"TELL ME IS THERE A PROPER WAY TO ENCOURAGE ONES AFFECTION?"
"DANCING, MY LORD. OR DO YOU FIND THAT DETESTABLE TOO?"
IN WHICH THE VISCOUNT
FALLS FOR A MERCHANT'S
D A U G H T E R
BRIDGERTON S1-S2
A...
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NEWSPAPERS & NICETIES
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SHE COULDN'T STOP FIDDLING with her skirts while she waited for Anthony to return with his mother and sister. Her excursion to Bridgerton House had been unplanned at best and potentially scandal inducing at worst. No chaperone, just in her nightdress and a robe, hair undone. And she was greeted by the lord of the house himself. Marjorie chuckled ruefully at the circumstances. She never cared about her own name, but if she dragged her family down with her she would never forgive herself.
Not to mention the fact that Anthony Bridgerton was also dressed down to nearly nothing, recalling the way his bare chest had poked through the unbuttoned dress shirt, his hair unruly and blue eyes turning almost incomprehensibly grey. She'd never seen him in that state before. He looked so unkempt, so unlike the man he projected out to the world. He looked...normal. Not like the untouchable man she'd come to know.
Her chest constricted at the thought, something knotting itself in her stomach before she shook it away. She was here for a reason. Her visit was purposeful, not some hopeless attempt to rekindle whatever friendship the two of them had before Edmund's death. Marjorie bit her cheek at the memory, the last time she'd visited Oxford before Anthony had returned home for the summer. Before Este had met the man who ruined her life.
Before the Bridgertons had lost their father.
Before Marjorie had lost her sister.
"Miss Baxter!" Violet couldn't hide her surprise as she strolled into the parlor, eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline, "What a lovely surprise, we weren't expecting you."
"I can help you get rid of Nigel Berbrooke." Marjorie promised, cutting right to the chase instead of dancing around the topic. Daphne's eyes widened and a smile crossed her face.
"Can you really?" The young woman asked, grasping Marjorie's hands in her own as she sat down across from her. The hopeful gaze tugged on her heartstrings, and as Violet slowly took her place next to her daughter. Marjorie pulled her hands free and turned toward the Matriarch.
"My brother James, he runs the paper that publishes Whistledown. If Berbrooke even comes near the gossip sheet, he'll make sure it doesn't run."
Daphne let out a sigh of relief, but Lady Bridgerton's jaw was still clenched, her lips pursed. "That doesn't address the root of the problem," She explained with a thoughtful look, "Nigel Berbrooke will not rest until he's married to a Bridgerton no doubt. And while Mr. Baxter may be able to delay the news, Berbrooke will find a way to defoul us if we do not agree to his conditions."
