Hidden | Anthony Bridgerton

Chapter 2 | the presumption of a kiss and the audacity of a man

Hello!

I am very proud of this chapter. Like, actually, this one is gooood, and the first two suck. And it has Anthony, finally, the man, the playboy, the viscount.

I do not know what I am saying, the writing in the actual chapter is more coherent, I promise.
Anywho.

Thank you for reading, and enjoy (hopefully) :)

~*~

The streets of Mayfair are by no means welcoming, much less to a lower-class intruder like me. If I were to walk through them in my usual clothing, I'd soon be escorted away, not by officers, necessarily, but by mean stares and all kinds of huffs and puffs from the people higher in the social hierarchy. I say people; I mean women. Men do not care that much whether one is poor or not; if you're a women, you always are beneath them.

Today, I need to blend in. I must be welcomed into this town as one of its people, since that, paired with an awful attitude and a condescending smile, is what I hope will permit me to buy the needed reactants.

For once, acting as if a man was beneath me shall do me good. I hope so, at least.

I'm wearing the dress; its soft fabric soothes my dry skin, its silk pleasantly cold in this sunny, humid weather. I've even asked my mother to braid my hair, like in the old times.

She's enjoyed it, I'm sure. She wishes she could bring them back, and I know she's never going to stop. I take comfort in that, some of the time. As long as she dreams of that, she has something that keeps her alive.

The waves of gold fall down my shoulders, on my back in a graceful state I've long since seen my hair in. Usually, the ponytail or a bun are necessary to keep them out of my eyes, when I'm working, but now some of the strands are free, pushed by the wind, tickling the skin of my face every now and then. It's not an unpleasant feeling.

I fit in here, at least at this moment. The gentlemen passing me tilt their head, hello, ladies sometimes follow me with their gaze, but I see in their eyes that they are interested, not disgusted or petrified.

I, however, try not to feel too comfortable in my new role. It's just temporary, just to achieve the necessary and then leave the town again. This time, for forever, I hope.

This time of the year - it's the start of the season, I remember, and I scold myself for keeping track of such frivolous things. Now, however, that I realise that, it's hard not to see the ever-present young ladies, determined to find their match, to catch the eyes of the most eligible gentleman, and then imprison themselves in marriage; the flower decorations, crowds surrounding the dress shops, and the loud whispers I hear as I walk through the main street of the town, where most shops are placed.

Oh, what a joyful time indeed. What a shame it had to be brutally put to an end by a certain poor-behaved gentleman who suddenly crosses my path, just as I am about to make the final turn to the local pharmacy.

Weirder still are the things that come out of his mouth at a fearsome pace, as if he was running from something.

"May I kiss you?" He says, with this aristocrate accent, the words sounding like a melody on his lips. (Yes, perhaps I have a thing for this kind of accent, but it's more tied to the past than this strange man.)

Now. Those are the four words I never expected to hear in my life. Those words, spoken by a man in a tone suggesting that it wasn't much of a plea; just a courtesy. As if the kiss in the question guaranteed.

"Pardon?" I turn a bit, to be facing him, which proves to be quite a challenge because of his height; I'm forced to raise my chin abruptly, just to be able to look him in the eyes.