The warm glow of candlelight flickered against the dark wood-paneled walls of Anthony's study as he strode inside, the faint scent of tobacco and aged leather greeting him. He had come directly from Featherington House, his mind still entranced by the lingering memory of Penelope in his arms, her softness, her scent, the way she had not pulled away. His thoughts were far too occupied for him to notice, at first, that his sanctum had already been invaded.

It was only when he heard the distinct clink of crystal against wood that his gaze lifted to find Benedict reclining in one of his armchairs, a generous pour of Anthony's finest brandy in hand. His younger brother, ever at ease, regarded him with a low, amused smirk as he swirled the amber liquid in his glass.

"Ah, there you are." Benedict drawled lazily. "I was beginning to think you had been kidnapped. Or worse – saddled with a particularly dull conversation with mother about floral arrangements." He took a sip before adding. "Though, judging by your expression, it seems something far more interesting has occurred."

Anthony, instead of his usual exasperation at his brother's intrusion, merely smiled – a rare, unguarded sort of expression that made Benedict straighten in his chair.

"Well, that is unsettling." Benedict remarked, setting his glass down with deliberate slowness. "Where is my perpetually vexed, brooding, and insufferably duty-bound elder brother? And what, pray, have you done with him?"

Anthony, still in high spirits, let out a low chuckle and shook his head. "Can I not simply be in a good mood?"

"You?" Benedict scoffed. "No, I daresay it is unnatural. The last time you were in a good mood, I believe you were a boy of eight, and that was only because father had allowed you to ride his stallion unchaperoned."

Anthony merely smirked at his brother's jest, dropping into the chair opposite him, still lost in the afterglow of his earlier visit. Benedict, keen observer that he was, narrowed his eyes.

"This newfound cheerfulness.." He mused, stroking his chin in mock contemplation. "Would not happen to have anything to do with a certain Miss Featherington, would it?"

At the mere mention of Penelope's name, Anthony felt the corners of his lips twitch upwards once more. He could not help it. His mind betrayed him, pulling him back to the hushed stillness of the library, to the sensation of Penelope's delicate frame pressed against him, the silken strands of her fiery curls against his jaw. She had not resisted him. The fact alone sent a thrill through him he could scarcely contain.

Benedict observed the faraway look in Anthony's eyes and let out a bark of laughter. "Good Lord." He said, shaking his head. "I never thought I would live to see the day when my elder brother –theViscount Bridgerton, known for his unshakable resolve and utter devotion to duty – would be reduced to daydreaming over a woman."

Anthony's gaze snapped back to his brother, his expression schooling into one of careful neutrality, but it was too late. Benedict had seen it. He had seen the way Anthony melted –softened –at the mere mention of Penelope. And if Benedict saw it, others would too.

"You are insufferable." Anthony muttered, reaching for the decanter and pouring himself a drink, if only to distract himself.

"And you, brother, are besotted." Benedict countered, grinning as he leaned forward. "You may as well admit it. There is no shame in it, you know."

Anthony exhaled, fixing his brother with a level stare. "And if I were?" He challenged. "Would it be so great a sin to be romantically inclined toward the woman I am to marry? The very woman our mother has long wished to be part of the family? Is it not, after all, what she has always dreamed of us? To marry for love?"

Benedict raised his brows at that, his smile taking on a knowing quality. "Ah." He murmured. "So you do admit it, then."

Anthony tensed, realization creeping in like an unwelcome guest.

Didhe?

Benedict, sensing his elder brother's momentary lapse into silence, seized his opportunity. "Let us examine the evidence, shall we?" He said, ticking off his fingers one by one. "One – you have been in a significantly better mood since beginning your courtship with Penelope. Two – you no longer grumble about having to attend social calls if it's with her. In fact, youseekthem out. Three – at the mere mention of her name, you positively glow, brother.Glow."

Anthony scowled. "I do not –"

"Youdo." Benedict interjected. "Four – you have not so much as looked at another woman since your return from Cornwall. And lastly, five – if I were to mention Penelope now, I am quite certain you would either sigh wistfully or fall into another one of those ridiculous daydreams."

Anthony opened his mouth to refute him, but no words came.

Because, blast it all, Benedict wasright.

He inhaled sharply, his grip tightening around his glass.

Benedict grinned in triumph. "There it is. That dawning realization." He leaned back in his chair, immensely pleased with himself. "You, dear brother, are in love."

Anthony swallowed.

Love.

The word settled over him, unfamiliar yet strangely fitting.

He had long convinced himself that love was a foolish, dangerous thing. That it made men weak, left them vulnerable. And yet – Penelope made him feelalive. She challenged him with her reluctance and intelligent quips, softened him, made himwant.

Perhaps love was not the burden he had always feared.

Perhaps, with her, it was something else entirely.

Perhaps, with Penelope, his love can be fully returned.

Still, he was not about to grant Benedict the satisfaction of a full admission.

Instead, he smirked and lifted his glass in a mock toast. "If Iwerein love.." He said smoothly. "Would it truly be such a terrible thing?"

Benedict chuckled. "No, Anthony." He said, shaking his head. "It would not be terrible at all." He took another sip of his drink before adding slyly. "Though I do wonder how our dear brother Colin will take the news."

Anthony scoffed. "Colin has no right to protest. He has spent the last two years gallivanting across the world while leaving Penelope to endure countless seasons without so much as a thought to securing her hand."

"True." Benedict conceded. "But that will not stop him from being utterly dramatic about it."

Anthony waved a dismissive hand. "Let him throw his tantrum. He will have to accept the inevitable."

Benedict grinned. "The inevitable being that you, Anthony Bridgerton, are well and truly smitten."

Anthony merely shook his head, unable to fight the smile tugging at his lips. He finished his brandy in one swift motion and rose from his seat. "Drink my brandy, Benedict, but do not test my patience."

Benedict lifted his glass in mock salute. "To your inevitable surrender, dear brother."

Anthony only chuckled as he strode toward the door, but as he stepped into the dimly lit corridor, his smile did not face.

Because, perhaps for the first time, he did not fear surrendering at all.

—-

The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the Hastings' London residence, casting golden patterns upon the polished parquet floors. The drawing room, tastefully adorned with pale blue silk drapes and gilded furnishings, bore the unmistakable touch of the Duchess of Hastings. Yet, for all its elegance, Anthony Bridgerton found himself restless as he paced the Aubusson rug beneath his feet. It was an uncommon thing for the Viscount to feel unmoored, yet here he was, having sought out his sister – a rarity in itself.

The door opened with a soft creak, and Daphne Basset, Duchess of Hastings, entered with her usual grace. Her brows lifted in mild surprise upon seeing Anthony there.

"Anthony." Share greeted, a gentle smile on her lips as she advanced toward him. "To what do I owe this unexpected visit? I regret to inform you that Simon is not at home."

Anthony's shoulders loosened with what could only be described as relief. "Good." He said, voice warm with amusement. "It is you I came to see, not your husband."

Daphne's eyes widened slightly. "Indeed? Well, this must be of some consequence then, if the indomitable Viscount Bridgerton has sought his sister's counsel. Come, let us sit before I expire from curiosity."

She led him to the brocade-upholstered settee while a maid arrived with a silver tray bearing tea and delicate lemon biscuits. Once the tea had been poured and the maid dismissed, Daphne leaned forward, eyes alight with intrigue.

"Now." She said, stirring her tea but never taking her gaze from Anthony. "Out with it, brother. I have rarely known you to seek advice, least of all from me."

Anthony exhaled heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. "It concerns… Miss Featherington."

"Penelope?" Daphne's teacup halted midway to her lips. "Has something happened? Has she been slighted in some way?" Her face tightened with concern, her affection for the young lady evident.

"No, nothing of the sort." Anthony reassured her quickly. "Our courtship progresses well enough. She has not rejected my attentions – yet." He added with a dry chuckle.

"Then what is it?" Daphne prompted, setting her cup down and giving him her full attention.

Anthony hesitated, his jaw working as he tried to formulate his thoughts. "I.." He cleared his throat. "Last night, I spoke with Benedict. We discussed, among other things, my courtship. And it appears I have come to a rather startling realization." He fixed his sister with a look that was equal parts bewildered and vulnerable. "Daphne, I fear I may have fallen in love with Penelope Featherington."

Daphne's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. Then, quite suddenly, her expression transformed into one of radiant delight. "Anthony!" She exclaimed. "That is the most wonderful news! Mother will be beside herself with joy. And Penelope – dear, sweet Penelope – oh, she will be so very happy."

Anthony shifted uncomfortably. "Will she?" He asked. "That is the crux of my dilemma, Daph. What if she does not? What if, when she learns the depths of my affections, she finds them unworthy?"

"Unworthy?" Daphne frowned, tilting her head. "Anthony, whatever makes you say such a thing?"

"My past." He admitted, his tone grim. "My reputation. I am no stranger to scandal, Daphne. My name has been whispered alongside too many ladies of questionable repute. Penelope may find it difficult to reconcile the man I was with the man I wish to be."

Daphne's expression softened as understanding dawned. "This is about the Sharmas, is it not?" She asked gently. "About the elder sister?"

Anthony winced slightly at the mention of Kate Sharma, the woman who had once, to his dismay, captivated his heart. But now, the memory of her was a pale shadow compared to the vibrancy Penelope brought into his life. He shook his head. "No, Daphne." He said with conviction. "The Sharmas do not occupy my thoughts any longer. Since the day I made my intentions clear with Penelope, it is as though they have ceased to exist in my mind. I think only of her – of her wit, her warmth, her maddening ability to best me in conversation."

His mouth twitched in a half-smile before he added. "And I find myself utterly enraged when other gentlemen dare vie for her attention."

Daphne released a breathless laugh. "Oh, Anthony." She murmured, eyes twinkling. "You are well and truly lost."

"Hopelessly so." Anthony agreed with a humorless chuckle. "But tell me, sister. What am I to do? How do I make her see past my many flaws?"

Daphne reached across and took his hand in hers. "You show her what we have always seen." She said softly. "That you are more than a rake of past seasons. You are a man of integrity, of responsibility. You have shouldered the burdens of this family with unflinching devotion. Let her seethatAnthony Bridgerton, and I assure you, she will have no cause to doubt your heart."

Anthony's throat tightened as her words settled within him. "You are certain?"

"Entirely." Daphne said, squeezing his hand. "Penelope Featherington is a clever woman, brother. She will look beyond the past and see the man you are now. And if she does not.." She added with a teasing smile. "Then she is not half so clever as I believe her to be."

Anthony laughed softly, then leaned over to kiss her temple. "You always know precisely what to say."

"I am your sister." Daphne replied, returning the kiss. "It is my duty, after all."