"Miss Sharma, will you do me the honor of your hand in marriage?"
The words immediately made her blood run cold. Edwina could feel her heart beat wildly in her chest and a cold sweat begin to develop on her brow.
For a moment, she couldn't remember the name of the man kneeling on one knee in front of her—Lord Bellingham? Gillingham, maybe? There were so many suitors this season, too many to keep track, more than she, her family, and Lady Danbury had ever anticipated after last year's debacle. They shuffled in and out of the Danbury home this year unceasingly, for months on end, like ants attracted to the smell of sugar. That is exactly how she felt—like overbearing, sickeningly sweet sugar.
Edwina often found herself stopping in every mirror she could find whenever she was alone this season. She would imagine she was a doll on display with one of her many suitors looking down at her, picking her up, twirling her around, scoping for imperfections or cracks. She would practice her demeanor again and again, bending her knees just so, lifting her chin to the perfect angle, shoulders down, back straight, smile delicate and welcoming without being too wide and toothy. Every minute movement of her muscles was so perfected that by the time she was in front of a real person, every cell in her body knew exactly what to do.
Practicing with her mother and sister in the years prior used to bring her so much joy. There used to be a warmth in her performance. Now, not even the most pigmented rouge could bring the color and warmth back into her skin. She felt gray. Washed out.
But she was perfect. That, she could say about herself with confidence. Edwina was perfect.
She had to be. There was no other option.
And it worked, thank heavens, because now this man—right, Marquess Johnathan Brigham, that was his name, and voila, Edwina would now become a marchioness, how grand—kneeled before her with a cheesy grin on his face as he professed his love for her. In the palm of his hands, he held a velvety box housing an intricate engagement ring of yellow gold and dainty opals circling a rainbow-hued diamond. The light hitting the mirrored stone made Edwina squint.
She could hear a crowd of people loudly gasping somewhere behind her. Edwina turned to see her mother, Lady Danbury, her sister and the entire Bridgerton family gently clapping or covering their mouths in amazement. Kate had roughly grabbed onto her husband's arm with a shriek and a wide, toothy smile on her face. Edwina felt the sting of bile rise in her throat.
Kate never needed to be perfect a single day of her life. Kate got to ride horses and shoot guns and muddy her clothing and carry a not-so-secret disdain for polite society, and what did it get her?
Anthony Bridgerton. The kindest, gentlest, most loving, most perfect, most handsome gentleman Edwina had ever laid eyes on, to this day. Anthony fucking Bridgerton. Her husband. Her husband.
Kate had the audacity to ask Edwina to be her maid of honor in her wedding last year. Edwina had the audacity to say yes, like a self-hating fool. She had helped her sister pick her dress, and her flower bouquet, and her wedding jewelry. She had suggested Kate wear the same bangles she dropped on her wedding day. She adjusted Kate's train as she approached the altar. She stood behind Kate that day and watched as Anthony's russet eyes glowed in the light of the midday sun from the chapel windows, as they brimmed with hot tears as he held her sister's hands, as his wedding vows dripped from his lips, smooth, like molten honey. Edwina had wordlessly begged him for a taste, just a single drop, just to know what being loved by him felt like on her tongue. But the vows were said, the rings exchanged, and God and the rest of the ton looked upon their marriage and saw that it was good.
Edwina had cried alone in her chambers for weeks. She had demanded her maids to bring extra blankets to her room and would drape them around herself and pretend the weight and the warmth were Anthony wrapping his arms around her. She would gather extra pillows, place them on the opposite side of the bed and pretend the mass lying next to her was Anthony. Or anyone, really. Sometimes the imaginary person was faceless, or a muddy composite of all the men she had met during her first season. Sometimes Edwina would sit hunched on her bed, and in her debilitating fog she would pretend someone had reached out to touch her cheek. Her skin simulated a phantom warmth on her face, and she would lean into it, sighing into the cupped hand, allowing the invisible thumbs to gently brush her hot tears away.
Once, she had reached her limit while in the bath. Edwina had requested to be left completely alone. Her maids had left her with her favorite soaps and infused her bath water with sweet smelling oils. She had cleansed her body and thoroughly washed her hair, and once she was satisfied, she let her body slip against the hammered-copper basin to rest completely underneath the water. Edwina was convinced it would be enough, that her body knew that enough was enough and that the constant anguish it was under was just too much, that her lungs would just stop expanding and her heart would just stop straining and it would be done, but biology kicked in and demanded she live. She pierced through the bath water gasping. The smell of vetiver was overwhelming.
Months later, she would figure it out. Love simply was not in the cards for Edwina Sharma. Or she would make sure it wasn't. Sure, love felt nice, but it only brought pain, eventually, to someone. Love was a monster, breaking and entering its victims, shredding the soul, making a meal of the heart, setting the nerves on fire, leaving behind lifeless, empty husks. Husbands died, or developed dementia, or loved someone else entirely. Wives spent their days alone, or became helpless widows, or loved someone else entirely. So, Edwina would save herself by not loving anyone else at all. She would let someone else do the work.
"Yes," Edwina responded shakily, and the family behind her cheered.
The commotion assaulted her senses. The family surrounded the couple to give their congratulations. Lord Brigham was back on his feet and squeezing her left hand, hard, as he slid the engagement ring onto her finger. The light hitting the center diamond was still so overwhelmingly bright. The family was so, so loud. Lord Brigham's hands firmly cupped her cheeks and brought her in for a kiss. Edwina felt like he had lit her entire face on fire.
When he pulled back, Edwina noticed for the first time that Lord Brigham's eyes were an oversaturated shade of blue with tiny flecks of brown scattered about, like looking down at the ocean from above. Curly tendrils of brown hair stuck to his forehead in the heat. His smile was wide and toothy. And as he leaned back in for another kiss, he whispered tenderly, "I will love you fiercely until the end of my days, Edwina Sharma."
And as she stared back into the beautiful features of the man she would never love, and as her soul screamed, Well! That's your problem! in return, she whispered back, "And I, you." The words dripped from her lips like poison, and her betrothed drank.
A/N: Hi everyone! If you made it this far, thank you so much for reading! This is my first new fanfic in years, and I'm not sure if a one-shot like this has been written yet in the Bridgerton archive, so if it has, I'm sorry! I wrote this in the middle of a depression spiral a few weeks ago, so I figured I might as well put it somewhere. I'm trying to make writing a much bigger part of my life again, and hopefully I'll have more one-shots like this one coming out, while I continue writing and editing a much longer fic that has been paused but absolutely still ongoing in a different fandom.
I also tend to respond to anyone who leaves a review or shoots me a message, so let me know what you think!
Thanks again for reading!
