0001. CHAPTER ONE
— i miss who i used to be

IN THE REAL WORLD, PEOPLE ARE NOT EASILY DEFINED INTO ONE CATEGORY OF GOOD OR EVIL. No, the real world was much different than fiction, where it was easy to pick out the good guys from the bad guys. People are, well, to put it easily, they're people. They are not just good and not just bad; for the most part, people reside in a consistent state between the two. At its core, humanity needs the good to balance out the bad — something to remind people that time is limited; they won't have access to it forever. People need the good to remind themselves when the bad seems to be winning that there is a meaning to everything. There's a reason that these things are happening to them. And while, at the moment, it may be a foreign concept that they cannot quite grasp, one day, they will find themselves stronger for surviving through it. Others will find themselves wishing to go back to the past. Wishing they could revert to the person they were before something happened. Unlearn how to handle and cope with the life they had lived between then. Only, there was no such a thing with time. Once again, humans are fallible creatures — people with thoughts and the ability to act on their own free will. And sometimes (re: most of the time), people can only learn by making mistakes. And by making a mistake, they've lost some possibly valuable time. The time that could have been spent doing something else. Yet, people make it seem like they have all the time in the world. They sit on their feelings and bite their tongue because they believe they have time to do something. Because, for everyone who has not yet experienced the cruelties that time can hand out, time is an infinite thing that will wait on them.

Olive Fitzroy was not one of those who had the luxury of believing that time could give her everything she wanted. Because time had taken her mother away from her when she was barely old enough to be thinking of the world and what it would even have to offer. Time showed her its teeth, sending out threats as if it would be ready to pounce again another time. And she retreated, battered and torn, like a dog with its tail between its legs. There was no point in believing that everything would work itself out in the end. That all things were meant for a reason. They could not have been meant for a reason; there was no reason she could give for children losing their parents at such a young age. For parents losing their children. For anyone losing someone they love. Olive Fitzroy believed that time would never do such a thing to people if it were good. If time were good, if time were the best example for the purest of things in the world, time would allow for no one to understand loss and pain unless they truly deserved such a thing. Sure, some people learned only through loss, but Olive thought there were kinder ways to make people learn. Perhaps there was no such thing as learning without pain. Olive Fitzroy would not be the person she was at that very moment had it not been for the pain. For everything time had put her through. And while it was very different from the whimsical fantasy she had so often dreamed of growing up, she could not quite find herself disappointed in such a world. Time had given her the chance to heal, to grow, to find the good in life again while also being able to pay respect and homage to the small things. To the things no one would begin to think about until they had lost someone their heart held near and dear. She so often found herself clutching her sisters tighter at night when they snuck into her bed during a storm, or reveling in their expanding knowledge and studied through their governess. Olive thought, for just a moment, that must have been how any mother felt about their children.

As if they were the breath of fresh air time gave them, but also the living reminder that time moves too quickly. Not before long, Olive had watched as her sisters grew older and older, becoming less like children and more like young ladies. And she swore she could hear a piece of her own heartbreak with such a realization. It had been six years since the death of her mother, nearly seven, and within that time, her sisters had aged right in front of her very own eyes. Yet another cruel act of time was done upon Olive Fitzroy. And now at the near age of zero and twenty, Olive found herself back in their Mayfair home. Officially returned from the countryside, enjoying what little bits of city life they were allowed to see and allowed to experience. It had been quite some time since they had joined the Ton's festivities; her father never much had a need, considering his daughters were either not entering the market or were much too young. Even without a daughter entering the market this season (though Emmeline was set to make her debut the next year when she turned eight and ten) (and technically, if Olive were being honest, it was as though she was going to be entering society even without debut), he believed this year was better than any to get all of his children back into society. Acclimated to what it was to be in society, reaffirmed their manners (despite knowing that all four of his daughters were very well-mannered). Perhaps he held out a bit of hope that his eldest would find someone she felt compelled to marry.

That totally was not why he had moved them to the city, definitely not. He hadn't even thought of such a thing.

Olive Fitzroy was many things, but she would not describe herself as hung up on finding a husband. Not like she once had been growing up. No, that was a part of herself she had put in a box and locked up, never to be opened again when time stole her youth. Or, better put, when she allowed time to steal her youth. It was her choice to aid her father and governess in raising her sisters, in teaching them the ways to be a proper lady in society. Her silly hopes and dreams of finding a husband, a love match no less, had to be put on the side. Because they did not matter any longer. Not entirely. Not much at all. Of course, that could be the exact thing Olive told herself when looking at her reflection. She was not certain what she wanted any longer. Her sisters were getting older, closer and closer to entering society and she would still be unwed. Olive Fitzroy knew how it would look for her family name, for her sisters no less, if they were to debut before she would ever have been married. But at the age of nearly zero and twenty, she would have no prospects on the mart and her father would be resorting to the very thing she had come to terms with years prior.

Plenty of women had become wives simply because a father struck a deal with a friend of theirs. Olive would simply be joining a statistic. There would be nothing surprising to the Ton in such an arrangement. And her sisters would be free of any scrutiny. Emmeline could make her debut into society without whispers of her older, unmarried sister circulating around her. Only, and somehow the thought had just recently registered with Olive and led to quite the pit in her stomach, she would be married. Married. And being married meant that she no longer be under the same roof as her sisters. No longer with them every day. She would no longer be there to comfort Dorothy or Eleanor during a storm, she wouldn't be there anymore.

It would be like they lost a mother all over again. Was that fair to them? By giving them their chance in society, Olive Fitzroy would also be giving them another opportunity to experience the pain of loss. Another cruel act of time, or perhaps fate, or maybe they had intertwined with one another and led to whatever it was that was happening in front of her.

Olive Fitzroy did not have much of a choice. She knew, no matter what, she would be married by the end of this social season. Even if it meant she would have to make her debut upon society. Hey, at least it gave her sisters an example to look up to as they grew nearer to their debuts. Though, Olive was certain they would not find much to learn from in her when it comes to the marriage mart. She wasn't even sure of all of the intricacies that went into such a thing. There would be tips and tricks she could give her sisters as they came out into society, things she learned through her mistakes (once again proving that time creates lessons out of the failures and morose things instead of the successes and positive things life had to offer), things a person could only know after they had tried something themselves. Though Olive could note to herself as she ran her hand against the wooden furniture in her bedroom, there was a part of her that wanted to scream and kick, lie to even her, akin to a child not getting their way. This was wrong. She was never supposed to even think about debuting without her mother there to house her. Sure, she had down the best to hold her head up high for her sisters, but Olive Fitzroy was (against the popular vote) still just a young lady herself. In some ways, Olive felt as though she was still a child. She knew she was not — it was clear that she was no longer a child. If she were being truthful with even herself, the minute her mother died, she was no longer a child. Her mind had changed. She had changed. There was nothing she could say other than that. Yet, a part of her felt so very unprepared for anything that could be considered the next step of life she was expected to have. Olive Fitzroy did not feel fit to be a wife, nor did she feel fit to be a mother. She had a taste of both; she knew what it was like to try and run a household (of which, she would state she was very bad at doing), and what it was like trying to aid in raising her sisters. That was even more difficult. And she was certain it would be different if they were her children, especially in the kind of society they live within. It would unlikely she would be the one raising her own children, at least not fully.

But she still did not feel ready to live under another roof, with yet another person's expectations being weighed upon her. She didn't need that. She wasn't sure her back would carry the weight of that on top of everything she had dealt for herself to carry. Or maybe she was holding onto childish fears, trying to cling to the few things she considered normal. Because, after all, nothing felt normal after she lost her mother. So the few things that did, she had to cling to. Without them, she wasn't sure what her life would be like (she was sure it would have been a perfectly fine life, but even then, time would have found a way to tear something away from her).

Their home in Mayfair was not as ornate as others; her family was never a fan of the intricate woodwork and the most expensive fabrics draping over the windows. Nor did the most expensive artwork hang on their walls. No, her family valued the things picked up in and through travels more than anything. Generations of artwork and books were collected from various countries and counties, each from a trip one of her family members took when they came to age. It was a custom of every Fitzroy gentleman to take a trip somewhere outside of England, outside of Mayfair or Northampton, a chance for them to see the world and how others lived. And through those travels, several pieces of furniture and artwork suddenly popped up, and in almost no time, an entire home could be decorated with one-of-a-kind things that the other families in Mayfair marveled at. Olive knew in part that her father hoped for a male heir just for that very tradition to continue; after all, she and her sisters were the first generation of Fitzroy's to have no brothers to take over the title of Marquess. Her hands ran over one of the gold statues from Greece, something her great-grandfather had brought back with him after his travels; the stories he had written about always interested her in the beauties Greece offers. The way he so effortlessly described the ocean, the color it held and the way it flowed, was something that Olive wished she could see for herself one day. That, of course, requires a husband. No respectable young lady could travel without a husband (or without her family, but she was quite certain her father would never be able to find the time to do so, nor would he want to make such a trek with four daughters) if or when Olive Fitzroy decided she would go on a trip and see more of the world; she would do so adorning a different last name.

"Olive!" The shout of her name from her sister's mouth broke her attention away from the statue, and her sister soon appeared in the same room and seemed to be running away from another one of her sisters who had been chasing after her. Olive turned to Eleanor with a frown, watching as she hid behind her dress, trying to hide from Dorothy (which seemed like a moot point to begin with; Olive's dress was not nearly big enough to hide her six, almost seven completely year old body). Placing her hands on her hips, Olive quirked a brow at the older of her two sisters in the room. Eleanor tugged on her dress, hiding her face in her back.

"What is this about?" Olive questioned Dorothy, trying to ignore how Eleanor clung to her as if she was the only rope keeping her from falling off a cliff.

Dorothy glanced around the room, keeping her eyes far from making contact with Olive's (that was the only reason Olive was expecting to hear a lie fall from her sister's mouth), "Eleanor started it."

"Did she?" Olive asked, a brow raised as she contorted to look at her youngest sister. Eleanor immediately began to shake her head in opposition, denying whatever her sister was saying about her. Olive glanced between the two again, a sigh leaving her lips, "What is this 'it' that Eleanor apparently started?"

Dorothy began to speak first, words tumbling out of her mouth at the same time Eleanor also began to create an explanation. Despite being well versed in her sisters, including being able to decipher between the two of them even when speaking over one another, Olive could have sworn they were speaking another language (Olive would not have been that surprised if Dorothy was speaking another language considering she was fluent in about six). Crossing her arms over her chest, Olive listened as they continued to speak over the other; it was evident enough that they were both listening to each other as they had turned to face each other somewhere along the line. Her sisters argued over the other for another few minutes before Eleanor turned to Olive with an arm raised and a quiet shout, "See!"

Olive couldn't help but giggle in response to her sister's quiet plea to be seen as innocent (at least that's what she thought her sister was trying to do), "Can we slowly repeat everything one at a time?"

Eleanor tilted her head back in a childish way (in a way that made Olive's heart soar; she was still her baby sister no matter what, and seeing her act like such reminded her that she had many years before she no longer held some of those traits), foot lightly stomping on the ground, "Dorothy took my new book and wouldn't give it back."

"So then she took it from my room," Dorothy pointed out, annoyance lacing her tone.

"You wouldn't give it back," Eleanor continued. "So, I took it back."

"By coming into my room without my permission," Dorothy rolled her eyes.

Olive had to bite her tongue to stop herself from laughing at the reason behind her sisters arguing and chasing each other around their home, "Dorothy, the next time your sister has a book you wish to read, simply ask her to borrow it. Eleanor, if Dorothy ever takes something of yours and refuses to return it, do not take matters into your own hands. Ask for my help, your governess, or even your father's help if he is not too busy with work."

God, Olive found herself speaking to him (begging him?); please let that be the end of the argument. The two of them nodded to what she said; Olive found herself doing the same thing her mother used to pull on her and Emmeline when they argued: a tilt of her head and eyebrow raised. Waiting for an apology to come out of both of their mouths. Dorothy was the first to understand what Olive was waiting for, an exasperated sigh leaving her before she huffed out, "I am sorry."

"For what?" Olive interjected.

"For taking your book without asking," Dorothy looked down at her feet, shuffling for a moment as Eleanor put a finger up to her pursed lips and seemed to ponder whether she would accept the apology her sister gave. Eleanor accepted it by apologizing, "And I am sorry for going into your room without asking to get it back."

Olive smiled a little, "See, was it that difficult?"

"I would not have had to go into Dorothy's room without permission if she had just given the book back," Eleanor huffed with her arms crossed over her chest, glaring at her sister. Blinking, Olive tried to push down the sigh that wanted to leave her lips. Eleanor looked back at her oldest sister, looking down at the floor before looking back (surely being met with a disappointed face) and sighing, "Dorothy, you can borrow the book if you would like."

"That is a very kind offer, Eleanor," Olive smiled, putting her hand on her youngest sister's shoulder. "Dorothy, would you like to borrow the book?" Her sister nodded in response. "Eleanor, would you like to take your sister to get the book? Perhaps the two of you could read it together." Eleanor held her hand out for Dorothy to take, which she did without a problem, to walk up to her bedroom. Bounding out of the room with each other as if they had not just been chasing each other down the same hall mere moments before.

Letting out the sigh she had been holding onto, Olive kept her eyes trained on the door, waiting to see if they would say anything else (she was pretty certain there would be another fight that broke out between the two; there always was). Only she was met with the sounds of their giggling as they walked up the stairs as if there had been no fight to begin with. That, again, was one of the beauties of childhood. Even problems they once believed to be of the highest importance could be forgotten in the blink of an eye. Because the things that seem so big, so unchangeable, at that age aren't that big and are quite changeable in the end. Nothing is so big that a trusted person can't fix it. Olive was happy to be that person for her sisters, the one they knew they could lean on when they needed someone who would listen. Someone who could help them solve a problem they could not get to the bottom of. Her mother had always been that person for her, and after losing her mother, Olive often asked what she would have done. And soon enough, Olive found that those answers eventually got her somewhere. She wasn't sure whether it was the right answer, but it was good enough for her to feel like it was. Because being somewhere was better than being nowhere at all. Her father eventually moved into the doorway; Olive let out another small laugh as she smiled at him. As he entered the room, he shook his head, "A book?"

"Again," Olive confirmed, this was nothing new between the two. "They seem to have gotten past it now, although."

"Yes, yes," Augustus smiled, "without any help, I presume."

"Oh, yes, none whatsoever," Olive responded to her father, shaking her head. They both knew she was lying, but her father (liked to) believed the two could handle their disputes and arguments without help. (They were not). Augustus turned to his eldest daughter with a sigh; Olive looked up at him with her brows furrowed together, "Is something wrong?"

Augustus shook his head, "Nothing is wrong, my dear."

"You seem different," Olive spoke softly, looking back at the statues before her. This had always been her mother's favorite room because of them. She remembered how her mother used this room to host her friends for tea simply because of the artwork. She would host the Bridgerton's as Edmund and Augustus talked business, and she and Violet would discuss the social events of the ton and any of the fresh gossip from it as the children found their things to discuss. Olive often found herself with Colin Bridgerton, like two people stuck together with glue, talking about their fantasies of the world around them. About how they would love to travel and see them as well. About how they would love to see the world together, Olive liked to believe those were easier times. When she was able to believe that she and her best friend would travel the world together without any rumors being spread. It was one thing to say such an idea when they were seven and eight, but an entirely different thing to say it as people that were nearly zero and twenty and one and twenty. The ton would have many things to say, not that Olive was expecting them to go through with their childhood fantasies. She had not spoken to Colin in four years, not in person at the very least; she had been too busy with her sisters and anything between them to make plans to see them. It felt weird to do so when the only reason they used to spend summers at Aubrey Hall was because of her mother's friendship with the Viscountess.

"The last time we were in this home, your mother was with us," Augustus looked at the same statue Olive had taken to looking at. "I wish she were here to see how beautiful you and your sisters have grown up to be."

Olive smiled, hand reaching out to grab his, squeezing it as she responded, "She would have been very proud of us, I'm sure of it."

"I know it," Augustus nodded, with a sense of finality, as if there was no other way she would have thought about them. Olive found comfort in such a mindset, for as much as she may have hoped her mother would be proud of her, she couldn't help but believe that she would have been ashamed of her giving up her dreams so her sisters could keep theirs. With a small sigh, "She loved this room."

"She liked being able to explain to us where everything in here came from to us," Olive smiled reminiscently. Colin Bridgerton used to hold onto every word her mother said as she spoke about the different countries some of the artwork came from, with a sense of wonder and adventure shadowing in his eyes. "We used to hang onto every little story she told us with bated breath."

"I remember," Augustus laughed. "Especially that Bridgerton boy you were such good friends with. What was his name again?"

"Colin," Olive found his name slipping off her tongue like a butter knife slicing through butter on a warm spring day, softly, easily, as if there was no other name she could ever think of when bundled with the last name Bridgerton. She knew that, to her, there was no other name she truly cared about. He had been the only man her mind locked away, the only one her heart yearned for. A dangerous combination for a young lady who had been trying to run away from the very idea of love itself. Because the minute that she thought of love, she was brought back to the day after she lost her mother, and she watched as her father lost himself in grief. Only to be forced to pick up the broken pieces (ones that had been shattered and scattered across his entire life) and glue them back together to be there for his children, to do the jobs he had to do.

Olive Fitzroy may not have decided not to debut to society in a self-sacrificial way; she didn't do it to help raise her sisters and teach them everything their mother had taught her. No, by doing that, Olive Fitzroy was setting herself up for a one-way ticket into an arranged marriage which invariably meant she would marry a man she had no feelings for. A man she could not believe she would come to love because her heart had always been and would always be owned by Colin Bridgerton. And he was never going to be her husband, so she had nothing to worry about when it came to that.

Augustus looked at his daughter with a knowing smile, "Yes, Colin."

"I'm sure you could not have forgotten his name," Olive laughed. "If this is you trying to meddle in my life once more."

In mock defense, Augustus said, "I am not."

Olive narrowed her eyes, "Are you certain of that?"

"Quite so," Augustus responded, nodding his head. "But, if you believe me to be doing so, then perhaps there is a reason." Taking a deep breath, Olive looked at her father to see the mischievous glint in his eye. He was doing exactly what he said he was not; she knew it, and so did he. Yet, she couldn't find it within herself to be angry at him for doing so. He smiled, placing his hand on her shoulder, "You know, the Bridgerton's returned to Mayfair last week as the staff have told me."

"Oh?"

"I am sure the Dowager Viscountess would be elated to host you for tea," Augustus smiled.

"I could never impose," Olive shook her head.

"Nonsense, I had already sent over word that we had returned and that you would love to accompany me for tea sometime today," Augustus lifted a brow at Olive's rather quick change in mood (Olive would like to argue that anyone would suddenly become nervous when told that they were practically set to visit someone they care for in mere moments), before continuing, "And before I came in here, I had just gotten word that they would be happy to see the both of us."

"You must be joking; tell me you're joking," A desperate plea fell from her lips, and Olive felt her heart race. He had to have been telling her a joke, playing a prank on her. But he wasn't; she knew that much. He would have no reason to joke over such a thing. It was his first full day back in Mayfair, so it made sense he would take her to the Bridgerton home. She would speak with Violet and the other children as he and Anthony went to his study to talk business before returning to sit with everyone. It would be just like how it used to be. Except how it used to be, included Edmund Bridgerton and her mother, neither of which were alive anymore. So, it didn't feel right to be doing the same thing. Olive was not going to take the place of her mother. She couldn't. It would be like a wolf wearing sheep's clothing; she couldn't be that. She didn't want to be that person.

"We are to meet at the Bridgerton home in an hour," Augustus nodded. "In case you wanted to pin your hair up or anything."

Olive turned away from her father, the realization that she was going to see the man she considered her best friend (as well as the man who also owns her heart, but that's an entirely different story) for the first time in years. It was one thing, being able to hide her feelings in the letters they shared. Letters addressed with the other's names as they wrote about what was going on in their life. What they were getting ready to do. Colin would share his adventures from university, and Olive lived vicariously through him, his freedom, and his ability to not let his father's death weigh him down. She had changed so much in that time, not into the person her younger self had always wished to be. Olive Fitzroy was certain that if she were to meet her younger self, she would be disappointed with who she turned out to be. This version of herself was disappointed in who she turned out to be. And she didn't want Colin Bridgerton to think the same thing. To be quite frank, she wasn't certain she would be able to survive if she knew that he didn't like who she became. The person who came through the fiery gates was her grief. And a smaller, much quieter voice spoke to her; what if she didn't like the person Colin Bridgerton had become?  What if her Prince Charming was no longer who she believed she would be? And suddenly, right before her, all of her childhood fantasies came crumbling down to her feet. She wasn't sure how she would survive, how she would be able to continue living even with her deepest fantasies falling down in front of her. Augustus watched her carefully, hand reaching out to comfort her despite knowing it would be a moot point to do so. Especially considering that she quickly pushed his hand off her shoulder, pushing her way to the door to return to her room.

"Olive," It was a desperate plea of a father who knew he had just sprung something onto his daughter, one that Olive didn't want to answer. At least, not one that she felt like she needed to dignify with an answer. Not that she believed she could, in all fairness. Women in society, women of the ton, were constantly told who to be. Put into a mold and dressed up like some toy, and the minute that one was to step out of line, they were ostracized. They would have been pointed at and laughed at if they stepped foot outside of their home. And Olive Fitzroy could not risk something like that happening. Not when her sisters would enter society and have the same reactions thrust upon them. So, she had taken to being pushed and prodded into whomever the ton would want her to be. Even if it meant always following what her father wanted her to do despite it being the last thing she wanted.

"I will be down before the hour is over," Olive turned to look at her father before looking back down at the floor. "Are we going to take a promenade to the Bridgerton home, or are you calling for our carriage?"

"Whichever you would prefer," Augustus answered.

Olive turned away from him to allow her eyes to roll, "Does that truly matter?"

"Yes, it does," Augustus responded. "Olive, you are my daughter. Of course, I value your opinion on such things."

"Right, yes, my opinion," Olive nodded, eyebrows raised as she took another few steps away. "Because my opinion mattered when you made plans for tea?"

"It's the Bridgerton's! I assumed that you would," the exasperation that fell from Augustus' lips did not fall upon deaf ears.

Yet, Olive still couldn't help the slight anger seeping from her pores, "You assumed incorrectly."

"Clearly," Augustus nodded. "I can send word that you will not join us for tea."

"That will not be necessary," Olive shook her head as she walked further towards the stairway, "I will be there."

Even if she did not want to be. Because in just an hour's time, Olive Fitzroy could have her childhood fantasies tattered to shreds right in front of her. Or she could find herself writing yet another chapter in the tale of things that could not be. Olive Fitzroy could not say she was particularly excited for either outcome. Or any other outcome that could happen.

AUTHORS NOTE

(panel manip by the amazing kelly/ pepperronys)

i originally planned on having the tea with the bridgerton's in chapter one and then i realized how long this part already was and that the tea was going to be about the same length so ... it's going to be two parts now (aka i was getting lazy and knew if i left it to myself to write the tea component in this chapter it would take forever). on the other hand, i did a lot of this while on a sprint with Soph and on ft with Anya wherein i yapper the entire time about the story like and plot of act one and the rest of the fic??? idk for sure i just know there was a lot of yapping on my end!

what can i say, i am a yapper through and through.

anyway, leave your thoughts!!
(i fear it may be time for me to break down and open up photoshop and make a new sign off ...) (that's when you know i'm down bad) (crying at the gym ... everything comes out teenage petulance fuck it if i can't have him) (sorry that song has been stuck in my head)