The Proletarian of Mayfair

Chapter One

"Romance exists in a plane entirely its own. To reach it, you must let go."
The Romantic Writings of O.P.B.S.

Olivia Penelope Bridgerton-Sharpe grew up in a modest house with a modest life and a modest family. Her mother, Eloise Bridgerton-Sharpe, had been a part of the ton, where wealth and power were the only things that mattered. Yet, she fell in love with a printer's apprentice and they married and had four wonderful children, Olivia, Amber Daphne, George Phillip, and Frederick Henry. Their apartment, which filled the entire floor above the printer's shop, was always filled with joy and laughter, but also always filled with writings of fantastical ideals, such as equality for women.

Unlike her family, Olivia never wrote much, saving what little she did write for her lessons in either French, Latin, Greek, geography, history, or maths. She was the only one of her mother's children to engage in any education after turning thirteen and the only one to enjoy it as well.

It was not that her family did not believe in higher education; they did not have access to the kinds of books required to reach it. She only pushed to educate herself because she saw beyond Bloomsbury.

She filled her mind with imaginings of love and the reveries of more than her station could ever provide her.

That was the sole reason she could not say no to her mama when she asked. She could see herself enjoying the company of the ton while her family was content with what they had. They were satisfied with a life she could never live.

Today was the day she would depart from the dim world of Bloomsbury and emerge into the bright light of Mayfair. She did not know what awaited her, whether it was love or simply the indulgence of a fantasy she had been living her whole life. No matter which was the result, Olivia knew a season would show her where her true place lie: beside her family in Bloomsbury or with the love of her life as a member of the ton.

For Olivia knew she would only marry if it were for love. Not a single other outcome would satisfy her.

"Mama, has the carriage arrived yet?" Olivia asked. Her few belongings she wished to bring were stowed away in a hatbox, though even that was too large for all she had in her possession.

"Aunt Daphne's carriage will arrive any moment, dearest," Eloise replied. "Is that all you wish to bring with you?"

"Aunt Daphne wrote in a letter that she would provide all the dresses and shoes I could ever dream of. I only needed to bring that which is important to me and nothing more." Her mum knew that would be the case, however, she was surprised at how little Olivia held dear.

She did not know that there was a small painting of the six of them, an old letter B that had long since been retired, one of The Articles of a Free Woman (Article III, as it was her favorite), and a paper flower made by Amber.

"Of course, I just want to make sure that is all you wish to have, Olivia. There may not be much of a chance to come back," Eloise reminded her, as she had a hundred times.

Olivia could not wait to give up this printer's shop. It may have been her home, but she needed to escape from it as much as her mother needed to escape Mayfair. It was that logic that ended up persuading her mother into believing she truly did wish to go.

"Don't worry, mama. I will write every week to tell you everything," Amber said as horse hooves clattered to a stop and a bell rang outside their shop.

They both walked outside to see the Duchess of Hastings in a pale red gown and a hat fashioned to match. "Eloise, it has been far too long since we have seen each other."

"I should think so. The last time was, my, it was for the births of Charles and Benedict. I still cannot believe you are a grandmama." The three ladies shared a laugh, though Olivia did not quite understand.