For those of you who have stumbled across this story, welcome! How glad I am for you to be here.
I've been struggling for some months now to get back into writing, and have decided to utilize my enjoyment of the fun that is Bridgerton to finally do some it. I have another story that may (or may not) interest you that is also set in this time period. If you're curious, it's called A Dream of You. Sadly, it has been languishing in want of a new chapter for longer than I care to admit. So I'm letting Bridgerton get me back into the right headspace because I'm currently a bit obsessed with the relationship between Kate and Anthony. (I mean, let's face it, that's probably why you're here, too...?).
What you'll read here is mainly my idea of what's going on in these character's heads before, during, and maybe even after some of the scenes in the show. The order will likely be out of sequence for the moment as I am mainly using this as a writing exercise. I shall go where inspiration takes me.
Please enjoy my musings and let me know what scenes you'd like to read about from whose perspective. But most of all? Enjoy!
Flashing lightning threw the room into sharp relief. The subsequent boom of thunder rattled the nearby window in its frame as though the house itself was frightened by the intensity of sound.
The storm had been raging for hours now and throughout its duration, Anthony had tossed and turned fitfully before giving over to the disquiet of his mind. Now he stared intently at the ceiling as though it contained the answers to the quandary now before him.
Not for the first time, he wished fervently to be able to talk to his father. Surely he would offer words of wisdom that would guide Anthony in the right direction or, at the very least, put his mind at ease. It was one of the many things his father had done so well, somehow expertly navigating the intricacies of life in a way Anthony worried he never would. And the man had made doing the dutiful thing look so easy. At times he felt certain there is nothing he would hesitate to say to his father if only it were possible to hear his voice again.
As this thought made itself known, the familiar tendrils of grief reached his heart and he sighed heavily as though he could expel them from his body and into the humid air. Being at Aubrey Hall (that is, in the home he loved most) always made him feel closer to his father, and made his memory that much more present for Anthony, as though the man were just around the corner in every room.
If only he were.
Anthony's thoughts then shifted to what he had long since determined to be the crux of the issue, back to the other main object of his attention, one that he particularly would've liked to discuss with his father.
Kate. Or rather, Miss Sharma, as he should call her.
After what he privately referred to as The Situation (that of her bee sting), it had become impossible to continue to deny that he wanted her. If he were really being honest with himself, it was not just that he wanted her, but in a way that he hadn't known it was possible to want a woman.
Not since Siena had he felt such a powerful attraction to anyone, and with it came an undeniable sense that he knew this person somehow. But if that was the case, why did he want to know more, to have more of her? It surpassed that of a mere carnal craving. He wanted to know her mind, too.
And it terrified him.
This shift in thought triggered a flood of feelings every bit as intense as grief that added to his confusion more than he was currently comfortable admitting. The waters of that food seemed to ebb and flow with the tide of Kate's very presence, and often times even without it.
Over and over in his mind played the moment shared between them that very afternoon in the woods. He'd been so irritated by the time he finally spotted her that he hadn't been able to resist the urge to pick an argument, partly for the sake of it. (He was, by that point, beginning to realize the pleasure he took from sparring with her.) That, combined with an insatiable need to get some sense of how she was feeling about him made him provoke her about The Situation until the truth of the matter hung between them, though neither would say it aloud. He could tell by the quirk of her eyebrow and the look in her eyes.
They both knew that the day she'd been stung, he'd been a few quick breaths away from kissing her there, in the garden, as she pressed his hands to both their hearts to calm him down.
And then, what had started innocently enough — him showing her how to properly hold the gun — turned into losing himself in the heady smell of whatever floral fragrance she used. (He was nearly sure she smelled of lilies, but had yet to find one of the flowers to confirm.) For a few blissful moments, he'd allowed himself to actually feel the experience of holding her in his arms, despite knowing it could not last.
And he was nearly positive that she felt it, too.
He sighed heavily again.
Yes, thinking of Kate brought up a great many emotions. Some he could not yet name, but at least a few were starkly obvious.
He had to admit to a certain amount of guilt, of course, that his thoughts were not more occupied by Miss Edwina than her sister, despite the fact that the lack thereof fit with his determination to keep the entanglement of love far away from his marriage. Hot on the heels of guilt rode exasperation at Kate's stubborn independence and refusal to adhere to the same standards governing other young ladies of the ton.
Why must she be so… different?
Even more strongly present was desire. Pure lust warmed his body seductively as he brought to mind the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers, the scent she carried with her like a secret, and the inexorable draw he felt when she was anywhere near him.
With the moments they had shared alone with one another running repeatedly through his head, Anthony tossed aside the covers and sat up abruptly. He clearly needed a distraction of some kind.
At this rate, he would never sleep.
After sparsely dressing himself, he exited his rooms and began wandering the halls of his ancestral home, unsure which he was trying harder to escape, his thoughts or the ghosts of certain difficult memories. As he passed the library, he noticed the flicker of candlelight against the wooden door frame.
With a low curse, he reached for the door and pushed it open farther. Initially it revealed only the desk, but the glow was shown to be that of a lone candle sitting atop its surface. As he stepped further into the room, his eyes focused next upon the candle's owner, and he thought his heart might stop.
She started at the creak of the door opening and hastily closed the book she was holding as she addressed him with surprise.
"Lord Bridgerton!" Kate spoke from a step or two up on the library's ladder.
His heart, having not long ago nearly stopped, set quickly to pounding as he noticed instantly that she, too, was sparsely dressed in nothing but a nightgown and wrap. It was as though she'd merely stepped out of one of his fantasies.
"I did not mean to startle you," he managed to say, though how he would never know. "I saw a light and thought I might have left a candle lit."
"No. Only me," Kate said calmly, descending the ladder.
He knew better than to linger.
He knew better than to enter the room further.
Go to bed, damn it, his logical mind screamed at him. Bid her goodnight and go back to bed! He should quit the area post haste lest they were somehow discovered together in such a state.
"Could you not sleep?" He heard himself ask after a short pause, ever the consummate host. At least he'd thought of something to say; he could always rely on conditioned matters of duty, after all.
She looked up from the book, regarding him silently. He tried again. "If your lodgings are not comfortable you need only—"
"No, it is the storm," she interjected at last. "I have always found them unsettling. My father used to read to me during the monsoons." As she spoke, she padded her way around the desk toward him and closer to the rain lashed windows. "Now the rain makes me think of him."
The slight sadness in her voice affected him, as did the sight of her bare feet. The flashes of lightening illuminated her more as she moved, drawing his eyes to the delicious contrast between her skin and the stark white of her gown.
And he knew he the inner battle had been lost the moment he saw her.
He moved closer to her with slow but deliberate steps. Wordlessly, he gestured for her to hand him the book, taking it carefully as she offered it to him.
"This is my father's library," he said quietly, turning the book over in his hands with reverence, wondering absently if his father had ever even gotten to read this particular title. "These books were some of his most treasured possessions." He held it back out for her to take.
"How did he die?" The words hung in the air for a moment. It was such a simple question, yet so rarely spoken anymore. Most of the ton either already knew or didn't care to know about his father's passing simply as a byproduct of it having been so long ago. Still, he couldn't remember the last time someone had even mentioned the man; he felt an odd sense of gratitude that she cared enough to inquire.
Yet he waited a moment before answering, for the moment he said it, she would know why he'd been so panicked by a mere insect that day. He sigh heavily, knowing there was nothing for it.
"He was stung by a bee." He saw the understanding dawn on her as her eyes widened.
"My lord… I— I am so sorry. I—" she stopped with a shake of her head, as though she knew mere words couldn't touch such a tragedy.
Later, he would wonder what made him say what he did next.
"To see a great man felled by such a small creature, it was, um… It was humbling, to say the least." His eyes met hers again, this time with no little confusion.
He'd never shared anything like that with anyone — not even his siblings.
*Why Kate? What was is about her?* Abruptly, he had to know.
But he had no idea what to say next.
Unbeknownst to him, he'd once again lost himself, this time in her luminous brown eyes. She regarded him so calmly, almost serenely, as though she didn't think their meeting here at night in any way odd. It was the most open, the most sympathetic she'd ever allowed herself to be with him and he found it entrancing. Several times, her eyes moved over his face as he watch her raptly. He wondered vaguely if she could hear the thudding of his heart over the rain.
Is her heart pounding too?
A flash of lightning and the resulting thunder abruptly broke the spell.
"Oh!" She exclaimed. "This is not—No!"
"It's alright… It's alright."
They spoke over one another as she quickly set down the book and drew her wrap around her like a defensive shield. All he knew is that he wanted to stay longer in that room with her, protected by the dark of night. He needed to understand the hold she had on him.
"I shall bid you goodnight," she said sternly, brushing past him to get to the door. As she did, he nearly reached out to touch her. Thank goodness he had the presence of mind to keep his feet in place so he wouldn't follow her but his body turned as she went past. The now familiar cloud of her scent enveloped him briefly, making him instantly, almost painfully hard.
As she disappeared into the hallway, he exhaled forcefully. It wasn't the first time he'd experienced annoyed arousal when it came to Kate, but certainly the first time it had happened in her direct presence.
He took a moment to collect himself. Even then, he knew he would never be able to sleep without first seeking some relief from his current state. Finally, he crossed the room and snuffed out the candle she'd left behind, wishing he could as easily extinguish the heat in his blood.
