in quite deep// featherington oc

fourteen

I spot the elder Sharma daughter by herself. I take the opportunity to introduce myself.

"Miss Sharma," I greet. She smiles. "I am Lady Patience Seton."

"Miss Kate Sharma," she says.

I smile. "I saw you standing over here and thought you could use a friend."

"A friend?" Miss Sharma questions.

"Yes, a friend," I tell her. "There is no catch. If anything it is selfish on my part. You see I desire a friend so I may have someone other than my sisters to speak with at this season's social events."

"Sisters?" Miss Sharma questions.

I point to where my sisters are standing by the refreshment tables. "I have three younger sisters. All unwed."

"And you are?" Miss Sharma questions.

"Widowed," I inform her.

"I am sorry for your loss," Miss Sharma offers.

"Thank you," I tell her.

"I have a younger sister myself," Miss Sharma tells me.

"I have heard that you are staying with Lady Danbury," I state.

Miss Sharma nods her head. "She is a friend of my mother's."

"Then I am sure I will be seeing you at every event this season," I state. "I insist on dropping the honorific. Call me Patience."

Miss Sharma smiles slightly. "Then you must call me Kate."

I smile the second my eyes land on Bash. He is speaking with a group of gentlemen. When he spots me he excuses himself from them.

"Lord Wilds," I greet.

"You look beautiful," Bash tells me.

"Thank you," I tell him.

"I saw you dancing with Benedict," Bash states.

"Are you jealous?" I question.

Bash laughs. "Not a chance. I know whose ring is on your finger." Bash leans in to whisper in my ear. "And whose bed you shall be in."

"I think you desire to get me into trouble," I state.

"Only when we are away from prying eyes and ears," Bash tells me. "Which is why you shall come over. Tomorrow evening."

I think for a moment. "I believe I may be able to make the time."

Bash laughs. "Thank you for making time for your fiance."

There is nothing quite like the sweet-scented smell of success. But after taking in the scene from last night's festivities, it is clear the season won't be quite so fragrant for everyone. The Viscount Bridgerton's own mama may have loudly declared her eldest son's lofty intentions to marry, yet I cannot be the only one wondering if this former Capital-R-Rake is, indeed, ready to flourish. Perhaps the viscount, like the rest of us, is simply waiting for the queen to finally name her diamond. Or perhaps this author should take matters into her own hands.

Though, of the many purportedly well-trained and bred hothouse flowers on display this year, this author must wonder if a more surprising choice might still be in store. Whichever darling miss receives such high esteem, let us hope there is a suitor available of only the sharpest wit, lest his dry musings leave a young lady wilting like a parched rose.

Bash and I sit in the drawing room with my family. They are all reading the latest Whistledown.

"It is rather clever the way she uses plant puns to belittle," Mr Finch states.