First Impressions // A Bridgerton Story

Chapter 2

" The topic of rakes has, of course, been previously discussed in this column, and This Author has concluded that there are rakes, and there are Rakes.

Anthony Bridgerton is a Rake.

A rake (lowercase) is youthful and immature. He flaunts his exploits, behaves with utmost idiocy, and thinks himself dangerous to women.

A Rake (upper-case) knows he is dangerous to women.

He doesn't flaunt his exploits because he doesn't need to. He knows he will be whispered about by men and women alike, and in fact, he'd rather they didn't whisper about him at all. He knows who he is and what he has done; further recountings are, to him, redundant.

He doesn't behave like an idiot for the simple reason that he isn't an idiot (any more so than must be expected among all members of the male gender). He has little patience for the foibles of society, and quite frankly, most of the time This Author cannot say she blames him.

And if that doesn't describe Viscount Bridgerton, surely this season's most eligible bachelor, to perfection, This Author shall retire Her quill immediately. The only question is: Will 1814 be the season he finally succumbs to the exquisite bliss of matrimony?

This Author Thinks...

Not. "

LADY WHISTLEDOWN'S SOCIETY PAPERS, 20 APRIL 1814

At that very moment, the subject of their discussion was relaxing at White's with two of his three youngers, enjoying a late afternoon drink.

Anthony Bridgerton leaned back in his leather chair and regarded scotch with a thoughtful expression as he swirled it about.

"I'm thinking about getting married", Anthony Bridgerton announced.

Benedict Bridgerton, who had been indulging in a habit his mother detested, tipping his chair drunkenly on the back two legs, fell over. Colin Bridgerton started to choke. Luckily for Colin, Benedict regained his seat with enough time to smack him soundly on the back, sending a green olive sailing across the table. It narrowly missed Anthony's ear.

Anthony let the indignity pass without comment. He was all too aware that his sudden declaration had come as a bit of a surprise. Well, perhaps more than a bit. "Complete," "total," and "utter" were words that came to mind. Anthony knew that he did not fit the image of a man who had settled down in his mind. He'd spent the last decade as the worst sort of rake, taking pleasure where he may. For as he well knew, life was short and certainly meant to be enjoyed.

Oh, he'd had a certain code of honor. He never dallied with well-bred young women. Anyone who might have any right to demand marriage was strictly off-limits. With four younger sisters of his own, Anthony had a healthy degree of respect for the good reputations of gently bred women. He'd already nearly fought a duel for one of his sisters, all over a slight to her honor. And as for the other three...he freely admitted that he broke out in a cold sweat at the mere thought of their getting involved with a man who bore a reputation like his.

No, he certainly wasn't about to despoil some other gentleman's younger sister. But as for the other sort of women, the widows and actresses who knew what they wanted and what they were getting into, he'd enjoyed their company and enjoyed it well.

Since the day he left Oxford and headed west to London, he'd not been without a mistress. Sometimes, he thought wryly, he'd not been without two. He'd ridden in nearly every horse race society had to offer, he'd boxed Gentleman Jackson's, and he'd won more card games than he could count. (He'd lost a few, too, but he disregarded those.) He'd spent the decade of his twenties in a mindful pursuit of pleasure, tempered only by his overwhelming sense of responsibility to his family.