Apparently at last nights ball Daphne and the Duke hardly payed any attention to one another, as Daphne spent the entirety of the evening dancing with any other young man. It also spoke in length about Lucille and the prince, how they seemed to have taken Daphne and the Duke's spot as the most distinguished match of the season.
Marianne had unfortunately been unable to attend the festivities as Alice had come down with a rather nasty cold. And not wanting to simply leave her daughter with the maids whilst she was sick, Marianne decided to stay with her daughter, and allow William to escort Lucille to the ball alone.
Later, the very next day, Lucille and Marianne were being escorted into the palace on invitation of Prince Freidrich and the queen.
Lucille kept a gracious smile on her face as she nodded at groups of royalty as they passed. They were whispering quite feverishly about the new arrival and Lucille was trying to not let it get on her nerves.
Finally the two came to a stop at a sort of snack table, where all sorts of expensive foods were placed and arranged, although it all seemed untouched.
"Well," Marianne sighed, "everyone already seems to have quite an opinion of you." She pointed out at all the gossiping gentlemen and ladies around the room.
Lucille took a deep breath, "I know. I just hope Freidrich arrives soon." She spoke hopefully.
Marianne gave a small, teasing smile, "Oh, Freidrich now is it?" She pointed out the informalities instantly making Lucille's cheeks flush.
She shrugged, "He insisted." She murmured.
"Well, I'm glad you two are getting along well." Marianne said with a gentle smile.
Lucille sighed happily, "The last few days have been a dream." She admitted, "Sometimes I wish our time together will never end."
Marianne took her sisters hands in hers, "I believe that your wish will be made true soon enough, when the prince proposes."
Lucille chuckled gently before her eyes suddenly blew wide, "You don't think that's what this is do you?" She asked implying the prince was going to drop to one knee in front of all his guests and propose.
Marianne shook her head, "No, I believe the prince will make it a more private affair as to not pressure you so much." She told her, feeling as though big proposals in front of everyone wasn't the prince's style, "And according to William he hasn't approached him about the matter yet. So do not worry."
Lucille nodded and breathed in deeply. But before the sisters could carry on their conversation the double doors opened to reveal the queen with the prince at her side. Lucille had to immediately hold back a wide grin at the very sight of him. Freidrich's eyes softened at the sight of Lucille the minute the doors opened, it was rather adorable.
A footman stepped through, "Her Majesty Queen Charlotte and her esteemed nephew, Prince Friedrich of Prussia."
Lucille tried to take her time as she walked towards the prince, Marianne following, but keeping a few steps behind. They curtsied as they stopped in front of them.
"Miss Dawson." Prince Freidrich greeted, " I find myself in raptures over your acceptance of my invitation to the palace."
Lucille smiled, "Indeed, it was very kind of you, your highness."
"I cannot help it." Freidrich admitted, "I believe I may only have been so kind after spending so much time with the most gracious young lady in all of London." Lucille flushed a bright pink at his words.
"Offer her your gift." The queen urged, obviously excited about this match.
Holding back a short laugh the prince nodded, "I have brought you a gift." As he spoke a servant from behind him opened a wooden box, lined with gold.
Lucille and Marianne were too far to see what lay inside of it, until the prince walked over and gently lifted it from the box. Lucille held back a gasp. It was a beautiful necklace. Encrusted diamonds laid into the finest silver, a true gift for a princess.
Prince Freidrich walked behind Lucille and placed the gift around her neck, as to clasp it himself. Lucille couldn't contain her smile and felt his fingertips brush her skin.
Marianne smiled at the display, anyone could see the care the two held for each other. Even when it came to the simple act of putting on a necklace.
Once the clasp was sealed, Lucille slowly turned to Freidrich and smiled up at him, her fingers gently touching the piece of jewellery, "Thank you, Your Highness."
"I hope it is to your liking." The prince spoke hopefully, perhaps a little nervous as to her reply.
Lucille gently shook her head with a smile that could melt ice, "It's perfect."
As their eyes held one another the queen leant over to her servant, "She will make a lovely princess, will she not?" She asked.
The servant nodded, "Of course, Your Majesty."
Marianne smiled happily. Her sister would make the most wonderful princess of all.
In a town filled with ambitious mamas and fortune-hunting gentlemen, marrying above one's station is an art form, indeed. But Miss Lucille Dawson's advance from future Baroness to possible Princess is an achievement that even this jaded author must applaud.
Since Marianne and Lucille's trip to Buckingham Palace, the blonde debutante had never ceased talking about her dreamy white knight. She wore the necklace the prince had gifted her wherever she went. It was rather endearing, especially when she would reach up to brush her fingers over the stunning jewels with a smile.
Marianne had never been prouder. And not because her sister had snatched up the most eligible gentleman in the ton, but because she had managed to find love. Something many can go a lifetime without ever coming close to that same feeling.
The second eldest Dawson sibling sat reading Whistledown's latest edition, an entire section dedicated solely to Lucille and the Prince. Marianne grinned as she read contently, before her calming morning was interrupted by a loud and playful roar.
"Mother!" Thomas came barrelling into the drawing room, a wooden sword swinging from his arms, "Look! I'm a proper swordsman now!"
Marianne laughed as her son tried to expertly swing around the weapon, the weight of it tugging his arms to the ground.
"Perhaps you should try something a little lighter to wield." Marianne gently suggested as she swiftly walked to her son, holding up the sword.
Thomas pouted, "No. Lighter swords are for babies. I'm a big boy!" He puffed out his chest as if to prove his point, Marianne laughing.
"I know you are." She knelt down ruffling his brown curls, "But if all big boys took the heaviest sword and jumped straight into battle, they may not win without properly training themselves first."
Thomas huffed but saw the truth in his mother's words, "Okay."
Marianne smiled, placing a kiss on his forehead before pulling back and looking at the sword, "Where did you get this anyway?"
The curly-headed boy instantly grinned, "Uncle William."
Marianne sighed tiredly, her eyes rolling, "Of course."
And as if summoned by his own name, the exact man came barrelling through the double doors, his golden curls in disarray as he brandished a sword of his own.
"Sister, look!" He exclaimed like an excited child, swinging his sword around like Thomas had done only moments before.
The little boy giggled when William finally came to a stop, taking in the image before him: his sister's eyebrows raised as she held a wooden sword in one hand as a cheeky Thomas clutched to her skirts.
"Brother." She greeted sternly, although an amused smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
William laughed awkwardly, "He asked for one." He shrugged gesturing to Thomas who was quick to scurry out from behind Marianne and leap into his uncle's arms.
The lady sighed and shook her head and Thomas squealed in delight when William began to tickle his sides.
"William." She called his attention, making her brother sigh, "Can you tell me why exactly you believe my son would need a wooden sword?"
William shrugged, "For fun?"
Thomas laughed as he leant up to his uncle's ear, poorly whispering: "Mama doesn't know what fun is."
William gasped playfully making Thomas giggle. Marianne's mouth dropped open at the notion of her son saying something like that in her presence.
"Thomas Augustus Wentworth!" She scolded, but her son paid no mind as he continued to wriggle in his uncle's arms.
Seeing that she wasn't getting his attention, Marianne let a small smirk slip into her face. She then pretended to shrug carelessly as she sighed, "Well, I was planning for all of us to take a trip to a rather riveting boxing exhibition today and see a bit of fighting." Both boys heads snapped around, but she paid them no mind, "But I guess because I'm so boring, we just shouldn't go. I'm no fun after all, I'm sure this boxing match would be too."
She sat on the couch, admiring her nails as she hid a smug smile. Before she knew it both boys had leapt onto the couch beside her and started begging and pleading and apologising.
Marianne smirked, The simple minds of men.
The boxing ring was a place of utter hustle and bustle as a selection of eager-eyed men and women filled the wooden stands, desperate to place their bets and win themselves a good sum of money.
Thomas was practically bouncing up and down with excitement as he clutched his mother's hand, William on his other side.
A few people had stared at the sight of a marchioness finding herself in a much more barbaric setting than many ladies were perhaps used to - but Marianne only held a serene grin on her face as she focused on her son's unyielding excitement.
"Now, who are we cheering for?" She asked, leaning down to whisper in Thomas' ear.
Thomas leapt up, "Mondrich!" He exclaimed excitedly.
"Okay. Why don't you take Uncle William to wish him luck and I can look for a place for us to sit?" She suggested.
She ignored the look of wariness in her brother's eyes at the thought of leaving in his sister alone in a crowded room brimming with rowdy men, instead turning to look at her son who beamed.
"Yes, Mama." His little hand grasped his uncle's as he began to quickly pull him away. William managed to shoot Marianne one last look saying: be careful, before being dragged into a crowd of betting strangers by his enthusiastic nephew.
Marianne exhaled heavily through her nose as she surveyed the area. Perhaps the noise and attention would have swayed most, but Marianne wasn't one to find herself easily fazed.
With a delicates lift of plum-coloured skirts, she began to ascend the unsteady wooden structure towards the seating at the back, knowing Thomas would want to be higher up as to catch the best view.
Upon her climb up the stairs, she suddenly heard a familiar voice.
"Lady Wentworth!"
Blinking through the crowd, Marianne caught sight of three top hats making their way towards her. Each one perched on a Bridgerton brother's head as Benedict lead them to the woman that he had called out to - that familiar grin warming his features.
The brunette woman smiled, "Benedict. How wonderful to see you here."
"We wouldn't dare miss it for the world." He spoke as he reached her, turning to the other two men trailing behind him, "Wouldn't we, brothers?"
Colin reached them first, offering Marianne a smile that could melt many a maiden's heart, "Of course not." He nodded to her, "Lovely to see you Marianne."
"You as well, Colin." Her grin faltered slightly however when the third Bridgerton reached the other's standing.
"Lady Wentworth." Anthony nodded politely as Marianne cursed the roll in her stomach at the way his eyes assessed her with an emotion she couldn't quite place.
Smothering that feeling to the pit of her abdomen, Marianne managed a tight grin, "Viscount Bridgerton."
They stared at one another, their feet rooted to the spot as a swirl of unintelligible emotions swirled in their eyes.
Marianne couldn't help but think back to their last encounter at the gallery and how they'd simply stood facing each other, losing themselves in their own suffocating presence not daring to move an inch in fear that the fragile air around them would shatter.
A cough broke through the silence and the Viscount and the Marchioness turned to find Benedict and Colin staring between the two of them with raised eyebrows and stifled smirks.
Marianne felt a rise of heat settle upon her cheeks and Anthony cleared his throat, "Shall we find somewhere to sit, then?"
They all expressed their agreement as Marianne was the first to turn away, breathing in deeply as she headed towards the top of the stands once more.
Behind her, Colin and Benedict exchanged a glance before slowly turning to behold their brother, who was staring after Marianne with a struck look in his face. He caught their stares and shit-eating grins and quickly dropped his face into a scowl.
"Getting a little distracted brother?" Benedict teased as Colin sniggered like a schoolboy.
Anthony's eyes narrowed, "Would you prefer me to chuck you in that ring myself?" He nodded behind him towards the fighting ring as a threat.
Benedict and Colin still grinned childishly.
Anthony huffed and headed up the rickety stairs after Marianne, his brothers exchanging yet another look before heading up after him.
Eventually, William and Thomas had headed up to join them. Both Anthony and Marianne were thankful for the distraction and that Colin and Benedict's gazes had finally peeled away from them. The only negative to her son and brother joining them was that they all had to sit shoulder-to-shoulder in order to squeeze them in.
And Marianne was sat next to Anthony.
The roaring of the crowd sounded around her as the fight took place before them, letting out 'oohs' and sound of defeat with every punch that was landed by either boxer.
Lady Wentworth tried her best to concentrate on the match, the sounds, her son blabbering mindlessly to Benedict, but all she could think of was how hers and Anthony's arms were pressed together.
She could feel his warmth through the sleeve of his jacket, the flex of his muscles every time his fingers clenched around where he held his leather gloves in his hands.
Forcibly making her eyes stay on the match taking place before her, Marianne refused to acknowledge the viscount she'd known since childhood. How only a few weeks ago sitting next to him barely would have fazed her, but now it had her palms sweating and her heart beating out of control.
But little did the marchioness know, Anthony was having the exact same things run through his head.
She was so close he could smell her perfume of jasmine and lavender, suffocating him in a most dream-like way. He didn't know whether the fact she refused to even acknowledge their distance ( or lack thereof ) offended him or not.
This woman, this irritatingly calm, mature being who had made a home inside his mind every minute of the day and night. Her beautiful words twisting into his mind and poisoning him with their sweetness. She was different to the girl he grew up with, but he guessed he was different now too.
Risking a glance, he decided he wanted to look at her just once. To see if she at all knew what thoughts were happening inside his head. Thoughts of her.
Marianne could feel his piercing gaze, the brown of his irises searing her porcelain skin like slashes of fire.
Her heart quickened it's pace. And the rapid rise and fall of her chest didn't escape Anthony's notice.
His eyes then left her and flickered back to the ring just as Mondrich landed a hard blow to his opponents face and the crowd let out sounds of both anger and excitement.
The marchioness was about to raise her hands into a polite clap, and the suffocation of Anthony's gaze was finally drawn away from her, but she was stopped suddenly by the feeling of something grazing the back of her left hand - the hand that now rested beside Anthony's own.
She inhaled quickly, and the sound of the crowd drowned it out as his index finger kissed the back of her hand with a feather-like lightness.
Then, because she didn't flinch way, Anthony began to trail his finger further upwards, past her wrist and to the cuff of her sleeve. One by one he unbuttoned each clasp with his pale fingers and Marianne had begun to wonder what he was doing until he lifted her sleeve, reaching the rim of her glove that stopped mid-forearm.
She straightened when he gently hooked one finger around the end of the fabric, and slowly began to pull down on it - the curl of his knuckles brushing her soft skin as he went.
Marianne sucked in a deep breath, feeling his eyes flicker down to her hand as the rim of his hat obscured his eyes from her view and cast his face in a shadow. He pulled the glove down until it was completely off, her hand bare hand free of any layers of protection.
The cold brush of wind met Marianne's fingers and she watched from the corner of her eye as Anthony seemed to hesitate, and then touched her palm with careful fingers. She sucked in a breath.
Touching skin amongst the ton - that wasn't between an unmarried or betrothed couple of any kind - could lead to scandal and was strictly forbidden. And yet, here they were. Marianne unashamedly allowing Viscount Bridgerton, one of her dearest friends, lace his bare fingers with her own as they embraced each other's warmth.
She felt his thumb run along the back of her hand, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. How can a simple action leave such an effect on a person?
Anthony had been holding his breath the entire time he'd touched her, wondering what she'd do, what she'd say. He had watched as Marianne had sat, still as a delicate china doll as she allowed his fingers to trail her soft skin.
The woman having no idea of the scandalous thoughts running through his mind as he did so.
And he waited. And when her fingers finally responded, lacing back with his own with a careful kind of comfort, he felt like something heavy had lifted from his chest.
And they sat there with their hand joined, hidden among Marianne's plush skirts, and watched the game. Still as statues. Neither one daring to move, nor wanting to pull away.
And this simple action, no words or looks exchanged, had only confirmed a fact, something that had weighed in the air around them since they shared that dance just the other week.
And neither Anthony nor Marianne were sure that they were ready for it.
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