Disclaimer: I don't own "Bridgerton" or any of its characters, wishful thinking aside.
Authors Note #1: This was written previous to the start of the season. I finished and edited it after the release but kept the storyline true to my original intentions in writing.
Warnings: promo/teaser/general season three spoilers, season three au, courting, dancing, social pressures, romantic tension, angst, drama, romance, emotional hurt and comfort, emotional baggage, jealousy, pining.
Triangulation
"I am aware I'm not your first choice."
He knew he had intrigued her. But he didn't pause to congratulate himself. So far, engaging the youngest Miss Featherington had been an unexpected challenge. This was his third ball of the season and only their third dance - despite his best efforts. But all that seemed in the past, considering her introduction of her mother and her subsequently willingness for him to fill up her dance card.
"What can you mean?" she returned, not as smoothly as she likely wished as he led her through the opening steps of the dance. "You were the first person this evening to ask for my dance card. It is not as if I am much engaged this season..."
She was lovely. Sharp. Smart. Capable. And of course, lovely in all her forms.
But she was not as guarded as she thought she was.
It was her eyes that gave her away.
"I believe you understand my meaning quite well, Miss Featherington," he replied pleasantly, hoping the lighter tone softened the firmness that had made its way into his response without his permission.
She stared at him through a twirl. Her red hair enchanting. Curls bouncing as they moved together. Finding himself amused by the difference in their height. The scant glimpses of her true personality made it easy to forget she was, in fact, quite small.
It was such a shame. She was everything he was looking for in a woman. And yet, he knew in his heart of hearts she was not as enthusiastic as he was. Oh, her mind was in it. She was determined. And maybe her heart was intrigued. But not her soul. Her soul was decidedly spoken for.
"I believe dancing to be a measure of honesty. Not just between partners, but to oneself," he explained, allowing his hand to briefly linger in hers as the dance ended. Ignoring the mood of the room as the music dropped and people milled about. It was the usual flurry of separating partners and the familiar track to the refreshment table. A ritual they had performed more than once in the past, but not this time. "So let us please be honest?"
She nodded, face closed off save for the small smile that had been forced on her since infancy. His mother, to all their misfortune, had all but beaten the habit into his sisters for years. Because of course it would not do to appear impolite. A man wanted an amiable wife, not some unsmiling harpy.
Christ alive.
And to think women were considered the weaker sex?
There was abundant evidence in the animal kingdom that this was not the case. In fact, it was the female who often ensured the survival of the young. And yet, mankind believed themselves so different? The more he saw of the world, animal or otherwise, the more he was sure women were sorely underestimated and it was at all their peril if such nonsense continued.
But at the same time, that was not his area of study.
And nor did he wish it to be.
He had a simple goal this season, and that was to find a wife. Securing a wife would quell the tiresome requirements of his family. A wife would provide him with an heir and handle his estate while he was on his expedition. And in return, she would enjoy the security his station and wealth provided. It would be a good life, one that would come with ample freedoms. He had thought it all out, quite in detail, and had determined he needed only to find the right fit.
However, he had little in the way of hope, or even desire for a romantic match.
They all had their roles to play, he supposed.
And yet, Miss Featherington was quite-
"I believe you know my intentions," he continued, shaking off the thought before it could become dangerous. "I wish to get to know you better, but only if you want to the same."
She blinked, hesitating.
"Is that not unusual?" she asked.
He gifted her with a warm smile before escorting her off the floor. Aware he was being forward. But she did not mention it. Nor did anyone else. Not even the gentleman – one of the Bridgerton's, he believed – who had been shadowing them all night dared to interfere.
"Is it?" he returned, caught off guard at the sudden lowness of his voice. Finding himself drawn back to the gentleman in question. It seemed like a deliberate act when their eyes met, not challenging, but not gentile either. "It is the woman who choses if she wants to accept a man's intent to court. I am merely expediting the process. Time is a commodity, Miss Featherington. If you will excuse my bluntness."
He had her full attention this time.
Perhaps for the first time this evening.
She looked up at him, lips slightly parted.
There was such intelligence in her eyes.
And again, in that moment, he almost felt something more.
Almost.
The gentleman took a hesitant step towards them.
His eyes narrowed. Almost daring him to take another.
The gentleman halted, face host to an expression that would have taken ages to decipher.
He similarly held his ground.
It was a stalemate indeed.
"Women endure much in this process, do they not?" he added, mouth oddly dry. "I would have thought being to the point might help my cause. At the very least, put me in good standing amongst your admirers?"
She made a soft sound. A scoff or laugh – seemingly at her own expense.
"You believe I am mobbed by suitors?"
He looked over at the gentleman for a long moment.
"Perhaps you should be," he murmured.
And as if he could feel the censure, the gentleman swiftly looked away.
Perhaps she was. Perhaps she simply didn't know it yet.
He was no fool. Nor was he blind to the conflicted longing on the man's face.
He didn't know what that meant, on his part or hers.
But he did know one thing.
He was…unused to sharing his interests.
"I don't- I mean… I have not-" she stuttered, coloring with embarrassment and a mild sort of pleasure. Looking decidedly lovely with her cheeks flushed natural pink.
He took Miss Featherington's hand in his, carefully keeping to the confines of her glove as he kissed her hand. It was a barely-there ghost of lips to skin, but it had been decidedly public. Something which was immediately evident when nearby conversation hushed.
"I will await your reply, Miss Featherington. …Now, if you are set to retire for the evening, please allow me the honor of escorting you to your carriage?"
If he felt the weight of prying eyes as he helped her into her carriage, he remained unbothered. He knew their owner well enough already.
A/N: Thank you for reading. Please let me know what you think! – This story is now complete.
Reference:
- Triangulation: the tracing and measurement of a series or network of triangles in order to determine the distances and relative positions of points spread over a territory or region.