A Lady's Calling: A Bridgerton Fanfic

Prologue

Summer 1807

"A constitutional, Miss Cressida?" the maid asked, a hint of exasperation in her voice as she was summoned to chaperone at such an unusual hour. "I'm afraid that would not be advisable."

The young miss pouted, her delicate features marred by a petulant frown. "Oh, very well," the maid sighed, as she was led back to the vanity. With deft fingers, the maid arranged Cressida's hair into an elegant coiffure and helped her into a charming baby pink gown.

They slipped out of the estate unnoticed, for a young lady accompanied by her maid was a common sight. The maid suspected there was more to this late-night escapade than a simple desire for fresh air or the soothing scent of lavender in the garden. Her suspicions were confirmed when Cressida darted behind a hedge, just out of view.

There, sitting on the ground, was a girl around Miss Cowper's age, dressed in patched trousers and a plain blouse, her black hair tied back in a style Cressida envied, for her father would never allow her to don such masculine attire.

Cressida joined the girl, taking care not to soil her gown. The girl smiled, reaching into her pocket to retrieve a small stone that glistened in the lamplight, its chocolatey brown surface interspersed with flecks of yellow. Cressida accepted the gift, turning it over in her hands, admiring its unique beauty. "How extraordinary," she murmured.

The girl shifted, a hint of insecurity in her voice. "Surely the young lords vying for your affections have presented you with far finer tokens."

Cressida laughed softly. "Never one so intriguing or sincere," she confided, leaning closer to the girl. "The young lords are merely echoes of their fathers, following the same tired steps and calling it courtship. To them, I am nothing more than a business arrangement."

The girl's eyes shone with disappointment. "It shouldn't be this way," she whispered, her hands falling to her lap.

Cressida's hand came to rest on the girl's thigh, a gesture that made them both shiver with an unfamiliar longing. "If only it weren't so," Miss Cowper lamented. "The most fortunate among us may find a kind husband, and that is all I can hope for."

As they inched closer, their lips met in a tender kiss, a moment of stolen bliss. But their embrace was shattered by a booming voice. "What in heaven's name—"

At the sight of the silk-clad figure of a man, the servant girl fled into the maze. Cressida, paralyzed with fear, looked up at her father, who yanked her to her feet and struck her cheek with a resounding slap. "You little harlot," he growled, his hand connecting with her face again and again until she crumpled to the ground, blood dripping from her nose onto her once-pristine gown.

"Father, I—" she stammered, but her words were cut short by another blow.

Her father turned his back on her, his voice cold. "Behave like a harlot, and you shall be treated as one," he spat. "You will never again bring disgrace upon the Cowper name. From this day forward, you will associate only with my approved companions."

As he strode back to the estate, he instructed the maid, "Burn that gown. And make her do it."

Cressida wept as her maid tended to her, bathed her, and helped her consign the ruined dress to the flames. "Why must the world be so cruel?" she sobbed, seeking comfort in her maid's embrace.

"It is the way of things, Miss," the maid murmured, at a loss for words that might prevent her young charge from falling prey to such misfortune again.

But Cressida had already learned the bitter truth: her life was not her own.