Bridgerton · Y/n story by @MissRosie

The London fog of April 1813 clings to the cobblestones like a whispered secret, curling around the wheels of passing carriages and muffling the clip-clop of horses into something almost conspiratorial. Mayfair stirs to life in the pale morning light, its grand townhouses blinking awake behind tall, gleaming windows. The air is thick with the scent of coal smoke, damp earth, and the first blooming hyacinths in immaculate garden squares.

Anthony Bridgerton

his voice carrying from the landing I did not say I would not attend. I said I would attend after I have settled the Hastings matter.

Colin Bridgerton

lounging against the banister, a half-eaten scone in hand That is an excellent distinction, truly. I am sure Mama will appreciate the nuance when she is forced to explain to Lady Danbury why her eldest son was seen skulking about Tattersall's instead of dancing with eligible young ladies.

Violet Bridgerton

sweeping into the foyer with startling precision, her blue gown rustling Anthony, you will be at Lady Danbury's soirée tonight, and you will be charming. You will smile. You may even—heaven forbid—dance.

Anthony Bridgerton

Mother, I am not—

Violet Bridgerton

her voice gentle but unyielding You are the Viscount. You are the head of this family. And you are not above the season, no matter how you might wish to be.

The morning light catches the tension in Anthony's jaw as he looks away. Across the foyer, Daphne observes from the drawing-room doorway, her honey-blonde hair pinned in a simple but elegant arrangement. She says nothing, but her hazel eyes are knowing.

Eloise Bridgerton

The season is well and truly begun. brandishing the paper Lady Whistledown has already found a scandal, and it is—of course—the Duke.

Colin Bridgerton

perking up with interest The Duke of Hastings? What has he done now?

Eloise unfolds the paper with theatrical flair, her blue eyes scanning the elegant script as she reads aloud.

Eloise Bridgerton

reading It has come to my attention that the elusive Duke of Hastings has returned to London with no intention of marrying. A pity, for a title such as his deserves an heir—and the debutantes of the ton deserve a challenge. But I daresay the Duke shall find himself otherwise engaged before the season is through. The lovely Miss Bridgerton of Grosvenor Square seems quite taken with him already.

A beat of silence. Then Colin snorts, Daphne's cheeks flush a shade of pink, and Anthony's expression darkens like a storm rolling over the horizon.

Anthony Bridgerton

his voice low and dangerous She wrote about your sister.

Eloise Bridgerton

She wrote about everyone, Anthony. That is rather the point.

Violet Bridgerton

quietly, a small smile playing at her lips Well. I daresay the season shall not be dull.

Outside, the street is beginning to fill with carriages and strolling figures. The world of the ton is waking, stretching, and sharpening its claws. On the pavement opposite the Bridgerton residence, a figure in an unassuming grey cloak pauses, watching the house with an unreadable expression before turning and melting into the morning crowd.