Cara felt extremely ill. Ill enough to worry she might toss up her lunch and afternoon tea, though her favorite lemon scones would undoubtedly taste worse the second time around. The problem was, she was standing in front of Queen Charlotte, and it was the very beginning of the famous Sun Gala. Any sign of nausea would either signal Cara's guilt in the Faux Whistledown scheme the queen was poised to discover, or it could prematurely reveal Cara's pregnancy.
Neither option was ideal, but she gauged that the matter would become moot in about five minutes.
"What did you do?" Anthony hissed at her. He'd placed his foot behind her, likely to prevent her retreat. Should she continue to slide back and allow his boot placement to trip her, causing a diversion? It would work, but was probably a bad idea in an era of primitive medicine, especially while pregnant.
She decided to turn halfway toward him, feigning confusion. "What did you say Anthony?" With her face angled away from the queen, she widened her eyes to indicate something was wrong. In response, her husband clenched his jaw- but then he reached out to rest a solid hand on her shoulder, pulling her back against him to turn her around again. Just as he did that, Queen Charlotte spoke, snapping her fingers at one of the footmen.
"You! Tell me how many of you there are! Are we to be invaded by inferior gossipmongers? What a delightful mystery!" she crowed, spinning around to scan the courtyard for more servants with trays of pages. "Come!" he queen announced, sailing off toward another hapless footman.
As one of the others made his way past them, Anthony reached out to snag a pamphlet. "'Lady Thistledown,'" he read, sounding half amused, half horrified. "Please tell me you aren't-"
"I can't, so you oughtn't ask," she said smoothly. "We have a larger dilemma: I am about to lose all the contents of my stomach!"
He patted his lapel, unbuttoning his jacket to dig his fingers into the hidden pockets before letting out a frustrated sigh. "I forgot the ginger candies Cook made for you! Damn."
Cara caught her breath. "The… really?"
"It was meant to be a surprise," he grumbled.
"You are the best husband in any century," Cara announced, touched beyond measure at his thoughtfulness. Just then, her stomach gurgled, and she clapped one hand over her mouth and another on her middle. After an unsteady minute, the danger passed. "This nausea can go to-" Cara cut herself off, much to Anthony's disappointment. She wished she could say something that would sound mysterious but was mundane in actuality, like 'Centralia,' but that was as fraught as her poetry had been. "I'll just say something safe, like the depths of a volcano."
"For your nausea to get access to a volcano, you would need to accompany it, so we'll just have to live with it for now," Anthony pointed out.
"Damn," Cara said miserably. Across the courtyard, a crowd was gathering with the queen at its center. Everyone was starting over, and it was a warm evening. She knew she ought to avoid such a (likely fragrant) crush, especially since many of the guests had chosen to wear extra finery for the occasion. Finery she did not wish to ruin with vomit.
Cara could see Penelope decked out in a butter yellow, with Prudence hovering near Lord Featherington's daring white suit in an orange dress with matching ostrich feather. Next to Penelope was Eloise, who had wisely chosen a pink dress as her concession to the sunset theme. There were a whole host of ladies in the crowd for whom yellow and orange looked as flattering as it did on the Featheringtons. However, not one of the other ladies looked as concerned as Cara's co-conspirators did every time the queen's sunburst wig angled in their direction.
Anthony set his lips to her ear, one hand smoothing comfort along her back, out of sight to the other guests. "We'll need to join them, I think. Whether you become sick or not, when we return home I wish to speak to you about encouraging the sorts of ventures that pull the attention of the entire ton."
A well-born lady would be trained from birth to accept such instruction from her husband.
A well-born lady would have known to counsel her sister-in-law judiciously enough to avoid the kerfuffle happening across the courtyard.
She was not a well-born lady.
Cara turned around to face him, placing her hand on the center of his chest to ensure he had her full attention. "I am not a child, Anthony. You may not have been raised to think of your wife as your equal, but you don't get to speak to me like you're my father," she spat, keeping her angry voice low despite the fact that no one else was standing near enough to overhear. "I have had many fathers. I do not need another one."
With a shove of her hand to push herself away from him, Cara started toward the crowd. The bile rising in her throat had nothing to do with her earlier nausea and everything to do with her emotional state; she hated the way Anthony had sounded, she hated what he'd said, and she especially hated the way he'd seemed to assume she would be inclined toward obedience when treated like that.
Her outburst had thrown charcoal onto the fire in her stomach, but it remained to be seen whether it would prove to be fuel or dampener.
The queen's peals of laughter cut through Cara's personal concerns. She was so disconcerted by them that Cara nearly screamed when someone abruptly grabbed her hand.
"Didi, I do not know what to think!" Edwina said, her voice studiously calm as she added, "It appears that Queen Charlotte has been sent multiple different mimic versions of Lady Whistledown's column, each more outrageous than the last! She has been reading aloud certain snippets of it, so you should be warned that-"
"Where is my Emerald? Carina Bridgerton, have you seen this? You have been quite sharply lampooned!" Queen Charlotte announced, spinning in a slow circle with her eyes narrowed as she searched the crowd. The people around Cara moved aside, though she wished they hadn't. "Viscount Bridgerton! I would have loved to see the sour look on your face this past weekend, as described here!"
Adrenaline, it seemed, could calm one's stomach, if by doing so a person's life was deemed to be in less danger. Perhaps Anthony was right in what he'd said, despite how he'd said it? This was not what anyone had expected to happen, not that she would tell him that now, standing as they were in the middle of a crowd of people, in front of the queen.
"Now," Queen Charlotte said, fixing the two of them with a penetrating glare. "Do either of you know the person who authored these delightfully naughty forgeries?"
"No, Your Majesty," Cara said, shaking her head emphatically. 'The person' was singular, and there were multiple authors- so it wasn't as if she were truly lying, was it?
"It seems clear that this person was in attendance at your weekend retreat," the queen dangled. Around them, Cara could hear whispers and saw condemnation on the faces of some. "If I wished it, I could require a list! However…" Queen Charlotte spun slowly, surveying the expression on the faces of her lavishly dressed guests. "I shall leave it up to Lady Whistledown herself," she stated magnanimously, her mouth twisting into her signature grin. Suddenly she made a shooing gesture toward the gathered throng. "Now, go! Enjoy yourselves! Give Whistledown something to report!" As an aside to Anthony, she whispered, "Tell your sister that her gambit was diverting enough to be successful, but I have my eye on her. What an extraordinary choice!"
Beside her, Anthony's body was as tense as iron. "Perhaps a family visit to the country-"
"Nonsense!" the queen said loudly. "And ruin all of my fun? Don't you dare."
She made a small 'go away' motion, making the opposite gesture toward one of the footmen. With exaggerated ceremony, she placed the five pamphlets on the empty tray she'd called over, and as Anthony tugged Cara away, she could hear Queen Charlotte speaking in highly amused terms about what she'd read.
"Punch?" Anthony asked her quietly.
"I'd love to, but it's not seemly to attack one's obtuse husband in public," she told him, stepping close and reaching up to dust his shoulder of imaginary lint. His brows furrowed in confusion, and Cara let herself roll her eyes. "Your prematurely paternalistic turn earlier?"
Anthony frowned even more deeply. "But I was right?"
"It's not about what you said, exactly, but the way you said it!"
"Do you want something to drink?" he repeated.
"Yes."
He started to walk away, but leaned his upper body in her direction. "Just to clarify, even if I apologized now, you would reject it, wouldn't you? Because there is no way you could properly articulate what I've done wrong without also looking at fault, yes?"
Cara just glared at him, but the corners of her mouth were determined to turn up.
"I thought as much." Anthony offered her the kind of smile that made her weak before he headed toward the refreshments table.
"Psst!"
It took Cara two complete turns to realize where the sound had come from. "Are you inside the brambles?" she asked, when she finally realized. She was standing near a column that was surrounded on all sides by a thick rose bush.
"It was a desperate time. I am… I am stuck," Eloise said in a despairing voice.
"There is no way getting you out of there will make less of a scene than the one you just sought to avoid!" Cara whispered to her, a bubble of amusement rising inside her. "Not to mention the fact that this is precisely the sort of thing that would show up in a certain gossip col-"
"Yes, I'm well aware, particularly because my best friend has been sent for reinforcements!"
"'Sent for rein-'" Cara had to cut herself off, because Benedict and Edwina were walking towards her, both scanning the bush as though looking for its occupant. Cara casually greeted them both, inwardly laughing at her unique form of luck.
The adrenaline from her encounter with the queen hadn't even had a chance to fade before a new source had presented itself!
"Take this." The speaker was Daphne Basset, and the object she'd set in Cara's hand appeared to be a handmade ginger candy. As Anthony and Colin appeared shortly afterwards, she could only conclude that he'd mentioned her malady to his sister. Cara made a note to ask her sister-in-law if she had more on hand once Eloise was extricated. Her issue had been greatly exacerbated by the carriage ride over.
"If you like, I can offer you a stately walk to examine the bonfire, and we can leave this predicament to those who were born Bridgertons," Simon offered in an amused tone.
"I bear at least one-fifth of the responsibility here, so I shouldn't," Cara murmured around the anti-nausea sweet. "Besides, I rather think your height is an advantage here, if Eloise is going to attempt what I think she is."
A whimper sounded behind her, and Cara walked around behind the duke, reaching out and grabbing his upper arms (or, rather, the fabric of his jacket, as she could never have spanned his arms with her small hands) so she could pull him back to conceal her as she spoke to Eloise.
"Eloise?" she said in a hoarse whisper.
"My dress is going to rip, and Mama will make me practice sewing it up myself!" El groaned.
"Listen!" Cara hissed. "I am pregnant. Tell Penelope. That ought to deflect enough from this, don't you think?"
Before her sister-in-law could react, Cara slipped out from behind Simon and linked her arm through Daphne's elbow, doing the same with Edwina. Eloise would need to crawl out underneath the brambles, and their skirts had a chance of keeping that from view, if they were quick enough.
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Somehow, and Anthony knew not how, Eloise managed to extricate herself from the bramble bush without making a scene. This was partially achieved by the sheer volume of Bridgertons and friends that arrived to encircle the bush in various bundles of concealment, with the crowning glory being Benedict 'accidentally tripping' Eloise into the bush almost immediately, which gave an explanation for the damage to her dress.
Anthony made sure to stand behind his mother as she dressed Benedict down so he could make 'head of household' faces which could not be returned for fear of Mother's extreme ire. It made the entire evening a delight, it truly did.
The evening did end early, as Cara couldn't shake the nausea that sometimes accompanied pregnancy. She complained bitterly in the carriage on the way home (while tightly holding his hand and angling her head toward the hatbox they'd found for 'just in case') that of course she would be sick more often in the evening here, when most women she'd known personally had been sick in the morning. He sympathized; evenings were important during the Season, and it could have been argued that learning her new duties as viscountess took her away from morning visitation, thus concealing the true reason.
When they arrived home, Cara was covered in sweat, her skin was clammy, and her expression was frightened. He carried her upstairs and ordered a warm milk toddy, which promptly revived her spirits and her physical state. Anthony propped her up in bed with the hatbox on a stool within reach. He fell asleep with her curled-up hand resting on his shoulder, something he'd thought of as reassuring for her, but which reassured him when he woke up in the middle of the night and it was still there, meaning she hadn't needed the hatbox.
The next morning, she surprised him by being upset.
"You went straight for waking up the kitchen staff, didn't you? Without trying anything else first!" she asked him from her throne of pillows, her black curls draped like a curtain on her shoulders.
"Lucy seemed very happy to help. We treat our staff well, they stay employed with us far longer than most families. Besides," Anthony spread his arms out beside him. "I do not know how to warm milk!"
"Oh, that's right, I knew that," Cara said, making a strange face.
Sometimes it felt like someone, perhaps Lady Danbury, had given her a long lecture about himself and his family. Cara almost always made comments about his upbringing when they fought. It was disconcerting, and they had unfinished business to hash out, but this wasn't the time.
Anthony came over to stand beside the bed, drawn by the sight of her bare arms and chest above the sheet; Cara had slept in a simple sleeveless shift, fearful that she'd stain her nightgown. He wanted to kiss every inch of the warm brown skin that was visible, and then move to kiss every inch of the parts of her that were hidden. His thoughts must have been showing on his face, because she reached out and grabbed his hand to kiss the backs of his fingers.
"Soon," she promised, her expression vulnerable. "I have a sense that I was reacting to a combination of the carriage rides and our host's proliferation of flowers. I'll need to take a carriage to the Featherington ball that was just announced, but I can walk to some of our next few-" Cara broke off to glare at him for merely changing his expression in dismay at that suggestion. He wisely pressed his lips together. "-as I was trying to say, I shall have to see what to do if the condition persists. It can last through the whole pregnancy, but usually ceases for most women after the first few months. Oh shit, that's the rest of the Season!"
Cara dropped his hand and slipped down further into the bed, pulling the sheet over her head. "Someone's going to figure it out, about the baby, I mean," Cara said, her voice muffled under the sheet.
"Once they do, you'll have a respite from this worry," he said in his most soothing of voices.
Cara emerged, her hair in disarray, expression dubious. "Isn't pregnancy considered something shameful, that women ought to hide and pretend isn't happening?"
"Not particul- what the devil was your life like in India? You seem both sorrowful to have left it behind and yet you often remark on things that make it sound very unpleasant!"
"No, please do not- my memory is to blame, not India," she said, scrambling out of the bed, much distressed. "Oh! I do not know anything, and I should stop trying to pretend that I do!" she said, hurrying across the room to grab her robe and thrusting her arms into it as if striking boxing blows. "I am sorry," Cara finally said, sounding dejected.
Anthony was entirely baffled as to what had just happened. These wild oscillations between confidence and self-doubt were unlike her, and thus had to be a pregnancy thing. Simon's advice seemed solid, though, so he got up and walked over, folding her in his arms. Comfort was always a safe wager.
"My first trimester of eighteen fourteen went far better than the second one," Cara sighed into his chest. "But I sincerely fear what the third will be like, given that I'm only halfway into this one!"
None of that made sense, but Anthony just held her close and hoped that his love and their family, both around and inside her, would soon be enough to ease her worries.
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Cara did indeed seem to be getting better by the following Saturday, which was the as-scheduled Featherington ball. Anthony spent the afternoon at Mondrich's club, seated uncharacteristically at the bar, characteristically with the Duke of Hastings.
"Another?" the owner asked from behind the bar.
Simon inclined his head, frowning at a spot of raucous laughter that erupted from the large table at the far end of the room. The group was being led (by the pocketbook, in Anthony's opinion) by Lord Jack Featherington, who was in a jolly mood thanks to the report he'd received that morning showing good early returns from his mine.
The timing was too suspicious to be ignored.
"I don't like it," Simon said for the third time that day. Repetition from Hastings was damned unusual, more so when the subject matter wasn't his concern. Neither of them had given Featherington any money to invest, but the inevitable downfall of the cocky heir would undoubtedly reflect badly on Mondrich, who could ill afford it.
"Perhaps an off-hand comment-" Anthony began, only to be shot down again by a loud remark from the man in question.
"Here's to tonight and to the rest of our lives, gentlemen!" In a quieter voice that still carried throughout the room, Featherington said he was looking forward to having a tête-à-tête with his investors, instructing them to check back frequently if he was currently engaged in one.
His expression stony, Mondrich set down the bottle he'd been pouring with, causing a sound that echoed enough to gain the attention of the room. Immediately, he turned, pulling the towel from around his neck to reach up and tend to one of the other bottles on display. It was a wise choice, as his displeasure could have soured any one of his patrons on their choice of club, considering that White's was still preferred by most of them.
Someone clapped Anthony on the shoulder, and he turned to see Featherington himself.
"Never thought of you as a wallflower," the man said with a loaded grin. "You're welcome to be the first to speak to me one on one, if you like? Allay any concerns you may have?"
Did the man realize the way he was pushing made Anthony more suspicious? It seemed a flaw that not many of his other devotees had caught on to, much to their (likely) eventual detriment.
"I'll need to pass on that, I have quite a few monetary concerns to occupy me in the next few years," he told Featherington in a neutral tone. Beside him, Simon finished his drink faster than usual, setting the glass down and getting up. He moved past the two of them without a word, letting his lack of response speak for his displeasure. Anthony watched the impact of Hastings' departure strike Featherington for a few seconds before the man schooled his expression back to that of a salesman.
"Ahh, well. Perhaps your brother's eventual good fortune will bring you in at a later date, eh?"
With that, Featherington took his leave, nodding to another gentleman to accompany him to a table at the far end of the room.
The words 'your brother' echoing in his head, Anthony drained his glass, pulled out some coins, and slapped them on the table. Featherington was either bluffing or he wasn't, but Anthony was about to find out which one it was- and which brother it was. He got up to leave, mind racing.
"Bridgerton!" Mondrich called out. He was carrying a heavy barrel, and Anthony made his way over to help.
"Didn't I just see you place this in back?" he asked as he grappled with one end of the weighty object.
"I needed to speak to you without suspicion," the other man admitted quietly, grunting as they positioned the barrel behind the bar, entirely in the way.
"Any more? I find myself full of energy!" Anthony glanced meaningfully at the back room.
"Follow me and I shall check, and thank you, sir."
Once there, Mondrich turned swiftly toward him, dabbing the sweat from his forehead. "Your brother Colin has been hovering on the outside of Featherington's circle for weeks. I do not know him well enough to gauge whether his interest is genuine, but-"
"Thank you," Anthony said grimly. He knew their gambit would look odd if he remained out of sight for too long, so he nodded at the other man and started for the doorway. A heavy hand on his wrist halted him.
"He seems well-intentioned, even suspicious. If he comes by today for one of those 'private talks,' I'll keep an eye on him, if you like," Mondrich said.
"You're a good man. If things turn sour, Hastings and I will do our best to associate this place with you, not shady business dealings," Anthony told him.
"Such is my fear. I thank you."
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The sound of a young, clear voice singing in Italian drew Cara out from where she'd been ensconced in the library with a book. She followed the sound into an elegantly-furnished music room where Hyacinth Bridgerton was standing, a sheet of music in her hand, singing to the accompaniment of a male stranger at the instrument.
Because the door had been ajar, and she knew that the man would likely feel it proper to stop playing and acknowledge her presence, Cara hung back against the wall beside the door to listen. The piece ended, and Hyacinth immediately frowned, her nose crinkling up in multiple places.
"That was very nearly dreadful!" she declared, adding quickly, "But not your playing, of course."
"You're still struggling with the 'gli' in glisenti," the man told her amiably. "It's a soft sound, try it again?"
"I'm struggling with the note more than the word," Hyacinth objected, but nodded her agreement. "Oh! Carina, did we disturb you?"
She sounded very much like she wished they had. "Not at all," Cara said, prompting the music tutor to stand and bow. Hyacinth performed a sweet introduction, after which Mr. Costa suggested that Cara take a seat, as they were nearly finished.
"Oh, but didn't I hear from Miss Sharma that you are an accomplished singer in your own right? Do you think you could-" The devious youngest Bridgerton offered Cara the sheet of music.
Cara knew her face must be the picture of fright, given the impish pleasure on her sister-in-law's face. "Reading music in front of a person whose job it is to teach such a thing does not only horrify schoolchildren, Hyacinth, it also strikes fear in the hearts of vicountesses!"
Suddenly, Anthony's angry voice echoed in the hallway. "What do you mean, he just now left! I have just now arrived, and did not see Colin nor his horse! I need to speak with him!"
Cara stood, hoping to close the door and keep any signal that something was amiss away from either Costa's or Hyacinth's ears, but the young girl darted past her and out the door.
"Anthony, if you are cross, you must cheer yourself up by getting Carina to sing for you!"
"I really ought to have kept walking, when I heard noise coming from this room," Cara muttered to herself.
"Her mother learned that lesson quite early," Mr. Costa said mildly.
It was with a smugness beyond her years that Hyacinth returned seconds later with her brother in tow. Hyacinth stole Cara's intended seat from her, folding one ankle behind the other and her hands on her lap, a position that Anthony adopted as well. Both of them looked at Cara expectantly.
"I did not agree to-"
"I am, it must be said, decidedly cross," Anthony said. "And I have never heard you sing."
If the earth could open and swallow Cara whole on command, it would have done so long before this, but today was a good candidate, if the only ability existed.
"Before the event this evening I really ought to see if the kitchen has made up some of the ginger sweets that calm my-"
Anthony interrupted her by reaching into his pocket for a small muslin satchel that he shook, causing its contents to jitter together like a bag of gemstones.
Her heart in her throat, and feeling like the absolute worst kind of impostor, Cara trudged over to the pianoforte and started looking through the pages of music. She herself had no chance of recognizing something, but perhaps Carina's odd instincts would kick in and-
Under her hand lay a piece that triggered a kind of spark of remembrance in her. The reaction she had must have been definitive, for Mr. Costa plucked it from her fingers and settled the page on his music stand, holding his hands at the ready.
"I'll have to stand quite close to read it," she said, but all three of the room's occupants said something encouraging.
Cara didn't even get to express begrudging agreement to their scheme before the twinkling notes of the song began. She was throwing herself into the abyss, it seemed.
Thankfully, the melodic line as she sang it was solidly in her range, so that was something.
Oh, the tale I tell is one of love
Of a journey long and a maiden brave
Her man a Lord of a land whereof
By a kiss bestowed did fate doth save
High on a rock the lord did reign
His heart as hard as the land below
The clan alone his labor fain
Naught for love would he be brought low
Lassie dark of hair but light of foot
Fought hard the seas for to land in town
One look at she and milord was caught
Trading scowl for smile she unmanned his frown...
The longer Cara sang the seemingly unending Scots ballad, the more she worried Anthony would think she'd chosen it deliberately! Given its references to a voyage at sea, Cara thought that maybe Carina learned it from the crew of their ship during the six month passage from India. After singing entirely too much about a rock-hearted man touched by the blithe spirit of a woman coming from far away, the song finished with an admonition to be loving and truthful to your partner, as the hero of the song had to slay the former paramour of the voyaging lass before the two could be wed.
It took all of her composure not to react to certain parts of the lyrics, particularly those about being truthful. Cara was grateful when the song was over, though the low, final note rang through the room for quite a few seconds before anyone said anything.
"Well, I have been doubly blessed today! Two wonderful Bridgerton songbirds!" Mr. Costa said, fetching his pocket watch to examine it with consternation. "However, I am now left with not much time before my next assigned tutoring time, please forgive my haste!"
"Not at all, please accept my thanks as an accomplice to persuasion," Anthony said with a large smile, leading him to the door. "I am sure Hyacinth is pleased to have secured a respite at the end of her lesson, as well."
"Not so!" the girl in question objected, before adding. "Well, a little." She scurried out the door after Mr. Costa without another word, leaving Cara and Anthony alone in the music room.
"I had no idea," Anthony said in a low, appreciative voice.
"I didn't want to seek comparisons," Cara whispered, thinking of Siena Rosso as she looked away. Seconds later his arms were around her, back pressed as close to hers as he was able, practically trapping her against the side of the pianoforte. She felt safe, rather than smothered, however.
"There is no comparison. No rival to vanquish. I hope you know that. You consume me, body and mind alike." His hand drifted up from her stomach, pausing at her bodice before sliding warmly across the naked skin above her neckline and onto her neck, turning her gently so he could kiss her. Anthony was solid and strong, his lips persuasive, and the kiss shifted from loving to heated in an instant. Only the footfalls of someone in the hallway beyond had them moving apart.
There might be additional benefits to his suggestion that the rest of the family move to a different residence!
"Maybe we should change for the Featherington ball in turns, tonight?" she teased.
"Maybe we'll just skip dinner entirely," Anthony countered.
"I love the way your mind works," Cara told him, harking back to his words during Pall Mall.
"It is decided, then."
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That evening at the Featherington ball, the buzz on everyone's lips was the lack of a new Lady Whistledown column. At dinner earlier that evening, Francesca said there was a higher than normal presence of the queen's servants at the shops in town. He assumed that it was just too difficult for Penelope to get the pamphlets printed without being discovered.
As a celebration of the Featherington family's successes, the ball was certainly lavish, including a fireworks display at the end. Anthony saw a wistful look in Cara's eyes as she watched them and wondered if she was picturing any such displays from her home country. He was grateful that the ginger candies and the slow pace of the carriage had helped with the persistent evening nausea, but as the display in the sky wound down, Cara tensed up beside him.
"I am going to find your mother," she told him softly, pulling free with a gentle smile that didn't meet her eyes. Not wanting to seem like there was any concern and thus give away the secret of her condition, Anthony was forced to simply nod and watch her weave her way through the crowd. Almost as soon as she had left, Colin sidled up to him, his eyes fixed on the colors in the sky. After Benedict's obviously pained revelation that he was going to leave the art academy, Anthony couldn't help but wonder what Colin would have to say. Had he deeply invested in Jack Featherington's harebrained scheme?
"I just saw a loaded carriage leaving the grounds," Colin said in a barely audible whisper. "The driver was too well dressed and tall to be anyone but Featherington."
Anthony turned, the dread taking shape in his stomach, not unlike Cara's nausea. "Leaving? With the investments, do you think? Do not tell me you were one of the-"
"I didn't give him anything more than a healthy dose of suspicion," Colin said firmly. "I cannot prove anything untoward, however. It could very well be that he has tired of Lady Featherington's heavy hand and is returning to America to better steward what he was given."
The look on Colin's face was deeply skeptical, but there was something else there, a kind of protective determination.
"Leaving Prudence Featherington behind, you mean? Are you looking for leave to attempt a second gallant rescue of a lady in danger of reputational collapse?" Anthony asked him, glad to have the chance to needle his brother yet again on the subject.
"I have no intentions of-"
"Or perhaps you wish to rescue your friend, her younger sister, from the imminent collapse of the family?" Anthony continued, warming to his subject. He crossed his arms, leaning back on the balustrade he'd been standing beside. Around them milled various members of the ton, but no one was looking in their direction, which was a shame. Colin did look quite unhappy.
"I am not courting Penelope Featherington! Not in your wildest-"
There was a sound behind them, as though something had been knocked over in haste. Both Anthony and Colin turned in different directions, trying to track the source, and Anthony saw a streak of yellow as someone, probably Penelope herself, ran away. He decided not to say anything to Colin, as it was in his gallant, meddling brother's personality to make things a million ways worse in an attempt to repair what the chit had assumed by overhearing them.
A change of subject was in order, but Colin was ahead of him.
"I initially came over to tell you that Lady Danbury was in the process of leaving, and your wife went with her, along with Lady and Miss Sharma. They offered to drive slowly and were leaving early enough to not obstruct the roads. I presume you wouldn't want to stay late just to do the same."
"Ah, good. She's been feeling, err…" Anthony searched through the molasses of his brain for a good excuse. "A return of the seasickness she felt during their voyage from India."
"Mmm, of course," Colin said, his eyes narrowing. "Well, I'm off to see whether it really was Featherington. I won't thank you for your support, however."
"Understood," Anthony told him. He looked around and saw his mother surrounded by ladies, deep in conversation, with Benedict hovering nearby looking bored. By the look on his brother's face, they weren't to be leaving for a while, but that boded well, actually. Cara's illness after carriage rides had dampened her ardor most nights they had engagements, but if she was able to ride slowly home, and Anthony showed up after she'd recovered, he might just have a chance to do more than sleep with her.
His conscience pricked him for greediness, but Anthony immediately rejected the feeling. He had limited time with her, did he not? His father's death at thirty-eight hadn't been the only premature death in the Bridgerton family, what with his uncle Hugh's death at thirty-four. That was only five years away, much farther from forty than he expected and dreaded his own demise to be.
A sense of gloom settled around him like a shroud, spurring a whole different branch of guilt. Cara's song from earlier had included a warning not to keep things from one's lovers, lest the secret fester and boil over at the worst possible moment. He wondered what Cara's reaction would be if he told her the truth. Would she do as he had done, accept the inevitable with the caveat that they ought to enjoy what little time he had left to the fullest?
What would that look like?
For the first time since he'd realized his days were numbered, Anthony let himself see a future where his wife stood at his side until the end he'd forecast for himself. Cara would rail at him, that was inevitable- but once she realized that there was no way to change the outcome, wouldn't she seek to fill his life with love and laughter, just as he hoped to do for her, while he was yet able?
An odd sort of energy surged through him. He should tell her. He would tell her. Cara would be tired, perhaps even drained from the carriage ride, and that would diminish her fury, allowing her to sleep the worst of it off. In the morning, he'd start the process of persuading her to forgive him.
For now, he'd go round up the family so they could go home to her. Anthony spun on his heel, starting toward where he'd seen his mother.
He'd barely taken a step before he heard a man's hoarse cry from outside the grounds. "Overturned carriage! Help!"
Anthony's heart suddenly began to pump wax, instead of blood. He could almost feel the thick substance as it traveled along his veins, slowing him, filling him with fear. He struggled to move, to seek out the person shouting, to find out which carriage. Was it Lady Danbury's? Or Lord Featherington's? Around him, others were rushing past him, but all Anthony could do was ask himself whether they'd only used Bridgerton carriages when they'd left Aubrey Hall to speak to the queen. Had the carriage he'd helped repair been Lady Danbury's? Was it primed to fail? He couldn't remember!
"-women aboard!" came a call, repeated multiple times as the message was passed back to the crowd.
That melted the dread enough so he could run.