If you were to ask anyone in the ton about the Lady with a Fan, even an errand boy could give you an answer. That's the name Anastasia Bridgerton had built for herself to protect her family after their father's passing. As the oldest sister and twin...
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The windows shook with a mournful intensity, reminiscent of a caged beast desperate to break free. Grieving winds howled past the trees, roots quivering with every relentless blast. The brooding grey clouds hung low overhead, a sombre foreshadowing of the impending rainfall.
As the tempest raged outside, Anastasia Bridgerton remained unaffected by the chaos. The brilliant blue of her eyes lost its lustre as she peered into the turbulent weather with an uncharacteristic emptiness, reflecting the storm tearing at her innermost thoughts. The rhythmic clanking of the carriage echoed in unison with the tangled mess of emotions locked within her, aching to break free.
Anthony's words remained implanted in her mind, her desperate attempts to chain its existence failing miserably, as the dull ache in her heart grew from a breathless, pounding pain to a numb, lingering wound. Open and uncured.
You stayed for power, did you not?
His question. The one sentence that shattered her heart.
For power, he says.
Anastasia found herself wishing to release a pained scoff.
What power does he speak of? Does he truly believe that my actions could amount to a mere struggle for power? Did I truly come off as so vain?
A million thoughts buzzed through her mind, piling into a tower of impending doom. The brief happiness she had experienced felt like a mere joke at the moment, a gift of pleasure before the pain took over every crevice of her body, as if the angels and devils chose to take turns screwing with her life.
Yet, despite the excruciating pain in her heart, the thoughts that clouded her mind shifted from the cruel words of her brother to the sweet nothings from the man she loved.
Nicholas...
She had agonized over him, at least whenever her heart would allow her to. The debate over writing to him for comfort or leaving without notice continued raging in her heart. The rock that tipped her scale had come in the form of a single piece of paper. A letter from Queen Amelia.
The girl felt her gaze quiver at the thought.
My departure is for the best...
Especially now that they will know...
//
The Bridgerton manor clamoured with excitement, as their fourth daughter, Francesca Bridgerton, had finally returned from her lessons in the pianoforte.
One after the other, the family crowded around the girl, offering warm hugs and welcoming wishes as they gathered in the family lounge. Daphne Bridgerton had made time to visit as well, accompanied by her newly married husband, Simon Basset.
