The night air was crisp and clear, as you sat submerged in the dense garden hedges, outside of Lady Throwbridge's Ball. A smooth stone bench cool beneath the sweep of your pastel blue gown, the overlay of sheer material shimmering as though the evening's stars that appeared absent from the sky, were merely lost amongst the stitching of your dress itself. Cascading down your legs, until the hem nearly brushed against the neatly tended pathway beneath your satin heels. The softest breath of sky blue disappearing into the darkness of the evening that engulfed your frame, the delicate shade all but forgotten in the dense shadows of the indigo nightfall. If not for the full moon, reflecting a light bolder than the lanterns across the front lawn of the estate, you might've vanished into the abyss without a single trace of your touch left behind.

The hedges felt as though they swallowed you whole, as they hovered with a daunting height over your slightly slouched stance. The deep emerald leaves standing bold against the dark backdrop, while the stunning roses were illuminated by the pure moonlight. Shades of the deepest red you had ever seen, as though the petals themselves had absorbed the blood of those their very thrones had pricked. But in the very same sight, an entirely new and vastly different bush sat beside the red, displaying roses with the palest petals of white. A white as pure as the snow that seemed impossibly far from reality, as the slightly chilled May air encircled you. Dancing across your flesh, blowing gently through your sweeping tendrils of loose curls, and uplifting the most delicate of goosebumps against the surface of your flesh. For summer was not long out of view, as the days grew warmer with each passing week and yet, the evenings remained chilled by the whisper of winter's long lost memory.

The gardens were beautiful, they smelled of a fragrance untouched by the hands of man, a purity that filled your lungs with the aromatic nature that seemed lost in the city streets. Floral notes strong and unashamed of their overpowering tones, and the soft blow of a springtime breeze uprooted the scent of the Earth beneath your feet. The air held not a single hint of humidity and yet, there was an undeniable feel of impending rainfall amongst the moon illuminated clouds above you. It was a breath of fresh air that you had so desperately craved, a yearning in not only your lungs, that had been stifled by the scent of clashing perfumes and delicacies that appeared far from such, but in the depths of your heart as well.

For you felt with each passing second, trapped within those embellished and rather ostentatious walls, that you couldn't breathe. Your lungs never fully expanding into a breath that filled your chest with some slim semblance of relief, and your heart thundered with an anxiety so strong it clutched your chest in the suffocating grasp of a crushing fist. The atmosphere around you felt ten times warmer, stifling and overwhelming, as your mind felt as though your thoughts swam through a raging current. And you knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the reason why.

He looked impeccable, infuriatingly so. Adorned in a navy blue velvet that made him stand out amongst the sea of the ton, Anthony Bridgerton was a sight to behold at any event he attended. With the classic Bridgerton chestnut brown hair, that fell in soft curls against the frame of his forehead, and eyes a shade or two lighter than that, it was a rarity when eyes did not wander in his direction. For the sight of him was simply captivating, an attractive allure that not a single woman could denounce.

He entered the ball with swift steps, keeping in a safe and tight grasp the arm of his dear sister, as his leather boots stomped with purpose across the marbled floors, as his mere presence instantly demanded the attention of those around him. For Anthony Bridgerton commanded any room he entered, even when he said nothing at all, his presence held an unwavering assertiveness. He stood strong with his broad shoulders kept even, as though each step he took hit the ground with a firm conviction, each movement made from the physically fit man intended and righteously self-assured. Anthony emanated every ounce of confidence that he possessed, a slight arrogance radiating from his features as though rays of the once burning sun.

Anthony Bridgerton's eyes had only met yours once over the span of the evening. Surrounded by enticing musical melodies and tall wooden walls that encompassed the closely twirling bodies, his sight collided with yours in a single second that nearly knocked the air from your lungs. A mere glance of his amber eyes, burning with flakes of eccentric gold swirled within the waves of honeyed brown. Their scrutiny traveled across the room, for it felt as though his eyes bored holes into your skin. But it was just as the burn of his stare began to sear through the fabric of your frock, his gaze retreated just as quickly as it had appeared.

For this was your new reality with the Viscount these days, your heart ached to remind you. For months ago, you were far from the outcast he regarded you as now. Months ago, you saw a life with the Viscount, one of love and laughter and feelings you could not even begin to comprehend. But as the dream appeared, vivid and pure, it vanished with the cold swipe of a hand, as if a mere cloud fading from the sky.

The courtship fell apart and everyone knew it was because no woman could change a rake's heart. Certainly not Anthony Bridgerton's. You had heard the stories of the man, read of his conquests and the gossip surrounding him in the printed words of Lady Whistledown, but you paid them no true measure of attention. For you loved him... plain and simple... and you were sure that his rakish and rather careless ways were behind him, now that he had found you. It only took the breaking of your heart to see how truly wrong you had been.

It was a pain unlike any other when he returned your heart to you, broken and nearly torn apart in the palms of his hands, while his remained perfectly intact beating strongly in the cavity of his chest. It was a pain that came ever so close to the ache he inflicted upon you now, even months later, as he continued to act as though you no longer existed. For his eyes refused to meet your own, his feet never once carrying him towards your side of the room and his lips never spoke a word to you after that dreadful day. Anthony regarded you as though a piece of discarded debris, tossed to the side as his use for you had since fizzled out. But most painful of all, was in the way he pretended that the months you shared together, were of no significance to him at all.

You had moved on, slowly but surely, as you had tended to your heartbreak. The unbearable nights soon grew into days and eventually, months had soon passed by since your last interaction with the Viscount. In that time, as spring budded against the once bare tree branches and the color of the season returned to the luscious landscape, you found yourself in the company of a lovely new suitor. One whose kindness and charm reminded you that a gentleman could be as such, a stark contrast to the emotional enigma that was Anthony Bridgerton.

For the man who you danced with this evening, treated you with delicate care and didn't hide his affections. He didn't play with your mind in ways that made your heart twist into a million knots, leaving you full of both blinding confusion and overwhelming adoration in the very same breath. But most of all, the man back inside of that ball, didn't treat you like a fool or even worse, a worthless woman waiting on the heels of a man.

The soft blow of the evening breeze rustled through the branches of the rose bushes beside you, feeling the cool wind dance across the nape of your neck as you slowly stood from your seat. Your heels instantly lost within the short cut grass, as your hands moved to bunch your gown ever so gently in your clutch, lifting it's hem from the lush green grass as you began to make your way back up the pathway. But you barely made it a step, when a voice spoke up from the shadows to your left, startling you with the sound of an unforgettable voice that threatened to send your blood running cold.

"Are you happy?"

It may have been months since you last heard Anthony Bridgerton's voice, but it was one that you knew with all of your heart, would never fade from your memory, no matter the amount of time that passed you by. Frozen by the sound of his voice, startled by his sudden presence, it took you by surprise when you felt your heels beginning to twist softly against the grass beneath you. Turning in his direction, until you could very nearly feel the shadow of his confident stance casting over your frame. Space left lingering between your bodies and yet, with the feel of his presence inching closer to where you stood breathless, it was as though he was right beside you.

"My Lord?" Your voice felt meek and slightly strained as though you were using it for the very first time. But even as anxiety began to course through your veins as though it replaced the very blood pumping life through your body, your eyes slowly lifted from their gaze upon your hidden heels and peered up through nervously fluttering lashes at the man standing a few feet away from you.

Anthony Bridgerton stood nearly swept into the indigo of the night, the blue velvet of his tailcoat making him appear as though he was wrapped in the soft confines of the blanket that stretched across the vast evening sky. The top hat that had concealed the top of his thick curls, had since been removed and discarded you hadn't the slightest clue as to where. Leaving his face clear of any hovering shadow from the black trimmed rim, with only the fall of his chestnut curls against the smooth skin of his forehead. The moonlight illuminated him as though he owned the beam of light, for it casted a pale glow across his features that only accentuated his undeniable beauty. His smooth skin that had the softest ghost of a tan to it's light tone, his dark brows narrowed in his typical gentle furrow, as the dark curls of his hair cupped his face in the pretentious form of his signature muttonchops. But it was his eyes that demanded the attention. A sight that never failed to make you wonder how a man could be blessed with such physical perfection and charming allure, yet lack the very essence of a fully beating and empathetic heart.

"Are you happy then," Anthony took a small stride forward, listening to the brush of the grass beneath his heavy bootsteps and your eyes began to slowly narrow at his inquiry. "with him?"

The softest breath exhaled past your lips, replicating the sound of an incredulous laugh, as his brazen words left you rather astonished by his audacity to ask such a thing. For not a single thing about his question was humorous, the jealousy that saturated his words appearing crystal clear to you even in the surrounding darkness, but you still could not restrain the disbelieved breath from entering the evening air.

"I can hardly begin to think how that is any of your business, My Lord."

It was the honest truth that spilled past your lips in a soft voice, bemusement lacing your words as you stared at Anthony with slightly narrowed eyes. For here he was, seeking you out on the outskirts of a raging ball, when he hadn't given you the time of day since he walked away from you all those months ago. Here he stood, authoritative and rather entitled, as he spoke to you for the very first time since the changing seasons had come and gone. With words that were outrageous and far from appropriate in this setting, or any setting for that matter. Anthony approached you, while scandalously alone in the gardens, with a certain pretentious demeanor. For he acted as though he still laid a claim to you, to your actions, to your life, when in all reality, he'd long ago lost any hold he might've had on you. Anthony Bridgerton lost you the moment he dropped you from his hands, but here he was standing before you now, acting as if you were somehow still in his possession after the time gone by.

"Your happiness has always been of my concern."

The mere notion of such a thought was preposterous, as it drifted across the breeze and touched upon your sense of sound. The words sounded sweet, as though they flowed like thick honey from his lips in a completely serious tone, but they settled against your mind like the unbearable weight of pure lead. His remark unable to completely seep into the grasp of your comprehension. Had the man completely forgotten how he'd disposed of you? How he'd taken your feelings and heart into account not even a sliver when he ended your courtship?

"Since when?" You pressed gingerly, while miraculously keeping your lips in a stilled line. Your fingers shook softly, as you wrung them together in front of you, feeling the silk of your gloves beginning to stick to your fingertips from the clamminess that dampened a faint sheen over your palms. You felt incredibly anxious and small in his presence, for you'd always felt rather timid in the shadow of his intimidating demeanor, but this evening it was heightened by the fact that you were for the very first time, confronting the man who broke your heart. It was a moment you never thought would come and one you weren't convinced you even craved, for you'd mended your heart. You'd cared for yourself when Anthony wouldn't, you rebuilt yourself from the ground up using the bricks of your self-esteem that he'd all but demolished. But here he was, threatening to destroy you all over again.

"Even though we are no longer--" Anthony abruptly stopped himself, leaving his explanation hanging loose in the cool atmosphere, as his brows knitted together in a deepening furrow. Perhaps he didn't know what to call the two of you, the word refusing to enter his mind or rather feeling uncomfortable against the tip of his tongue when it did. Or perhaps, Anthony Bridgerton simply feared giving what the two of you once had too much power. Clearing his throat with a low rumble, as if he might in someway have the ability to shake away the words trapped inside, you watched his Adam's apple bob with his sharp swallow. "does not mean that I do not want the best for you."

It felt as though his words, fallen from lips that were stilled in the most even and full line, gave you whiplash just by the mere velocity of his contradicting actions. For here was the man who ended your months long courtship in one foul swoop, without a single regard for the damage he left behind for you to sift through, now telling you things that went against the treatment he'd sent your way ever since you parted.

"You are truly a bewildering man, Lord Bridgerton." You knew how Anthony hated when you addressed him as such, but you could not find it within yourself to feel his name spill from your lips. Just the feel of his name threatening to linger on the very tip of your tongue, sent your emotions spiraling, for you hadn't said his name since the day you begged him to stay.

"You speak of such kindness, such gallantry, such compassion and yet" It was your turn to take a small step forward, inhaling a subdued breath during a pregnant pause in your timid admission. Having since released the delicate pastel fabric of your gown from the clutch of your fingers, feeling as it swirled ever so gently around the base of your ankles as your heels pattered through the deep green lawn. "you don't truly give a care about any woman you find yourself entangled with, do you?"

Your tone was cautious and you spoke with as much graceful etiquette that you could muster, but the weight of your declaration was not lost in the decorum you aimed to display, even when it was only Anthony's presence you found yourself immersed in. It was a cold truth, one you could see in the clear unveil of Anthony's expression that he hadn't been expecting, especially from you of all people. But it was ultimately wrapped in the tenderness and politeness that your words always strived to carry, softening the blow of your sudden spill of candor perhaps.

Anthony stiffened where he stood a mere few feet away, his shadow continuing to cast over your frame as the moonlight appeared to fall solely upon him. As though the single light that peered through the deep indigo favored him in the shadowy nightfall. "You do not know of what you speak."

"Don't I?"

Although Anthony's demeanor came off a touch abrasive, as he was a man who's emotions remained bubbling right at his surface and always swayed towards the side of passion when they inevitably broke through his composed exterior, you didn't feel that this was a confrontation fueled by any long standing resentment or anger on your end. But rather, an opportunity to speak to Anthony Bridgerton in a rare moment of independence, with all of the things you wished to express with unbridled honesty. Even if the pain that you had thought finally managed to heal from the wounds of your broken heart, seeped like a trickling leak into your words and into the softened tone of your slightly shaky breath.

Anthony released a deep sigh out into the open night air. The softly blowing breeze encompassing your two bodies not cold enough to make his breath visible in the space in front of him, but you could swear you felt the tingle of his sigh graze against the very edge of your cheek. "I only wish to know that you are happy, that you are content."

Anthony's words, a gently spoken confession and rather weightily request, piqued a question that you had since begun to ponder, as his unfounded jealousy ran clearly through his veins. "And are you, My Lord, content? With your opera singer, whom you continue to hide away like she is your dirty little secret?"

Your words were not spoken with an accusatory tone, even as the flare within Anthony's golden swirled orbs lit in response to what he perceived as such. You spoke in a timid breath, one that shook slightly as you knew immediately that your comment touched upon a subject he aimed to avoid, but you continued to expand upon your point even as you watched Anthony's body tense beneath his coat of gorgeous navy blue velvet.

"You treated me as a queen in the light of day, until I was no longer what you craved," You admit in an aching breath, one that was saturated with the pain that drummed within your heart. Feeling the pain returning in the scars left along the jagged lines of your heart, inflamed and overwhelmingly heavy where you had sewn the pieces back together with your own two hands. "and you treat her the very same, only in the darkness, because you know she will never be what you need."

Unlike Anthony, you felt not a single sting of jealousy or rage of contempt towards the beautiful opera singer Sienna Rosso, in fact, you rather pitied her. You felt incredibly sorry for the young woman, because you knew the exact heartache that inevitably awaited her.