Chapter Text
Anthony knows god is not merciful but he hadn't known that god was cruel. He should have taken the time to read Job twice. Because she is here. Eight years later, and she is here.
They met at the opera. Or rather, he first saw her at the opera, thought her uncommonly beautiful, wondered who she was, then was derailed by the duties demanded by the viscountcy. She had been so young, a mere seven and ten years of age, yet already so much wiser than him. He had been so young– nineteen and made up of a tower of matchsticks.
She had come to London at the insistence of her best friend. Anthony remembers– her friend had taken Helene as her English name. Helene's father and hers had worked together in some capacity and the old diplomat could not deny his only daughter anything. He doesn't remember what Helene's real name was, only her cool disdain for him when she told him Kathani had gone back to India.
And now here she is, older and somehow impossibly more beautiful. They could have been married these eight years if he hadn't– they would already have had children–
You would choose to ruin your sisters' chances to find a good match to marry this– girl? Lady Rathbury tells me she is the daughter of a clerk with no noble connections, who cannot even claim a blood tie to the disgraced Sheffield family. If your father was alive–
Miss Edwina is lovely. A worthy diamond. Kathani has every right to be proud– she has done what his mother had for Daphne, with fewer resources and the disadvantage of the Queen's marked displeasure. If Kathani had been his, if she had been his Viscountess, she would have handled Whistledown with aplomb. She would have– they would have–
He'd asked her to marry him, the day after her birthday. He'd been such a nervous wreck, without even a ring, stammering before her and swearing he had intended to wait to meet her father and ask for his blessing, only he couldn't help himself: he loved her, he wanted her to be his wife. He remembers, like the softness of her silk curls, the happiness he'd felt when she said yes.
She is a great beauty, but what other qualities could she possibly offer? My dear son, an education and sharp wit can be found anywhere, but a genteel upbringing cannot. And now you will entrust her to raise your siblings?
It wasn't her beauty. It would have been easier if it had.
The reality was much worse: It was her strength of character. The way she knew him– how to make him laugh, how to make him smile, how to take him to task for being unreasonable, short-tempered, angry, how to soothe him, how to lend her strength. He felt like he could live, when he was in her presence. His family was not a burden, but a joy. His viscountcy was not a duty, but a place of privilege he was entrusted with– she made him strive to wield his power and wealth wisely.
It was the way he knew her.
When he told his mother, she'd become silent and grave, telling him all the dire consequences to their family if he married his mistress.
You have a duty to this family, Anthony– a duty to the title. She will never be a suitable viscountess. Your father would never–
They had been courting. He thought she'd known. He thought she'd approved, and he'd been glad to know his mother had no objections to his choice of bride. Then to learn that she thought he had merely been toying with Kathani and once he'd gotten over his infatuation, he'd come to his senses to marry a girl who had the right lineage.
Now, he watches his mother make niceties with Lady Mary, smile at Lady Danbury, unable to look Kathani in the eyes. While it seems the only thing he can do is seek out her eyes.
Of all the seasons he'd decided to marry, of all the women Lady Danbury could sponsor– of course it had to be her. She no longer smiles. She holds herself proudly, as though daring anyone to approach. He has no idea what his face shows, but hers is inscrutable. The laughter she'd given easily, the joy she'd shared without restraint– none of it can be found now. He knows she recognizes him, just as she knows he recognizes her, but when they're introduced, she gives no indication of the connection they'd once shared. He follows her lead.
Kathani had been so happy. That afternoon, for those brief hours, he hadn't been able to stop smiling as they spoke of their future. They had both been in love and so certain this was how their lives were meant to be. The immortality of youth shielded them and buoyed their faith that no matter what path life took, it would always lead them to each other.
It seems to hold true, now. Because she is here, now, and he is here, now, and if he could just get a moment to speak to her–
This entanglement with her has gone far enough. If I had known your infatuation would lead you to do something so foolish, I would have spoken sooner.
Like the coward he was, he'd ended the engagement the next morning. He could not be anything less than honest with her– he owed it to her to tell her why. The devastation on her face, the tears she held back, the way she didn't know whether she wanted to push him away or hold onto him– like the death of his father, Anthony will never forget it. Shortly thereafter, he was banned from calling on her.
A few weeks after that, he learned she was gone. After searching for her in every corner of London, going to every social function hoping to catch sight of her, Helene coldly told him that Kathani's father had died and she had gone back to India. Was there an address he could write to? She'd laughed at him, the sound unbearably cruel.
Anthony should appreciate this, Helene had sneered. Wasn't this what he'd wanted– a clean break? Her banished from his life? Kathani was doing her duty, just as he had his.
Here she is now. His Kathani. He had no right to lay claim to her, no right to call her that, but he is weak.
Only a few know they'd been engaged, if one could call it such: Less than twenty-four hours had passed between his proposal and subsequent retraction. There may be some among the ton who remember the young Lord Bridgerton's brief association with a Miss Sharma, but any hint of scandal has long been eclipsed by Anthony's reputation as a rake.
One of the more devastating realizations he'd had after her departure was that many in the ton must also have thought she'd been his mistress. They'd all been aware of her father's lack of rank or title and made assumptions accordingly. And as his presumptive mistress, they would not have bothered to remember her name, only that she was another girl in Anthony's long string of women.
Much has happened in eight years. Not only is god cruel, but it seems god is also capricious. It was only last year that Anthony had tried, with a desperation bordering on madness, to run away with Siena– his actual mistress– and start a life with her away from everything. His past, his family, his mother, the vicious sacrifices demanded by his duties and the hateful judgment of the ton.
The irony of the words he spoke last year to Colin mock him, constantly.
You may hurt now, but the pain will pass. You have the love of all your family and the honor of your actions. Soon you will forget Miss Thompson's name and it will– it will be as if you never loved her at all.
Yet here she is– piercing eyes which refuse to look away. He is glad she does not look away. He wouldn't be able to bear it if her gaze ignored his. She carries herself like royalty– and she should, because Anthony has never known any woman more regal than Kathani.
He no longer knows what his father might have thought if Anthony had married her eight years ago. He only knows that he does not deserve forgiveness, does not deserve a second chance, and wants both desperately anyway.
Daphne is married to a duke, Eloise is out, and the Bridgerton name is synonymous with wealth. No one needs to speak of it: the fact that both Benedict and Collin have no need to earn a living and are always in the latest fashion is proof enough. He continues to have a bitter, contentious relationship with his mother.
When Anthony is desperate, he is reckless. His recklessness used to be limited to stupidity but last year has proven that he gambles with his life now. His recklessness puts other people's lives on the line, leaving irreparable damage in its wake.
It is a sign of how much he loves her, misses her, has always loved her and has always missed her that he is not reckless, despite his desperation. He will not endanger her life or reputation, or the lives and reputations of those she holds dear. Anthony can only imagine what she went through after her father's death. Her closed off heart bears witness to her eight years.
Did she ever think of him, if only to curse his name? He hopes she did. He hopes she thought of him– even in anger or hatred or bitterness– because that is infinitely better than being forgotten. She recognizes him, but she gives no sign of what she thinks of it.
Is she surprised that he's still unmarried? Was she nervous on her journey here? She was there at Lady Danbury's ball when his mother so graciously announced he was in search of a wife. He hadn't seen her, mobbed by a thousand dangling cards and tiny pencils that every lady seemed to drop in the most transparent ruse to hold his attention. Now here they are at the Queen's Diamond Ball, standing still and completely silent. Kathani looks away first, gaze steadily going to her sister.
He'd decided not to marry for love because he'd been thwarted, twice. Now–
What he feels for Kathani is not love. What he feels for Kathani is love. Neither, both.
He had found her at nineteen, lost her at twenty, passed eight years without her when by all rights, she should be his Viscountess now and they should have their own house full of children. What he feels for her is no longer holy– it is human. It is greed, avarice, lust, wrath, rage, desire, hunger, jealousy, covetousness. It is more than longing to taste– it is a vicious will to devour.
The woman she is today will not be won over by sweet nothings and gentle love. She is made of iron.
He hopes that after eight years, he is made of more than sawdust. She deserves so much more than who he was; he wants to be enough for who she is.
He ought to cede the floor so others may have a chance, but Kathani holds his every youthful virtue and his every mature vice. If he does not have the grace to make way for better men, he will damn well show the lengths he will go to get her back. He should have fought for her eight years ago.
He wants to tell her: he never forgot her; he wondered if she was married; he is unspeakably grateful she is not.
"Viscount Bridgerton," the Diamond of the season smiles at him.
"Miss Edwina," he bows.
"You will not go near my sister, sir," she says serenely. "Any mother who judges the worth of a woman by bloodline is one who sees her daughters as mere chattel and breeding stock. And any man who cannot withstand the scrutiny of society to hold firm to his convictions is one who can never be faithful, for he believes in nothing.
"Your reputation far precedes you, my Lord. If you are a man of any honor, you will stay away from her."
She speaks true.
But he is not a gentleman, or a man of honor.
And he cannot stay away.