Silent Wars: A Bridgerton Tale

T H R E E

Dearest Gentle Readers,

A tantalizing mystery unfolds before us this season, as a certain elusive young lady has ensnared the gaze of every scrutinizing eye. Miss Maria Thomson, dwelling within the confines of the Featherington estate, emerges not merely as a participant in the social dance but as an enigma—an exquisite gem dazzling amidst the opulence of high society. Her presence has ignited hushed murmurs and shocked expressions, casting shadows of doubt on the Queen's choice for this year's Diamond. Is it possible that Her Majesty has made a monumental misjudgment?

—Lady Whistledown

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Daphne paced the drawing room, her delicate slippers tapping against the polished wooden floor as she moved back and forth, her thoughts spinning as quickly as her steps. "Mama, perhaps we might attend the upcoming Salisbury Ball and the Marrierweather Tea by ourselves," she suggested, her voice tinged with frustration. Each word was sharp, a reflection of her growing impatience with the constraints placed upon her.

Violet, seated gracefully on the settee, looked up at her daughter with a slight frown, her discomfort evident. "I believe that Anthony has already replied on our behalf, dearest. Apparently, he has managed our social calendar through June."

Daphne halted mid-step, her eyes widening in surprise. "He will be there the entire season?" she asked, disbelief colouring her tone.

Eloise, lounging nearby with an air of practised indifference, glanced up from the book she wasn't reading. "Lady Whistledown has made her opinion of our dear sister's fortunes quite clear," she remarked with a smirk, her voice light as Amelia's fingers danced over the piano keys, filling the room with a soft, soothing melody.

Daphne rolled her eyes, her frustration bubbling over. "Oh, what of Lady Whistledown!" she exclaimed, dismissing the notorious gossip with a wave of her hand.

As if on cue, the door creaked open, and a servant stepped in with a formal air. "A caller for Miss Bridgerton," he announced, his voice resonating with the authority of someone used to delivering important news.

"Lord Berbrooke," the servant added, as the man himself strode into the room.

Violet rose from her seat, her movements a well-rehearsed display of elegance as she curtsied. "Uh... uh... come in," she managed, her voice slightly shaky with nerves. She gestured toward the tea tray, attempting to regain her composure. "May I offer you some freshly prepared biscuits?"

"Eloise, make some room for His Lordship, will you?" Violet instructed, her gaze darting anxiously between her children, trying to maintain a semblance of control over the situation.

Daphne, her hand tightly clasped around Eloise's, watched her mother's nervous chuckle with growing unease. Violet, sensing the tension in the room, turned to Eloise with a forced smile. "Eloise, are you not due for a visit with Penelope this morning?"

Eloise, ever defiant, replied stubbornly, "I believe I should like to stay."

Violet's eyes narrowed slightly as she made a firm decision. "I believe you should like to go," she said, her tone brooking no argument. With a resigned sigh, Eloise stood, moving to the other side of the room with deliberate slowness.

Lord Berbrooke, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him, settled himself into a chair, his eyes sweeping the room with a sense of entitlement before resting on Violet. "Lord Berbrooke, what brings you to call upon us?" Violet inquired, her strained smile betraying her discomfort.

"Both," he replied curtly, his gaze flickering over Daphne with a possessiveness that made her stomach twist.

Amelia, sensing the tension, gracefully left the piano and took a seat beside Daphne. Her presence was a silent promise of support, her hand gently squeezing Daphne's as Lord Berbrooke approached.