As we all know, there is nothing this author loves more than a scandal, and tonight's soiree promises more than its fair share, courtesy of the recently widowed Lady Trowbridge.
Some may call her celebrations too provocative, and I would caution any young lady from getting caught up in the sensual nature of her fêtes.
For one scandalous move between an unwed couple, a wayward touch, or heaven forbid, a kiss, would banish any young lady from society in a trail of ruin.
The Trowbridge Ball was certainly a sight to behold. Golden cages holding glittery women spinning on suspended hoops lined the steps leading into the venue, with fire-wielding performers dancing around outside. The interior was a burst of extravagance, from the floral centrepieces to the golden candles that flickered along the walls.
Lucille was nervously fiddling with her crystal necklace as she peered around for her Prince.
"I am sure he will arrive soon." Marianne assured her sister, placing a hand against her shoulder.
Lucille started slightly from her nerves and sighed, "What if he does not show? What if he can no longer stand to be around me?"
"Then he is a fool." William swiftly cut in, a firm look on his face, "And your brother shall beat him into the floor for hurting his little sister." Marianne shot him a look. William raised his eyebrows, "Don't look at me like that. You know you'd do the same if you could."
Marianna only sighed and shook her head, turning back to her nervous sister, "You must see the way the prince looks at you. It's as if he has never been graced with such a beautiful soul ever in his life."
She smiled at Lucille who took a deep breath and returned it, "You're right. I'm just slightly worried, I suppose."
"It is perfectly natural." Marianne said.
"Not me." Both girls resisted a groan as their brother puffed out his chest and grinned cockily, "I'm a master of charm and confidence. Just follow my lead sisters, and you will get through the night without a stumble."
Marianne and Lucille shared a look and a finger tapped at William's shoulder. He turned with an arrogant grin only for his resolve to melt when a smiling Prudence Featherington met his gaze.
"I managed to escape my mama." She said, happiness nearly as bright and shimmering as her dress, "You look rather handsome this evening, Mr. Dawson."
William had a moment where he seemed to be chocking on his own tongue, and he eventually put together a sentence that sounded faintly like, "Uh. . . gah."
Marianne and Lucille stifled their laughs behind gloved hands as Prudence had to lead their 'charmingly confident' brother onto the dance floor before he fainted in happiness.
"How long do you think before our dear brother proposes?" Lucille asked, watching as the two began to dance together.
"Well," Marianne began, "Being halfway through the season, I suppose we shan't have to wait long."
Lucille furrowed her brow as she looked over to where Lady Featherington was looking at her daughter's love match with a rather pinched expression on her face, "Why do you suppose Lady Featherington is so opposed to this match? I thought she wanted her daughters married as soon as possible."
Marianne let out a heavy sigh, her eyes landing on the bitter redheaded woman, "Our family and the Featherington's have never had the best relationship, sister. They always hated how despite our equal social standing our family was always treated more highly than hers."
Lucille frowned, "Why?"
Marianne shrugged, "Our mother and father were kind people. The Featherington's. . ." She raised an eyebrow and her sister managed to figure the rest out herself.
"I see." She muttered.
However, before the conversation could continue, they were interrupted by the grand entrance of the Queen escorted by Prince Friedrich.
Lucille was practically giddy with excitement. But as always followed her sister's words and stayed back in order to let the Prince navigate through the flock of hens in order to find his swan.
"Oh, doesn't he simply look chasing in blue." Lucille sighed dreamily, "I do believe blue is my new favourite colour."
Marianne chuckled.
Eventually the prince's eyes locked with Lucille's and like a stunned moth to a flame he began to make his way over. . . That is until Cressida Cowper blocked his path.
Marianne felt her sister go rigid beside her, "What is her problem with me and the Prince?" She hissed, "Why can't she let us be happy together?"
"Jealousy, my dear sister." Marianne muttered, although she knew the overbearing mama peering over Cressida's shoulder certainly had something to do with it.
Eventually it seemed Prince Friedrich managed to find his way out, excusing himself from the conversation with a bow of his head. Cressida and Lady Cowper looked like they were sucking sour lemons at the way the Prince had disregarded them so easily for the evening's pearl.
"Miss Dawson." Prince Friedrich greeted, placing a kiss on Lucille's hand, "You look simply radiant this evening. And I see you've taken a liking to my gift."
He looked at the necklace that fit perfectly around her neck, she blushed, "I adore it, my Prince. Although I must say it is nothing compared to the pleasure of your company."
It seemed it was the prince's turn to blush.
Seeing as the two most likely desired some time to themselves, Marianne quietly excused herself from the conversation and took a turn about the room.
Seeing all the blushing debutantes and critical gentlemen reminded her of her first season, back when she was younger and more innocent. She remembered taking a liking to purple thanks to their family's classic lilac and rose colours, her dresses ranging from plum and lavender to the most radiant violet.
After she married August she quickly found she was no longer permitted to gowns of her choice, and was instead stuffed into puffy green dresses of the Wentworth household that made her feel like a mouldy lime.
She repressed a shiver at the memories of her old life and swiped a champagne flute from a waiter passing by. She nearly downed the whole glass in a single gulp.
"I do hope it is not my presence that has prompted that."
Marianne was glad to have had the voice appear only after she'd swallowed her champagne, knowing she likely would have chocked on it in surprise. She turned to find Anthony stood behind her, hands clasped firmly behind his back. The same hands that had glided up her arm only the day before. . .
She swallowed thickly, "Anthony."
"Marianne."
Their eyes locked for a moment, and Marianne felt a churn in her stomach that was greatly unwanted. . . and yet not entirely unwelcome.
Anthony held out his gloved hand. It took Marianne blinking several times to realise he was asking for a dance.
She hesitated, clearing her throat as she turned and placed her empty glass on a waiter's tray, "I'm not sure that's the best idea, my Lord."
"Anthony." He corrected, stepping a bit closer, "And I believe we need to talk. Something I'd rather do while dancing."
A light laugh, "So I cannot escape under the watchful eyes of the ton?"
"Partly." Anthony admitted with a jesting grin, enjoying the way her smile lit up her eyes, "It is also because I enjoy dancing with you, Marianne. And I don't want some desperate gentleman sweeping in and asking for a dance amidst our conversation."
Marianne raised an eyebrow at the scoff that left his lips when speaking of the desperate gentleman, "And what would be so bad about me dancing with an eligible lord, Anthony?"
His jaw ticked in annoyance, "I thought you did not want to remarry."
"No, I did not." She confirmed, "However, if the man has my best interests at heart. . . I see no reason to refuse his offer."
They gazed at each other for a longer moment, the intensity of their gaze making Marianne's heart hammer wildly in her chest.
Something in Anthony's eyes seemed to soften, "Dance with me, Marianne." He requested, his tone gentler than before.
Her lips lifted into a kind smile, "Gladly, Lord Bridgerton." She took his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin radiate through the glove and allowed him to lead her to the dance floor.
"I say, Lady Bridgerton." One of the doting mama's of the ton remarked to her friend, "It seems you may have more than one love match this season."
Violet looked to the woman in confusion before following her gaze. She found Anthony steering himself onto the dance floor with. . . Lady Wentworth in tow.
Although that possibly wasn't the strangest thing, the strangest thing was that her eldest son was smiling. Not some jesting dry smile he'd offer to his family or Daphne when telling her every young gentleman isn't good enough for her. It was a genuine smile. Showing all his teeth as the woman opposite chuckled along, eyes crinkling with enjoyment.
And despite the stress of the evening, especially after finding out about the ruse between Daphne and the Duke, Violet felt herself smile, "Yes. It would seem so."
"So, Lord Bingley is the reason you asked for this impromptu dance?" Marianne asked, after Anthony had made some sideways comment about the other man who Marianne had shared a dance with.
Anthony scoffed, "Oh, I couldn't care less for some in-debt Lord."
"I see." A mischievous smile grew on the marchionesses face, "Then I suppose you won't mind me asking him for the next dance."
She pulled away slightly, as if about to go and ask the Lord herself until Anthony quickly tugged her back to him, "I think not." Marianne laughed and Anthony playfully narrowed his eyes, trying to hide how his insides fluttered at hearing her laugh, "It would be rather rude to end this dance so suddenly. What would the spectators think?"
Marianne hummed, "So you did want to dance because knowing others are watching would prevent my escape."
"Of course." He admitted, making her chuckle, "I remember as children you would always win at hide and seek. I suspect you still know how to conceal yourself in a crowd."
Marianne tilted her head, blue-green eyes shimmering in curiosity, "How did you know I won every game of hide and seek? You were always too bitter to join in."
Anthony huffed, "Oh, Colin would always be complaining. Apparently once you hid behind a secret compartment hidden by one of the paintings in your house."
"Ah, indeed. The Albert Hovel." She sighed fondly, "Behind the painting of my grandfather, Albert. Hence its name."
"Strange how some families tribute their dearly lost." Anthony mused, "Some build statues, although it seems the Dawsons like carving out holes in their own homes and naming them after them."
A snort escaped Marianne before she could stop it and she gently hit Anthony's arm as his brow rose, "Do not. I am attempting to keep my composure." She whispered casting an eye about the room.
"Well, from the manner of sound I just heard leave your lips, I'd say we're well past composure, Lady Wentworth." Anthony said, that roguish grin tugging at his lips as Marianne resisted an eye roll.
He spun her under his arm and turned so she fell back into step with him, the tune of violins oscillating through the mahogany floors. They shared a smile as they danced, one so unbridled and genuine it was easy to see the care the two held for one another.
Marianne felt so comfortable around Anthony, a feeling she hadn't felt around any other gentlemen for her own debut, not around August. She felt as if she could tell him anything, their conversation flowed so easily they didn't have to even think twice about it.
Suddenly the memories of the boxing match flashed through her mind, Anthony's hand peeling off her glove and lacing his fingers through her own.
Her smile faltered ever so slightly.
Clearing her throat, she ignored Anthony's look of concern at the dip in her mood, "You said you needed to speak with me about something?"
The viscount stiffened slightly, "Yes. Of course." He cleared his throat, allowing him a moment to stare into her eyes, "The boxing match. What happened was. . . when I. . . touched you the way I did, I now realise it was most improper. And I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me."
He was expecting her to shy away at the reminder, blush and step back or at least have the decency to look angered by what he did. What he was not expecting was for her to ease into a gentle smile, "You are gladly forgiven, Anthony." His heart felt a thousand times lighter, although he still couldn't figure out why she seemed to calm about it, "Besides, it is not like I put in any effort to stop you."
Anthony didn't know what to say to that. If he wasn't currently dancing with a high lady of society he would've dared made the assumption that this woman — this decidedly torturous yet wonderful creature of beauty and grace — was flirting with him. But then again, he had a habit of fooling himself into thinking Marianne showed interest every time she so much as looked his way.
"Well, I am glad you have not forsaken my actions as too slanderous towards a lady such as yourself." He eventually spoke as the dance slowly came to an end.
A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips, "You could never slander me, Lord Bridgerton."
"Anthony." He corrected once again.
She nodded, "Anthony."
They had stopped dancing. Couples had dispersed from the floor whilst others took up new positions, but Anthony and Marianne were still standing there. Unashamedly gazing at each other, her hand still held gently within his own.
Despite his hardened rakish demeanour, Marianne would find that Anthony always handled her with a gentleness she never would've associated with the viscount. August's grip was always harsh and steady, like he was steering her across the dance floor. Anthony's was soft like he was handling something most valuable. Marianne found she quite liked it.
She opened her mouth to say something when suddenly the sound of a soprano's voice filtered through the room.
Anthony instantly stiffened, turning slowly towards the stage where two singers from the opera were stood. One was an older lady dressed in an outfit of garish pink, but in front of her there with her hands on her hips was a girl in an outfit of ebony and silver. She was beautiful. And by the way Anthony was staring at her Marianne felt a pang in her chest.
This wasn't simply an opera singer. It was the opera singer. The one Anthony had been meeting with after concerts and dinner parties, the reason why he was late to every single ball. Sienna, Marianne believed her name to be. She only knew because Lucille adored the opera and loved the young soprano's voice.
She was certainly beautiful.
Marianne turned her eyes from the stage and back to her dance partner who was completely frozen, his gaze locked on Sienna.
A lump formed in Marianne's throat, of course. How could she have let herself think anything could happen between her and the viscount, they were friends, nothing more. And she had no interest in being a distraction from the woman he truly loved.
Stepping back, she cleared her throat, "Excuse me, my Lord." She bowed her head, ignoring the pain in her chest as she turned to leave.
Like he was snapped out of a trance Anthony looked to the retreating back of the marchioness, "Marianne?" He called, she didn't turn back. He surged forward, "Marianne!" But she was already gone.
Her heart was racing as she slipped through the crowds, how could she let herself get so distracted? She was here for Lucille, not herself. She had her taste of marriage and it was enough to last her entire lifetime, she needed nothing more.
She looked over her shoulder, trying to make sure Anthony wasn't going to follow her when she looked back just in time to not bump into the viscount's own mother.
"Marianne." She beamed, the girl hesitantly returning it, "I saw you managed to get a dance out of Anthony, and a second one no less. I must say the two of you make quite the pair."
The truth was Violet Bridgerton seemed positively delighted at the thought of Anthony and Marianne. She knew the marchioness was delightful company, and she seemed to be able to keep Anthony in line. At nearly every ball they'd been to Anthony had been intent on searching for the young widow who seemed to have snagged his attention the whole season.
Marianne offered a tight smile, "It seems it is not meant to be, Lady Bridgerton."
Violet's smile faltered, "Why — whatever do you mean, dear?" She looked concerned for Marianne who only straightened out her skirts to find her composure.
"Your son's attentions lie. . . elsewhere. Something that is no fault of his own I assure you." He smile was so painfully false it made Violet's heart hurt for the girl, "You just, cannot force love, I suppose." And with that she politely excused herself from the conversation and disappeared into the crowd once more.
Little did she know the conversation was not simply between herself and Violet, but the listening ear of an author of scandal was clinging to a wall nearby.
And it seemed Lady Whistledown had found the next love match of the season.
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