𝐈 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐀 𝐁𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒, 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧

dread and preparations.

The morning sun filtered softly through the towering windows of Bridgerton House, casting a honeyed glow over the drawing room where Charlotte sat, poised yet withdrawn. The air was fragrant with fresh blossoms-lilies and gardenias brought in by the housekeeper-but their sweet scent did little to lighten the heaviness that pressed on her chest.

Her wedding dress, a masterpiece of silk and delicate lace, lay draped elegantly over a chaise longue. The soft fabric caught the light, shimmering with quiet promise and silent demands. It was beautiful, and yet it felt like a shackle-binding her to a future she did not fully embrace.

Charlotte's gaze was distant as she folded her hands neatly in her lap, mind adrift in a storm of conflicting thoughts. The invitation for the day's fittings had been delivered hours before, but the reality of what lay ahead still refused to settle. Would this marriage bring her peace? Or was it simply another layer of duty and sacrifice wrapped in silk?

The gentle creak of the doorframe pulled her from her reverie. John, the youngest of the Bridgerton siblings, stepped timidly into the room. Barely seventeen, John still carried the fresh optimism and innocence of youth, untouched by the shadows that clouded his elder siblings' lives.

"Charlotte?" His voice was soft, cautious, like a leaf trembling in the breeze. "Are you... alright?"

Charlotte turned her gaze toward him and smiled, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "I am well, John. Thank you for asking."

He shuffled closer, the nervous energy of youth palpable. "I heard about the wedding," he said quietly. "It sounds... grand."

She gave a small nod. "It is, indeed. Bigger than anything I have known."

John's brow furrowed with concern. "Are you happy about it?"

Her smile faltered. Happiness was a luxury that had become elusive. "I'm trying to be."

He reached out tentatively, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You deserve to be happy, Charlotte. Truly."

The sincerity in his voice warmed her heart, and for a fleeting moment, the weight on her shoulders felt lighter. "Thank you, John. That means more than you know."

John lingered a moment longer, then excused himself with a shy smile, leaving Charlotte to her swirling thoughts.

No sooner had the door closed behind him than the room filled with the familiar, raucous laughter of Francis. The middle Bridgerton sibling entered with a flourish, his infectious energy filling the space. He was the family's jester-sarcastic, irreverent, yet fiercely protective beneath his easygoing façade.

"Well, well, if it isn't the blushing bride-to-be," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Charlotte rolled hers playfully but felt a pang of gratitude for the distraction. "You're impossible, Francis."

"Only for you," he retorted, sliding onto the chaise beside her. "So, tell me-nervous? Terrified? Or just plain exhausted by it all?"

She sighed, the tension coiling tighter inside her. "A bit of everything."

Francis gave a half-smile, his usual smirk softening. "Look, Charlie, I may mock the whole business, but I want you to know I'm here. I've got your back, no matter what."

Charlotte reached for his hand, squeezing it gratefully. "I know. And that means the world."

For a moment, the lightness of their banter filled the room, a brief respite from the storm raging within her.

Then the door creaked again, and Phillip entered-eldest of the Bridgertons, ever the embodiment of duty and discipline. His presence carried a more somber weight, his expression unreadable but his eyes steady.