TWO ALONG THEIR WAY ┃a. bridgerton

5: to be alone

Anna never thought she'd be crossing off Lord Bridgerton from the soirée guest list not because she did not want him near Edwina, but because she did not want him near herself. In her life, there were a few people who were immune to the air of sadness that lingered around her. Edwina was one of them, and their father had been too. Henry had been one a long time ago. Anthony Bridgerton, it turned out, was not.

They'd gotten too close, though not in a good way. She'd let her emotions loose too much that it had uprooted several hazardous things that would've been best left alone. For all she knew, he was ruminating on their shared memory now, trying to figure out if that was a part of why she hated him, and also reminding him of a time when his father had still been around. And she knew what that felt like, to be reminded of a loss by remembering they did, in fact, exist once. It made the hollow feeling in one's heart all the more worse.

But there was some modicum of fun to be had at the soirée. What was better than making fools of men was watching men make fools of themselves. More than that, Anna seemed to have found herself a friend in one of the most unlikely people: one Eloise Bridgerton, who was nothing like her brother, had an incredible sense of humour and an intellect unlike any other. During the short reprieve from the talent show, they'd somehow driven the topic from books, to ancient Greek philosophers, to rights of women, and then to theology.

"So you do not believe in some higher power watching over us all?" Eloise questioned as she sipped on her lemonade. "Brave of you to admit in a society like ours. Then again, a woman simply telling a man she does not like him could be counted as brave. I do not mean to discredit you by saying so."

"It's hardly brave," Anna replied. "It is just another way of thinking. If there was some kind of omnipotent fellow watching over us, I'd like to think he'd care a little more about the women he put on this earth. But alas, here we are, doomed to watch men juggle and sing to win the right to essentially own us."

"Well, God is a man," she pointed out. "Who's to say he doesn't just watch over the men?"

"And who's to say that God isn't a woman?" Anna proposed, raising her eyebrows.

"I cannot fathom why my brother does not like you," Eloise said with a lopsided smile and an admiring look in her eyes. "It is so rare to find someone that is actually able to hold an intelligent conversation."

"Now, now!" Lady Danbury called out to the crowd. "Shall we return to our... poetry reading?"

"Making it so obvious that she does not wish for the show to go on," Eloise hummed. "Though I do not blame her. I fear I may tear my hair out if this gets any more boring."

"I find it quite entertaining for all the wrong reasons," Anna replied as the pair found a new place to stand where everyone else gathered. It was Lord Lumley's turned to present, and he faced Edwina, focused solely on her. And spoke with sincerity.

"She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's best of dark and bright, meet in her aspect and her eyes; thus mellowed to that tender light, which heaven to the gaudy day denies," he spoke eloquently. "One shade the more, one ray the less, had half impaired the nameless grace, which waves in every raven tress, or softly lightens o'er her face; where thoughts serenely sweet express, how pure, how dear their dwelling-place."

It was dull. For all the expression he used in his delivery, Anna found it dull in a way that was not exactly Lumley's fault. He was a fine speaker, but the poem fell flat on her ears and brought her no strong feelings. But it was not intended for her, and a few of the other ladies were eating it up, Edwina included.

"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, so soft, so calm, yet eloquent, the smiles that win, the tints that glow, but tell of days in goodness spent, a mind at peace with all below, a heart whose love is innocent."