daylight | b. bridgerton

xiv | marchioness, opposition

Vivienne sat in her drawing room, bored out of her mind. There was another ball tomorrow evening, and many suitors came to call on her. She was on her second suitor of the morning, Viscount Grantham, whom she had found out was indeed younger than her.

The marquess was absent, and Ambrose had taken his place with Henry as a chaperone. Under the gaze of the two older lords, Viscount Grantham was a stuttering mess. Vivienne almost pitied his lack of confidence.

He did get bonus points for bringing tulips —her favorite flower— though. After hours and hours of torture (it was twenty minutes), the viscount left. A footman sent the next suitor in, and to Vivienne's absolute horror, Lord Berbrooke strolled in. Henry began to pay far more attention, Anthony having filled him in his dishonor. Vivienne wished very much for the viscount to come back.

Berbrooke shuffled in, moving to the couch where Vivienne sat. "Lord Berbooke. Please sit."

He had a disgusting smirk on his face. "Thank you, Lady Vivienne. You look just gorgeous this morning, if I may."

She was repulsed at the look in his eyes as his gaze traveled downward. She shifted in her seat. "Thank you, my lord."

"Of course," he scooted closer to her on the couch, now almost an indecent distance away. Ambrose's gaze hardened, his fists beginning to ball up, and Henry clenched his jaw and crossed his arms. "Will I be seeing you at tomorrow evening's ball?"

Please God no. "I will be in attendance, yes," she said politely.

Berbrooke placed a hand on her thigh, running it up and down it slowly. "I am looking forward to it, Lady Vivienne."

She jerked her knee away, and Ambrose and Henry stood up, their chairs scraping at the sudden movement. "Berbrooke!" Ambrose exploded. "Out. Now."

He looked between the two, confusedly. "My lords, I do not understand–"

"You heard him, Nigel," Henry interjected, his voice firm and unrelenting. "Let go of her and please leave."

"Fine," Berbrooke grumbled. "I shall see you tomorrow night, dearest."

Henry was livid. "You will do no such thing. Get out of my home, or so help me God, I will grab my pistol and see you out myself."

Berbrooke left, looking much like a rat as he scurried out timidly. Vivienne rolled his eyes from the couch once he was gone. "You both are too much, I can handle myself."

"We do not doubt that, Vi," Ambrose said, his usually kind demeanor present once more. "But you do not need to."

She huffed, and fell back into the sofa. "Whatever."

The footman came back in. "The duke of Essex, for the Lady Vivienne."

Henry waved him off. "Send him in," he ordered, putting the prior conversation to rest.

Sebastian Fitzroy came in, holding a large bouquet of roses. Vivienne was thankful to see him after her last two guests. The duke regarded the two other men first, then walked over to Vivienne's sofa.

"Good morning, Lady Vivienne," he said, handing her the flowers. "These are for you."

She smiled warmly, taking them. "They are lovely, thank you. Please sit."

"Of course," he said, rubbing his hands on his thighs as he took a seat. The duke took a deep breath before starting again, "I just wanted to apologize, first and foremost. I haven't been the best suitor, and I have been aloof. I would like to be better."

"I appreciate that, your grace, but you have done nothing wrong."

"I believe that is because I have done nothing, my lady. Please call me Sebastian."