Love in Bloom (B. Bridgerton)

Chapter 4: the more that you say, the less I know

A particularly unpleasant train of thought came to your mind, and you found yourself wondering how Benedict was coping. Surely the countryside was a more pleasant experience than the stuffy ballrooms of the ton, but as he was out enjoying the fresh air, did his thoughts circle back to you? Did he regret missing your debut? Or were you merely an afterthought in his countryside musings?

A knock on your door interrupted your swirling thoughts, momentarily diverting the chaos within your mind. You smiled upon seeing your mother's soft features peek through the door.

"Hello, Mum. Is everything alright?"

"I believe I should be asking you that, actually," Countess Beaumont replied carefully, making her way over to your bed. Of course, Primrose had noticed the astounding lack of gentleman callers at their home this morning, a phenomenon you couldn't attribute to your elder siblings dissuading potential suitors.

In turn, you were feeling an acute uneasiness. You knew this conversation would come, but you were not prepared in the slightest. Questions about your altered demeanor had you nervously wringing your hands, avoiding your mother's gaze. Sensing her daughter's distress, Primrose sat beside you, holding your hands and gently squeezing them in hers. The comforting gesture stilled you and brought your eyes to finally meet your mother's.

"I apologize; I did not mean to–" you began, then cleared your throat, changing your answer. "When you met Father, you were both completely enamored since the beginning, correct?"

"Well, perhaps not the very beginning. But after one conversation, yes." Prim laughed, remembering her first meeting with her husband.

"Exactly. I just don't think I'll have something like that. And I know you wanted me to find a love match, but for the life of me, I haven't found someone I'm compatible with, let alone someone who wants to have an actual conversation with me!"

Primrose probed further with utmost tenderness in her voice, mindful of your vulnerable state. "Is that what worries you? Not finding someone right away?"

You sensed that your mother hadn't come to reprimand you for turning away almost all eligible bachelors the night before, or at least, that was no longer the primary intention. No longer feeling defensive, you began articulating your tumultuous thoughts.

"Partially. Lady Whistledown has certainly done me no favors. She set the bar up so high that now if I don't find someone incredible or appropriately titled or very quickly, I fear the whole ton will be disappointed. Lady Whistledown will certainly make her disappointment known. But my life is not a plot line to be used for the ton's gossip sheet. At least not to me. As a woman, choosing who to marry is the most crucial choice I can make about my future, and the only one I will be able to make at all if I marry the wrong person."

Your throat was growing impossibly tight, and your headache was worsening as you tried to assuage the rising anxiety deep in your chest. "I am terrified of squandering this opportunity, of choosing the wrong person and ending up miserable and bored, of not being able to find love so soon and disappointing you and Father–" You cut yourself off with a sob, tears freely running down your reddened cheeks now. Your mother held you in her arms, waiting for the tears to subside before offering reassurance.

After a moment, the countess gently broke the silence, "Those are all very reasonable fears. I was your age when I met your father, but before then, I was feeling very similar to you. Granted, there was no Lady Whistledown sheet at the time, but the ton's gossip still spread with astonishing speed. Darling, believe me, there's nothing to fear. It's more than acceptable if you haven't found a suitable match yet. In fact, it's quite expected. Your father and I were unique, but most connections take time to develop."