Chapter Text
The horse’s hooves pounded against the ground, flattening the grass in their wake, something wild and exhilarating rising in her chest, chest like it always did as the wind whipped in her hair, the hood of her riding habit long since swept back as they raced through the woods on the boundary of the estates.
The hooves behind her gaining pace, chasing her always, just like when they’d been tiny children and he’d first learned to ride, so proud on the pony beside his father.
“I could do that!” She’d said petulantly, stomping her foot at Mary.
“You will, petal. When you’re as old as Anthony.”
The house was in sight again now, the countryside slipping away behind her, new obligations looming large and imposing, popping out on the horizon like the house before her. It seemed very odd, to pack your things knowing that this might never be your home again. The house where you’d been born and raised, where you’d learned to dance with the boys from the neighbouring estate carefully supervised by your governesses keen eye while your heart hammered in your chest, where your father had died you mother too: gone for ever, and all its comforts with it. And still she knew Mary had been right when she’d come to her room months ago now and said,
“Darling, I think it’s time for us to go to London for the season.”
And what could she do but nod, while her heart ached in her chest, because the only person she wanted to marry was someone who would never even ask her.
“You know,” Anthony’s voice called to her as she dismounted on the drive, his own feet crunching on the gravel as he swung himself around, his top hat tucked under his arm, chestnut hair shining handsomely in the sun as he grinned at her. “It might not kill you to let me win one of these days.”
Kate raised an eyebrow, “You should think rather less of me if I did, Lord Bridgerton.”
He rolled his eyes at her use of his title, tugging at a curl of her hair that had escaped its pin, “I should think rather less of myself if you did. Though perhaps if you rode sidesaddle, like a proper young lady ought to…”
Kate scoffed, her chin set defiantly against his niggling, just like it always had been between them, so many skinned knees and innocent brushes of ungloved hands, and practice kisses on the cheek. And now, this. This desperate unrequited ache in her chest. “I’ll ride sidesaddle tomorrow, and I’ll still beat you.”
Anthony’s laugh boomed across the lawn, his head tilted back, happy and bright and perfect, “Then I’ll consider myself lucky, Kate, because tomorrow we’ll be in London and you won’t be allowed near me.”
Disappointment stabbed in her chest, just like it had the very first time when he’d bounded into the drawing room just like always, while the butler followed him desperately trying to scamper ahead, to announce him, slightly breathless when he said-
“Lord Bridgerton, Lady Mary.”
Anthony had bowed to Mary politely as he always did before he’d tugged on the end of Edwina’s hair and nudged Kate along the sofa with a sigh.
“My mother is readying us all to go to London for the season.” His words had tugged in her chest, anxiety swirling in her stomach at what she had to tell him. “It’s always so boring, I’d rather stay here and bother you.” He’d flicked her ear, causing her to ruin a stitch in her embroidery, but she hadn’t cared.
“Actually, I- I wouldn’t be here, if you were to stay.” Mary had nodded encouragingly in the way she always did Tell him, Darling.
Anthony’s brows had shot up, “Are you visiting your cousins in Somerset this year?”
She’d shaken her head, staring down at the tulips she’d been working on, trying not to think about how he showed up with a bouquet of them every year on her birthday, had done since he was thirteen, stuttering and stammering at her, just turned eleven. “No, I’ll be in London.”
Mary had cleared her throat pointedly, shepherding Edwina from the room with a brisk Edwina Darling, there’s something I must speak with you about. And Anthony had just stared back at her, his brow furrowed as though he didn’t understand, “Whatever for.”
She’d rolled her eyes, “Why else do young ladies go to London in April?”
Anthony had laughed, the noise startling and chilling, echoing around the room, a sign that he didn’t see her as serious at all. “You’re too young to get married!”
“I’ll be twenty-one in April, I’m already a little old for a debut. And Mary’s right, it’s-it’s time I had a house of my own, a-a family.”
And her chest had ached, for the tiny, curly haired boys she dreamed of, that would never bear his name.
“I suppose I won’t be.” She said it now, still not looking at him, still shielding her eyes from the bright sight her made, so handsome in the navy velvet of his morning coat.
“We’re scandalously unchaperoned already.” His elbow nudged her in the ribs.
“Mary knows we’re just- just friends.”
It hurt her to say it. Because they really were. Anthony was her very best friend. The boy who had found her one day, in the middle of a storm huddled in the gazebo and he’d bundled her in his arms until it had passed. The boy who’d pulled off his glove the day her father had been buried before he’d pulled off hers as well and said just one more time. Just like we used to before he’d held her hand all afternoon. The boy who’d made his father stop at her house the day he’d left for Eton, wearing long trousers for the very first time, his new top hat tucked under his arm, almost a man as he’d cleared his throat in the drawing room, bowing properly.
“Mr Sharma, Lady Mary, I wondered if I might have an audience with Ka- Miss Sharma.”
His father had been smiling proudly behind him as Anthony had looked for guidance as though to say Did I do it right?
Her father had huffed a little but Mary had cut across him, “Of course Mr Bridgerton.” Practically dragging her father from the room as Kate had looked around nervously, unsettled by the commanding presence he made even then, a little unfamiliar.
As soon as their parents had left he’d dropped his hat, and wrapped her in a tight hug, his nose pressed against her neck, “Please write to me, I’m going to miss you most of all.”
And even then, something had fluttered in her chest. “You’ll find new friends, I know you will.”
“No one like you, please just promise you’ll write?”
She’d nodded desperately before he’d cleared his throat straightened, thrown open the door, scattering their parents on the other side of it and said, “Good Day, Miss Sharma, thank you for the pleasure of your time.”
“We’re best friends, Kate, you’re my favourite person.” He always said that. And it always made her feel something. “Even if you are looking for something as boring as a husband.”
It stung at her, and still she couldn’t help but try. Something deep inside her begging herself to try one last time, “And you?”
“And me what?” He cut her off before she could finish.
Kate rolled her eyes, “Will you be looking for a Lady Bridgerton this season?”
His laughter cut right through her, his eyes shining at her so beautifully “And disappoint so many young ladies? Of course not. I’m far too young for that.”
“Of course.” She couldn’t even look at him, tears stinging at her eyes, so much so she was almost glad of the interruption.
“Anthony, I hope you’re not encouraging any improper topics of conversation.” His mother’s voice called out shrewdly as their carriage pulled round, Daphne trailing behind her.
He winked quickly at Kate before smiling congenially, “Of course not mother.” He bowed to Mary, “Lady Mary, you look as lovely as ever.”
Mary sighed, “And you, Anthony, are just as cheeky as when you put a frog on my chair at dinner when you were ten years old.”
Anthony grinned at the memory, Kate had caught it herself, been up to her knees in mud, her nurse had had a fit but Anthony had crowed excitedly. “Some things never change.”
Their little group stayed silent for a long moment, nothing but Newton’s paws crunching lazily on the gravel.
Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat, “Kate, are you excited to make your debut next week?”
Kate forced herself to nod, “Very much so.”
Anthony’s mother nudged Mary, “She looks ready to faint. Do you remember that time?”
Mary smiled a little, smoothing over Kate’s hair gently, “Worrying about your dresses and your dance card, and whether anybody would ask you, sneaking glasses of lemonade and tea cakes when your mama wasn’t looking.”
Anxiety swirled in her stomach. Mary had unknowingly hit on her greatest fear, standing alone in the corner of the room while young couples danced around her, completely invisible.
“I’m a little… a little nervous I suppose.” Kate admitted quietly, more to herself than anything else, her riding gloves twisted in her hands. “I don’t know that- I don’t know that London is for me.”
“Nonsense.” Anthony nudged her, his smile far too bright. “I’ll be there, and you can always dance with me, just like when we were small.”
And Kate really didn’t know how to say that was almost the very last thing she wanted.
______________________________
Kate felt nauseated. Right to the very pit of her stomach she felt unwell as the carriage lurched through London, spiriting her towards her very first ball of the season. Even as she’d taken her bow earlier this afternoon, and the Queen had nodded approvingly at her, she hadn’t felt this unwell. Mostly because that hadn’t felt real, and this did. There had been almost no stakes this afternoon, The Queen’s opinion mattered, of course it did, but it wasn’t like this. Wasn’t as though she could be looked over by every eligible man in sight.
“Can’t I come just for a little bit?” Edwina had sighed, as she’d watched Kate be hooked into the elaborate gown, the mint green stark against her skin, nerves already clenching her stomach.
“No, Darling. Lady Bridgerton has promised you may come to her Musicale though, she’s letting Daphne attend as well.” Mary had hummed, kissing Edwina’s forehead.
“I wish I didn’t have to go.” Kate had said quietly, desperately wishing she could crawl back into bed with her sister and Newton just like when she was small, pull the covers over her head and pretend the world didn’t exist, but she couldn’t, and she never could again, and she’d known that even as she’d said it.
The carriage trundled to a stop outside Danbury House, and Kate barely had a second to breathe before a footman’s hand had darted out to help her down, Mary’s hand warm at her back, her voice soft.
“Just remember to breathe, Darling, you’re doing so well already.”
Kate forced herself to nod, as they joined the receiving line. Lady Danbury smiled intimidatingly, whacking the young man in front of her around the ankles with her cane to move him on as Kate forced herself into a curtsy.
“Ahh Lady Mary, It’s been a long time.” She didn’t even wait for Mary to respond before she breezed right along, “and you must be the young lady everyone’s talking about.”
Kate’s cheeks burned, her mind racing already as Mary smiled proudly, “Might I present my daughter, Miss Katharine Sharma?”
“Thank you so much for your invitation, Lady Danbury, I was very honoured to receive it.” Her voice shook only a very little bit, and Kate took that as a victory.
Lady Danbury hummed shrewdly, her eyes flicking over Kate quickly before she smiled slowly, “A very pretty little thing, you’ll have the gentlemen all a dither.”
Kate glanced to Mary for guidance who shook her head. She wasn’t really sure what to say. Their social circle in Kent had been small, outside of the Bridgertons and Kate was certainly nothing at all to them, and hardly anything at all to Edwina, who at just fifteen seemed to grow more beautiful by the minute.
“Off with you now, dear, there’s a young man inside who’s been looking for you to drive.” They were shooed away a little abruptly, Mary humming as they entered the room, Kate’;s dance card swinging stupidly at her wrist, lonely and forgotten, the way it would remain, she was sure.
She felt stupid, and out of place, the eyes of the Ton burning into her as Mary shepherded her across the room.
“What am I supposed to do?” Kate hissed awkwardly, her fingers fiddling with the green ribbon on her wrist.
“Stop fiddling with that card for a start.” Mary hissed back, smiling at a woman shepherding an unhappy looking girl through the crowd, “And mostly we just wait for men to-”
“Lady Mary, lovely to see you again, as always.”
Kate spun so quickly at the sound of his voice she nearly toppled Mary, and her heart that had been thundering in her chest all evening, finally stopped.
Anthony looked almost unbearably handsome in his black evening wear, his green cravat tied tightly around his neck, winking a little roguishly at her with that lopsided grin of his that had taken her breath away since she’d been seventeen and he’d stripped his waistcoat off and pushed her into the pond at Aubrey Hall, his mother shrieking in the distance. He bowed deeply at her, playing his new role perfectly, his lips brushing the back of her gloved hand.
“Miss Sharma, you look lovely as ever.”
He had no idea how much it stung at her, the twinkle in his eyes.
“Lord Bridgerton.” Her legs felt numb as she curtseyed, Mary smiling at him.
“Lord Bridgerton, has your mother arrived?”
He glanced quickly in Mary’s direction, “I’m afraid not, Ma’am, I arrived alone this evening, though I believe Benedict will be escorting her this evening.” He didn’t even wait for Mary’s response before turning back to Kate. “Miss Sharma, might I have the pleasure of escorting you to the dancefloor this evening?”
Don’t. Don’t it’s not fair. Kate hissed at her traitorous heart that had started thundering away desperately, even as she said, “Thank you, My Lord, I’d be delighted.”
She tried not to let it bother her, the way his fingers brushed casually at her wrist as he perused her dance card, frowning to himself before smirking up at her, “Well I know how much you detest a waltz, so I must have one of those.”
She fought not to roll her eyes, not to- She rolled them. “You would, I suppose.”
“Oh and look, it’s our turn!” He practically crowed, offering his arm to her with a gallant bow, his grin ridiculous and cheeky. “Lady Mary, I shall return her safely to your care as soon as we’re done.”
“Yes, see that you do.” Mary sighed, but her voice was distant over the sound of Kate’s heart hammering in her chest as he lead her to the floor, the strings humming through the air as he bowed to her, his hand settling against her, pulling her close and then they were off. And it felt just like it always did, only it didn’t. Because the implication was different here.
“Why did you ask me to dance?” She couldn’t help but ask as he twirled her over the floor, guiding her gently, getting more than a little swept away, even though she knew she shouldn’t.
Anthony scoffed, looking down at her confusedly, “I always have your first dance when there’s dancing. It’s tradition.”
Everything was different here. And Anthony didn’t see it at all.
Kate sighed, “It’s not the same and you know it.”
They weren’t children playing pretend anymore, and they never could be again. They were a man and a woman, pressed closely together. And as much as it made her ache, something desperate and pathetic, the part that he could never love, deep inside her made her want to cling to ever second. Because soon she would be someone else’s wife most likely; and nothing could ever be the same again.
“Why should it not be? I am a gentleman, you are a gentleman’s daughter. We’re not brother and sister.”
He still didn’t understand. And he probably never would.
“I thought I’d call on you tomorrow morning, we could take Newton for a stroll.” Anthony hummed, “I think the little beastie would quite like Rotten Row.”
The music had nearly stopped now, the seconds of their time together slipping away as he bowed to her again.
“I might not be able to.”
Anthony scoffed, “And what could be so important that you don’t have time for your best friend?”
The thing you won’t offer me. Their eyes were caught together, something pulled tight while the rest of the room faded away and Anthony kept grinning at her, just like he always did.
Friend Friend Friend Friend Friend.
“Kate, darling!” Mary’s voice snapped the three of tension, the recoil sending Kate stumbling backwards as she turned away from Anthony.
Mary’s eyes were flicking between the two if them, a slightly nervous looking gentleman at her shoulder, who was smiling gently, giving Anthony an apologetic look.
“Your Grace, my daughter, Miss Katharine Sharma. Kate, the Duke of Sunderland.”
Kate stumbled through her curtsey and the how do you dos and even though she tried with all her might not to, all she heard was Anthony’s footsteps fading away.