The morning sun streamed through the grand windows of Bridgerton House, casting golden light across the polished floors of the entryway. Anthony Bridgerton strode purposefully down the stairs, his boots echoing sharply against the marble. He was a man on a mission, and his expression – grim, resolute – left no room for distraction. Outside, a carriage stood ready, the horses pawing impatiently at the cobblestones as if they sensed the urgency of their master's mood.
Viscount Bridgerton's valet had hardly finished packing his trunk when he demanded it to be loaded onto the waiting carriage, his usual fastidious morning routine abandoned in favor of haste.
As Anthony reached the door, his hand poised to grasp the brass handle, a voice rang out, halting him mid-step.
"Anthony Bridgerton!" Came the measured, maternal tone of Violet Bridgerton, her figure appearing at the top of the staircase. She was dressed impeccably for the morning, a soft lavender day gown draped elegantly over her frame, though her posture and the slight tilt of her head indicated that she was perhaps summoned by some instinctual knowledge that her son was about to embark on some reckless endeavor. Her brow was knitted with concern, though her lips bore the faintest trace of a knowing smile. "Where, pray tell, do you think you are going at such an hour, and without so much as breaking your fast?"
Anthony sighed inwardly, turning to face his mother. "Good morning, mother." He greeted, his voice clipped but polite. "I apologize for my abruptness, but I have urgent business in the country that cannot wait."
Violet descended the stairs with the grace of a seasoned matriarch, her keen eyes fixed on her eldest son. "Urgent business in the country? Surely, this is not Bridgerton affairs. I know of no matters requiring your attention at Aubrey Hall nor outside of London at present. Perhaps you might enlighten me?"
Anthony hesitated for the briefest of moments, knowing full well that evasion was futile. Violet Bridgerton had an uncanny talent for uncovering the truth, especially where her children were concerned. With a resigned sigh, he squared his shoulders.
"If you must know.." He began, his tone steady but tinged with impatience. "I am travelling to Cornwall to fetch Miss Featherington."
"Miss Featherington?" Violet's brows lifted in surprise, her steps halting as she regarded him with incredulity. "You mean Penelope Featherington? And for what purpose does the Viscount of this family personally see to the affairs of our neighboring young lady?"
Anthony clenched his jaw, sensing the inevitability of the conversation dragging longer than he wished. "Because she has chosen to remain in the country, and I –" He paused, collecting his thoughts. "I require her presence in London for the season."
"Require her presence?" Violet echoed, folding her arms. "Anthony, forgive me, but this is most irregular. I did not think you and Penelope were so… familiar as to warrant such an act of – dare I say it – devotion."
Anthony's brow furrowed, his patience fraying. "It is not a matter of familiarity, mother. It is a matter of necessity."
"And what necessity would compel you to leave London at this hour to fetch a young lady who, by all accounts, prefers the peace of the countryside to the chaos of the ton?" Violet's voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the curiosity – and suspicion – behind her words.
Realizing he could delay no longer, Anthony drew a deep breath. "Because, mother, I intend to court her. To marry her before the season ends, in fact. And that cannot be accomplished if she is determined to remain hidden away in Cornwall."
For a moment, Violet simply stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then with a slight tilt of her head, she asked. "You mean to tell me that you, Anthony Bridgerton, have set your sights on Penelope Featherington?"
"Yes." He replied firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Violet's lips parted, her hands momentarily falling from their prim clasp at her waist. Of all the declarations she had expected from her son this morning, this was assuredly not among them.
"You –" She stopped, shook her head, as though trying to make sense of his words. "You intend to court and marry Penelope Featherington? My beloved darling Pen?"
"Yes."
"This season?"
"Yes."
Violet stared at him as if he had just declared his intention to wed a French courtesan in the middle of Hyde Park. Anthony seized the opportunity her astonishment provided, dipping his head in a brief bow. "Forgive me, mother, but I must take my leave. The longer I delay, the less time we will have to set things in motion for the season."
Before Violet could recover enough to formulate a response, Anthony turned on his heel and strode out the door, the waiting footman snapped to attention, opening the carriage door as Anthony climbed inside.
"To Cornwall." He ordered.
As the carriage lurched forward, the wheels crunching against the gravel drive, Anthony allowed himself a single, steadying breath.
Penelope Featherington thought she could remove herself from London. From him.
She would soon find that a Bridgerton's determination knew no bounds.
Inside the house, Violet remained in the entryway, her gaze fixed on the carriage that just left. Slowly, a smile crept across her face, one tinged with both amusement and intrigue.
"Penelope Featherington." She murmured to herself. "Well, this season may prove far more interesting than I anticipated."