CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.
wallflower garden.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

"I THOUGHT YOUR FRIEND WAS OPPOSED TO MARRIAGE?" Jemima raises, looking quizzically at her sister from the opposite seat in the carriage.

     "For her own personal preference, yes," Winifred clarifies. "But Lettie is quite happy to meddle and matchmake for her peers. I doubt her time spent in the ton has done any favours for that habit."

     As Jemima chuckles, Abigail adds earnestly, "Well, then we should be in better hands than ever to find husbands."

The two Seymour girls' outlooks on this arrangement clash like chalk and cheese. The only thing they currently share is equal curiosity about what living with Lady Dominique Strachan will be like, and Winifred must admit she is thinking the same thing. Their carriage trip is only a short one from Grosvenor Square to Berkeley Square — silly, in Winifred's eyes, as it would only be a ten minute walk from one place to the other — but nevertheless the trip is filled with anticipation.

     Now with her sister and the rest of the Osbornes back in Essex, and her mother back to Hertfordshire for the time being, Winifred is now the key role model and chaperone her sisters have during this social season. She is acutely aware of the responsibility that sits on her shoulders even more than last year. She may not be a titled woman, or indeed an ambitious mama in the ton, but she has seen enough to hopefully keep up. Lady Strachan and Lettie should be useful guides in supporting her.

The carriage stops outside the townhome in Berkeley Square. It is not as initially boastful as the Osbornes' home, but brimming with elegance nonetheless. A small group of staff are prepared outside to take the luggage from the carriage. Gunter's Tea Shop is only a short distance away as the sweet, sugary aromas lace the air. Like Grosvenor Square, in the middle of the circle of homes is a patch of small green parkland, luscious with trees and shrubbery.

     The door to Lady Strachan's house swings open, revealing not a housekeeper but an ecstatic Lettie. "Winifred!" she exclaims. Beaming infectiously, she flies down the steps and straight into Winifred's arms — the embrace almost winds her, though she manages to return the gesture. It feels good to be reunited with her friend for the foreseeable future. When she pulls away, Lettie keeps holding her hands and turns to Abigail and Jemima. "Thank you for coming," she says breathlessly, "all of you."

     "I believe it is us who should be doing the thanking, is it not?" Winifred raises an eyebrow.

     "Oh, quite right," Lettie nods nonchalantly. "You may thank me whenever you are ready."

     Winifred laughs. "The baroness, Lettie."

     "Why don't you thank her yourself? Come inside, get settled in..."

     Lettie ushers the girls in before they can change their minds. Winifred has grown used to the darker, bolder decorations of the Osborne home in Grosvenor Square. She is greeted with quite a different image when she walks into the dowager baroness's home. Natural light floods in from the windows, highlighting the sage-green wall panels and the carvings into the white skirting boards which seem to be palm trees. It is comparatively less spacious than the Osborne home, and yet Winifred finds she can already breathe better in here.

     Speak of the devil — the baroness appears in the doorway, resting herself against the frame as she inspects her guests. All three of them quickly curtsy to her. There is a level of extra politeness, seeing as their host is unfamiliar and not close family.

     "Lady Strachan," Winifred says mid-curtsy, "I just wanted to thank you again for—"

     "Hush, do not grovel," Lady Strachan wrinkles her nose at her.

     As instructed, she straightens again and clears her throat.

     "I have told you. You are more than welcome to stay with Regina, Miss Fitzroy and I for the season."

     Winifred blinks in confusion at the extra name. Is there a third lady she does not know about?

     "Regina?" Jemima asks, begging the same question.

     Then, right on cue, 'Regina' makes herself known with a congested bark. Although she is a long way down to look at, and rather more canine than human — there, at their feet, is a small pug rather on the chubbier side. Her bulging eyes blink up at them from its wrinkled face as if expecting special treatment.

"Now, if there is anyone you should be grovelling for," Lettie sighs, "it is Regina."

Regina lets out another bark, and Winifred wonders whether she could give Newton the corgi a run for his money in being attention-seeking.

The housekeeper shows the guests up to their rooms, Jemima and Abigail being delighted that they do not have to share for once. Winifred is shown into her own bedchamber — again, the natural light floods in from the large windows against the wall opposite the door. The room, curiously, seems to curve slightly at the corners. And built inside one wall is an alcove bed. When Winifred looks closer to the tiles decorating the wall within the alcove, she notices they are each decorated with unique engravings; images of tropical beaches, gushing waterfalls, hummingbirds... and the wallpaper around the rest of the room embedded with faint floral prints of lignum vitae.

     Winifred crawls onto the alcove bed, gathering a brief moment of rest before the staff enter with her luggage. She expels a large sigh that heaves through her chest. She has a feeling this is going to be yet another eventful season ahead. But at least she will have familiar company to keep her occupied throughout the months to follow.

She knows enough about the ton to know how the next few days will unfold. Soon, the debutantes will present themselves to Her Majesty Queen Charlotte at the palace, dear Francesca among them, and likely attend some gala or party to get their first glimpse of the eligible bachelors, and vice versa for the men in the ton.

Then from that point on, there is simply no stopping them.

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     THE start of the season, in accordance with the last few years, has already begun with surprises in abundance.

     Surprise Number One came this morning, when the Bridgertons waited patiently outside Francesca's door on the dawn of her debut into society. Her two elder sisters had experienced the polar opposite in their reactions — Daphne was thrilled and brimming with eagerness built up over years, whilst Eloise was clawing at the carriage doors gagging for a last-minute escape. So, needless to say the family are anticipating the third Bridgerton daughter to have some sort of grand reaction... but what?

     As it turns out, Francesca was prepared before they all were, determined not to make a big song and dance of it all. She woke up early, got dressed, had breakfast in the garden. According to her, it was "just another day" in the grand scheme of things (but Benedict had gathered all he needed to know about his sister's mood, considering that she began the morning with a rendition of Mozart's 'Funeral March' on the pianoforte).

     Surprise Number Two — the biggest shock, perhaps — was waiting for them outside.

     Colin Bridgerton had made a last-minute arrival. Except... was that the younger brother Benedict knew? In his place had stood a young man with chiseled features in a battered brown coat, skin glowing with a Mediterranean tan, his hair smooth and silky from the continental sunshine. More alarmingly, he had the ladies of Mayfair already wrapped around his little finger with his flirtation and slightly jarring swagger. Not to mention he had become... well, sturdy, for lack of a better word. The family could hardly recognise him.

     He returned with a surplus of gifts from his travels. Benedict knew Colin was a globe-trotter, but aside from his charming Spanish playing cards he received, they all had gifts varying from France to Italy to beyond. Was it humanly possible to travel with such breadth in four months?

     After the morning's events with Francesca's debut and a garden party behind them, the Bridgerton brothers have a lot of catching up to do.

     Anthony brings Benedict and Colin to the Mondrich's bar, their favourite haunt in town ever since it rose in prominence last year. Various lords sit around them discussing the new season beginning, and other private business they might have. The Bridgertons are brought a round of drinks, Benedict plucking his own glass of Madeira off the tray when they are presented to him: "I am not one to complain about a mid-afternoon tipple," he says curiously, "but what is the occasion?"

     "To thank you for taking care of the estate while I was on honeymoon," Anthony replies. "I was surprised to see every 't' crossed and 'i' dotted."

     "Well, I do not know whether to be moved or offended."

     "Perhaps both?"

     Benedict sighs, swirling his Madeira in the glass. "In truth, I enjoyed having a purpose... whereas now that you're back, I'm not certain what I'm supposed to do."

     "I am sure Mother has a list of ladies she could offer you," Anthony suggests.

     Almost instantly, Benedict recoils in his seat at the notion. He is practically allergic to debutantes and their eager mamas — no, literally allergic. Something about all of it is so stifling. The very thought of it makes him want to jump straight out of Mondrich's window.

     "Brother," he pleads, turning to Colin, "please take some of his attention."

     It works, shifting Anthony's stern gaze — the one he can switch on out of nowhere after Father died — to Colin instead. "And you," he says, "I invited here to congratulate on your many new admirers."

     "I'm not certain that should cheer me," says Colin, jaded and surprisingly transparent.

     But before either brother can probe more, Will Mondrich steps up to greet them. "Bridgertons! My apologies for the wait," he says, grinning. The bar owner takes a triumphant survey of the bustling tables and says, "Business is good."

     "We are glad to see it," Benedict smiles. He always delights in seeing people benefit from the hard-earned work of their own sweat. Admittedly, he does not get to see that up-close often, given the leisurely ways of most men in his social class. Will Mondrich is therefore the breath of fresh air that reminds him that purpose does exist... for some.

     "If I may," says Mondrich, "I thought I might introduce an acquaintance of mine."

     "Please do," Colin nods, turning in his seat.

     By Mondrich's side, a tall young gentleman appears, not quite as polished as the other lords from the ton but still holding his head high. Held underneath his arm seems to be a portfolio of sorts. "Bridgertons, this is Mr. Matthew Ribeiro. He is in town for some business and I thought I would introduce him to the club."

     "What kind of business are you pursuing, Mr. Ribeiro?" asks Anthony curiously.

     "Architecture," Matthew replies.

     "Architecture? A fine pursuit, indeed, although I must confess I have not met many architects in my time."

     "Then allow me to enlighten you."

     The men chuckle lightheartedly amongst themselves, until Mondrich's expression suddenly switches. Something beckons him from the far wall by the entrance — his wife, Alice, beckoning him. "Pardon me, um... wife business comes first," the owner shrugs sheepishly. 

     As soon as Mondrich disappears, Benedict gestures to the spare chair at their table. "Please, Mr. Ribeiro, have a seat."

     "Oh... thank you." Matthew seats himself, and as he does, seems to survey his surroundings with an alienated curiosity. He seems to feel highly out of his depth surrounded by members of the ton. But Mondrich's bar, as he himself proclaims, is open to every honest man regardless of rank or occupation. It is for that very reason that it can be less stifling in here to Benedict than White's or any other bar.

     "What architecture interests you, Mr. Ribeiro?" Colin asks. "On my travels, I saw the most beautiful temples in Greece, and the architecture in Italy was simply stunning. You should visit Florence if you ever have the time. And what of Spain—"

     "—Forgive our brother," Benedict interjects playfully, "he has only returned from his grand tour this morning, and his head is still intoxicated with fond memories of the continent."

     For the first time since their meeting, Matthew smiles. "I wish I'd had the good fortune of travelling to Europe, but unfortunately I did not have the financial means," he sighs. His hands come to rest on the table; they are slightly calloused, rough, the hands of a working tradesman. "The money I had saved had been mostly put towards securing my education in architecture."

     "And where does one study architecture, may I ask?"

     "At the Royal Academy."

     Benedict almost swallows his Madeira down the wrong pipe. It burns his throat as he gulps it down anyway, but more painful is the sting of remembrance that even the alcohol can't numb. All three Bridgertons seem to consciously react to the words — Colin perks up more in recognition, oblivious to what happened at the end of last year, but Anthony suddenly finds the bottom of his glass highly interesting...

     "...I see," Anthony says nonchalantly.

     Matthew seems slightly perplexed by the strange way in which Benedict reacted. Rather reluctant to sour the good spirits, he says: "I did not realise that the Royal Academy taught architecture, too." Liar. Of course he knew that.

     "Yes, but we are rather more underfunded and underpopulated than some of the other schools in the Academy."

     "Ah..."

     Benedict takes a careful, more considered sip of his Madeira this time. Feelings he thought he had locked away begin to swirl inside — what is it that haunts him most about that awful epiphany? Shame. Humiliation. Embarrassment. All synonyms, he realises, but accurate to the crushing blow Benedict's inspiration had taken since then. He has barely been able to put a pencil to paper ever since.

     "Excuse me, but I have to be taking my leave," Matthew says abruptly.

     "So soon?" Colin asks. "We did not get you a drink."

     "Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton," says the architect, "but I am afraid I only meant to drop by on my way to work. I had been long overdue to pay Mondrich a visit to this fine institution, and he was quite eager to show me around."

     "Perhaps we shall be seeing more of you?"

     "Then we may fetch you that drink you are owed," Benedict adds with a wink.

     "Perhaps... well, good-day," Matthew nods curtly. He scoops up his brown coat from the side of the chair and hangs it over his arm, breezing through the bar and towards the exit.

     Anthony looks at Benedict. There is guilt ruminating in the viscount's stare, and he hates it. It just dredges up humiliation that he would rather bury.

     "Brother—"

     "Don't."

     Benedict says it without severity, but firmly enough. With one swig he finishes the last drop in his glass. "Let us focus on whose day it really is, hm?" he says. "Francesca has debuted. And she will be needing all the guidance she can get at Lady Danbury's ball tonight... or guarding, more likely, from being heckled by eligible lords. I do not think she cares for them."

     "Something you two have in common, I see," Colin adds cheekily.

     "... When are you going back to Europe again?"

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

     ONCE more, Lady Danbury appears to have outdone herself. The Four Seasons Ball, as she has dubbed it, is themed around that very concept — walking around the ballroom, guests seem to walk through the passing seasons themselves. Pink blossoms in the spring, bright green leaves in the summer, that blend into burning autumnal ones later on, and then frost-tipped branches for the winter.

     Winifred and her sisters, along with the baroness and Lettie, were some of the earlier guests. They stand under the branches of the summer tree as they survey the crowds starting to file in. After a visit to the modiste, they are also fitting into the natural or botanical theme — Lettie in a gown of snowdrop white with black accents, Abigail matching the pink spring blossoms, Jemima in bright purple like geraniums. The dowager baroness is draped in dark green silks all over her body. Then there is Winifred, who stays mostly in her comfort zone of the same hairstyle as she has always fashioned at balls. But now free of her half-mourning colours from last year, her gown is made of a beige fabric with woven accents of browns and dark greens; autumnal harvest colours.

"Agatha, I must say you never fail to impress," Lady Strachan remarks to Lady Danbury.

"When the only competition is myself in hosting the first ball of the season, I do like to keep things fresh." Lady Danbury surveys her latest guests for the evening with a twinkle in her eye. "I see you are partaking more in this season than usual, Dominique. Could you not resist the temptation to meddle any longer?"

Laughing, the baroness replies, "I am merely sponsoring and hosting my companion, Miss Fitzroy's friends. The rest is beyond me."

"How charitable..." Lady Danbury then turns to Winifred. "It is good to see you again, Mrs. Erstwhile, and your sisters. Do enjoy yourselves tonight."

"Thank you, Lady Danbury," Winifred smiles softly. There is a knowing glint in the older woman's eyes — perhaps she remembers their conversation from last year, imparting wisdoms about their widowhood — and she feels it is meant especially for her.

As Lady Danbury leaves them to be, she feels Lettie link her arm through hers. "This feels just like old times," she muses out loud, and Winifred has to agree with fondness. When they were teenagers, they used to seek each other out at the local balls or assembly rooms in their village or beyond, either observing suitors from afar or trying to escape them. Neither were particularly keen to put themselves out on the front-line when it came to courtship... and not much has changed in that respect.

Her sisters could be rather different. Winifred glances over at them, trying to gauge what they are making of all this. Abigail seems intensely focused this year — ever since she knew they were definitely staying in London for another season, she has been revisiting old issues of Whistledown and people watching as she takes note of the eligible men in Mayfair. Abigail does indeed seem determined that 1815 is the year she finds a husband.

Jemima is harder to read. She has certainly been eager to return to London, but has shown little to no interest in finding a husband. Nothing new there. But why come all this way and attend endless onslaughts of balls and soirées if she does not intend to reap the benefits? Mostly, she is carefree and surveying her surroundings. Jemima certainly shows less nerves than Abigail does at being in London, despite the lack of interest in husband-hunting — Winifred has noticed how she seems to come alive when she is in the city.

"Found your future husband yet, duckie?" Jemima asks her sister jokingly.

Perfectly focused, Abigail replies without looking at her, "Have you bothered to even start looking yet?"

She does not answer, simply shrugging carelessly.

"What about that friend of yours, Miss Caldwell? Surely she is back this season," Abigail adds.

"I- I suppose so, yes..." Jemima's face suddenly flushes — and it is not the first time she has done so upon the mention of Emilia Caldwell. Winifred finds it rather odd. She knows that in January, Jemima had gone to stay with the Caldwells in their country estate just after Christmas, to celebrate Twelfth Night with them. But every time since she has tried asking her sister about how things were, she seems unable to give a coherent answer or simply careens away from the subject entirely. Had they fallen out?

"Ah," says Lettie, nodding to the stairs, "there are the Bridgertons!"

The rest of them look to the staircase, and surely enough the family is there. Kate and Anthony lead the way, Francesca shyly holding onto the viscount's arm. Then there is Eloise lingering miserably towards the back, and Benedict trying to cheer her up. And another young man, tall and chiseled and glowing with a lingering tan from the continent. Hold on... could that be...?

"Is that Colin?" Abigail asks, awestruck.

"Surely not," Jemima scoffs, "he looks so... different."

As Abigail continues to openly stare, Jemima leeches onto it and playfully asks: "Are you regretting ending things with Colin Bridgerton now?"

Earning a swift nudge in the ribs in return, the youngest Seymour girl silences herself just as the rest of their party go to meet the Bridgertons. Winifred finds her eyes instinctively combing through the large family to find Benedict; brown meets greenish-blue, and they smile at one another. Meanwhile, Colin is all swagger as Abigail approaches him.

"Abigail," he greets her, "it is pleasant to see you back in Mayfair again."

"Likewise... you look rather different," Abigail says pointedly, looking him up and down. She looks less attracted than she does perplexed.

"Time away can change a man," Colin puffs his chest out. "Experiences are what make us grow, to guide us in knowing what we truly want from our lives."

"Yes, well... I hope you find what you are looking for this season."

More earnestly this time, Colin amicably replies: "The same to you, Miss Abigail. You deserve nothing less."

Abigail smiles widely at this, even more so when Colin asks if he may tell her about his adventures in Italy. Whilst the two of them catch up, relieved to be on good terms even after ending their courtship, Winifred turns her attention to the quietest Bridgerton, Francesca — she has only met the girl a few brief times compared to her relatives, but in that short time she thinks they have come to a mutual understanding. Like her, Francesca prefers the quiet, and appears quite overwhelmed as she has entered the first ball.

"Good-evening, Francesca," Winifred says quietly.

"Mrs. Erstwhile," Francesca purses her lips together into a shy smile.

"How did the presentation go this morning?"

The girl pauses for thought, clinging tighter onto Anthony's arm. "Smoothly, I think. Or as well as one could have hoped. I do not know if Her Majesty was particularly impressed or not—"

"You were perfect," Anthony interjects.

"— Anyway, the most important thing is that it is over," Francesca sighs with relief.

"Or rather it is just beginning?" Benedict suggests; half-teasing, half-sympathetic. He watches his younger sister's face become drained of its colour at the very thought.

"Brother, I am rather parched," says Francesca to Anthony, "might we go and fetch ourselves a drink?"

"Certainly. Follow my lead."

Anthony whisks away with Francesca, acting as her pillar of support during her first grand ball. Benedict steps in to fill the space left in their absence, a cheeky smile playing across his lips. "Your poor sister," Winifred shakes her head at him, "you did not have to tease her like that."

"Oh, she knows I do not mean it," Benedict replies. "Though in all honesty, it is hard to truly tease her. I can't quite tell what Francesca is making of it all. She seems to walk the line between Daphne's eagerness and Eloise's... well, sheer horror of it all."

"What was that?" Eloise perks up.

"Nothing!"

His younger sister narrows her eyes, slowly turning back to swim through the crowds in search of a friend. Benedict pauses in thought, stealing a glance at Violet, and adding in a lower voice to Winifred: "I think our mother is quite rattled by the fact that, above all, Francesca seems desperate to move as far away from us as possible."

"Well, can you blame her?" Winifred rebukes. Benedict's brows fly up in surprise and she softens. "Forgive my bluntness, but surely you have noticed that Francesca is different from the rest of you. It is difficult to find one's voice when it keeps getting drowned out. You have to admit, you can all be rather... intense, sometimes."

"Intense? Even me?"

"Yes, even you, Mr. Bridgerton."

Benedict's mouth drops in faux-horror with a gasp, cracking a grin out of Winifred. But he does not probe any further — he seems to understand what she is saying. The Bridgertons are lovely, there is no doubt about it, but their personalities are so bold and passionate for the most part. Francesca is the only one who appears more subtle and subdued, although by no means lacking in strength of character beneath it.

Unfolding his arms, Benedict smiles at her. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Oh, yes. Thank you..."

Winifred's gaze rotates with Benedict as he moves around her to disappear into the crowds. Upon turning around, she sees that the Featherington family are the latest guests to arrive at the ball. The Featheringtons, as ever, are dressed in garish colours, while the husbands of Prudence and Philippa sit happily on their arms. Like a ripple, she sees the crowd react to something at the top of the staircase before she notices it herself — but once Winifred finds the subject of awe, she is also taken aback.

She remembers Penelope Featherington from the last season as a young, sweet girl, with ringlets of bright red hair that clashed with the bold citrus colours she wore. But the Penelope stood at the top of the stairs is someone entirely different. The ringlets have been smoothed out into sleek waves, the yellows exchanged for dark green and sheer gloves that twinkle like the midnight sky. As she walks past them, everyone seems to do a double take, from the clueless Featheringtons to a blindsided Colin — even Jemima blinks rapidly at Penelope, eyes wide.

Did everyone undergo a transformation before this season?

Benedict returns with her drink just as the next dance begins. Winifred whispers thank you, taking a delicate sip from the glass. As the first dance continues in the centre of the ballroom, they stand at the sidelines and talk with one another. She feels the weight lifted off her shoulders from not having to painfully generate small talk with a stranger. It was exactly what had been such a comfort last year — the last thing she needed in her grief was unnecessary probing. Benedict had treated Winifred like a normal human being, and that was the best she could ask for. This season is no different. Except, perhaps she finds herself in a better place than she did a year ago.

"Winifred?" Abigail asks suddenly. "I should like to reserve some dances, but I know not who to ask."

She holds out the dance card dangling from her wrist, dotted lines empty of spaces. Last-minute nerves about being a fish out of water seem to have frozen Abigail from trying to talk to the lords in the room. Winifred nods in understanding and excuses herself from the conversation with Benedict. They walk over to the refreshments table to get a better view of the room.

"Is there anyone who has caught your eye, duckie?" asks Winifred.

Abigail chews her lip and looks around the room. "A few, perhaps. Lord Basilio seems amiable enough. And Lord Cho could be quite charming..."

But her heart seems to sink, slightly impatiently, as she sees that the both of them are currently trying to flirt with Penelope — who is not taking it well at all. She seems unprepared for the situation, blurting out panicky strings of sentences that make no sense together, deterring the lords more and more until they slowly edge away. Winifred feels sorry for the girl, but not before suffering flashbacks to the blunders she used to find herself in when she was first out in society.

Now Lord Cho and Lord Basilio have left, there is a slight scramble to try and grab their attention before they scurry off. It is in that moment that Winifred suddenly realises she might have to take the lead — Madeline or Silas were often the ones doing the introducing last year, but arguably Winifred is the one representing her sisters now... and yet she is biting off more than she can chew in this dragon's den. Oh, dear Lord.

"What must a lady do to get a dance around here?" Abigail whispers to Winifred, her words hidden behind her fan. She catches Colin's eye across the room and he lowers his glass, his eyes darting from the lords to her.

"Just be patient, Abigail," Winifred says, whilst wondering what comes next. Does she introduce her sister?

"I am trying, but I am surrounded by all these beautiful girls who—"

"You look lovely. Stop being so hard on yourself."

"Gentlemen!"

A third voice suddenly enters their sphere, making the two sisters jump. Colin has appeared at their side, the two lords in tow. "I do not believe I ever introduced you to Miss Abigail Seymour," he says politely. "Miss Abigail, this is Lord Basilio and Lord Cho."

Winifred instantly sees what he is doing; he has swooped in, skipped the awkward initial introductions, allowing Abigail's charm to do the rest of the work. She is as surprised by the gesture as her sister is, but just as touched. The smooth-talking, flirtatious Colin disappeared for a moment to be replaced with the sweet and endearing boy she remembers from last year.

Abigail curtsies delicately. "Pleasure to meet you, my lords," she smiles breathlessly. On her way up from the curtsy, she catches Colin's eye, almost shimmering with gratitude. He gives her a subtle wink of camaraderie.

"The pleasure is all ours, Miss Seymour," Lord Cho says first, vaguely interested. "Mr. Bridgerton was just telling us that you are a proficient harp-player?"

"Oh, y– yes! I have been practicing for quite some time. Musical talent seems to have come in abundance with my sisters, so I thought I should try and follow suit..."

"Are there many harp players where you live in the country?" asks Lord Basilio.

"Well, maybe. I would not know. And it is only Hertfordshire... hardly too remote."

"I see my work here is done," says Colin. "I shall leave you three to chat..."

Taking Colin's cue as well, Winifred takes a couple of paces back so she can chaperone from a comfortable distance. She remembers how awkward it feels to try and have a sincere conversation whilst your chaperone is breathing down your neck. Gradually, Abigail seems to relax more, growing chattier with the two lords. Lettie soon appears at Winifred's side, joining her in watching Abigail's efforts.

"How are things going?" Lettie asks, swirling her drink in her hand. "Lord Basilio seems particularly interested in your sister."

"Perhaps, yes, but I do not know whether it is too early to say..." Winifred sighs.

"It is only the first ball. Plenty can happen just yet."

"Where is Jemima?"

"Oh, I left her to talk with a friend of hers."

Winifred perks up at the mention and manages to spot Jemima in the crowd. She is stood with Emilia, who has hardly changed a bit since last year, and her elder brother Francis as they catch up. There seems to a warm glow amongst the group, particularly between the two girls as they laugh and exchange stories from their last meeting. Good, she ponders. She had begun to worry when Jemima kept avoiding the subject about Emilia. At least they do not seem to have fallen out... unlike Eloise and Penelope, apparently. Winifred is not sure she can try and keep up with the story, even if it could explain why Eloise has flocked to Cressida Cowper of all people.

Only a few hours in, thinks Winifred, and this place is already exhausting.

"A word of advice for your sister about Lord Basilio," Lettie says in a hushed voice, "I heard that his horse recently died. He was quite attached to the poor thing. So, avoid all conversation surrounding equestrian or the Royal Ascot as a safe bet."

"Noted. And Lord Cho?"

"Seems respectable enough, I suppose. Marches to the same drumbeat as most of the ton..."

Winifred tries to keep listening to Lettie, but she has just spotted a gentleman approaching her friend from behind. He seems to linger quietly at first, hands linked behind his back. The man rocks back and forth on his heels as he deliberates, before finally projecting his voice: "Excuse me, madam, would you—"

"No!" Lettie whirls around in a knee-jerk reaction, startling both the lord and Winifred. "Forgive me, sir, but I am not participating in all of... this," she gestures vaguely to the ballroom around her, "and neither is my good friend here, so I would advise you to take your interests elsewhere. Please and thank you."

The man, blond and bearded, furrows his brows slightly.

"Duly noted," he hums. "In the meantime, as I was originally asking, would you kindly step aside so that I might reach the Ratafia?"

It is only then that they realise they are blocking his path to the refreshments table. Winifred cannot remember the last time she saw her friend's face drop so quickly. Mortified at her overreaction, Lettie clears her throat. "Yes..." she mumbles, stepping aside as asked. Luckily, the man does not seem too deterred, more quietly amused than anything. He fills his drink and does not try to chastise her.

     "Thank you, Miss...?"

     "Fitzroy."

     "Lord Debling," he introduces himself. "But seeing as you are not participating, I shall not keep you any longer."

     Once Lord Debling has disappeared, Lettie expels a loud exhale. Winifred tilts her head at her friend incredulously. "Oh my, Lettie..."

     "Can you blame me?" she defends herself. "It is not the first time I have had to fend off an interested lord at one of these things. I only assumed he was after the same thing."

     Thinking that he seemed amiable enough, Winifred looks out after Lord Debling — he seems to move differently amongst the ton, a little less haughty and more grounded. She keeps Abigail in mind, wanting the best for her. "Do you know anything about this Lord Debling?" she asks curiously.

     "Not a clue," Lettie shakes her head. "If I'd recognised him, I might have refrained from making a fool of myself—"

     "Miss Fitzroy?" Lady Strachan's voice interjects, the older woman appearing tiredly by her side. "I need to sit down for a while. Would you accompany me?"

     "Certainly," she nods, followed by a muttered "Saved by the baroness..." under her breath.

     As they leave, Abigail passes Winifred and flashes her dance card to her — she has managed to secure the next two dances with Lord Cho and Lord Basilio. She tries to shoot her younger sister a smile of congratulations in what feels like a whirlwind. The more the evening progresses, the more Winifred finds herself longing for a quiet moment. Francesca must have the same idea as she has taken refuge under one of the artificial trees. Just as she plans to join her, a wave of shimmering silk turns her away in the form of Kate Bridgerton.

"How are you finding the evening, Winifred?" Kate asks.

"I had forgotten just how tiring these balls were," Winifred mutters honestly. "If I had, perhaps I would have stayed at home instead."

The viscountess laughs. "I understand completely. As much as I wish to commit to being viscountess, I wish just as much to ride away on my horse in the fresh air."

"Well, at least we can endure the season together..."

Winifred says it in passing, but it stops Kate in her tracks. A slight apologetic look crosses her features as she looks at her. "That may not be possible..." she says slowly. "Anthony and I were speaking earlier today. Lady Bridgerton is taking her time to move out of Bridgerton House, and we feel no need to rush her. And having spent most of our lives so far being dutiful anyway... we thought we might extend the honeymoon, for just a little bit longer."

"... Oh!" Winifred blinks at her, after taking a few moments to process the news. "That sounds wonderful."

"You do not think it too impulsive?"

"No, I think it makes sense."

"It helps that Anthony was rather pleased to see how well Benedict worked with their mother in his absence," Kate adds. "I feel the family will be in good hands until we return properly."

Winifred spots Benedict across the room, wondering if he knows the news yet. "Yes, I think he will do a fine job. I shall miss you, of course."

Kate smiles fondly at her. "And likewise. I promise I shall write to you, when I have the time."

"I would like that very much."

"Good-evening, ladies," Anthony steps up to them just in time, glowing in particular with love for his wife. "Have I interrupted something?"

"We were just discussing how you plan to steal me away from Winifred for a longer honeymoon," Kate muses.

"Mmm, yes. Regrettably, I shall have to steal her sooner, for I should like to dance with my beautiful wife. If I may?"

     Kate accepts, and Winifred lets the couple slip away to the dance-floor. Abigail and Lord Cho are also positioned for the imminent dance. But as it begins, her attention is drawn most of all to Anthony and Kate, who dance as if they are the only ones in the room. Their love for one another is palpable in every look and step. In one twirl, he even steals a kiss from his wife, who gasps before beaming from ear-to-ear.

     Winifred finds herself completely alone for the first time in the evening. She watches everyone from the sidelines — her sisters, the Bridgertons — like a wallflower. She thinks back to when she was a young lady attending country balls with her parents and sisters. Going into the search for a husband, she had known she had personal standards and principles, but it had been difficult to apply them when in settings where you spoke through dance and chaperones small talk. Winifred did not expect a thunderbolt at the time; she would have been happy enough with a kind, sensible man who she could trust and get along with.

     That was why Joseph had been a blessing, one that seldom happens twice. She feels it in particular right now.

Still, Winifred finds peace in her solitude for now. She takes comfort in knowing she is not being interrupted... although, there are a few exceptions to those she would not mind joining her.

In her periphery, she sees Francesca Bridgerton is now standing next to her under the winter branches. The girl has been bombarded with suitors most of the evening, not showing an interest in any of them. Winifred decides not to question her about it. So, the two quiet souls remain silent, not needing to clarify anything. They look out at the ball in equal measures of exhaustion.

"How do you cope with it?" Francesca finally asks. "The balls, the conversation, the dances?"

"I am flattered that you think I cope with it," Winifred replies, still staring ahead. "I would also point out that I did not have to deal with balls quite as intense as in the ton when I was your age."

Francesca sighs wearily.

"Years of practice is my true answer. Willingly or not."

"That sounds testing," says Francesca.

"True..." she sighs. Just as she does, Benedict catches Winifred's eye from across the room again. He raises his eyebrows at her, as if to ask if all is well. She simply nods in response. He relaxes, raising a glass to her from his side of the room. The gesture is simple, but it makes her feel less alone in this strange environment.

     "But," Winifred adds, "there are people along the way who can make it more bearable."

.·:·.⟐.·:·.

A U T H O R ' S
N O T E

—

Dearest readers...

Finally, we've reached season three! It's going to be interesting with this one, because I would consider Winifred to mostly be on the outside of everything happening with Polin. So she might not be as "involved" with the main plot as she was with Kanthony in season two. But we'll see what happens...

What do you think of Lady Strachan (Dominique) and seeing more of Lettie so far? And most of all, Regina the pug, the true ruler of the household (she and Newton are competing for biggest attention seekers in the ton).

Also, Matthew is back! Remember him from Chapter 21? You'll be seeing more of him from now on, so stay tuned.

I hope the Four Seasons ball wasn't too overwhelming? There were quite a few subplots going on there. I know it was jam-packed with lots of little moments, I was mainly trying to use it to set up these characters in the world of season three. From now on, I'm hoping the ball scenes will be more focused on Benifred and how they interact during them. I did have fun writing that awkward interaction with Lettie and Lord Debling, and I want it to be known that I basically pictured it like this scene from Fleabag:

Lettie is NOT having it 😤

This story recently hit 50K reads, so I cannot stress this enough, thank you for reading! Your support and lovely words about this story mean the world to read. I might slow down a bit between this chapter and the next, because I'd just like to plan ahead for the Act Two chapters now that season three has fully-released.

(P.S. One final thing, I'm pretty sure in the Queen's presentation scene in season 3, one of the names called is "Miss Winifred" and I swear I saw Benedict's face slightly react to it — THE WAY I GASPED!)

Yours truly,
— starryeyedturtle

PUBLISHED: 23/06/2024