Note:
I could not resist this idea, gentle readers. The truth is, every time I fall in love with a new franchise, my brain constructs a 'fan wakes up in the story' plot that will not let me rest until I write it. I actively avoid starting new things for this very reason- but Anthony Bridgerton snuck up on me. I was defenseless.
I definitely ship Kate/Anthony, but as per tradition, I've figured out a story construction that respects the love interest but sets her aside for this alternate, non-definitive version of this universe. There will be no bashing, no sensationalism, n̶o̶ e̶n̶g̶a̶g̶e̶m̶e̶n̶t̶, just a mashup of the two versions of The Vicount Who Loved Me. The truth is, I wanted to let both versions of canon stand for a while before writing Kate/Anthony stories. In no way am trying to imply this romance is 'better' than theirs. It is just different.
Just a last note to say: I don't specify the race of the young woman who ends up swapped into the fictional life of Carina Sheffield, who is herself a person of color. I did that deliberately so that anyone who reads this story may picture themselves in that situation. This isn't a 'reader' fic, however, and I do not have personal experience with Indian culture. As someone without that background, I have sought out advice and done research to try to fold in aspects of it out of love for the shift from book to film, from Sheffield to Sharma.
Already, you are mine. Rest with your dream inside my dream.
Love, grief, labor, must sleep now.
Night revolves on invisible wheels
and joined to me you are pure as sleeping amber.
.
No one else will sleep with my dream, love.
You will go, we will go joined by the waters of time.
No other one will travel the shadows with me,
only you, eternal nature, eternal sun, eternal moon.
~a selection from Sonnet LXXXI, by Pablo Neruda
Chapter One
After having spent the previous many hours in a dream-like state, what fully roused her was the rush of air against her face, and the familiar yet strange feel of a saddle beneath her.
The past day had passed as if she were an exhibit behind glass, not fully engaged in her surroundings. She'd experienced every moment in impermanent flashes- a soft hand holding hers, anxious whispers, a sense of waiting, then suddenly, a full-color walk down a wooden gangplank onto a dockyard bustling with luggage and people. The cacophony had caused her to draw back farther and farther within herself, back into a space that experienced everything in a detached, confused way. There followed a long carriage ride with the head of a beloved stranger on her shoulder, then a grateful fall into a clean, strange bed. The moment just before this one was filled with the comforting repetition of preparing a horse for a morning run.
She scanned the horizon before her. It was all pleasing countryside broken by brush and trees in various places, but crucially, she spotted no houses. There was no way to know which direction she'd started from, or even how long she'd been out riding. Gathering the reins, she started slowing to a stop to catch her bearings, but behind her, she heard a man's voice cry out. The voluminous cloak she was wearing blocked any sight of him, but its existence made her look down in surprise.
Her clothing was not at all as she expected. It was… it was beautiful, and happened to be in her favorite color, too. The color and the fact that it was so obviously a style from centuries past made her convinced she was in a very realistic dream, for all that it had felt like she'd 'woken up' a few minutes before.
The man called out again, and her instincts set in.
She needed to lose him, to gallop away into this cultivated wilderness and figure out where she was, who she was. There was a stormcloud residing in the Identity portion of her mind, and when she ventured near, it intensified.
Instinct formed her stance, the rich fabric of her hood staying put as she sought her escape from the mysteries in her mind and the man who was now chasing her. Then she saw it, a hedge low enough for a horse of this fine caliber. Even though she'd never been on a horse in her life, she somehow knew exactly what she was doing, like the knowledge had been instantly accessible through whatever firewall was currently installed in her brain. As confusing as her situation was, it was also exhilarating, and she readied herself for the jump.
As soon as her pursuer understood her intentions, his tone changed.
"Careful, now! Woah there!"
The horse cleared the hedge beautifully, but she was keenly aware of the danger she'd chosen for them both. She didn't recognize this landscape, and it had been reckless to jump a horse into unknown terrain. To catch her breath and see what the horseman would do, she trotted up to a nearby rise and drew to a stop, looking back. Thankfully, he had stopped short of the hedge.
The man was dressed in a similar style to hers, complete with a hat, which he touched his fingertips to with a reluctant dip of his head. Even with a distance between them, she saw that he was quite handsome. Not wanting to keep his interest, she nodded to him curtly before turning away and heading for a copse of trees. There was a path visible between them, hopefully leading back to the place she'd come from.
She'd just regained a normal heart rate when she heard a male voice.
"Enjoying your victory lap?"
"Oh, fuck," she muttered under her breath, hoping the man didn't hear her unladylike language.
"You won't be afforded such an ample head start this time, I assure you," he continued. She could see his confident expression perfectly well as he rode his horse over to hers. He looked familiar, but with her memory still caught in its muddled maelstrom, she couldn't place him.
Biting back a retort, and hoping she wouldn't reveal how out of place she felt in this daydream, she said, 'I do apologize-" and caught her breath, turning her head away to touch a (delicately gloved!) hand to her lips in surprise.
Her accent sounded British, but something else besides. Pressing that same hand to her chest, she found that her hair was loosely braided and long, long enough to rest over her shoulder, hanging past her breasts. Should I use the word 'bosom' even in my own head, in whatever dream-world I'm in right now? she asked herself, amused. Even thinking the word 'breasts' felt scandalous, somehow.
"I did not mean to-" freak you out "-cause any concern," she added hastily.
"Does your maid know you're riding astride?" he asked, placing such emphasis on the last word that she wondered if he'd chased her down just to ask that.
"Do you often follow young women home to criticize their riding choices, sir?"
"Mmm, now that's not the response of a married woman," was his outrageous retort. Her immediate eyebrow uplift must have shamed him, though. "Forgive me," he said, offering a heart-stopping smile that she felt certain she ought to have recognized. "You are… lost, I take it?"
"By no means," she said, the archaic phrasing coming more readily to her lips than she would have expected. The accent change made the sound of her voice melodic in a way that boosted her confidence. Truth be told, so did the blatant interest on this gentleman's face, but the nagging feeling that she knew him somehow (and that he shouldn't look at her in that way) made her slightly uneasy. "I am on my way back to, to-" she stops helplessly, unable to remember.
"To Mayfair?" he offered sardonically.
"Why do I suspect you would offer the name of a place very far away, in order to entrap me?" she mused, narrowing her eyes at him. The place name, just like the man, triggered a distant familiarity.
The man laughed, and it suited him so well in the morning sunshine that her heart began to race again. "Rather than be struck down by your precision in sketching my character, I'll have you know that just this once, I chose the correct name to supply you with. Only…" and here he paused both word and motion, prompting her to stop and turn her horse back toward his to continue the conversation. "If you are indeed meaning to return to Mayfair, it is in the direction you are now facing."
She blinked in surprise and dismay, lifting herself in the stirrups to search the horizon in the direction they'd ridden, seeking some sort of landmark. A particular tree did look familiar, and the ground beside it had the same tan color as the path under her horse's hooves.
"I believe you are right," she said, reluctantly. "Thank you, my lord." The words felt foreign and wrong, but the horseman didn't seem to notice.
"There is no shame in being unable to immediately map out one's new surroundings," the man said quietly, nudging his horse closer. As if he'd surprised himself with the softness of his tone, he cleared his throat, adding, "Though, if you had, I feel certain you wouldn't have sought to cheat in our little race." His chin jutted up as if emphasizing his point.
"A race, was it? You were not seeking to chase a strange, unaccompanied woman into the wilderness, then?"
His chuckle was defensive, as was his shaken head. "Hardly wilderness. A mere ten minutes' ride will get you as far as the Danbury estate, with many others along the same path. Perhaps you'd even come across the maid you undoubtedly abandoned minutes into today's excursion?" His impudent eyebrow lift was hot, but she forced herself to look away.
The name Danbury ignited hope inside her. For some reason, it signaled safety. If only she could get this gentleman to leave her alone, she could figure out what was going on! Maybe, if she were to alienate him…
She shifted in the saddle in preparation to head toward the Danbury estate, away from this man and his uncomfortable conversation. "Had I taken a maid with me, she would have been able to keep up."
He tipped his head sideways and looked at her. The intelligence in his scrutiny prompted a hot flush that spread across her face and neck. She risked giving him the impression that she was hiding from him by pulling up her hood and gathering up her reins. The man reached out and rested a hand on her horse's neck, the small ring he wore on his pinky finger glinting in the sun.
"Why do I have a feeling that you are seeking to escape from something?" he asked, fixing her with a look that demanded some kind of answer. This was a man who was used to getting his own way, a powerful man.
"Far be it from me to contradict such an assumption," she told him. If she were braver, she would ride away just then, but she didn't know whether the horse would react poorly from such conflicting instructions as a petting hand on its neck and her urging it forward.
"What is your name?" he murmured, nudging his horse even closer. His leg was close enough to hers that she could feel its heat.
She didn't have a name to give him, even if she wanted to. Every time she sought the answer, it retreated further into the deep recesses of her mind. "Isn't it best I not answer? If we were to meet again in a more respectable place, how would we explain such foreknowledge?"
"So you'll leap your horse into the unknown, but won't let yourself be thrown to the wolves? Good for you," he said. "I'll look forward to our next meeting, then."
His grin made her breath catch.
This man was dangerous, she decided. She needed to get out of there. If she were at home, she'd feel perfectly empowered to move his hand away and leave unencumbered, but this was his world, and they both knew it. All she could do was look from his hand to his face, tighten the reins, and hope he chose to listen to her unspoken plea. Anything more would be begging, and she refused to humble herself further.
Nodding slightly, he lifted his hand away, but not before tangling his fingers in the brown hair of the horse's mane in a way that nearly made her gasp. It was all too easy to picture him winding a woman's hair through his fingers-
His amused tone broke through her reverie. "Good day, then, Miss…" He dangled the prompt as though hoping she would forget her resolution to refuse him and supply a name anyway, damn him.
"Anthropy," she answered cheekily, avoiding his eyes by securing her hood and spurring her horse into motion.
His knowing chuckle chased her as she spurred her horse into a gallop that would not, could not take her away from him fast enough.
88888888
Luck (likely the kind only found in dreams like this one) was on her side, and just as the handsome horseman had said, there was a manor house along the path he'd indicated. Near the boundary of the property, a footman was waiting, and he lifted his hand when she approached.
During the ride back, she'd worried about how she could possibly maintain her dignity and dismount while wearing such voluminous skirts, not to mention the glorious cloak. Such a thing required practice she absolutely didn't have. As soon as the servant came to steady the head of her horse, though, she dismounted with the kind of grace that took years of experience. The preternatural instinct that had gifted her horsemanship had come through for her again.
Unfortunately, that instinct didn't extend to knowing where the heck to go now.
"It appears that in my haste to complete my ride before I was missed, I forgot to make note of how to return to my room," she said.
"I can send Meeks to fetch a maid to guide you, Miss, if you'll take a turn in the garden while I find him," the footman said politely.
"That would be perfect, thank you," she said. He bobbed his head, and she caught herself before she returned the gesture. Instinct, again.
After he led the horse off, she started in the indicated direction, stopping on the other side of the archway to look down at her outfit. It was made with far nicer materials than any possible cosplay she'd ever seen. The generous cloak was forest green and velvety, and underneath, she was wearing a darker green dress in warm, thick fabric. She lifted the hem to see that she was wearing beautiful black leather boots, the kind you'd have to pay a lot of money for back where she was from.
As had happened the last few times she'd tried to focus on where that was, her head spun, and she became dizzy. She reached out to steady herself on the archway, noting the way her leather gloves were dyed to match the deep green of her dress. Everything about the outfit felt carefully crafted to work together, the kind of richness and quality she'd never been able to afford… in that nebulous other life.
"All right, all right," she said aloud, when her stomach roiled in acidic protest. "I'll play along, for now."
"Miss?"
Of course, she told herself. People always walked up exactly when the protagonist talked to herself, so naturally that would happen in this bizarre dream of hers. She greeted the young woman who'd come to fetch her, feeling distinctly guilty that the time she'd spent self-admiring had meant the maid had to spend more time to find her. This only intensified when the young woman took the time to point out rooms of note on the way up, an unnecessary but gracious kindness.
The house was a lot like her clothing- dripping with subtle hints of wealth and appreciation for quality living. To her surprise, the maid came into the room with her and introduced herself as Bessie (of course), the servant assigned to look after 'both yourself and Miss Sharma.'
The Sharma name fit like a puzzle piece in her memory, finally connecting the various clues she'd already been given. She whispered a stunned thanks to Bessie as the maid walked out the door and left her alone in the room, staring at the mirror in the corner. It was angled away, so she couldn't see herself. She wondered what the reflection would look like- the mass of braided hair over her shoulder was a different color than her own, but she'd told herself that it was part of some kind of costume. Now? She wasn't quite sure.
Sharma. That was the altered name in the Bridgerton series, when the producers had updated the book for the Netflix adaptation. She'd loved both. It seemed that her mind had taken the last week of watching the series and re-reading the second book and constructed a little escapist fantasy. She pulled off the leather gloves and hugged her arms around herself, allowing the beautiful green cloak to droop over her whole body, hiding it. The action reminded her of the last time she'd attempted to hide in that cloak.
A thrill of realization shot through her. The handsome horseman had to have been Anthony Bridgerton. That's where she'd recognized him from!
But, if that were true- SHIT!
She froze in place, eyes wide. If she had been the young woman on horseback that Lord Bridgerton had chased down, did that mean…
Reaching up to undo the cloak's clasp and throw it onto the bed, she rushed over to the mirror. The person who looked back was not familiar. It wasn't the face she was used to recognizing as herself, nor was it Kate Sharma's face.
The woman looking back at her looked similar to Kate in many ways- the same hair and skin color, but her eyes were her own, even though they were set in an unfamiliar face. There was something strangely comforting in that, as if she were simply a jewel in a different setting. Her features reminded her less of Kate and more of Edwina and Mary; they were more rounded and sweet-looking than the older Sharma sister's sculpted, aristocratic beauty.
So, she wasn't Kate Sharma- but did that mean she'd 'stolen' the other woman's rightful first meeting with Lord Anthony Bridgerton?
"Okay, this would be a good time to wake up!" she announced, closing her eyes against the feeling of panic that was spinning the room.
There was a gentle knock on the bedroom door. "Didi?"
Before she could figure out how to respond, the door opened, and Edwina Sharma darted into the room. She was wearing a delicate gown covered in shiny embroidery, with a white hair decoration that set off her curls in a lovely way.
"There you are! How do I look? Will Lady Danbury approve, do you think?"
"I-"
"But, you are not dressed to meet her!" Edwina gasped, and her expression turned affectionately stern. "Did you go for a ride already?"
The words tumbled out before she could really examine what she was saying. "I couldn't feel like myself until I had the wind in my hair-"
"Well, good!" Edwina interrupted, drawing herself up to her full height as though that would grant her more authority. "Now that you are yourself, it should be no large thing to finish preparing. It is almost time to be presented to our hostess!" With that, she turned to make for the door.
"Wait! Edwina, I- I'm feeling strange. My memory, it is faulty-" Her initial instinct to confess everything was met with a powerful wave of nausea, so she changed tactics. "Did- do you remember if I struck my head during our journey?"
Immediately, Edwina's expression turned to concern. "No, I do not, but we must get to the bottom of this!" With adorable determination, Edwina herded her over to a small couch, resting the back of her hand in various places to check for fever. "What do you mean by faulty?"
It seemed impossible that the dream intended her to cause such a fuss, but there was nothing for it, now. "I know who you are, I know where we came from, and how, but…" she began.
Edwina looked stricken. "Do you remember Mama?" she whispered.
She nodded.
"What about Appa? Jayanta Khatri, Neha Sahota?" Edwina grabbed her hand and squeezed as if she could inject the knowledge that way.
"I know of Appa, but I cannot- I no longer know what he looks like!" she confessed, "But I do not mean to upset you. I am certain that a solid meal and some good rest will put me to rights, fuel to unravel the mysteries of myself and my surroundings."
Edwina's hand tightened its grip.
"Didi," she said slowly. "Do you not remember who you are?"
"No. I do not," she confessed. "I feel as if I've been dragged through a thicket of rose bushes. Where the petals touched I retained my memories, but everything else has been torn away by the thorns. I can still ride like the wind, I know who you are- but if I seek memories of our life together before this day, they slip out of my grasp, and I'm left clutching a thorned stem." She let out a long breath, fighting the urge to run back out, find the horse, and ride until she woke in her own world, her own century. "Perhaps if you treat me as if I've grown from infancy in one night?"
"Oh, Didi. Your way with words remains, no matter what else we must remedy. On that you can be reassured, yes?" Edwina said with a tremulous smile. She closed her eyes and shook her head as if banishing any negative thoughts, and reached out to grasp both hands in hers. "Your name is Carina Sheffield. We are cousins; my mother is your aunt."
Carina was a beautiful name, but definitely one she'd never heard before. Still, there was something grounding about knowing whose place she was taking for however long the dream lasted. She smiled at Edwina, but shook her head a tiny bit to answer the unspoken question of whether it sounded familiar.
"No matter," Edwina said, lifting her chin. "We'll catch you up. Ma is the youngest child of three. Before her first Season, her brother married and had you before being cruelly taken away by smallpox, along with your mother. Her parents took you in, but it was Ma who loved and cared for you. Then she met Appa, and-" Edwina paused to take in a breath and compose herself. Her eyes downcast, she continued. "She could not bear the thought that her parents would fill your head with untruths about our family, so she took you with her to India. When I was born she raised us together as sisters."
"But, what of Kate?" Carina interrupted, unable to hold back the question any longer. To her horror, Edwina's expression contorted with grief for a few seconds before she snatched her hands back to cover her face. "I am so sorry," Carina whispered. "I thought I remembered- but it might be a false memory? She should be here!"
"No, you are right." Edwina was almost weeping, behind her hands. Carina looked about the room, her eyes lighting on a handkerchief resting on the dresser. She leapt up and retrieved it, holding it out for Edwina, who had lifted her head to see what she was up to. "Thank you. Kate was taken from us ten months ago." She sniffed, touching the tissue to her eyes before twisting it in her fingers. Carina stayed standing, unsure what to do. "There was a young boy trapped in an unstable building, and his grandmother could not get to him. Kate did not even hesitate in attempting to help them. All three perished when it collapsed."
"That is dreadful," Carina whispered. What sort of dream was this? Could she force herself to wake? She'd do anything to avert the miserable dignity on Edwina's face. Instead, she sat back down and rested a gentle hand on the younger woman's shoulder.
"When Lady Danbury's letter arrived, it was a light in the darkness," Edwina finally said, her voice thready from emotion. "She received Kate's letter after her death. Even after she was taken, Kate was still providing for us!"
The obvious course of action was to offer a hug, and Edwina swiftly accepted.
A soft rap on the door separated them. "Come in?" Carina called out.
Lady Mary Sharma stepped in. Her smile deepened when she saw they still had one arm around each other- at least, until she looked more closely at Carina. "Cara, your hair! Tell me you did not go out riding!"
"That is just what I said! But, oh! We must make haste," Edwina deflected expertly, springing to her feet. "This first impression will be most valuable. You shall have to finish up without us and come as soon as you are able, Didi." Faced away from her mother, Edwina pressed her lips together, lifting her eyebrows. Carina nodded, seeing that the motion was seen by Mary, who nodded maternally.
"I love the pattern of your dress today," Carina told Mary before the older woman left the room to follow Edwina.
"You tell me that every time I wear this, Cara. It never fails to make me smile. Come down as quickly as you can, dearest."
Carina was left blinking at the closed door, touched by the moment, but confused about her place in it- and now she had a time crunch! Stepping up to the mirror, she was startled by her own appearance again. The young woman looking back at her was beautiful, so much so that she felt a stab of envy at the life she would get to lead in this beautiful place and time. Then again, what did it matter whether this film reel life scrolled on without her, once she woke up?
Lifting her hands to her hair, Carina was suddenly struck by the same rush of competence as she had with the horse. She knew exactly what to do with her hair, and she got to work braiding and pinning until the whole curly, beautiful mass was caught up in a flattering, elegant updo. The weight of what she was being called to do struck her: until she woke from this strange, wondrous dream, she would be stepping into the formidable slippers of Kate Sharma. The most important thing to Kate at this point in the book and the television series was to do her very best to support her sister Edwina. To do so, Carina had but one task to accomplish today: charm and possibly impress Lady Danbury.
Carina bit her lip and smoothed a hand over her skirt. There was still a little mud on her hem, but time was of the essence, so she'd just have to hope Lady D didn't see it. She also hoped she wouldn't slip up and actually call the woman 'Lady D!'
"All right, fates. I hope you know what you're doing," 'Carina Sheffield' said to the ceiling.
At least she knew for certain there weren't any surveillance cameras to catch any of the mistakes she was about to make.
Note: 'Misanthropy' is a dislike of mankind, strong negative feelings toward people. Carina was playing on the titles of the time ('Miss Sheffield' 'Miss Bridgerton') to both reject his question about her identity and imply that she didn't answer because she is antisocial (either against all people, all men, or just him in particular!)