Archive of Our Own

Anthony has few close friends.

It’s a sad truth that becoming Viscount at such a young age has not yielded many true, close relationships of that sort. He’s always been as close with Simon as with his eldest two brothers, and he is delighted that he has joined the family. He does have a few cheery acquaintances from Oxford he has kept in touch with - chaps like Thomas Dorset and his set.

But honestly, his duties and his devotion to his family have not left him a lot of time or energy to spare for friendship. There’s that, and there’s the real truth - that he’s always a bit suspicious of anyone who wants to befriend a young Viscount. He always presumes they want his patronage, or else want to marry him off to their daughter or sister, or else are hoping to prey upon his inexperience at filling his father’s shoes in some other way.

So that’s probably why his closest friend is someone he will most likely never meet.

He and Kit have been corresponding for some years now - since around the time both their fathers died. They’re of a similar age, have similar interests and responsibilities, although Kit’s family live in less affluent circumstances.

Best of all? Kit lives on the other side of the world. He lives in India, so he cannot possibly want anything from Anthony at all. Although he does have a sister fast approaching marriageable age, although he is permanently short of money and resources, although he is younger and poorer and less experienced at caring for his family - despite all these things, he could not possibly take advantage of their friendship even if he wanted to, since they live on opposite sides of the globe.

Anthony thinks that is why he finds it so easy to trust Kit, in short.

And besides - he has shown himself to be a man of good character over several years’ acquaintance now. They’ve sent dozens of letters back and forth between England and India. It has been a sort of bright spot amidst the pressure of Anthony’s existence as Viscount, honestly - he knows that every few weeks another letter from his closest friend will make its way slowly to him over all those many miles.

The story of how they came to be correspondents is a simple one. Anthony’s father died first. He wrote notes sharing the news to all the names in his late father’s address book, because he is a diligent, dutiful sort of Viscount like that. He therefore wrote one to a Christopher Sharma, a working man living in Bombay, whom he remembered his father mentioning as an acquaintance from his university days. They maintained the connection in order to broaden their horizons, he always said, to learn more of the world and its news despite the geographical and social disparity between them.

Anthony always thought that was an admirable sort of aim. So when he received a reply, expressing condolences and saying that Mr Christopher Sharma had also lately passed away, and signed by Christopher Junior - known as Kit - he simply responded in turn. He shared his condolences at that news, because he could imagine exactly how Kit might be feeling.

They’ve been corresponding ever since.

They quickly moved past condolences and expressions of sympathy for the weight now resting on each of their shoulders. They discovered a shared love of the outdoors early on, and then a common devotion to family, and somewhere along the line a rather similar turn of thought and sense of humour.

So here Anthony finds himself, now, writing with an update on the matter of Daphne’s happiness. He has sent a succession of letters too quickly to receive replies, this last season. It has been a most turbulent time. But frankly he often finds it helpful to write to Kit in stressful situations even though he knows a response must be so long coming as to make it outdated and irrelevant by the time it arrives.

There is simply something about sharing thoughts with a friend which makes any situation more manageable.

Dear Kit

You must be sick to death of the saga of my eldest sister’s season as diamond - and yet, here I am with another update on her situation. If you receive all my most recent letters off one ship and in one package, I beg you might discard the rest and give only this one your attention!

I do believe Daphne and Simon are happily settled at last. Daphne is expecting a child, she believes, although it’s early days yet, and both parents profess themselves delighted. I needn’t tell you how relieved I am that we have reached this point at last. I was beginning to despair of their finding happiness and was becoming quite exasperated with them. They have clearly been devoted to one another almost since their first meeting.

I wish you the very best of luck when your sister is of an age to enter society and you must think of such things. Frankly, it has been the most dreadful experience and I fear I have not handled it at all well. I am far from fluent in discussing affairs of the heart with my siblings - or with my old friend Simon, it transpires - and I have rather struggled to do right by Daphne this season. In the end I believe it has turned out for the best that I pushed him when he first dishonoured her, but at the time I was quite overwrought. You’ll have noticed that in my earlier letter, by now, I suppose.

I ought to fill the rest of this page with more cheerful news, but I am not sure I have the stomach for our usual chatter. There is not much cheerful news in this part of the world either, I fear, as Napoleon continues his march around Europe. No - here is something - my sisters are much taken with a certain new novel published lately by the name of “Pride and Prejudice”. I wonder, would your sister appreciate a copy, if I were to send one with a future letter?

There. The page is nearly filled. I think I had best take myself out for a long ride before I grow any more morose. I believe some time on horseback might afford me the opportunity to reflect on my behaviour as a brother last season. My next sister, Eloise, is due to come out this coming season and I fear I will make a muddle of that too. Worst of all, I believe it is past time I took a wife myself. I ought to seek one earnestly in the next few months as the season begins.

I send my best regards as always and wish you and your family well. Perhaps you have some local news of interest, or else a fine anecdote about your most recent hunt?

All good wishes

Anthony

He folds and seals the letter carefully, and then puts it on the tray for posting. He’ll have his man of business send it out on the next ship heading in Kit’s direction.

…….

Anthony passes days and weeks in preparing for the season. He instructs his mother to instruct the servants to beat out the dust from the carpets and wonders whether this is the last time he will do so - by this time next year, he earnestly intends to have a wife. He sees to his family accounts at the modiste and at the tailor, ensures everyone in the household is ready to play their part.

He is not convinced he will be ready to play his part. He’s not at all sure he’s ready to be a better brother to Eloise than he was to Daphne, to seek a wife for himself, and maintain a high standard in the rest of his duties as Viscount all the while. It sounds a bit overwhelming, actually.

And then, less than a week before the season begins, he receives a letter from his good friend Kit.

The first few paragraphs contain nothing out of the ordinary. Kit’s observations on Daphne’s marriage and Eloise’s upcoming season are so pertinent that Anthony rather wonders if his friend can read his mind - such is often the way between them, he finds. Then there is some news of local affairs in Bombay, which he always finds fascinating. He does aspire to be an interested and educated gentleman as his father raised him to be.

Then there are the stories of Kit’s latest sporting adventures, and frankly those are always Anthony’s favourite parts. All his life he has outfenced his brothers easily, even with one arm behind his back - and indeed Benedict has always preferred poetry to fencing, just as Colin has always preferred travelling to hunting. So it is that he particularly enjoys having another chum whose primary interest is sport.

On this occasion there’s a particularly good tale about Kit showing up to a local shooting contest and winning hands down, against rather wealthier opposition armed with better rifles.

After all this, at the very end of the letter, comes a most fascinating paragraph which Anthony can’t help but read several times over.

Finally, I must tell you my news. I will be travelling to Europe for several months - how is that for a surprise? I am not in a position to disclose my entire itinerary to you, but I have set up a post office box under my name in London and they will have my forwarding direction at every stage, if you should wish to continue our correspondence while I am away. I can only hope our letters will arrive rather more swiftly while we are on the same continent.

Anthony frowns a little harder, reads that paragraph just one more time. An extended visit to Europe? How has this come about so suddenly? Why has his friend not mentioned it before?

Why is Kit spending several months travelling through Europe when he is not a particularly wealthy gentleman?

That is not the only thing which strikes Anthony as strange. There is something off in his old friend’s tone, he thinks, compared with the candour and humour of previous letters. He gives no reason for the trip, no destinations at all, no pertinent details of any kind.

It’s a rather odd contrast to the detailed account of his shooting victory, just a few lines earlier.

And yet, even as Anthony reflects on this sense of disquiet, there’s an even more powerful emotion overtaking him.

He’s excited. No - more than that - he’s thrilled. If Kit has set up his post office box in London, he must be passing near the city at some stage. For the first time in all their years as close friends and correspondents, perhaps they could meet at last.

Anthony has long told himself that it’s better to have a distant close friend - that such a friend can want no favours and cause no trouble. But suddenly, in this moment, he realises that was a lie he sold himself to keep from envying what he couldn’t have.

His best friend in all the world is visiting Europe. He might well have the opportunity to meet him in person at last.

Suddenly, this season he has been dreading doesn’t seem so dire after all.

He pens a response at once, determined to get it to that post office box with all haste. He invites Kit to stay at any of the Bridgerton properties on his travels for as long as might suit, or to use their box at the opera, or to give Anthony’s name at any club in London. It’s a funny business - after all these years dodging friends who would take advantage of him, he’s now desperate to show his friend a warm welcome and throw all his resources at his feet.

Most of all, though, he writes to invite Kit to meet him in person. To express his genuine joy in their friendship and his earnest wish to spend some time with him, introduce him to his brothers, show him around town.

It’s an invitation he wholeheartedly expects Kit to accept. He may be hopeless at forming close friendships, as a general rule, but this is one relationship he has the utmost faith in.

…….

Anthony feels rather calmer, as he waits those last few days for the season to begin. At least there will be something cheerful on the horizon, no matter how difficult it might prove to be to find a husband for his sister or a wife for himself.

He briefly wonders whether Kit’s visit might serve some useful purpose on that part. Might Kit and Eloise take a liking to each other? Might that sister of Kit’s prove a viable match for Anthony himself? He has often reflected since Daphne and Simon married that it is a fine thing when ladies marry their brother’s friends.

No. He’s jumping ahead of himself. Kit is from quite a different situation and social class to Anthony, as far as he understands - although he seems to recall there is some aristocratic connection through his stepmother’s side.

Never mind. His friend’s visit will be a pleasant diversion even if it does not conveniently answer any of his family’s marriage questions.

He sets the idea firmly aside and sets out, whistling, to find his mother in the drawing room.

“You seem uncommonly cheerful.” She observes. 

She is arranging flowers in a vase, and frankly Anthony can’t understand why. Eloise is due to be presented at court tomorrow. No one is likely to call and compliment the flower arrangements today.

Never mind. This is probably some aspect of household management he has not truly understood.

“Anthony? Are you quite well? All this jolly whistling and you haven’t snapped at Colin in at least three hours.” She observes, bright.

He grins. He does like being part of such an affectionate family. He’s not at all sure how compatible that is with his determination to seek a sensible, dutiful marriage to the diamond of the season or some comparably high-status lady.

Hmm. Maybe he ought to try a friend’s sister instead.

At last, he answers the question. “Quite well, thank you, mother. I am only keen for the season to get under way. Eloise will feel happier once the waiting is over, I am sure. And for my part, I have invited an old friend from my student days to stay with us for a while if it suits him.”

“Oh? When? Should I have a room made up?” She asks, in the tone of a mother who would rather know about such domestic matters with plenty of notice in future, thank you very much.

“He has not fixed his plans yet. I’ll tell you when I know more - don’t worry, he’s a most unpretentious fellow. He won’t mind an informal welcome.”

“Very good.”

She’s giving her full attention to her flower arranging again, now. She’s seems most fascinated by where the purple ones should go and where the white ones ought to be, he notes.

Hmm. Yes. He adds that to his mental list for his future Viscountess - not that she must necessarily arrange flowers, to be sure, because he is not actually one of those odd gentlemen who want to marry a perfect copy of their mother. But that she must care, that she must be ready and willing to see to things herself, that she must want everything to be as fine as can be in support of her children at a trying time.

He kisses his mother dutifully on her cheek, because he’s a good son like that, and goes on his way.

…….

The season has been underway less than a week when the Queen names Miss Edwina Sharma as diamond.

Anthony is stunned by the news, to say the least. He’s absolutely floored. He stands there, at the side of a crowded ballroom, and genuinely reels with the shock of it all. He’s lucky he doesn’t swoon like a nervous debutante, honestly.

Miss Edwina Sharma? That is Kit’s sister’s name. And it seems very unlikely that this is a different Miss Edwina Sharma.

So - is this why Kit is in Europe? Has he brought his sister here for the season? But how, when their circumstances are so strained? And why was he so mysterious about his itinerary?

Anthony has a sudden sense that his friend has left a great deal unsaid, if his sister is of the right status to be named the diamond of the London season, if the whole family is in London as part of this vague trip to Europe.

The other thought foremost in his mind at this moment? He might be onto a bit of luck, if the diamond of the season is also his close friend’s sister. That might make her a good match in every possible way. Just as soon as he has reprimanded his friend in exasperation at being kept in the dark, he might see about that.

Determined to get answers - and also to meet the young lady, to be sure, but mostly to get answers - he strides across the floor towards the Queen.

He begs for an introduction. The Queen does the honours, with a rather pleased smile. Anthony knows she enjoys things like this - benevolently looking out for her people, to be sure, but also playing her games.

He knows his part. He is supposed to ask the young lady for a dance, so he does just that.

The moment she has accepted and placed her hand into his, he sets about pursuing his real purpose.

“Is your brother here, Miss Edwina? Might you know his whereabouts?”

“My brother? I have no brother, My Lord.”

He blinks at her, puzzled. Are there a great number of ladies in the world by the name of Miss Edwina Sharma?

“No brother?” He echoes.

“No - my only sibling is my elder sister, Kate.”

Silence. Anthony thinks he can hear the world spinning, in fact, but that is probably only the hubbub of the crowd. He fears he is beginning to put two and two together, here. Kate and Kit are not dissimilar names, are they? In fact, he’s increasingly convinced that this is the correct Miss Edwina Sharma and that -

“There she is!” Miss Edwina tells him now, gesturing to a tall lady with a strikingly pretty face, standing a little way off. “That is my sister. Shall I introduce you?”

Ah. She is most definitely not a gentleman.

“Please do.” He manages.

He needn’t have bothered, because Miss Edwina is already waving her sister over. He needn’t have fought to overcome his shock and find his breath. This has been a most unsettling evening, with one surprise after another, and he very much hopes it will all come good when he has some answers to his questions.

He isn’t willing to consider the alternative - that he might be walking into an abject disaster.

“Lord Bridgerton - may I present my sister, Miss Kate Sharma?”

He knows how an introduction is supposed to work. He has been introduced to enough people before now to have had no small amount of practice. He is supposed to profess himself delighted, and she is supposed to curtsey prettily and say something meek and flattered in turn.

That is not what happens.

“Lord Bridgerton?” She asks, in a startled sort of tone.

He manages to nod. He can’t form so much as a word, not now. Because he can see it’s all true - all his suspicions are true, and Kit does not exist, and this is the person he has been corresponding with all these years. It’s plain to see in her expression.

While he is still spluttering uselessly, she presses on.

“I am pleased indeed to be introduced to you, My Lord. I must assure you that I was planning to secure an introduction at the earliest opportunity and - ah - inform you of our connection.”

“Your connection?” Miss Edwina pipes up, evidently curious.

“Our fathers were old friends.” Anthony rushes to supply.

He has overcome some of his shock now. What Kate said - sorry, what Miss Sharma said - has gone some way towards mollifying him already. She did earnestly mean to seek him out and explain herself. That only leaves him with a thousand questions about why she felt the need to masquerade as a lad all those years, and why she persisted in writing to him, and a thousand others besides.

But she strikes him as, fundamentally, a well-mannered and sensible sort who is not inclined to make trouble.

That’s just as well. The trouble she could cause if she let slip a little rumour about their correspondence doesn’t bear thinking about. He’d be backed into a corner, forced to marry her, and -

Well. She’s not going to do that. She looks very uncomfortable indeed.

He’s more curious than furious, he thinks. He’s not entirely sure what to do. He does want answers - although he supposes he already has most of the story, he does feel instinctively that there must be more.

He gathers his thoughts, tries speaking to this Kate who has replaced Kit in the most straightforward fashion he can.

“I believe we have much to discuss. Might we take a turn about the floor together and talk?” He asks her directly.

“We need not rush to talk this minute - I am not going anywhere.” She says, with a tight laugh he believes to be false. “Please, enjoy dancing with my sister for the moment.”

All at once, it hits him. The horrific truth comes crashing home at last, chasing all those more positive, curious emotions aside.

She is no different. She is no better than anyone else. She wants him to dance with her sister, just as every other so-called friend in the world does. She lied to him, and used him ill.

Kit doesn’t exist - and if he did, he’d just be another one of those self-serving chaps who want Anthony to marry their sister.

He swallows hard. He doesn’t know where to look - at the diamond he ought to want to marry, but now instinctively, stubbornly begrudges so much as a dance? At the eye-catching woman his closest friend has turned out to be?

Why does this Kate imposter have to be so disarmingly pretty and sensible? That’s a particularly poor stroke of luck, he thinks.

He takes a shaky breath and reluctantly leads Miss Edwina onto the dance floor.

…….

He goes home that night in a spectacularly foul mood.

It’s a deeply unpleasant situation in every possible regard, he has decided.

He ought to be seriously interested in Miss Edwina and delighted to make her acquaintance. Even despite himself, he must acknowledge that she’s a very eligible young lady. That shone through in their dance tonight even though he was determined not to notice it. But now, if he does pursue her, he’ll feel resentful of the trick her sister played on him all the while.

He’s feeling even more emotional about the sister, though. He’s not a very emotionally fluent man, as a general rule - Benedict is always telling him that - so he must concede he feels more frustration than anything useful. 

Or - maybe grief, too, if he’s being honest.

He thought Kit was his closest friend in all the world, that they were perfectly acquainted despite the distance between them, that they were of one mind on a great wide range of issues and topics. So the worst of it is not anger at finding out that Kit lied about their precise identity.

The worst is grieving for that closeness, realising they can’t have been so close after all.

Really - how did Anthony never notice? How did he never realise that his correspondent was hiding so much from him?

And another serious, pressing sort of question - did this Kate woman really win a shooting contest?

He spends a great deal of time, late that night, drinking brandy and frowning up at his father’s portrait, wondering whether inspiration or a perfect solution to his current mixed-up state might strike. Then he spends the early hours re-reading selections from his correspondence with Kit and wondering whether he missed some vital clue.

He’s entirely sloshed by that point, brandy being what it is, so he doesn’t see any vital clue on this reading, either.

Shortly before dawn he falls into bed with a vague sort of resolution. He will abandon thinking about this sorry business entirely and take himself to watch the racing on the following afternoon. Some quality sport always has a way of lifting his spirits.

It’s just a shame he has no one to write to about the highlights, not any more.

…….

He attends the races alone the next afternoon.

It’s an odd thing, being alone amongst such a large crowd. He is surrounded by people, of course, and yet he has never felt lonelier. Even as he nods hello to various distant, polite acquaintances, he’s feeling rather detached from their interests and conversation and the pattern of their laughter.

He keeps his head down, for the most part, and tries to seek out his seat in the stands directly. He fears he will get a reputation for being a dour Viscount as well as a dutiful one, at this rate, but he supposes that’s hardly the end of the world. The matchmaking mothers might pester him less actively if he has a reputation for being something of a bear.

Of course, a few of his acquaintances are persistent in gaining his attention or greeting him at greater length. That new Lord Featherington seems abnormally keen to ingratiate himself. Thomas Dorset is keen for more admirable reasons, of course - he genuinely does seem to want to know whether Anthony is quite well, or whether the sun has given him a headache.

And then, all at once, Kate is in his path, dragging her sister by the arm.

Kate. Funny how it’s simply impossible for her to think of him as Miss Sharma. He’s utterly incapable of considering her in anything less than the most familiar of terms. He’s been her close friend this last decade, after all - even if their entire friendship was built on a lie.

He tips his hat to the two young ladies and wonders how to get away from them. He is rather keen to get back to lamenting his loneliness, thank you very much, and he has no need of two confusing ladies and an even more confusing situation to ruin his sulking and solitude.

“You see, Edwina - I told you we would see Lord Bridgerton here. He is known as a great lover of the sport. My Lord - my sister is most eager to hear your opinions on the day’s favourites.”

He frowns. He can’t make sense of Kate’s tone. Is it rather that she herself is interested in what he has to say about the horses?

Miss Edwina doesn’t look particularly interested, he thinks. She’s more frowning at her sister than hanging on his every word.

Cautious, testing the waters, he has a go at formulating a polite response.

“I think it must be plain to see that Nectar is the big favourite of the day. I don’t think it makes me a great expert on the sport to know as much.” He tries. Is that the sort of comment which will end the conversation quickly?

Kate nods eagerly. “He is the big favourite indeed. But do you not think it is naive to put money simply on the horse others have chosen as favourite without further thought?”

“I believe I have given the matter due consideration.”

“Really? I fail to see how anyone can choose to place their bet on Nectar. As far as I can tell, such a choice shows a woeful want of consideration for -”

“The conditions?” He supplies eagerly. “Or perhaps the weather? Yes - I do see why you might say that. It is true that the heavy going and hot weather will not suit him perfectly. But he so far outclassed the other runners at Doncaster that I think all this speculation that the conditions will not suit him has been blown out of all proportion simply to encourage bets on the other horses - otherwise no one would even look twice at them.”

Oh. Yes. He was trying to conclude this conversation swiftly, wasn’t he? He was thinking that he ought to be polite but brief and send the Sharma sisters on their way.

Ah. Well. That was before Kate offered such an interesting opening. He suddenly doesn’t feel such a great hurry to flee the scene after all.

She seems to be considering his points carefully. She has her head tilted, brows raised, and he thinks that makes for a thoughtful expression. It’s the funniest thing - he knows a great deal about her sense of humour or turn of thought, but he hasn’t the faintest clue how to go about reading her face.

It really is a most annoyingly well-formed face, he notes again.

At last, it seems, she is ready to pass judgement. “An interesting view of it, My Lord. Is it common in England for such speculation and betting to be more tactical than the racing itself?”

“I suppose it is not baseless speculation.” He concedes. “Nectar is ill-suited to the conditions. But an ill-suited yet exceptional horse should still triumph, I believe. Have you placed a bet? Which horse do you favour?”

Hmm. Perhaps he ought not have asked her such questions, if he wanted to keep this brief.

Who does he think he is fooling? He’s clearly invested in this conversation, now, and obviously has no intention of curtailing it. He’s beginning to wonder if he might prolong it, actually, and if Kate might have interesting opinions on the horses racing in the lesser contests of the day, too.

An odd silence. Kate seems to be elbowing Miss Edwina, seems to be making some odd gesture to her.

At last, Miss Edwina catches on and speaks up. “We have placed our money on High Flyer.” She announces, careful.

Ah. Yes. She’s present too - the diamond, the sister of his old friend. He really ought to pay her more heed.

“And why have you chosen High Flyer?” He prompts her.

She can’t answer that question. She simply smiles sweetly and turns back to her sister.

“He is coming into some good form in the last couple of races. I rather believe he will peak at just the right time and win today. He’s lightly built, making the conditions especially suitable for him. And his trainer has turned out many good horses in recent years. I am feeling rather confident about our bet.” She declares, all pride and challenge.

Fool that he is, he gives way to his curiosity. 

“Perhaps we might sit together a while and see who has it right?” He suggests. “I’ll wager the look on your face will be something precious if Nectar does win after all.”

She laughs. “We will never know, as he is sure to be beaten. But by all means, let’s sit together. Edwina would very much like that, wouldn’t you?”

Would she? Would Edwina like anything at all about this entire situation? Anthony is no expert on the emotions of debutantes, to be sure - he has proved that countless times over the last year or so - and yet he is quite convinced that Edwina looks more bored than engaged.

Never mind. Kate may keep trying to persuade him to take an interest in her sister, but it will come to nothing - just as it has come to nothing, every time an acquaintance has ever thrown a sister or daughter in his path before now.

He will just have to keep the girl at arm’s length while he argues about horses with Kate.

The three of them set out towards the stands. He is introduced to Lady Mary, and she professes herself delighted to meet him. He greets Lady Danbury, and she looks alarmingly unsurprised by his presence.

Does she think he’s here for the diamond? Or has she understood the rather different reason for his presence?

“I am looking forward to discussing the day’s action with K- with Miss Sharma.” He announces, not that anyone asked. No one would be so rude as to actually ask why he has inserted himself into the party.

“Then I shall surrender my seat to you so that you may sit together.” Lady Danbury decides, getting to her feet.

“That’s kind but unnecessary.” He protests, rather alarmed. He should not evict an older lady who walks with a cane from her seat.

“I believe you will have a better view if you sit by my sister.” Kate suggests, gesturing to a place by Miss Edwina on the row in front.

Anthony frowns. “I am not too concerned with the view. I know what a galloping horse looks like. Here - do sit down, and I shall squash into the space at the end of the bench.”

Another of those moments when he realises he can’t read her expression. She’s sitting where he pointed, yes, but there’s a look of something on her face he doesn’t understand at all.

Never mind. He takes his seat, pressed up close against her on the end of the bench. He should perhaps have realised this might be problematic, that he might find himself rather taken aback by her sheer femininity at this point. It’s rather strange and disorientating to discover that his closest friend is actually a very lovely lady, it turns out.

He really ought to do better at guarding against that, in future. He keeps falling into silly little traps like this one by virtue of feeling too comfortable with her, too quickly.

Hang on - wasn’t he annoyed at her, this morning? That feels awfully long ago, now.

“Comfortable?” She asks, with a raised brow, as if calling him out on his error of judgement in sitting here.

“I am here for the racing and the company, not the furniture.” He argues.

She chuckles a little, rolls her eyes at him. That’s a gesture of fond, friendly exasperation he thinks he has understood.

“So - you are not holding it against me? You do not resent the - ah - manner of our introduction?” She asks now, under her breath, and yet still evidently reluctant to call a spade a spade.

He hesitates a moment. The sun is shining. The air smells of summer and horses and happiness. He’s crushed onto a too-small piece of bench with a beautiful young lady who has a great many strong opinions about horse racing.

And yet, he was feeling quite distressed in the early hours of this morning.

“I hardly know. It has all been most surprising.” He admits, raw and honest. “I suppose I am not yet able to give a considered answer to that question.”

“Understandable. I am sorry for the subterfuge.” She says, simple and earnest.

“Yes. That’s plain to see.”

A pause. A sort of stiff, sticky hesitation. He doesn’t like it, he decides at once - in fact, he infinitely preferred it when she was laughing fondly.

So it is that he presses on in a more cheery direction.

“I do still have some questions about it all. Indeed, there is one I would have you answer now, if you can.”

“By all means.” She sounds curious.

“Very good. So tell me this.” He pauses carefully for effect. “Did you truly win a shooting competition this last spring? Such a feat seems even more impressive now.”

“What - you do not believe that a lady can shoot?” She challenges him.

“I didn’t say that. I suppose I meant - ladies do not typically shoot, and the expectations and attitudes of the other participants must materially affect the scale of the challenge.”

She nods thoughtfully. “You have that right. It is not easy to be a competitor in such circumstances. But - yes, as it happens, I did win.”

He believes her. It’s the funniest business, but despite all the little untruths woven into their correspondence, he is suddenly convinced that she is indeed the best shot in all of Bombay.

It’s a strange thing, to trust someone as an old friend and know them as a liar who has pulled the wool over his eyes, both at once.

…….

Nectar does not win, in the end.

No - Kate has it right. High Flyer comes home first, narrowly beating Nectar down the final straight as he tires in the hot weather and heavy ground.

Anthony takes it in good spirit, and even invites Kate to take a walk with him down to look at the horses more closely. She seems quite keen on such a scheme - she tells him that she hopes the company of a Viscount might encourage some of the trainers and jockeys to take her seriously and actually engage in conversation with her.

Hmm. Somehow he is less concerned with being used by a friend, when the situation seems so reasonable.

So it is that, down at the enclosure, they learn Nectar is to be sent to the knacker’s yard.

“What - for one loss?” Kate seems rather worked up by the news. “The horse comes home second in one race and they have decided he is over the hill?”

“Mmm. That’s often the way of it.” Anthony agrees. He supposes it is a shame, but as a man who struggles to get his emotions in order when it comes to deeply personal things like siblings and marriage prospects, he’s certainly not likely to weep over the sadness of one slaughtered horse.

“What a waste of good horseflesh. As you said earlier - he entirely outclassed the field at Doncaster. A senseless decision in every regard.”

She’s right, of course. He did say that earlier. This is a very fine specimen of a horse, and probably it’s daft that the owners have decided it makes no economic sense to keep him after one high-profile defeat.

Suddenly he’s struck by an idea. A senseless one in its own way, perhaps - every bit as daft as sending a horse to slaughter the moment it loses one race. But it’s an idea he’s rather fond of and suddenly determined to carry through.

He leaves Kate talking to one of the jockeys for a moment, and goes to have a quiet word with Nectar’s mercenary owner.

…….

The next morning sees Anthony standing outside Lady Danbury’s home, and at his side a former champion racehorse with a bow around his neck.

Anthony couldn’t rightly say why he has purchased a horse for Kate. He’s not at all sure even within his own head whether this is a gift to welcome an old friend to the city, an act of charity to both a horse and a rider down on their luck, or perhaps a gesture of courtship to a remarkable young lady who has caught his interest in the most unexpected way.

He has decided that it doesn’t really matter, that the distinction between the three is not so clear or important. He has simply purchased a horse for Kate, and that’s the end of it.

He stands by the door and asks the footman to bring her outside.

There is perhaps a little nervousness in the air as he waits. Is that his nervousness, or is it because Nectar is a restless, high-spirited sort of horse, or is it because the groom at Nectar’s head finds this quite the strangest errand his employer has ever thrown his way?

Unclear. Anthony must admit he is not entirely comfortable, at least. He’s never tried to give a young lady a recently retired racehorse before. But if any young lady would appreciate such a thing, he thinks it must be Kate.

Thankfully she arrives before he can go out of his wits with wondering what he’s doing here. She’s on the steps, now, almost tumbling down them as she rushes towards him.

“What is all this? The footman said there was a horse.”

“There is indeed a horse.” He says, teasing, pointing at the horse.

“Yes - I can see there is a horse. Why are you standing here with a horse?” She presses, and she’s laughing a light, bright little laugh as she asks it.

“Come, now - I know you are a woman of sense. You have already understood exactly why I’m standing here with a horse.” He throws her the challenge.

She nods, lets out another little laugh. That’s a laugh of shock and giddiness, he thinks. He’s still far from adept at reading her moods in the flesh.

At last, she gathers her composure enough to discuss the situation in sensible terms.

“I recognise this horse.” She begins there. “This is a certain racehorse some fools placed money on yesterday - hmm - remind me - what was his name? Naturally, I placed my bet more wisely, but -”

“You know perfectly well what his name is.” Anthony counters, and he’s laughing himself now, too.

Strange how much he always seems to laugh with Kate, and stranger still that he has noticed that on the basis of just a couple of days knowing her in person.

“Very well. Nectar is currently standing outside my front door rather than at the knacker’s yard - I have understood this much. You are here also - presumably you bought him rather than leaving him to be made into glue. But I still don’t understand why you are standing here with Nectar.”

“You’re being deliberately obtuse.” He accuses her fondly.

“You’re making it so easy,”

“I bought you a horse.” The truth bursts out of him at last. “You were going on about what a waste it is, and I know you haven’t a horse of your own in London, and so I have bought you a horse. There - are you satisfied?”

“I wasn’t going on.” She protests mildly. “My displeasure was entirely proportionate to the situation.”

He doesn’t respond to that. He waits her out, does his best to stay patient until she addresses the real point.

At last she arrives fully to the matter at hand, seems to admit the truth at last.

“You have bought me a horse.” She shakes her head, smiles at him widely. “And - and what a horse. You have bought me a champion racehorse. I am - I am quite overwhelmed by gratitude, My Lord.”

“A former champion racehorse. I will not have you overstate the matter.” He protests cheerfully.

She shakes her head again, smiles ever wider. She darts forward suddenly, then, as if intending to embrace him - but then seems to check herself and goes to pat the horse instead.

“You have bought me a horse.” He hears her repeat it under her breath, as if she cannot entirely believe such a thing might have happened.

Very good. He thinks this has gone well, to say the least. Kate is thrilled with the horse, and the horse will live out its days in happiness, and Anthony has done his old friend a kind favour.

Suddenly Anthony notices that Miss Edwina is standing on the steps, watching her sister fuss over her new horse.

“Miss Edwina?” He asks, more out of politeness than anything.

Kate stops making Nectar’s acquaintance, turns swiftly to welcome her sister into the conversation.

“Edwina! Look at this - Lord Bridgerton has given us a horse.” She says, an odd mix of carefulness and enthusiasm, as far as he can see.

He really does find her emotions most puzzling. She made much more sense to him, in writing.

“A horse?” Miss Edwina echoes. There seems to be a great deal of that going around this morning.

He rushes to clarify the situation. “It is indeed a horse, Miss Edwina, but I hope you will understand that I mean no offence when I explain that the gift is intended for your sister. I know you do not ride, whilst she is an excellent horsewoman and likely to appreciate such a creature.”

Too late, he realises he is probably not supposed to know that much. It won’t expose his and Kate’s correspondence, he hopes - Miss Edwina will most likely presume he learnt such things whilst talking Kate’s ear off at the races yesterday.

Miss Edwina is nodding slowly, evidently quite content with the situation. “I understood as much immediately, My Lord. Kate is plainly attached to the creature already, and that’s as it should be.”

“I do hope you will get on splendidly.” He addresses that more to Kate once again. “I suppose I had my doubts about giving a racehorse to an amateur, and a lady at that, but on balance I decided you would probably appreciate the challenge.”

“My sister does enjoy a spirited mount.” Miss Edwina pipes up.

Anthony feels his mouth curve into a most unfortunate little grin. Did she mean to make that sound like an innuendo? Did the demure diamond of the season intend to make a tiny but dirty joke?

He risks a look at Kate out of the corner of her eye. Sure enough, Kate is suppressing giggles, her jaw clenched as odd little puffs of laughter burst out all the while.

Anthony thinks she looks quite fetching, actually, biting down hard on a moment of humour.

She catches his eye at last. She meets his gaze, gives way to a full, hearty chuckle. He joins her - joins in her laughter, but goes to stand by her side and fuss over the horse, too.

He thinks he might have decided why he gave her a horse, in this moment. He’s suddenly reached the conclusion that a retired racehorse is an ideal courting gift for a bold lady who would laugh at an unintentional innuendo or maintain a scandalous correspondence with a man on the other side of the globe.

Excellent. He’s given her a courtship gift. That’s just as it should be.

He supposes he has little choice but to press on and court her, now.

…….

Anthony takes his duties as Viscount seriously. He’s a man who is quite prepared to spend several days with tedious account books or waste hours at a time on meetings with the family lawyer.

So it is that he has always intended to apply himself with the same seriousness to the task of choosing a wife.

Meeting Kate has not changed that. He hasn’t decided to court her on a whim, just because she likes horses. His reasons for deciding to pursue her in earnest and see whether they might suit are rather more serious and sensible than that. Thanks to their long foundation of friendship, he knows that she is a reliable and forthright sort who would handle the duties of Viscountess admirably. He also knows she cares deeply about her responsibilities - he has seen first hand how much of herself she has given to the raising of her sister. She’s had a thorough education in all the necessary skills and has exactly the correct traits for success.

The fact that he enjoys speaking with her, that they laugh together, that she looks fetching when she’s suppressing a giggle? These things are just the icing on the cake. He has never looked for a love match, not particularly, but a sensible, comfortable kind of partnership. He believes marriage to Kate could be that, down to a tee.

He has decided that, under the circumstances, he will just have to overlook the little untruths about her identity in their correspondence. It’s not as if she could have written to him openly, so he has decided that was simply a necessary judgement on her part.

He is taking this so seriously, so logically, that he writes a page of notes about her in his marriage notebook. He forces himself to write a page for Miss Edwina, too - as the diamond of the season, she obviously merits serious consideration. But frankly, he has already made his mind up.

Dutiful Viscount that he is, he makes a point of discussing this matter with his mother. It is important that the family adopt a united front on the matter of his marriage.

He might not tell his mother about some of the more scandalous details, to be sure, but he knows it’s only right to include her in the conversation more generally.

So it is that he invites her into his study for a brief word.

“I intend to pay a call on the Sharma sisters tomorrow morning.” He announces to her,

She nods. “I rather thought you might.”

“You do not seem surprised.”

“No, but I am curious - if a mother is allowed to be curious about her son’s romantic affairs.” She says, all fond warmth and laughter. “You must tell me which of the two young ladies you particularly intend to call upon.”

“I would not wish to be hasty in expressing a preference or any firm intentions towards either of them.” He says carefully. “We were introduced only a couple of days ago. To be sure, even such a short time has been sufficient for me to see that the diamond was well-chosen - Miss Edwina is a very accomplished lady with the most pretty manners and -”

“And yet it is to her sister that you gave that horse.” His mother interrupts cheerfully.

He laughs a sudden, stunned bite of laughter. “You know about that?”

“Of course I know about that. Lady Danbury informed me of it at once. I can only presume that you have some real interest in Miss Sharma already, even if you feel it is too soon to admit as much to your mother.”

“You might be right.” He concedes. “I do find her easier to converse with than her sister - or indeed, any other young lady of my acquaintance. I believe we enjoy one another’s company.”

“That’s good. That’s as it should be, indeed - companionship should be the basis of a happy marriage.” His mother tells him firmly.

He nods, frowns a moment, nods again. He remembers his father saying such things before he passed away, too. Things about finding a lady he could feel comfortable with, someone with whom he could honestly share both the best and worst of himself.

He doesn’t need a love match, to be sure, but a match based on liking each other well enough would be a solid sort of foundation, he believes.

“So - you approve?” He asks his mother the question directly at last. “I was confident you would approve of Miss Edwina, but if I do ultimately decide that the elder of the Sharma sisters is the better match for me…?”

“I will wholeheartedly approve of any match which makes you truly happy.”

He nods. “And - even if that means pursuing the diamond’s half-sister, who has no aristocratic relations?” He presses.

She laughs. “If you have already memorised her family tree, dearest, then I rather think your mind must be made up. We have no need of more wealth or elevated status. The only thing I have left to wish for in this life is to see my children happy.”

“Very good. Thank you. I - ah - indeed.” He concludes, in what he helps is a tone of finality.

His mother, of course, has something else to say. Isn’t that always the way? A man may grow into adulthood, but his mother will still give him a piece of her mind when he needs to hear it.

Anthony’s grateful for his mother’s forthright ways - really he is. He just wishes she might save it for a time when he’s feeling a little less mortified by discussing his romantic interests with her.

“I think I wish for you to be happy most of all.” She tells him, although he didn’t ask. “I don’t mean that I want you to be any happier than your brothers or sisters - you know I love you all just as fiercely as the next. But I believe I spend more energy on wishing it, for you. I know you have often been unhappy as a young man. I know your father’s death hit you hardest of all. And I am very aware that you seem reluctant to openly seek a marriage based on love. So I would have you know, Anthony, that I was delighted beyond measure to hear that you gave a horse to a young lady you had been introduced to but two days earlier. I think that rather indicates she has made a strong impression on you, hmm?”

He nods, jaw set firm. He rather wonders where this is going, and he senses it might be the kind of emotional, uncomfortable territory he tends to avoid.

“So - please, dearest, give yourself permission to fall in love with her. Open your heart - that heart you pretend you do not have. And for heavens’ sake, go and call on her tomorrow. I notice you did not do so this morning.”

He laughs a stiff sort of laugh. “No. I did not. I was trying to sort through my thoughts, I suppose - and I thought that a morning call the day after a large gift might begin to look a little pathetic.”

“Love humbles all of us. See to it that you are prepared to embrace that.”

…….

He tries his hardest to consider his mother’s advice as he sets out the next morning to call on Kate.

It’s advice which he finds uncomfortable, to be sure. She’s right - he does not tend to be a man who opens his heart easily. But he has navigated a few uncomfortable situations to say the least in recent days, and come out the other side smiling.

Forgiving Kate for not being Kit, understanding she could not reasonably have told him the truth sooner, seems to have suddenly turned him into a softer-hearted man.

Or maybe it’s actually her laughter which has achieved that.

He arrives at Lady Danbury’s home. He presents his card, hears a couple of the less disciplined footmen murmuring that he is the chap who brought that horse two days ago.

Suddenly, all at once, he is being ushered past a very long queue of gentlemen.

“What’s all this?” He asks, bemused, as he sees them standing there.

“Callers for Miss Edwina, My Lord. But we have strict instructions to send you straight up if ever you should call.” The footman explains.

Oh. Well, then. That’s simply excellent. Has he made as strong an impression on Kate as she has on him? Is that the reason for such an obvious display of favour?

He feels himself walk a little taller at that wonderful news, as he arrives at the drawing room. He is announced, waits a beat, then enters the room. The ladies within all stand and greet him, all profess themselves delighted to see him.

Kate is wearing a rather cheery smile as she says that, he can’t help but notice.

“Come, My Lord - please sit with us.” She says outright, gesturing at a chair between her and Miss Edwina.

Excellent. He can sit and talk quietly with Kate, some distance away from Lady Danbury and Lady Mary who are keeping watch as chaperones. That’s just exactly what he wanted from this morning call.

“How is Nectar?” He asks, almost before he has sat down.

Kate grins. “Spirited, as expected. I have been trying not to ride him too hard since he must still be tired from his final race - I wouldn’t like to injure him by overcooking it while he is fatigued.”

He nods thoughtfully. “You’ve more sense and restraint than I do, it would appear. If I owned such a creature I’d be keen to test his mettle.”

“Then it is as well that I am now his owner, to save him from men such as you.” She teases.

He laughs obligingly. “And what of his paces? I thought his trot surprisingly flashy for such a horse.”

Her turn to laugh. “It is unexpected to be sure. He has quite a personality - I think he must have liked the crowds and the attention in his racing days. In fact -” She breaks off, as if suddenly focussing her gaze on something he can’t see.

He turns around, but there is nothing behind him.

“Miss Sharma?” He prompts her. “In fact - Nectar…?”

“I do apologise - we had much better discuss something of interest to the whole party. Edwina - perhaps you would like to tell Lord Bridgerton about the book you have been reading?”

He frowns. He doesn’t have a lot of time to read for pleasure, and Kate knows it, and she must know, too, that he would infinitely prefer to keep asking after her horse.

But he’s a polite gentleman, and he senses she is not accustomed to being the centre of attention, so he accepts her clumsy change of subject and gestures to Miss Edwina to go on.

But she doesn’t. She turns to her sister, instead, wearing a stubborn frown. “I do believe Lord Bridgerton asked about your horse, Kate. Please - don’t mind me. I am quite content to see you enjoy some discussion of sport.”

“Perhaps the parks of London? Perhaps we might discuss those?” Anthony suggests desperately. He does not understand how he has caused tension between these two sisters - he knows from Kate’s letters that they are absolutely devoted to each other - but he is suddenly quite convinced this awkwardness is all his fault.

“The parks, sir?” Miss Edwina offers brightly.

“The parks. London has a great many fine parks. Have you two ladies had the opportunity to explore any of them yet?”

“I have not yet had that pleasure, but I believe Kate has ridden in some of them.”

“Aha - and which do you prefer, on first impressions?” He asks.

“I have no particular preference. I know my sister does like to walk and admire the flowers and trees in such places - perhaps you and she might have the opportunity to take a walk, this morning or another morning?” Kate suggests.

Anthony frowns, swallows, tries to make sense of all this. Is Kate still trying to throw him at Miss Edwina - or throw Miss Edwina at him, perhaps? Is she persisting in being one of those friends who wants him to marry their sister, even though he went and bought Kate herself a horse?

How much more obvious must he make his intentions before she understands them?

“I believe I had rather have your company on such a walk as well.” He suggests, wondering whether that’s a polite response.

He has no idea how to handle this, frankly. He has obviously never faced such a situation before.

“Ah - I am ill-disposed to take a walk today. I regret to say that I am overtired from my morning ride.”

No. Absolutely not. He refuses to believe that - the Kate he has known as Kit for all these years does not sit in a drawing room all day on account of a tiring morning ride.

So there must be something else at work. She must, truly, be persisting in trying to encourage him to court Miss Edwina. But - why? Can she really not see that he has a clear preference for her, instead?

How is a gentleman supposed to tell a lady a thing like that?

He sits there, in Lady Danbury’s drawing room, and wonders what on earth to do about this. Is he supposed to tell her outright, in whole entire words, that her sister is a lovely girl but he’s rather more drawn to her? Should he instead offer more hints - perhaps buying her more gifts, or bringing flowers, or else carefully choosing a seat by her elbow on every single visit?

He’s beginning to suspect she’d even hand a bouquet of roses to Miss Edwina, presuming it was for her, even if he placed it into her hands with the sentence I brought these for you.

He supposes the traces of this were there in her letters all along. She never spoke about her own prospects - maybe that was not only because she was masquerading as a man. She was always obsessed with her sister’s future, her sister’s education, her sister’s eligibility.

Maybe she simply doesn’t believe he might have any tender feelings for her.

He knows the feeling, honestly. He’s been quite convinced, these last twelve years, that love could have no place in his future, that no one would ever feel a particular partiality for him.

But then he met a dear friend face-to-face - a dear friend who keeps laughing at his jokes, and whom he so often catches looking at him when she doesn’t think he’s watching - and now he’s absolutely convinced there is at least one person in this world who is capable of feeling some genuine fondness for him.

So - what to do? How to convince her he’s serious about her, even though they only met in person four days ago? How to -

“I have some needlework to hand.” Miss Edwina announces suddenly.

Ah. Yes. Anthony had best stop thinking too hard, had best get out of the web of his own frantic thoughts.

“And I am sure Lord Bridgerton would love to see it. He is known to be a man of discerning and refined taste.” Kate rushes to offer.

Is he? Does he have such a reputation? Is she just trying to flatter him?

“I would be delighted to see your needlework.” He says tiredly.

He’d much rather go out back to the stables with Kate and see if Nectar’s looking well. Is that an option? Stables rather than stitching?

Meanwhile, Miss Edwina is laughing a light, pretty laugh. “That was not my meaning at all, My Lord. I can see that you have no particular interest in my needlework. I only meant to reassure you both that I can entertain myself perfectly well with my embroidery if you two wish to continue your discussion about riding.”

“That’s most thoughtful - thank you. The Queen chose her diamond well.” He tells her, and means it. “I must admit, I did indeed come over here hoping to talk your sister’s ear off about horses.”

For the next half-hour, he manages to do exactly that. He manages to sit and discuss sport with his closest friend in all the world - and manages to catch her pretty eyes on his lips encouragingly often, too.

It’s an odd sort of morning call, perhaps - boisterous discussion of horses while the diamond of the season sits and sews in silence in between them.

Ah well. He’s beginning to realise he might prefer to have an unconventional love match than a suitable, dull marriage of convenience.

…….

He calls on the Sharma sisters three times that week, another four the week after, just as often the week after that.

It’s the strangest thing - he really does find himself calling on the sisters. Both of them. Two ladies both sitting and welcoming his visit.

Except that the truth is rather different, isn’t it? The truth is that both ladies sit there, but Miss Edwina makes a great deal of progress with her embroidery and reads a great many books. Anthony can’t understand why she still joins them, honestly. He fears she must be quite bored. He does his best to remember to address the occasional comment to her, and Kate drags her into the conversation with questions every few minutes, but then she always returns to her own pursuits.

It really is most remarkably odd. He suspects Kate still hasn’t understood that he does earnestly intend to pursue her, not her diamond of a sister.

He hasn’t had the opportunity to clarify that, because they are never without the company of her sister. Here he finds himself, caught in a vicious cycle, where he can’t explain his intentions to the elder because they are never in private, away from the younger.

He’s not discouraged, though. Not at all. Kate seems most remarkably fond of him. She keeps laughing at his worse attempts at humour, telling him anecdotes about Nectar, letting her eyes linger a moment too long on his hands when he passes her a teaspoon.

At least - he flatters himself she’s staring at his hands and not the teaspoon. He doesn’t think that’s just arrogance talking, though. He considers Kate too sensible a lady to stare at a teaspoon.

The most uplifting yet strange thing of all? She does keep complimenting him to Miss Edwina. She does keep inviting Miss Edwina, directly and out loud, to admire his fine horsemanship or his sharp wit or his kindness to his family.

He’s pleased she thinks he’s a competent rider, somewhat amusing, a decent brother. Of course he is.

He just wishes she would notice it for her own sake, not for her sister.

…….

He secures a rather more thorough understanding of the situation on the night he eats dinner with the Sharmas. Lady Danbury is hosting a small supper party, it seems, and he and his mother and eldest siblings are to make up the guest list.

He’s rather looking forward to it. He hasn’t had much chance to spend time with Kate outside of those morning calls, and honestly it has been odd to see her only in that formal circumstance after a decade of writing to her with whatever strikes his interest. To be sure, they are not the most formal of formal morning calls. They do laugh a great deal and chatter away quite fluently. But he’s looking forward to eating a meal at her side, to perhaps milling around the drawing room with her for coffee afterwards, to getting to know her better in a different context of any kind, really.

That’s why he’s so devastated about the seating arrangements.

He understands why he has been placed between Lady Danbury and Miss Edwina. It’s supposed to be a compliment to his status as Viscount - he realises that immediately. But he doesn’t want a compliment tonight, damn it.

He wants a companion.

He tries not to let it get to him. He earnestly endeavours to make cheerful conversation with his neighbours during the meal - they are both fine ladies in their own right, so it is not too impossible. Lady Danbury is full of cheek and good humour, and it turns out that Miss Edwina does in fact have some interesting opinions on the season, the landmarks of London, their mutual acquaintances.

But lower down the table, Colin is sitting next to Kate. They seem to be having quite the jolly chat - Anthony rather imagines they must be holding an intelligent and wide-ranging conversation about travel and culture and the world beyond this island.

He is, to be clear, absolutely green with envy.

He does his best to continue being a polite, dutiful Viscount. He really ought to be grateful for such sensible dinner companions. Wasn’t he even considering pursuing Miss Edwina - the diamond, his good friend’s sister - back before he gave himself permission to forgive that particular friend and really notice her fine eyes?

She doesn’t stare at Colin when he’s holding a spoon. He’s rather pleased to notice that little fact.

It’s not enough, though. It’s not enough to enable him to endure the evening with patience and equanimity. So it is that, when the ladies and gentlemen divide for a short time after the meal, he escapes for a breath of fresh air on the terrace.

He’ll go entirely mad if he tries to hold a polite conversation with Colin, just now.

The cold air soothes him, a very little bit. He feels marginally less likely to explode with frustration. Trying to court a lady is rather stressful, it turns out - and still more stressful, when the lady in question doesn’t seem to understand she is being courted, or doesn’t seem to wish to be courted, or perhaps both at once.

Just as he starts to breathe almost normally - just as the tense thud of his heartbeat in his ears falls quiet - he hears a most familiar voice behind him.

“Oh. Hello, you. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

It’s Kate. Of course it’s Kate. Who else would greet him like that - sort of fond, familiar and a little exasperated, all at once?

“Sometimes I find such social engagements leave me somewhat… tense.” He admits carefully.

“Yes. I know. You hate balls - you always worry that everyone is looking at you, the matchmaking mothers most of all - but you find musicales even worse because there isn’t even the distraction of dancing. You don’t mind a dinner party if the food is fine and the company familiar and relaxed.” She recites, because of course she does. She knows him better than he knows himself, he fears. “I thought you would enjoy tonight - you are amongst friends, are you not? And you do enjoy venison.”

“You chose the menu.” He realises, with a sudden warmth of gratitude and fondness.

She nods, won’t quite meet his gaze.

He presses on to the other part of her comment. “You are correct about the company - it is a happy party. Just a shame I found myself sitting with those I am less closely acquainted with.”

“I thought you would appreciate the place of honour.” She argues, and suddenly he realises she must have made the seating plan, too.

Of course she did. Obviously she did, and now he’s gone and criticised her attempt to compliment him.

“I do understand the intent behind such an arrangement, of course, and I’m grateful for it.” He gathers his courage, prepares to say something he’s been trying to find a moment to explain for three weeks, now. “I only meant that I would have infinitely preferred to sit with you. Of all the people present, you are the one whose company I most enjoy.”

She’s silent for a moment, staring out at the garden in the twilight. He presumes that’s thoughtfulness rather than a particular fascination with dimly-lit rose bushes. He has got at least a little bit better at reading her expressions, this last month.

At last, she speaks.

“I suppose I thought it right and proper that you should sit with Edwina. She is quite partial to you, you know, and -”

“Leave it, Kate, please. Really - what is all this about? Why do you persist in acting as if she and I are courting? What is the sense in pushing her towards me when neither of us has any particular interest in the other?”

“She likes you.” She argues, and it’s all Anthony can do not to laugh in derision at that. “She’s not a very… expressive lady, perhaps, but I have given her a thorough measure of your many excellent qualities and -”

“Why?” He interrupts, urgent. “If you think I have such qualities, why press for your sister to realise them?”

“Because you are the only gentleman worthy of her!” The words burst out of her all at once, a bundle of noise and emotion quite unlike he has ever heard from her before.

Hmm. He has the feeling that he has suddenly hit upon a rather important issue, here.

“Kate?” He prompts her.

She takes his meaning. “You are the only man I could possibly trust with her future happiness. I trust you, and I have a thorough measure of your character, and I know that you will be the ideal husband in every possible way.”

He snorts out a hollow laugh. “I believe you are forgetting some of the things you know of me. I kept a series of mistresses over many years. I often argue with my siblings - and on occasion, I am quite unkind to them or judge a situation ill. I am in general a dour, anxious, unaffectionate sort of man.”

“But you are a good one, when all’s said and done.” She argues. “I know the whole of you, not just the shortcomings you choose to focus on. I know that you have always treated your mistresses fairly, and that you have not kept one since you decided to marry. I know that you make right any dispute you have with your siblings. Most of all I know that you take your responsibilities seriously and treat any person in your care with the utmost respect.”

“If you think me such a paragon, why are you not seeking to marry me yourself?” He dares to ask the crucial question at last.

She won’t look at him. She won’t even stand near him, now. She’s pacing up and down the terrace, drifting nearer to those dimly lit rosebushes, striding about with such tangible tension and frustration that he rather wonders why she hasn’t exploded yet.

So - she’s clearly not indifferent to him. At least there’s that.

“It’s not my intention to seek a husband.” She bites out at last, and he’s not at all convinced that really answers the question. “Edwina is the diamond, and of aristocratic descent on her mother’s side, and my duty is simply to raise her and prepare her for -”

He kisses her. He strides right up to her, interrupts her frantic pacing, and simply kisses her full on the lips.

He’s not sure what else to do, frankly. She seems to have got herself all in a stew, and he’s hardly any calmer. He’s besotted with this woman, and it’s increasingly clear that she’s besotted with him, too, and yet she has this strange idea that it’s her duty to clear the floor and let her sister claim his hand.

Only - her sister doesn’t want him. He has no particular affection for the girl, either. So all in all, it seems like a frankly ridiculous notion to keep on shoving them together.

The thing is, he can see why she’s doing it. Even as he’s kissing her, even as he’s swallowing down her shocked gasp and hearing her moan against his lips, he’s thinking too hard about this sorry situation they find themselves in.

Kate has spent the better part of her life entirely in the service of her sister, entirely bound up in her perceived duty to her. So he believes he can understand, now, why she’s determined to make a martyr of herself, why she thinks she is supposed to throw her own happiness away.

She kisses him back for a few moments. He tries to enjoy it, because it’s the first kiss he’s ever shared with the old friend he wants to marry, and that ought to be a special occasion.

But frankly, his thoughts are too tangled to allow him to relax into the moment. He can feel that her lips are soft yet determined, yes, and he can sense her hips angling close to him, her whole body leaning near, can feel her hair under his fingertips and her arm around his waist.

He can feel all this, yet he’s still stuck in his head rather than enjoying the moment.

She pulls away first. She pulls away, shaking her head, dashing a hand almost angrily over her eyes.

“I wasn’t going to do that.” She mutters. “I have been determined not to do that.”

He sighs. “I am sorry for upsetting you, I suppose. But I am not at all sorry for showing you that I am deeply fond of you, and I beg that you might consider allowing me to approach you as a suitor rather than throwing me at your sister all the damn time.”

She shakes her head harder. “No. I - I must insist that you had much better court Edwina. As I have said, you are the only man in the world I would trust with her.”

And then she looks him right in the eye. Damn it all, but she actually meets his gaze head on, her eyes filling with tears, and challenges him to do as she asks.

He swallows hard. He can’t do it. He can’t do this. He can’t pursue either of them, he realises suddenly. He can’t pursue Kate, because she doesn’t want it. She does want him, clearly, but not as much as she wants her perfect plan for her precious sister’s future to play out.

And he can’t pursue Miss Edwina, because it’s simply not possible. All his life he’s feared so-called friends wanting something from him, and now it is confirmed once and for all that the closest friend he’s ever had is no different.

If only he’d held onto that thought, the first evening they were introduced in person, and not accidentally bought her a horse along the way.

But most of all? Most of all he can’t do it because he thinks he’d go quite mad, married to the younger and yearning for the elder every day of his life.

He shakes his head and walks away, wordless, into those twilit rosebushes.

…….

He tries to avoid the Sharma sisters, after that.

He doesn’t avoid them successfully, if he’s being entirely honest. After all, Miss Edwina is the diamond of the season, so she appears to be everywhere, speaking with everyone, at every society event. But that’s fine. He can cope with frequent sightings of the younger, so long as the elder stays hidden against the wall or behind a potted palm, simply watching everything with those knowing eyes.

Didn’t she put herself forward more, when she first arrived in London? He could swear she did.

He avoids them well enough, for a while. He avoids kissing the elder, avoids giving rise to rumours of an interest taken in the younger. That must unfortunately mean he avoids laughing with the elder, too, or discussing sport with her, or sympathising over the raising of sisters with her.

Above all, he avoids giving her another horse. He thinks that must be a crucial aspect of keeping his distance.

So he avoids them - or avoids her, more precisely - for several long days, a couple of excruciating weeks.

He avoids her, until he doesn’t.

……..

The morning he sees Kate out riding, he realises quite abruptly that it’s the first time he’s ever seen her on horseback.

He doesn’t usually ride out this early - it’s only because he’s been struggling to sleep of late. That must be why he has never seen her here before. But now, all at once, she’s galloping towards him and he simply can’t think straight.

She rides astride. He never knew that before, but somehow he’s not surprised now he’s seen it - it’s almost as if it’s something he always knew in his heart, even if he didn’t realise it with his head.

Obviously she rides astride. How else is the woman he knew as Kit for a decade or more to keep adequate control of a spirited former racehorse?

He waves at her in welcome before he can think twice, rides towards her with all eagerness.

“You handle him beautifully.” He says, with a nod at Nectar. That seems much more useful than starting with an awkward muttering noise about how long it has been since they last spoke.

She cocks her head at him, grins widely. “What a pretty compliment. You’re too kind and gentlemanly.”

“There’s no need for all that flattery - your sister is not here to hear you singing my praises.” He dares to tease.

It takes her a moment to give herself permission to laugh at that, but then she does, and laughs loud and free.

He feels himself relax a little, rides even closer.

“Will you ride with me a while?” He asks simply.

She hesitates a moment. “I shouldn’t. I ought to get back to the house.”

“And if, for once in your life, you thought less of duty and more of your own happiness?” He argues, his frustration bleeding through in his tone.

“Then I would ride with you all morning - you know that.”

He nods, wordless. There’s nothing else to say, is there?

“Perhaps I might stay out for another quarter hour.” She suggests, suddenly, and all at once she’s turning her horse around to face the same way as his.

Somehow, that is the part which makes him wish he was a man who could let his emotions out by weeping. Her raw eagerness to be near him, to enjoy time spent together in shared pursuits, and yet the high walls of duty which keep getting in the way.

A quarter hour. Just fifteen minutes of her company, after all these weeks apart from her.

Very well. He had best make it count.

“I intend to make this the most thoroughly pleasant fifteen minutes of your year.” He warns her, urging his horse to get moving.

He expects her to laugh at that, or at the very least grin and suppress a chuckle.

Instead, there is silence, and he looks over at her to see her smiling sadly.

“Kate?”

“I know you will make this the most thoroughly pleasant fifteen minutes of my year, you wonderful man.” She tells him robustly.

She rides off in front of him before he can decide what to make of that. She does have a rather rapid horse, after all.

…….

He decides to go to Aubrey Hall the next day.

He doesn’t see what else he can do - and he must do something, must change his approach somehow, because loitering around town, and avoiding the Sharmas and the way he feels about Kate, and hoping the situation will magically resolve itself has not achieved anything, so far.

So he’s going to ride to Aubrey Hall and spend some time there reflecting quietly and avoiding the social scene altogether. That strikes him as the only viable option, seeing as he can’t very well write a calming letter to his old friend Kit.

He really does wish he could do that. He’s absolutely aching to just get all these troublesome feelings off his chest. He’s not accustomed to allowing himself to get emotional, and now he’s had a couple of months of being nothing but emotional and he feels about ready to collapse.

So - yes. Aubrey Hall. Aubrey Hall will be lovely at this time of year.

He tells his mother a little of his plan, the afternoon before he has decided to leave.

“I intend to ride to Aubrey Hall tomorrow. I fear I might be away for some time. But it has - ah - become most necessary that I take some time away from the season. I am sorry to abandon you all like this. I am sure Benedict and Colin will step up and help you with chaperone duties and the like.” He mutters, rather unhappy with himself.

Didn’t he used to be a dour but dutiful sort of Viscount, before Kate turned his world on its head?

His mother, though, seems less concerned with duty and more with giving him a searching sort of look.

“You’re welcome to spend as long at Aubrey Hall as you like. We shall manage just fine - don’t you fret. Will you tell me why you are suddenly so keen to flee London?”

He swallows hard. “I am not fleeing. I merely think I would benefit from some… space.”

“Aubrey Hall is a most spacious house. The rooms are of very generous proportions.” She agrees.

He does manage to laugh drily at that. “True. And - I think you have worked out the rest. I am finding it rather difficult to arrange the matter of my marriage to my liking.”

“Anything a concerned mother might help with?”

He hesitates a moment. Is there anything she might help with? Does she have it within her power to cure Kate’s martyr tendencies, or to help him manage his own feelings in a more balanced and comfortable sort of way?

No - he suspects not.

“I am fine, thank you. I shall be quite well after some time quietly at home.”

…….

He visits his father’s grave, and it doesn’t help.

Or - it doesn’t fix everything. It doesn’t make his problems go away, doesn’t lift his spirits, doesn’t send Kate careering around the corner and into his lap. There is no sudden bolt of lightening or sign from the heavens to set right the situation.

But perhaps it does help a very little bit. There’s a sort of peace which comes with it - he notices that right away.

And then, later that evening, or perhaps on the second or third day of his visit, a sort of understanding starts to creep up on him. Is that some delayed effect of visiting his father? He’s not at all sure.

It’s like this. He finds himself thinking, increasingly often as the days go by, that what he loved most of all about Aubrey Hall as a child was that it was a happy house. Laughter echoed off the walls. Love lurked in plain sight everywhere. His parents were openly devoted to each other, all his siblings openly fond of each other and of their parents. It was, on the whole, a cheery and companionable sort of home - and even when anyone would argue with each other, that love always shone through.

The longer he stays here, the more he realises that is what he has been missing since his father died, and what he has tasted a snatch of once again since he met Kate in person. The more he realises, too, that he wants such a happy atmosphere here when he is married, when he has children of his own.

So - there’s only one solution to his situation, isn’t there?

He must marry Kate.

He understands her objections - or rather, her reasons for throwing him at her sister, for trying to sacrifice her own happiness. It’s not just a matter of duty or of that martyr streak, is it?

He realises it most clearly, now he’s at the home where he watched his father die in his mother’s arms.

Kate wants him to marry Edwina because she’s scared.

She’s frightened of letting other men close to her sister, petrified of approving the wrong match. She’s desperately trying to protect her in the only way a woman can - by trying to influence the men around her.

As soon as he strikes upon that realisation, it all makes perfect sense. It’s not just that her sense of duty is stronger than her love for him - it’s that she’s fearful, too, of placing her own happiness over her sister’s very health and chance at a safe future.

So his solution is simple, now he looks at it like this. Or - not simple, perhaps, because it might be difficult to accomplish, but at least he has a clear way forward. He must just help Kate and Miss Edwina to find another situation for Miss Edwina which they can have confidence in. He could perhaps try persuading Kate to marry him first and then allow him to act the dutiful big brother to Miss Edwina, or could perhaps recommend some respectable gentlemen he knows, or something of that sort.

Good. Well. There’s a happy bit of progress, then.

He’s rather pleased he came to spend some time at Aubrey Hall. It hasn’t worked out quite how he expected, perhaps - he doesn’t suddenly feel calm, controlled, ready to put his dutiful mask on once again. But it has made him reflect on what he truly wants from his life, on the lengths emotions can drive people to.

So - here it is. Today is the day love drives him back to town again.

He had best admit he loves Kate - or at least admit it to himself - if he’s about to turn the ton upside down to put her in a position where she feels safe to marry him.

…….

On his first night back in London, he doesn’t make a start on his grand plan right away. He hasn’t the energy, frankly - he’s still feeling rather emotional, and he’s tired from his ride back from Kent, and honestly he’s just desperate to see Kate and reassure himself that she has been keeping well in his absence.

Fortunately there is a ball tonight at the Featheringtons’ household. So it is that, without allowing himself to think too hard or hesitate too long, he simply walks up to Kate and invites her to dance with him.

“May I have the next set?” He asks outright, by way of opening.

She frowns at him something fierce. “By all means you may, but I hardly think that’s any way to greet me after so long apart. You must tell me your news. I am glad indeed to see you back in town. Are you - have you been unwell, perhaps?”

He lets out a short chuckle. Of course Kate is much as she ever was - here she is, fiercely ordering him to give more consideration to his absence and his health. He grins at her, actually dares to reach out and take her hand. They are about to dance together, after all, so he believes that holding her hand is acceptable.

Or - hang on - perhaps he ought to say she’s much as she ever was, but looks rather tired and more anxious around the eyes.

“I am fine.” He assures her, although it’s not quite an answer to her question. “I am glad to be back in company with you. And I have a favour to ask you.”

“Yes?”

“Tonight, please might you not ask me too many difficult questions about where I have been or what we are doing? Could we simply dance and enjoy some lively conversation and - and not think too hard about the rest?”

She lets out a tight, breathy laugh - a nervous sound, he thinks. “I’d like that very much. I will gladly provide a whole evening of anecdotes about Nectar. Or perhaps you have something to tell me about the upcoming hunting season, or about your plans regarding Miss Hyacinth’s education?”

He smiles a warm smile at her, squeezes her hand a little tighter. She smiles back, looking him right in the eyes.

“I am very happy to see you.” He tells her. It’s too honest, of course, and not at all related to anything she just said - both embarrassing and irrelevant.

But she catches him. Naturally she does. She would never let him flounder.

“I am both thrilled and relieved to see you. It makes for an interesting mix.” She tells him honestly. “Come - let us dance. We have never danced together before.”

“I know.”

“Then evidently you agree with me that it is past time to put that right.”

It’s the best dance of his life. Naturally it’s the best dance of his life. She’s beautiful, engaging, interesting, lively, and above all she is the firmest friend he has ever known.

He’s going to marry her. He’s going to sort out all this business about her sister’s future, going to help her understand that she is allowed happiness of her own.

First thing tomorrow morning, he intends to make a start on that.

…….

He begins by enlisting Miss Edwina’s help. For the first time in their entire acquaintance, he invites the ladies out for a walk, and takes specifically her arm for a few moments, leaving Lady Mary and Kate to trail behind.

It hurts his heart something awful to walk away from Kate, but he knows it will be worth it when his plan comes to fruition.

“Thank you for walking with me this morning, Miss Edwina. There is a matter about which I would speak frankly with you.”

“I very much hope this is about my sister.” She supplies, before he can even begin to explain the situation.

He nods at her, feels a new sort of respect for her. She’ll make a fine sister and he looks forward to welcoming her to the family. “It is most definitely about your sister.” He agrees. “I think you must have realised that I have a great fondness for her, but she is determined to recommend that I pursue your hand in marriage instead. I believe it is supposed to be a compliment - she thinks me trustworthy.”

Miss Edwina giggles. “Yes - a compliment indeed. She is obsessed with your many excellent qualities and how deeply I ought to appreciate them. It’s quite tiresome, truly. As if I could ever welcome the suit of a gentleman she is so plainly attached to.”

He feels a silly sort of flush steal over his cheeks at that. Kate is truly that attached to him, truly so obvious in her affection for him that it has become a sort of fond joke with her sister?

There’s a bit of good news.

“I am pleased to find that we are in agreement on this. I think we ought to conspire together, you and I.” He suggests. “I understand that she worries for your future and has long wished for us to marry because she believes me a trustworthy gentleman. But I thought perhaps we might help her to see that there are other trustworthy gentlemen in town - and many better suited to marry you than I am.”

“I would like that very much. Are there such gentlemen? I have met a great many gentlemen, and I struggle to know who to trust and who to avoid - and Kate is naturally quite a cynical sort, of course, so between us we hardly know where to begin.”

“That’s where I hope I might help. If you are to become my sister one day, then me and all my family, who have known the other families of the ton for years, might help you sort the serious suitors from those who would waste your time or behave less than honourably.”

“That would be a great help indeed, My Lord.”

 “Excellent. So tell me honestly - what do you wish for in a husband? What sort of man would you particularly esteem?”

“A kind man, most of all - one with pleasing manners, but with substance, too. One who knows what is right and good. But I do wish for a love match, and I have a real appreciation of literature - so a romantic sort of man, one who reads poetry, would be just the thing.”

He grins. She said all that in quite a decided tone. She has clearly had quite some time to think about this, to make up her mind, to decide that she absolutely does not want a sportsman who cares more for robust laughter and time spent outdoors rather than a scholar who enjoys poetry by the fireside.

“A very clear answer, Miss Edwina. I thank you. Indeed - I am so grateful for your clarity that I promise not to be offended that you clearly want a gentleman who is the very opposite of me. Your sister’s efforts to force us together have clearly given you some opportunity to - ah - distill your ideas.”

She laughs. “Exactly so. I think you will be an excellent brother-in-law, My Lord, and I am most grateful for your offer of help in navigating the marriage market.”

“I shall do my best. I suppose I might appeal to my mother for assistance, too - she is far better at all this social business than I am.” He admits, scratching awkwardly at his ear.

She laughs again, louder and warmer this time. “Go on, My Lord. You have my answer - I would appreciate your assistance, and I would like a romantic sort of husband. Now go and walk with Kate, as you are so clearly desperate to do.”

“Is it that obvious?”

He never gets an answer to that question. She has already beckoned her mother over, made a show of releasing his arm, set about manoeuvring things so that Kate might take his arm instead.

Excellent. He has performed his task for the day. Now he has nothing to do but enjoy some fine weather and even finer company.

…….

Anthony puts a great deal of effort into his scheme in the days which follow. There is to be a ball hosted by the Cowpers next week, and he is absolutely determined that his plan will be ready to start bearing fruit by that night. At that occasion, Edwina’s dance card will be filled with the names of suitable, trustworthy, romantic, scholarly, kind and poetic men.

He enlists the rest of his family to help, as well. He asks Benedict some tactical questions about chaps who were at Cambridge with him, rather than Oxford with Anthony. He asks Colin about some of the younger gentlemen who are closer in age to Miss Edwina. He visits Daphne and Simon, makes a great many enquiries about the sorts of things which are said about the bachelors of the day on the circuit of married ladies and widows Daphne now spends her time with.

He asks his mother a few choice questions, in the end.

“You are close with the elder Mr and Mrs Bagwell, are you not?” He drops the query into conversation over the breakfast table one morning.

“I am. Why do you ask?” She counters, eyes narrowed.

“I seem to remember they are close with their bachelor son. He’s a good sort of family man, I believe?”

“He is a very devoted son indeed - and yet he has made his own way in the world, too. He does not lean on his father’s fortune.”

“Hmm. Very good.”

“Why - are you thinking of him for Eloise? I’m not sure they will suit. He has more interest in the Classical sort of literature than all these modern, revolutionary things she reads.”

“Not that. I’m thinking of him for Miss Edwina.” He admits. “I thought I might help her find a suitable match, since I intend to count her amongst my sisters one day.”

His mother smiles broadly. “You take too much upon yourself. You know you are far too inclined to... collect duties. But I think this is well done, dearest, if you are already taking an interest in your future wife’s family affairs. Miss Sharma is grateful for your help, I presume?”

He coughs a little, fixes his gaze on his toast. “I have not exactly told her about this yet. I know she can be quite an independent sort of lady and too proud to accept help. So - I suppose I thought to assist her and then present the fruits of my labour to her as a done deal.”

His mother laughs. “Careful with that, Anthony. She may well take exception and see it as meddling, however much you mean it kindly.”

“I believe she will forgive me for taking the liberty of trying to do her a kindness. I have reason to believe she understands that sometimes the ends justify the means. I suppose - that is to say - there is a sort of precedent for a situation like this already in our acquaintance. So - you think Mr Bagwell a good prospect for her sister?”

“If Miss Edwina wishes to marry a gentle soul who enjoys literature and is kind to his family, she could not do better.”

“Very good. And - I think we ought not overlook Lord Lumley. I know he can be a bit of a dandy, but Miss Edwina does truly appreciate poetry and he is known as a great reader of Byron.”

“What of Lord Forth?” She offers now. “He has a great many siblings who adore him, and he is known as a supporter of the temperance movement. How does she feel about such ideas?”

“I think perhaps he would suit Eloise better - but you are right, of course, that it can’t hurt to bring him to her attention and see whether they take a liking to each other. Thank you, mother. You’re most adept at this.”

She laughs a dry laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? You wanted none of my expertise when it came to finding a match for yourself. You were determined to do that part alone. But now that I can help you fuss over your future sister’s prospects I am most adept.”

“I might have asked for your help if I needed it.” He protests without conviction. “We will never know, since I went and fell head over heels for Kate from the very start of the season.”

She doesn’t press him on the overfamiliar use of her first name, doesn’t press him either on what he means by saying he fell. She doesn’t ask whether he fell in love, or fell for her pretty face, or simply gave way to an easy, comfortable, convenient option.

That’s just as well. He’s grateful she doesn’t ask. After all these months, somehow, he still finds it rather frightening to admit to himself that he’s fallen in love with Kate.

…….

All that remains, after that, is to set the final piece in motion. All he must do is call on Miss Edwina, ask after her embroidery, and then explain under his breath that there are half a dozen fine, upstanding gentlemen intending to call on her tomorrow to ask for a dance at the upcoming Cowper ball. He adds, also, a brief character reference for each of them - all gentlemen he has known since his student days, or the sons of his mother’s close friends, or chaps whose sisters are on Daphne’s married ladies’ tea circuit. It’s amazing what social manoeuvring a well-connected Viscount might achieve when he sets his mind to it.

Miss Edwina is thrilled with his help, she says, and looking forward to getting to know these select few gentlemen better.

She’s so thrilled, in fact, that she tells him he may stop pretending interest in her embroidery and pass the rest of his morning call with her sister.

…….

At last, Anthony’s plan is in place. At last the day of the Cowper ball arrives. At last, he hopes, he might be able to make rather a convincing display of just how well cared for Miss Edwina would be as his sister, not his wife.

As soon as he arrives at the ball, he walks directly to the Sharma sisters where they stand, surrounded by those sensible, respectable young gentlemen, in a rather crowded corner of the floor.

“What’s all this?” Anthony asks, mock-surprised, as he makes his way through to Kate’s side.

He didn’t have to elbow anyone in the ribs to get here, of course, because all Miss Edwina’s admirers are men with fine manners. See? He has done his work perfectly.

“I suspect you know perfectly well what it is.” She tells him, in a level sort of tone.

Ah. So - she hasn’t entirely decided to approve of his well-intentioned meddling, as yet. He may even have to explain himself somewhat.

He will gladly oblige.

“It would appear that Miss Edwina has a crowd of the most respectable and trustworthy suitors. I rather imagine her dance card is quite full with carefully selected names. Oh look - here’s Mr Bagwell, a devoted son and great lover of literature. And that’s Lord Forth - did you know, aside from being devoted to his siblings, he is also a passionate supporter of the temperance movement? Here’s a fascinating observation for you - I do remember knowing many of these fine gentlemen at Oxford, and I never saw any of them indulge in gambling or -”

“You have made your point, thank you.” Kate tells him now, her lips twitching just a little.

“Not yet.” He argues. “I have one last thing to add - I think you will find that these are all men of finer character than I am. Not one of them has ever kept a mistress or fought a duel, to the best of my knowledge.”

“You have not fought a duel. Your sister intervened.” She argues, because of course she does.

He rolls his eyes fondly at her. She actually wiggles her brows at him in response.

It is, he thinks, quite a sound foundation for marriage.

“So - will you leave your sister in safe company and dance with me, now?” He asks.

She walks out onto the dancefloor holding his hand, but she’s still arguing the point all the while. “Not until I have told you I disapprove of your scheming and -”

“Of course you disapprove. You disapprove of anything which involves pursuing your own happiness.” He argues.

“I wasn’t finished.” She tells him firmly. “I disapprove of your scheming, and I am grateful for it, in equal measure. Edwina is delighted to dance with so many gentlemen with the sort of character and interests she finds most attractive. I am… relieved, honestly. I suppose perhaps I could have simply asked for your help and that of your family earlier.”

“No you couldn’t. You’re very independent - it’s one of your more engaging but exasperating traits.” He tells her fondly.

She laughs, swats cheerfully at his arm as the music begins.

“I think I know how you feel.” He says now. “At least - I hope I have understood it right. When you tell me you disapprove of my scheming and are grateful for it in equal measure, that reminds me of how I felt when I first realised the truth about Kit. I am so profoundly grateful for the opportunity to know you closely and personally that the means you employed don’t seem to matter.”

“Yes. I think perhaps that is correct. Although - perhaps we should each of us try to learn to be a little less proudly independent and a little more honest in the future.”

“Ah - the future? Are you willing to talk about that, then, now you are feeling more settled about your sister?”

“Anthony.”

“What? Should I not suggest we have some future to discuss?” He asks, carefully nonchalant. “It doesn’t seem much of a leap of logic to suggest you might have a happy future with an old friend who has similar interests - and whom, it would appear, you enjoy kissing - and who can keep you and your family in comfortable circumstances all your lives. But by all means, go and offer Lord Lumley some encouragement instead, if you prefer.”

“You know I don’t prefer Lord Lumley.”

He gathers his courage, asks the one question which is still haunting him. “Do you truly prefer to remain unmarried? Is there something I have not understood? When we were correspondents and I thought us both happy young bachelors, it made sense to me, because as bachelors we would both have our freedom. But is there some silver lining to life as a single lady I have not seen?”

She snorts out a hollow laugh. “Not at all. I suppose I might have some independence if I sought work as a governess.”

“I promise that if you marry me you may have all the independence you seek. I’ll give you a generous allowance you may spend how you wish, you’ll have use of the stables and carriages and -”

“Are you begging?”

“Of course I’m begging!” The words burst out of him, too loud for a crowded ballroom, too loud even under the cover of the music. “It turns out that my closest friend in all the world is a beautiful young lady. I’ve turned half of society on its head arranging for my most trusted acquaintances to dance attendance on your sister. And still you are surprised that I’m rather earnestly trying to convince you to consider my proposal?”

A pause. A stunned silence. He’s stunned at himself, honestly, so he can’t imagine how she feels.

After what feels like an age, she speaks. 

“You consider me your closest friend in all the world?” She asks. Of all the things in that chaotic, impassioned speech, that is what she chooses to focus on.

“Yes.” He bites out, stubborn. “I have rather hated being unable to write to you all these months.”

She won’t meet his eye. She’s still dancing beautifully, but her gaze is fixed somewhere over his shoulder, and he can’t even begin to make sense of it. He still does find her expressions more confusing than her letters, it turns out - or at least he does in the midst of an agonising proposal when she won’t quite make a reply to his begging for her hand in marriage.

Is she honestly going to turn him down? When he positively adores her, and she seems at least rather fond of him, is she truly going to walk away?

But then, at last, she gives him a sort of answer - half a response, at least. “I have hated it too. Or - more precisely, I did hate it so much that I have been writing to you anyway. I started again when you went on that sudden visit to Aubrey Hall. I simply - I had to. But then of course I’ve been rather worried that someone would post them, or else use them to ruin me and Edwina, so - so I’ve been keeping them on my person at all times.” She swallows loudly. “I have them in my reticule now, as it happens.”

He looks down at her, takes in the reticule fastened at her wrist. Yes – that is new. She wasn’t in the habit of wearing such an accessory at all times in a ballroom, back when he first met her.

Suddenly it hits him once and for all. She loves him. She’s not just fond of him, doesn’t simply think him a companionable man with a pleasing enough face. She’s as devoted to him as he is to her - she must be. There is no other reason why the wisest woman he knows would do something so frankly ill-judged.

It’s dangerous, and she knows it’s dangerous, and she did it anyway - because she can’t function without him any more than he can breathe without her, presumably.

So that’s what gives him the strength to wait her out. To be patient, and simply enjoy dancing with her. She may take all the time she needs, to feel confident about Edwina’s future circumstances, to learn to trust in her own heart and right to happiness. He’ll wait years for her, if he must, now that he knows for certain sure she feels as he does. He’ll bide his time, and allow her the space to -

“So - you are quite certain you wish to marry me? I - I may safely say yes now?” She pipes up suddenly.

He blinks at her. “What do you mean? You mean - you are saying yes? Is this an answer in its own right?”

“I hardly know what the proper protocol is. No man has ever proposed to me before, and I never expected that any man would. So - although I believe you have not strictly asked the question, there was that part where you were begging for my hand, I seem to remember.”

He allows himself to start grinning, just slightly, as she presses on.

“I am simply trying to understand the situation. I wouldn’t like to make a fool of myself and say I would be delighted to marry you if you were not actually inviting me to do so.” She concludes, with an odd little flickering glance at his face, his eyes, and then away.

“I certainly want to marry you. Do I take it that you feel the same way?”

“Yes. Of course. Absolutely. I - I do rather adore you, honestly, Anthony.”

He feels a smile split his face, looks her right in the eyes. “I know the feeling. I am a man obsessed, I fear.”

“Hmm. You haven’t seen the worst of it yet. Just you wait - now we are an engaged couple I may send you letters openly, yes? Look for a note from me tomorrow morning. Or - or perhaps all eight of the letters I currently have in my reticule.” She gives a nervous laugh.

He feels about ready to burst from sheer happiness, honestly. That’s an odd feeling, for a man who was not always prone to showing his emotions. But he’s beaming from ear to ear, physically holding back from kissing her here on the dancefloor, and still she says there is more to come?

He can’t wait for the morning post to arrive.

…….

He’s not sure what he was expecting from that morning post. Perhaps several pages of tortured love letter from while he was away at Aubrey Hall. Perhaps some bittersweet reflections on their kiss, or perhaps some nostalgic, upbeat sort of friendship in the style of his old letters from Kit.

But what he receives, direct from a footman shortly after dawn, is a very different sort of letter indeed. It’s Kate, pure and simple, the very essence of the woman he loves leaping off the page.

My Dearest Anthony

I love you.

There - that’s the honest truth. I have resolved to be braver and practise saying it in person, too, if you will continue to be patient with me. Yet I believe it stands to reason that I find it easier to tell you here, in writing, the first time I say it. We always have dealt very well with words on a page.

I hope to see you this morning. I intend to take a ride where we met once before. You will recall the day I mean, I am sure. Meet me there and be ready for a good, hard ride - and perhaps a kiss or two. I have a fine horse who needs putting through his paces, and I also have a fine suitor who intends to marry me. I have in mind to make the most of both, this morning.

I haven’t the patience to fill this page, not this morning. I am all eagerness to see you again and start planning our wedding day and beyond. So I will only add that you have truly made me the happiest of women, and that this is all the sweeter because I never expected such joy to fall at my feet.

Ride safe and ride swift. The morning is waiting for us.

All my love

Kate

He can’t quite believe it’s real. He’s sorely tempted to read it again, and perhaps a third time, just to check. And then perhaps to have it framed and hanging in his study, so that he may read it in the future if ever he must pass an hour or two at his account books without her constant company. He believes even married couples must endure such chores and separations occasionally.

Hmm. Never mind. He can read it again later, can memorise every precious word by heart. He could even become a lover of literature, perhaps, if all the literature in his world were simply letters from Kate.

But for now he needs to go riding. He needs to put on boots, and run out to the stable, and saddle a horse. He needs to ride through the streets like a man possessed, grinning from ear to ear.

His mother once told him love has a way of humbling a person, but frankly he thinks it has exalted him through the clouds instead.

He folds the letter, tucks it into his pocket, over his heart. And then, without further ado, he simply starts jogging down the hallway, out towards the morning and towards Kate.

Happiness is waiting for him, and he’d best get on and seize it.