**I am very pleased and proud to present another story aided and abetted by fellow writer 'farfromhome' who helped me over every single hurdle in trying to explain what was going on with Baron Featherington's storyline. Blue-skying is beaucoup de plaisir with the right partner. Thanks a ton, ffh. S/P**
Bridgerton - What Dreams May Come…
Part 1 of 8
Prelude
His nightly (and knightly) duty done, Richard Poole collapses onto his back and drags in a much-needed lungful of cooler night air. His skin immediately begins to ramp down from 'fever' to 'gosh' to 'ah' and within half a minute his heart is likewise engaged. He folds a forearm across his eyes and relishes the deep silence.
Well, the almost deep silence.
He listens carefully to the soft little snorty noises from beside him before carefully lifting his arm and checking on his companion. Yep, out like a light. He smiles fondly as he gently lifts her hand off his chest, shifts himself away just a tad, then lays her arm down upon the bed between them. She murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like 'mplzeeewhhh' and turns her face away. Now all he can see is her riotous dark curls upon the pillow.
"Good night, my sweet," he murmurs, marveling once more at how fast she can fall asleep. Obviously her undercover training still comes in handy. Me now, I need time to mull over the day, plan the next day, and generally rev down that rather large organ between my…
She growls something and he stills. Is she waking back up? God, I hope not unless all she wants is a glass of water. I'm fresh out of husband juice. After a fraught moment, she resettles and he sighs in relief. He nestles down into his pillows and shuts his eyes. Let's see now, where was I? Oh yes, she falls asleep like magic but I still need to rev down my brain. Well, today went well and there's no trouble about tomorrow, so what shall I think on, hmmm?
And into his mind's eye shimmers the TV show she'd made him watch. Well, not watch-watch, just all the scenes with that AC-TOR. Mmm, maybe I should write that bloke telling him never to come to the Caribbean. I'd be abandoned in a trice if he did. He grins at that but then his mind gets to work and soon he is mulling over the question she had asked him earlier… to wit… what the heck is going on with this character Baron Featherington?
"Let me see," he murmurs drowsily, "married to a social-climbing obsessive, 3 daughters, no home life to speak of, gambling, all signs of a deeply unhappy or bored man. He needs an adventure, maybe go back to sea. Hah! I'd tell him to get to the Caribbean and find a dark swan like mine! But then there's his debts, that's troublesome. Why leave the accounts out where his wife can find them? And fixing a fight, can it be that easy? And why suddenly a brothel? And is he really dead? We never saw the body. Such slipshod policing! You can bet my team would do better! Maybe he faked his own death? And then what?"
His thoughts are slower and slower, lower and lower, and he drifts off to sleep still puzzling over the intricacies of his brief glimpse into the Regency Period. His question about counterfeit money flares briefly and his history teachings stir and sit up and begin to shed light onto the subject as Richard Poole fades, fades…
… and begins to dream.
END – part 1