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'To be a woman
is to be
unapologetically resilient
despite everything.'
- H. S.
. . .
"Lord Berbrooke is harmless." Anthony reassured his sister as they took a ride through the park. "There will be others."
He gave a nod to a passing man that tipped his hat to him.
Yet, however reassuring her brother was attempting to be, Daphne was anything but. "Lady Whistledown has all but declared me ineligible . . ." she fixed him a fierce look, "worthy of the affection of a detestable simpleton and no one else. Tell me, what others should ever want such damaged goods now?"
"You speak as if Lady Whistledown were to be held in higher regard than Her Majesty the Queen herself." Anthony countered. "You give far too much credit to some anonymous scribbler. These musings, they're not true."
Daphne found her patience with her brother hanging by a thread. "Only they are true, Brother, and they are true because of you. You have managed to scare every worthy suitor away, Whistledown has merely reported it."
"I am looking out for you." He answered in his defence. "I am protecting you. It is my duty."
"And what of my duty?" Daphne asked, her voice raising an octave, capturing the attention of those passing by. It was enough to remind her that a lady never raised her voice. "You have no idea what it is to be a woman. What it might feel like to have one's entire life reduced to a single moment. This is all I have been raised for. This – is all I am, I have no other value. If I am unable to find a husband, I shall be worthless."
"Daphne, you're a Bridgerton." He said as though that made everything better.
Daphne scoffed.
"It would be easier if I were not." She let out a sigh. "I must go if don't wish to be late to take tea with Lady Lakewood."
Daphne clicked her horse into a trot, leaving Anthony some distance behind with his thoughts. One of which being how he didn't wish for Daphne to meet with such an abrasive woman. Though, by good sense, he chose to keep his thoughts to himself.
. . .
Huge sentinel oak trees stood guard either side of wrought iron gates that donned the Lakewood crest. Daphne could barely recall a time when she had seen those gates open. The brambles and weeds that had twined the metal she had been accustomed to seeing had been cleared away, the gate polished and shining in the afternoon sun.
