhales deeply, rolling on the balls of his feet slightly before exhaling and seemingly coming to a conclusion, “He was stung by a bee.”
She cannot help the small gasp that leaves her lips.
Surely she’d had her suspicions, however, hearing it from the Viscount’s lips with such grief hits her square in the heart.
“I am so sorry, my lord.”
He nods slightly, a small smile that does not reach his eyes immediately vanishing a second after it appears. “I was also there when it happened. I saw the bee, and I saw him get stung. After it happened and everything calmed down I just kept thinking how I could never look at a bee the same way ever again,” he admits, a pensive look taking over his face before he gives her another gentle smile, though it feels more genuine this time around. “Something about a wound that never heals.”
Kate lets out a chuckle, not out of amusement but because she can now put together more of the complex puzzle that is Anthony Bridgerton.
Silence befalls the study, the only sound being of the falling rain on the window, and the occasional thunder that seems to be getting further away from where they are.
As Kate stares at two droplets racing down the glass with Anthony’s arm almost brushing hers, the thought that she hasn’t felt this reassured in years is something she finds difficult to process. Out of every gentleman in London, why does she have to feel safe with the one her sister has hopes for?
Why him, the one she could not possibly have if she were looking to marry here?
“How did you do it?” his voice is low, snapping Kate from her thoughts to turn her head to him.
His eyes are cast low, the infamous furrow in between his brows returning.
Kate asks, puzzled, “How did I do what?”
“That morning, in the gardens. You were able to calm me down. How did you do it?”
Keeping her eyes on him, Kate finds herself out of words to say.
How did she do it?
Surely she knows what a panic attack is, how it can be triggered by the smallest of things, and how it can be stopped depending on the trigger, however, she did what she did because that seemed to be the best solution for Anthony’s reaction. She had no idea if it would work. Hope would only take her so far.
“I used to have those when I was little,” she starts, “My Appa used to help me through them the same way I did with you. He used to say that as long as I felt a heart beating under my palm, everything would be alright. I only hoped it would work with you as well.”
Anthony nods gratefully, eyes softly locked on hers, “It did.”
“Good. I must admit I was not so sure it would.”
“I must also apologize for my behavior that morning, I do not know what came over me when the bee stung you, I-” he suddenly stops, closing his eyes for a moment before breathing deeply. “I am almost certain all of my siblings have been stung and although they gave us all a great scare, they do not seem to be allergic to bees, but with you, I did not know if…”
With him trailing off, Kate understands his meaning right away. Surely he would not know if she would have a similar reaction to his father upon being stung, yet the way he seemed so affected by it is what has confused her ever since she left the garden.
The sensible part of her connects it to him being a known man of society which, come to think of it, having one of his guests meeting an early death in his home wouldn’t exactly paint a good picture of his family. The sentimental part of her hopes it is because of another reason she is not yet ready to entertain.
“I have been stung plenty of times in my childhood, my lord. British bees are no different from the ones we have in India, I can assure you.” A touch of levity, and Kate’s heart warms at seeing a chuckle leave his lips.
“At least you do not have to add them to the list of things you detest in London.”
Kate smiles, mirroring him, “Oh? Do pray tell me about this list you say I have.”
“I know you dislike English tea, Miss Sharma.” The smirk that lifts on the corner of his lips shows that he is so incredibly proud of himself for knowing that of her that Kate almost laughs in amused disbelief.
“Do lists not require more than one entry?”
“You also detest Cressida Cowper.”
“Do not all of us?” Quirking an eyebrow, Kate watches as he lets out a chuckle so spontaneous she cannot help but join in.
“I believe you are right.”
“Of course I am.”
Being alone with Lord Bridgerton in the late hours of the evening in his study talking about Cressida Cowper was not something Kate envisioned for herself hours ago when the storm had threatened to come. She must admit it is indeed a welcoming change.
“What about gentlemen who lie and say they weren’t overcome when they clearly were?”
Only this man to pull back the unfinished conversation they were having in the woods during the hunt this afternoon, now when no one can possibly interrupt them, when he’s looking sheepishly at her from the corner of his eye, his jaw set, one hand coming up to nervously fiddle with the lobe of his ear.
“Ah, so you finally admit that you were overcome,” Kate teases, though she sees how his expression changes when he suddenly focuses on her, eyes vulnerable yet convicted.
He murmurs, “I was. I was petrified.”
It shouldn't feel like a revelation to her, but it does.
They bicker, they fight, and they say things in the heat of the moment, but Kate was aware Anthony was at least slightly affected by her sting the other morning if the reaction he showed was any indication. Though hearing him say it only makes it all the more real.
A murmur leaves her lips unprompted, “Why?”
She witnesses how his lips move to speak, to open up to her, yet catches himself at the last second, shoulders going stiff as he seems to straighten up. He’s putting his guard up once more, and as he gives her a smile she can only describe as forlorn, Anthony takes a small step away from her, chilling the air that had warmed her skin.
Her heart drops when Kate realizes she's crossed a line he wasn't ready to cross yet.
“I apologize, Miss Sharma, I have kept you too long,” he says, returning to his authoritarian voice, no longer Anthony, the Viscount taking place, “Please feel free to read any books here, I know they will be in good hands with you.”
Kate does not even find an opportunity to respond to his farewell or thank him for his graciousness because one moment he’s next to her and the other he’s walking briskly to the study’s door, taking his leave after nodding at her one last time.
The storm outside has passed but Kate feels a newer, stronger one brimming inside her chest at seeing him closing in on himself once again. No, she will not overthink whatever the Viscount had been so reluctant to tell her. She would go insane if she did.
Yet now, as she picks up the book she had first chosen, Kate cannot help but feel an emptiness that had not been there while he was keeping her company.
Deciding that it does not – or cannot – matter, Kate opens the book where she left it, reading the words but finding no actual comfort in them.