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 grand ball at the Hastings estate was the centrepiece of social chatter this season, but not for the reasons one might typically assume.
When news broke that Anastasia Bridgerton, the enigmatic runaway socialite who had once captivated London's elite, was making her long-awaited return, the air was thick with a mix of excitement and scandalous whispers.
Oh my word, has she truly returned?
The gall of that girl! I do not know how she can show her face in society after all that!
Do you think the rumours are right? Did she truly elope with some commoner?
Well, there's only one way to find out, isn't there? I simply must get my hands on an invitation to the Hastings ball!
Oh, what delicious gossip!
As the anticipation swelled to exhilarating heights, the very figure at the heart of the chaos remained blissfully uninterested in the frenzy surrounding her.
Anastasia Bridgerton lounged lazily on her couch, gown sprawled elegantly over the edge as she leaned against the cushion. In her hands, a crisp, cream-coloured sheet of paper demanded her attention, its familiar font as tempting as a whispered secret. Her brows knit together in bemused curiosity, and a faint, sardonic smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she devoured its contents.
To her astonishment, Lady Whistledown had chosen a new, and admittedly intriguing, angle for her latest missive.
Dearest Gentle Reader,
The Bridgertons are no strangers to spectacle, yet even they may have outdone themselves this time. Miss Anastasia Bridgerton, once a ghost of idle speculation, has returned to the spotlight, leaving jaws agape in her wake. It was said—and how amusing those whispers were—that she absconded with a man of humble means. But for those who thrive on such tales, might I suggest an eye examination? For her companion upon reentry is none other than the Prince of the North, Sir Nicholas Alexander himself.
Humble, indeed.
One might wonder how a lady of her supposed proclivities finds herself in such august company. Yet, here she is, defying expectations with a poise that leaves even the sharpest tongues dulled. Perhaps the truth is not as deliciously salacious as we were led to believe. Perhaps Miss Bridgerton's departure was less a flight of fancy and more a move in a game whose rules only she knows.
And so, dear reader, I await with bated breath for the showdown. For as we all know, the truth has a rather charming way of coming to light.
