I
Dearest gentle reader,
This author, as well as our Ton, is abuzz with anticipation at the news of the imminent nuptials of our dear Princess. The nuptials will take place in less than three weeks, and the Ton is eager to see what beautiful gown will be chosen by the Princess for her most special day.
This author is overjoyed to be the first column to report this important news, which was confirmed in advance by the author herself to avoid misunderstandings like that of a few years back. The Ton decided to believe the words of an unreliable newspaper, rather than wait to receive confirmation from this paper.
This should prove to you which sources to believe.
Yours,
Lady Whistledown.
Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 22 April 1840.
Kate read the paper again, chuckling as her eyes scanned the words attentively.
She found herself once again in the Barton's comforting tea room, reading the gossip paper while little Nate, now four years of age, sat in her lap feigning interest in the paper.
She stole a glance at the young boy, who mimicked her entertained expression, and smiled widely. She surveyed the room, noting that little had changed since her first visit as a new Duchess.
Lila and Cooper were still bickering as always, Laura sat next to her reading the rest of the paper, Nate in her lap playing with her necklace when she was distracted, and Clint… somewhere. She was sure he would soon arrive with a broad smile.
One thing had changed in those years. She now had a lady-in-waiting, Miss Kamala Khan.
Kate had first met the young girl during a promenade with her husband in the park. The girl was trying hard not to cry, refusing to heed her mother’s pleas to marry sooner than planned. Kate’s heart clenched at the scene, but she knew she could not intervene in a mother-daughter quarrel. Except, she did intervene and made it look like an accident. It took considerable persuasion, but she was able to offer the position to the unconventionally young girl -who eagerly accepted- and at the same time assure the mother that she would take care of her daughter’s debut when the girl decided it was time, and in the meantime, she would address the family’s financial struggles. It was the least she could do as the young girl’s new mistress.
Elijah had fixed her with an incredulous look but never opposed her decision.
Kate had gained more confidence in her role of Duchess, managing the estate and assisting her husband in their financial affairs. She refused to be kept away from anything. Her dowry was still hers, and had slowly been increasing with each yearly income of her husband.
In her free time, she tended to the gardens alongside the gardener and continued to write letters addressed to her sister. She still missed Susan, although she always found new ways to keep her mind occupied from the thought.
Word that the young Duchess had acquired a lady-in-waiting soon reached her mother, who still tried to find ways to control her life. Eleanor Bishop was predictably displeased with her daughter’s decisions; however, Kate had learnt to overlook her mother’s criticism. Something her mother was unwavering about was the still unfulfilled expectation of an heir, a grandchild. Kate had no interest in becoming a mother yet, nor would she let Eleanor become the grandmother of her child.
The young Duchess looked over to where the oldest Barton children were playing with her young lady-in-waiting, realising not for the first time just how young Kamala truly was. She then looked again at Nate, still her greatest weakness. She had often imagined how having children of her own could be, and she found herself thinking it would not be bad if she could have what the Barton family had. Unlike Clint and Laura, though, she did not marry for love and she knew that dream of hers would be unattainable. Her husband and she barely spoke outside of the farce they put up for society or their business affairs.
The sound of Clint’s approaching steps roused her from her reverie, as she patiently waited for the news he was bringing.
Four years prior, he had announced the princess’ marriage, which ultimately never came. The Duke was acquainted with many who served the royal family, and Kate surmised he also knew the royals themselves. Thus, he knew the previous news of marriage was indeed true. But it had been the Princess herself who had decided to cancel the wedding, the reasons for which remained unknown to Kate.
Perhaps Her Highness had realised the chains that came with marriage before reaching the altar. Or perhaps, she simply wished for more time, as the Whistledown now reported the imminent wedding with firm assurance.
“Good morning, my dear family!” As predicted, Clint entered through the double doors of the tea room with a broad smile, which he made sure to pass down to his youngest child. “I bring exciting news, though I suspect you have already perused the Whistledown paper.”
“Is it confirmed to be true this time, dearest?” Laura questioned, never glancing up from the paper. “Years ago, you entered through those very doors with similar news… and we all recall the outcome.” Her smile was teasing.
“I am absolutely certain it is true this time, darling.” He turned his gaze and bestowed a smile upon Kate “Kate, I would like you to meet my best friend soon. I am sure she will like you very much, and you will get along just fine.”
Kate could not help but smile at the man’s enthusiasm. She had heard those words since after her father’s burial. Clint had meant to arrange a meeting between her and his mysterious best friend for years; however, something always made it impossible.
“I would love to meet this mysterious best friend of yours. I am starting to think she does not truly exist.” She smiled mischievously, and laughter echoed from the other side of the tea room, where Kamala, Cooper and Lila had now repositioned themselves.
“You have spent too much time with our family; you have mastered Laura’s smile. It is quite terrifying.” Everyone laughed, knowing he only meant to tease. “Will you attend the engagement ball this evening, dear? And will your husband accompany you, this time?”
Kate sighed. Elijah had decided to not accompany her to the last few balls, which raised suspicions among the Ton. She had been compelled to lie, telling everyone her husband was occupied with business out of town. Truthfully, her husband would fault her for his absence from society duties. They had argued many times about his desire for an heir, something Kate denied as they had not been intimate with each other since their wedding night. She felt as if her marital duties had been fulfilled; she did not need to have a child, much less an heir .
“I should hope he decides to accompany me tonight, though I cannot predict his answer. I will make sure to remind him that it is a royal ball, and that it would be disrespectful not to participate.” The Barton spouses knew the true reasons why Elijah had declined to attend the social events that saw Kate appearing alone. She could never lie to them, not anymore.
Satisfied with her answer, she looked back at Nathaniel, who now wore his father’s smile. His awareness of the comfort he brought to the young Duchess had only grown with him, and Kate could not deny him her best smile.
She placed the previous day’s gossip paper on the small oak table before her and adjusted the toddler on her lap so he would be facing her. He immediately reached for her necklace, a habit he had retained since infancy. Kate laughed, feeling true joy.
Thus she spent her morning in the loving atmosphere of Duke Barton’s Mayfair house with the people who treated her like family.
Soon, it was time to head back to her own house with Kamala. The girl had enjoyed her morning as well, as she excitedly informed Kate on their way back home. Kate observed her with a fond look, feeling endearment for the girl.
Since Kamala had entered her life the year before, Kate had never had to pay attention to the scenery when travelling with someone else in the carriage. The girl always engaged in light-hearted conversations, the kind Kate had longed for when she first married and travelled with her personal maid, Alice. The blonde maid was too conscious of etiquette, never engaging in conversations with the lonely Duchess. Kate still appreciated the maid’s attentiveness; she was truly the gentlest maid Kate had ever encountered, and the Duchess never found reason to relieve her of her duties. Not that Alice minded, as Kate noticed.
Kamala, however, seemed to have never been introduced to etiquette, and Kate revelled in this notion. Her carriage had long since ceased to be a lonely, silent, enclosed space.
“I hope to find my match this evening, though I have yet to make my debut. It would certainly please my mother and benefit my family.” Kamala’s face conveyed happiness, but her words were full of sadness and fear of disappointing her family.
“This evening you will enjoy yourself, without concern for finding a match. I have promised your mother that I would take care of you and your debut when the time came. And that moment is far from close; you are still not of age, aside from the fact that you are obviously not ready yourself.” Kate gently explained to her. She did not wish the girl to have the same experience she had had. “When the time comes, you will fall in love and marry the gentleman you fell in love with, and who loves you back just as fervently. You do not have to hasten your marriage solely to appease your family. Believe me, Kamala. That will not make you happy nor bring you a happy married life.”
Kate gazed intently into the girl’s eyes, hoping she would understand her words. When Kamala opened her mouth to respond, Kate preempted her. “And do not worry about your family. I have vowed to care for them until you marry, and I intend to keep my promise fully.” The younger girl returned Kate’s smile.
Soon, they arrived at the Bradley’s townhouse. It was not as majestic as the estate, but it stood out among the neighbouring houses.
Assisted out of the carriage by the footmen, Kate and Kamala were greeted by some of the maids who had accompanied them to town for the season. Alice was among them. Mrs. Darrell remained at the country estate, managing it in the absence of Their Graces.
Withdrawing her gloved hand from the footman assisting grasp, she smiled warmly at Alice. Kate was now accustomed to the bows and curtsies and being addressed as Your Grace by the staff. She was still not accustomed to the dark blue colour worn by the footmen and most of the staff, the same blue that belonged to the Bradley family and that made the family recognisable among others. She despised the colour, she despised not being able to convince them all to change it -like she had convinced Alice, telling her that as her personal maid she would prefer her to wear a colour closer to purple. And Alice chose purple itself-.
“Should I come help you prepare for the royal ball, Your Grace?” Although she had been accustomed to being addressed that way by everyone, hearing her title from Kamala still felt strange.
“Kamala, I told you, you can simply call me Kate, lose the title.” She grimaced as she still thought of how wrong her title sounded spoken by the girl. “And I do not require your help. I wish for you to be recognised as a lady-in-waiting so you may enjoy every luxury that accompanies the title. But I do not wish for you to act like one; I wish for you to live your life peacefully in my home, where you never have to worry about anything other than just being yourself.” Kate smiled tenderly, taking the young maiden’s hands in hers to convey the truthfulness of her words.
She signalled for her to head to her room and begin preparing for the ball, taking one of the maids to assist her. She watched fondly until Kamala was out of sight. Kate then turned to Alice, noting with relief that the rest of the staff had returned inside. Her smile faded, with only one thought in her mind.
“Alice, do you know my husband’s whereabouts?” Kate was aware of the strictness in her voice, but it was never directed at the poor girl who had been by her side for all of four years.
“His Grace is in his office. He has not left all day.” Kate was grateful for Alice’s complicity; she considered her a true friend more than her personal maid. The girl had been loyal to her for all these years, and the Duchess could always count on her for everything.
Kate hastened towards her husband’s office, intent on having a private conversation with him. A conversation that would remain private thanks to the blonde girl ensuring no one lingered near the office door.
Kate strode through the hall where they had hosted many balls in past seasons, paying no heed to the staff who watched her as she sternly made her way to the office. Upon reaching the mahogany door, she knocked as usual to announce her presence. Receiving no answer from the Duke, she opened the door and, before closing it behind her, shared a look with Alice.
The office curtains were drawn, with candles providing the only light.
The fireplace had recently been extinguished, as indicated by the lingering warmth in the room. The Duchess swiftly looked around, assessing that nothing was out of place. The smell of alcohol hit her nostrils, so strong it made her feel nauseous. Her husband was hunched over the desk, frantically writing on a piece of paper. She imagined it had to be some of his private financial affairs, as he had recently taken up severely different habits, such as betting on wrestlers at the games. Kate rolled her eyes in annoyance, suspecting he was trying to spend as much time away from her as she was from him.
“Elijah.” Her voice echoed throughout the room, his frantic scribbling never ceasing, his head never rising to acknowledge her presence. “Elijah, I wish for you to look at me while I am speaking.”
Finally, his hand let the pen fall on the papers, and his gaze met hers. A wild look in his bloodshot eyes, a sign that he had been poring over papers all morning. “I did not hear you knock.”
Kate tilted her head; his voice was hoarse, and he seemed intent on hurting her. She knew him well enough to interrupt his behaviour before he could fully show it. Marriage had its perks, after all. She just kept staring at him, waiting for the biting comments she was sure would soon leave his mouth.
“Have you come to just stand there and stare at me? Should you not prepare for one of your many soirées that keep you away from the duties you are still expected to fulfil?”
Kate was, to say the least, amused. No matter how many times she discussed the topic with her husband, he never understood her true desires and reasons for denying his own. Following her wedding night, she had ensured she fully understood what bearing a child would mean for her and the duchy she now possessed. The things she had discovered horrified her; she could not comprehend how a woman could endure such suffering, assume such responsibilities, and still desire to have more children.
“I came to inform you that we shall attend the royal ball tonight, in honour of the Princess’ engagement.” She found no reason to use a wicked tone when announcing her intentions, not until the Duke affronted her directly.
“What makes you believe that I will accompany you to this ball? You have done just fine by yourself all this time; clearly you do not need my assistance to be noticed by every member of the Ton.” Elijah snarled, his tone sharp and condescending.
“Need I remind you this is a royal ball, an engagement one nonetheless, and it would be extremely disrespectful not to show up.” Kate’s patience was running thin, realising her husband preferred to act immaturely rather than understand her position for once. “Should you decide to avoid this ball, I will ensure that by the next Whistledown’s publication, everyone knows you have not been busy out of town.”
“Why must you be so insufferable?” His voice began rising, his heaving breath interrupting his words. He stood up from the chair he had been occupying for who knows how many hours, his hands tightly gripping the edge of the desk he had previously hunched over. “What gives you the right to deny me an heir, when that was the sole reason I agreed to marry you in the first place?”
Kate did not react to his shouted words; she knew he would bring the conversation back to the lack of an heir in their marriage. She fleetingly recalled seeing the nursery for the first time at the estate, the usual scant feelings surrounding the memory. She would not change her mind; she would not be subjected to society’s expectations.
“That is entirely your fault; you knew I proposed this arrangement solely to escape my mother, and you never objected. I may have not been able to avoid her any more than when I lived with her, but that was my intent by marrying you, and to some extent… I achieved it.” Her tone remained calm, her voice never quivering. She had no reason to match his passion in the conversation, knowing that her words would only fuel his anger. “And if you truly wish for an heir, I have told you many times that there are dozens of women who would be happy to share your bed. You may choose one, have a bastard child, hoping for a boy, and claim him as your heir. I would participate in this farce as well; we could pretend the pregnancy by going away to the country until the child is born. We would bring the mother with us, to avoid raising suspicions.”
Perhaps her smile while speaking such words had been too vexatious; or perhaps, her husband had not even registered her smile, only fixating on the indecorous suggestion she made. She was aware of the unladylike word she had used, but it was the only way to grasp her husband’s complete attention to the words she was declaring.
His reaction was nothing short of absolute rage, though Kate found her suggestion rather simple and effective. Her husband, clearly, thought differently.
“Are you out of your mind? Have you even considered the words you were about to say before pronouncing them?” His angered steps came towards her, slowly closing the space that had separated them the whole time. Still, Kate did not move, not in the least intimidated by him. “The child could never be the heir, as he would not be my wife’s child as well… is it so hard for you to understand?”
Kate fixed him with a stern gaze. She could already predict the pleading question hanging from his mouth, could already hear the change in tone to try and manipulate her in seeing the aspects she would love about motherhood -something he would not have the entire knowledge of-. Therefore, she hardened her gaze, determined not to be sidetracked by his pathetic pleas.
His chest still heaved from the heated conversation. His eyes watched her every move, trying to anticipate her response. He took a step forward, further closing the distance between them. His hands stretched, reaching for her.
Kate quickly took a step back, wishing to put as much distance between them as possible, hoping the door was close enough to reach and escape the room. She was not afraid of her husband; she was merely avoiding further anger provoked by his unnerving presence.
“I expect you to prepare for the ball and be waiting for me by the carriage. Otherwise, I shall speak.” As soon as she pronounced the words, she opened the study’s door and exited, rushing to the staircase that would lead her to her chambers. Alice followed three steps behind her.
She paused in the middle of the staircase, where vases of flowers adorned the landing. On the wall, prominently displayed, was a portrait her husband had commissioned after their wedding.
In the portrait, Elijah was standing, one hand on his chest, the other resting on the back of the chair she was seated on. Kate was uncomfortably seated diagonally; she remembered how tired her back had become while posing. Her hands rested on her lap, gloveless to parade the ring. She remembered the grim expression on Alice’s face when the girl informed her she was to wear navy blue for the portrait, on orders of her husband. The gown had white lace adorning the contours of the corset, her shoulders exposed to the chill air of the room. It was beautiful, if not for the colour that mocked her, reminding her of her marital status and her limited freedom to choose her own colours to wear for any formal occasion.
The artist -she never cared enough to remember his name- had rudely insisted the couple pose for hours on end rather than meet on different occasions to finish the portrait. She was caught slouching multiple times, tired of sitting still and stiff. On many occasions, she wanted to shout at the painter and storm out of the room, only retaining herself in the hope of never having to see the man again.
Not once had her husband cared enough to notice her tiredness and ask for a rest.
Unfortunately, Elijah had also commissioned solo portraits of them both, forcing Kate to meet the man again and follow his every direction.
She would have been much happier if the artist had been Benedict Bridgerton. She was familiar with him, enough that she would never have had to request a rest, as he would have noticed her fatigue and decided to finish the portraits another time. And he would have insisted she wear a colour that flattered her more than the plain navy blue chosen by her husband. No matter the family colours, she would always be a Bishop first.
As she glared haltingly at the portrait, she noticed how the artist had failed to capture her likeness accurately. She barely recognised herself, seeing more of her husband in the portrait than her. She was suspicious that Elijah had asked the man to make adjustments to her expression. He wanted to ensure that the image of her remembered in the following years was one he was pleased with and approved of.
Two copies of each portrait existed: one for their Mayfair house and one for Thornfield Estate. Kate hated seeing herself captured like that in every house she had to live in.
An uncomfortable feeling settled within her, her blood boiling in her veins. She turned back to her previous path and began stomping up the stairs to reach her chambers. She was sure Alice would prepare the most soothing bath she has ever had in her life.
She glanced back, fearing the absence of the girl. Kate let out a breath of relief when she realised that Alice would truly follow her anywhere, reassured by her loyalty.
Kate remembered the sensation she felt the moment Alice’s hands had first touched her on her wedding night. She still revelled in the girl’s touch, but as the years passed, she realised she had begun to desire her touch in a way that she had never desired her husband’s. Kate would chastise herself, aware that such thoughts were improper.
However, she spent so much time with the maid that it was nearly impossible to avoid the warm hands that would delicately bathe her or dress her. Each time one of the maid’s hands touched her skin, she would feel a shiver run down her spine and a comfortable, fluttering sensation settle at the base of her stomach. She could feel her blood rush to her ears and a peculiar warmth in her chest, hoping she could conceal the blush on her cheeks by attributing it to the warmth of the room or the evening air.
Even now, having reached her room and waiting for the bath to be prepared, she could not help but stare at the girl. A small smile crept onto her face, one that remained when Alice turned towards her and began helping her undress to enter the soothing bath. The same smile never wavered when delicate hands caressed her whole body to soothe the lingering anger; nor did it leave when she was helped out and dried. Kate felt mesmerised, unable to look away. What caught her off-guard was the questioning look Alice was giving her, as she soon realised the girl had asked her a question.
“What did you say, Alice? I did not hear your question.” Kate smiled candidly and apologetically.
“I asked what gown you would like to wear tonight, Your Grace.” A slight blush crept up onto the girl’s face. Perhaps it had been the Duchess’ fault for such a reaction.
“I have every confidence in your choice for the evening’s attire, Alice.” Kate truly trusted her; she knew Alice would choose something that would suit her as well as the event to perfection.
She was led to the vanity fair, where her personal maid would help her with her hair and toilette. Her coiffure was elaborate, and it took a considerable amount of time to achieve the perfect curls the blonde was striving so diligently to create. As for the makeup, the girl had decided to apply merely a rosy tint to the young Duchess’ cheeks, and a light hue to her lips that enhanced their definition and natural colour.
Throughout the preparation, Kate took occasional peaks at the vanity’s mirror, satisfied with the choices Alice made. The blonde maid surely knew her preferences.
Soon, she found herself encircled by the skirt hoops and a corset ready to be laced. How she despised the corsets, those undergarments designed solely to restrict ladies’ breathing to accentuate their busts. It seemed that every aspect of a woman’s life was crafted to benefit men, every action dictated by etiquette, and every clothing choice made so that men could admire the well-behaved ladies, those whose gowns covered every part of the body except for most of the chest. It was frustrating and infuriating how women were subjected to men’s preferences, rather than choosing something they were comfortable wearing and doing.
Kate huffed, her stream of thoughts interrupted by the unmistakable sensation of her chest being constricted in the tight corset. She already felt her breath being cut short, the feeling slightly reminiscent of the moment she reached the altar and felt as though she were drowning. She imagined drowning would have been less painful, freeing her from all the madness of the web of lies she has been living for a few years now. When she returned to Thornfield Estate, at the end of the season, she decided to take long walks near the enchanting lake she had discovered in the forest near their country house.
Once the corset was tightly laced, she awaited the presentation of the gown she was to wear. She surmised that the colour would have to reflect her husband’s family’s heraldic hues, as it was a very formal invitation and every high-society family would be present, each required to don their family colours for differentiation. She briefly wondered if her mother would finally wear the Bishop’s colours again, or if she would wear a shade akin to that of the Earl who had begun courting her earlier that year.
Kate did not dislike the man; he seemed genuinely taken with her mother and earnest in his interest. She could not fathom how her mother might show interest in the gentleman, given her stern demeanour that would deter most suitors. Kate hoped she would relent to the gentleman’s attentions; perhaps he might soften her mother’s disposition.
Alice appeared with the gown, as Kate suspected, it was navy blue. It resembled the one she wore for the portraits, though this gown was adorned with pearls decorating the bosom. A defeated sigh escaped her as she was assisted into the gown by delicate and gentle hands. Long gloves were placed on her hands, covering what little skin remained exposed. She would bring a shawl to cover her bare shoulders from the chill air and from unwelcome gazes. Her wedding ring had to be worn over the glove, lest society speculate that she and her husband were quietly separated. That is all society truly concerned itself with: appearances.
Jewellery matching her ring was affixed to her ears and neck, and lastly, she had to choose a headpiece. She was tempted to wear beautiful silver flower pins that would rest on the sides of her coiffure, but she understood that a tiara would be the most appropriate choice. Therefore, she selected one that she liked but that would also complement the rest of her jewellery.
Carefully descending the imposing staircase that led her to the foyer, Kate caught a glimpse of Kamala eagerly awaiting her at the entrance. The darkening sky visible from the tall, wide windows that encircled the house. Footmen bowed as she passed, and Alice followed closely to adjust her dress.
Kate paused at the entrance door, where a squealing Kamala looked at her with adoring eyes. The young girl, too, was adorned in the family’s colours. Kate smiled at the excitement the girl displayed, all the while taking a shaky, deep breath in anticipation of seeing whether her husband had truly complied with her request.
Before the footmen could open the entrance double doors, the Duchess turned to Alice, displaying her broadest smile of the day. She wished to properly thank the girl, as she always did before an important ball. She took Alice’s hands into her own, lovingly clutching them, her fingers itching to intertwine with the girl’s.
“Thank you for your assistance with tonight’s attire, Alice.” She smiled even wider. “I wish for you to retire; the ball will last until late, and I would hate for you to wait up.”
Although the girl agreed, Kate knew there was a possibility she would find Alice ready to help her out of her party clothes before bed. She shook her head, chuckling, and reluctantly let go of the soft hands she was still clutching.
She turned back towards the doors and, with a nod of her head, signalled to the footmen to open them. At the end of the garden path, just beyond the open, flower-covered, imposing gate, stood the carriage. Elijah was nowhere to be seen.
Kate rolled her eyes and sighed for the umpteenth time that day, and exited the house with Kamala just ahead of her. The young girl was chatting animatedly about the entire preparation process she had undergone, still unaccustomed to having a maid attend to her every need. The cheerful chatter suddenly ceased, and Kate’s curiosity about what had caused the girl to stop talking was piqued. Unexpectedly, Kamala curtsied before the carriage, which made Kate frown, until the girl finally found her voice once again.
“Your Grace.” She said quietly, with a poorly concealed hint of surprise in her tone.
At her words, Kate turned her head towards the carriage, which Kamala was now entering, assisted by another footman. Inside, on the red-cushioned seats, sat her husband. Kate looked at him, one eyebrow raised in surprise. He returned her stare, void of any emotion.
Stepping into the carriage, she greeted him with a simple utterance of his name. Kamala, now uncomfortably silent, sat next to her. Kate suspected the young girl was afraid of the Duke, and could not help but sympathise with her. She held out her hand in quiet support for the girl, who immediately, upon realisation, took it and squeezed it with all her might. Their hands remained joined for the entire ride, with Kate’s thumb drawing soothing circles on the girl’s hand.
The journey to the palace was unbearably silent, seeming to take twice as long. While in the carriage, Kate briefly observed the Mayfair houses they passed, smiling when she saw the Bridgerton’s residence, which had already been vacated. However, as the houses all looked almost the same, she settled on examining the girl next to her, analysing her attire. The colour of the gown flattered the girl’s complexion, her hairdo was simple and elegant, and a smaller tiara rested on her head. The only jewels she wore were sapphire earrings that Kate had gifted her. Her hands were not covered by gloves, and Kate thought this was the best decision, as the gown had longer sleeves than those of the Duchess.
The carriage slowed, and as Kate turned her gaze back to the window, she observed a line of carriages ahead, waiting to pass through the gates and finally arrive at the palace.
The soft glow of lanterns illuminated the path, their light hanging delicately from the carriages before her.
She surmised that it would be a few minutes before they reached the palace’s grand entrance.
Although the evening air was chill, Kate decided to unfurl the fan she had fastened to her wrist like a bracelet. If they were to endure endless minutes confined within the carriage, she might at least avoid succumbing to the stifling heat trapped inside.
As she fanned herself, Kate noticed Elijah had been watching her intently ever since their carriage had halted. His expression was unreadable; no matter how hard she tried, she could not decipher his thoughts. Perhaps, she mused, he was silently rebuking her for compelling him to attend this ball.
Contrary to her initial expectations, their wait to reach the entrance was shorter than anticipated, though a peculiar anxious sensation settled in her chest.
With this disquieting sentiment lingering, she graciously accepted the assistance of a footman to alight from the carriage.
She was greeted by the sight of a magnificent garden, the grounds resplendent with flower-laden bushes scattered across the vast expanse. An illuminated pathway, flanked by delicate lanterns, guided the guests towards the immense palace doors, which stood wide open in welcome. Ahead of her, a number of nobles lingered, awaiting their moment to step into the fabled grandeur of the royal ballroom. The faint light of the lanterns, coupled with the darkened evening, rendered the colours of their attire indistinguishable, leaving Kate unable to recognise any familiar figures.
At either side of the regal entrance stood two footmen garbed in the royal family’s colours, bowing respectfully to each passing couple or family. There was something peculiar about having members of the royal household bow to her; the experience, to say the least, felt strangely disconcerting.
Following the same route as the other nobles, they traversed a long hallway adorned with many portraits of past monarchs and their kin, each encased in resplendent gold frames. The elegant walls were further embellished with tall mirrors and the occasional balcony that overlooked the lavish grounds.
Upon entering the ballroom, Kate found it abuzz with members of the Ton, dozens of whom had already taken to the dance floor. A small orchestra, positioned on an elevated platform in the room’s centre, played a lively tune. The decorations excluded a regal opulence, the royal colours of crimson and black interspersed with gleaming silver embellishments that caught the flicker of candlelight.
Kate entered the room on her husband’s arm, mindfully maintaining appearances. Her mother had instilled in her the notion that no one must know what transpires between a married couple behind closed doors, a lesson Kate had lived by for the past four years. Adding to her vigilance was the knowledge that Lady Whistledown was likely present, ever ready to craft a fresh piece of scandal for her next column. Kate had seen her name in print before and had no desire to discover what new affronts the infamous gossipmonger might pen.
Scanning the room, trying to assess where to run and hide, her eyes caught sight of Clint’s eldest son conversing with a young, fair-headed lady. Cooper’s smile was as radiant as the Sun, and the Duchess deduced that the young man was endeavoring to woo his mysterious companion.
On the opposite side of the ballroom, near the refreshments table, stood Eloise Bridgerton. Kate was eager to approach her friend but was hindered by Elijah, who still held her arm firmly entwined with his. He,too, was surveying the room, surely searching for his friends. The moment his gaze met that of one of them, he released her arm, offered a slight bow and excused himself.
Relieved of his presence, Kate found herself alone with Kamala, who could barely contain her excitement.
“Kamala, you may go and enjoy your evening now.” Kate said fondly, “There is no need to remain by my side. I shall soon make my way to Miss Bridgerton. Go and socialise; I am certain people will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”
With a hasty curtsy, Kamala darted off toward a group of other young ladies she appeared to recognise. Chuckling softly, Kate turned her attention to Eloise and began to make her way across the room. The same apprehensive feeling crept into her chest again, prompting her to tensely adjust her gloves, which had begun to slip down her arms.
“It is quite nice to see a familiar, friendly face amidst a sea of frightened debutantes and their tenacious Mamas.” Eloise remarked with a laugh as the Duchess reached the refreshments table.
“They do resemble little lambs set loose in a field full of hungry lions.” Kate replied, matching her friend’s playful tone. “I do not recall other debutantes looking quite as lost as these.”
“I, too, would have looked so if my mother had dragged me to a royal ball as my first outing after my debut,” Eloise said with a huff, clearly unenthusiastic about the idea. “Would you not?”
Kate remained silent, quietly concurring with her older friend. Had her own mother compelled her to attend a royal ball as her first social gathering, she would likely have spent the entire evening searching for the best hiding spot. The prospect of attending a ball as a debutante was daunting enough; the thought of encountering a member of the royal family at one’s first ball was nothing short of terrifying.
Four years after her debut and subsequent marriage, Kate still found herself seeking a place to retreat from the tiresome social obligations these balls entailed -some things, it seemed, never changed-. Her marriage had afforded her stability and security, granting her an air of composure that made her appear almost unapproachable to young gentlemen unaware of her status, or oblivious to the glint of her wedding ring.
Kate had no fondness for social gatherings, nor for the constant expectation of being unfailingly pleasant and polite regardless of the intentions of those who approached her -particularly the so-called gentlemen -.
She had been aghast to some of the offers she had received at previous balls, where she had arrived unaccompanied, from certain noblemen within the Ton. It seemed they paid no mind to the fact she had very publicly married a Duke, nor did they care that she exhibited no particular interest in any of them. While she had graciously accepted some compliments about her appearance, others were plainly ill-intentioned and left her wishing for a less striking visage altogether.
Had it not been for Clint and his family, she would never have returned to Mayfair before Lila’s debut or perhaps Cooper’s wedding. She greatly preferred the serene quietude of her country home.
Realising that some time had passed in silence between herself and Eloise, Kate turned her attention to the beverages on offer. Her mother’s voice rang in her memory -” Only two beverages per ball. That is the base for decorum, Katherine ”-. With a faint smile of resignation, she selected a glass and turned to face her friend, only to find Eloise preoccupied with something in the distance. Kate followed her friend’s fixed gaze, though she saw nothing of note. In her peripheral vision, she caught a glimpse of her husband, happily imbibing with his companions. She paid him no heed.
Just as Kate was about to inquire about the objects of Eloise’s attention, her friend spoke in a hurried tone.
“I see Miss Cowper there. I shall return shortly, I must go and greet her.” Without waiting for a response, baby-blue ruffles swept away toward the opposite side of the room, where a visibly uncomfortable Miss Cowper stood. Kate watched the tall blonde’s demeanour shift entirely upon seeing Eloise approach, and an unconscious smile found its way to her lips.
Now alone at the refreshment table, Kate sipped her drink. She was pleasantly surprised by its sweetness, the faintest hint of alcohol barely noticeable. Were she to succeed in avoiding undue attention, she would not mind indulging in more than two drinks that night. The lingering sweetness of the sparkling beverage left a pleasant burn in her throat.
Kate’s brief respite was interrupted by the lively swishing of a skirt and its many petticoats. The vision before her was that of a radiant, smiling lady. Her blonde hair swept away from her face yet cascading elegantly down her back. Kate noted that the half updo was crafted with an intricate arrangement of braids, the artistry of which was unmistakable.
The lighting in the room, however, made it difficult for the young Duchess to discern the colour of the lady’s eyes. Kate had always believed that one could glimpse a reflection of the soul in another’s eyes, sometimes revealing their character before any formal introduction.
Yet, she would have dismissed such musings, for there was no obligation to acknowledge every individual who happened to cross her path. Were she to greet every passing face, she would scarcely have moved a few feet into the room without exhausting herself with pleasantries.
Something about the particular lady, however, captivated Kate. Perhaps it was her joyous energy or the brilliance of her smile, but Kate felt an inexplicable pull towards her. The sentiment appeared to be mutual, as the lady’s smile broadened further upon noticing the young Duchess, and she swiftly made her way to stand beside her.
”If I did not know any better, I would have assumed you to be one of the Bridgerton girls,” the lady said with a spirited air, her gaze meeting Kate’s. Her smile, as dazzling as ever, remained unwavering. “However, your hair is far too dark, and your eyes -such a unique shade of blue- are unlike those of the infamous Bridgertons.”
Kate regarded the lady, momentarily at a loss for words. She struggled to fashion a reply to the speculative comments about her family lineage.
”I might have presumed you to be a daughter of Duke Barton, but he has only Lila, and I know very well that she is not yet of age to be presented to society.” The lady’s tone held a playful warmth as she continued. “Thus, I am left with but one question: who are you?”
The Duchess was taken aback by the candid inquiry, for it was uncommon to encounter someone who did not recognise her immediately. Yet, she found the interaction refreshing, an opportunity to converse with someone who neither knew her name nor, she hoped, her husband’s. This novelty piqued her interest further.
”I-” The words faltered on her lips. She could not recall a time when she had ever stammered. A faint flush of embarrassment warmed her cheeks as she feared making a fool of herself before this poised stranger. “Kate… Bishop.”
The blonde woman, whose identity remained a mystery to Kate, raised an elegantly arched eyebrow in question. It was only then that Kate realised her error.
”Duchess Kate Bishop… Brandon!” She exclaimed, her voice raising unintentionally -a lapse in decorum that she immediately regretted-. Though she had been married for years, it still pained her to part with her maiden name, a cherished remnant of her father’s memory. “Duchess Brandon.” She repeated, more composed this time.
The lady’s amused expression brought an unexpected sense of calm to Kate, and with her composure restored, she executed a graceful curtsy to formally introduce herself.
”Alas, it seems my suspicions were not entirely misplaced.” The lady remarked with a soft, melodic laugh. “One could indeed mistake you for a Brikdgerton or perhaps the daughter of Duke Barton The Lord knows how overjoyed Lady Grafton would be to claim another daughter, though I daresay His Grace would be equally delighted at the thought of Lila having an elder sister.”
Kate found herself utterly entranced by the woman’s gentle laughter. For a fleeting moment, she nearly missed the words spoken, so absorbed was she in her thoughts.
”You appear to be well-acquainted with the family,” Kate observed, her curiosity about the intriguing woman growing. “I beg your pardon, but I did not quite catch your name, Lady…”
The sound of hurried steps, growing clearer by the minute, drew Kate’s attention. A brief surge of panic rose within her, imagining Kamala storming toward her in distress, her face stained with tears. However, much to her relief, the figure approaching her and the still-unnamed lady bore no resemblance to Kamala.
“Your Highness!” Exclaimed the agitated woman, her voice betraying the haste with which she had been through the room. “I have been searching for you everywhere! And here you stand, near the refreshments, in plain sight!”
Kate stared, bewildered, at the frantic newcomer. The woman had curated dark hair, elegantly styled with braids much like the intricate hairdo of the mysterious blonde. Her olive-toned complexion was striking, and her eyes sparkled with a mischievous and lively personality that the Duchess found instantly engaging. Kate had little doubt that this woman’s presence would prove to be as entertaining as her appearance suggested.
Yet, for all the intrigue the woman’s appearance presented, it could not overshadow the words she had spoken -the title she had addressed the blonde lady with-.
Kate’s head snapped toward her former companion in an uncharacteristically swift motion, an action that would have undoubtedly earned her mother’s reproach as ungrateful and improper.
“Oh, Sonya!” Lamented the blonde woman in a voice that was as captivating as her smile. “I was having such a delightful conversation with Her Grace, free from her knowing of my title or status. And here you come, ruining my little moment of anonymity!”
Kate’s astonishment was undoubtedly evident on her face. The petty tone in which the poised woman had spoken was entirely unexpected. Yet the playful smirk on the darker-haired woman’s face revealed that this remark was meant as a jest rather than a genuine rebuke.
The young Duchess felt her head spin as she grappled with the realisation that she had just shared an easy, mostly coherent conversation with Her Highness the Princess -and in doing so, she had perhaps made a fool of herself in the presence of the extraordinary woman.
“Lady Brandon, allow me to introduce my lady-in-waiting and most trusted confidante, Marchioness Sonya Dankworth.” Said the Princess with an air of gentle formality. Kate felt the heat rise to her cheeks, praying it was not visible as she curtsied deeply to the Marchioness, who returned the gesture with equal grace.
“Marchioness Dankworth?” Kate inquired, her curiosity piqued.. “As in the late Marquis Dankworth?”
The nods she received confirmed her suspicions. Kate, ever mindful of propriety, lowered her head apologetically to the newly introduced lady. The scandal of the elder Marquis’ mysterious death was still fresh in her memory, as was the speed with which the news had spread -and the eagerness with which the Ton had indulged in speculation.
It had caused quite the uproar when Lady Whistledown reported the sudden and enigmatic passing of the Marquis. Unlike much of society, the infamous writer had openly displayed her disdain for the late Lord and his well-known preference for the company of much younger women. His most egregious transgression, in the eyes of many, had been his marriage to a lady whose age was more befitting that of his granddaughter.
Kate found herself aligned with Lady Whistledown’s sentiments regarding the late Marquis. Yet, she could not quell the curiosity that lingered regarding the peculiar circumstances of his death, nor the whispers surrounding why -so meticulously noted by Whistledown- his wife had not expressed the level of grief society deemed appropriate.
It had been during that time that the Dowager Marchioness had first earned the moniker “Black Widow”.
And now, here Kate stood, face-to-face with the infamous Widow herself. The Marchioness seemed perfectly at ease with her place in life, showing no hint of discomfort or sorrow at the mention of her dead husband. This demeanor intrigued Kate deeply, yet it also stirred within her a curious sense of respect for the woman standing before her.
“Sadly,” the Princess interrupted Kate’s musings, her tone tinged with genuine regret, “it seems that our pleasant conversation must come to an end.”
“It has been a privilege to converse with Your Highness.” Kate replied, her words accompanied by a curtsy as dictated by decorum.
“Indeed, it has.” The Princess acknowledged, her expression softening into a playful, almost mischievous smirk. “Although, I much preferred our conversation when there were no titles involved.”
Kate felt her cheeks flush, her complexion betraying her embarrassment at the Princess’ teasing words and the smirk that seemed reserved solely for her. She inclined her head meekly, bowing in both deference and a reflexive modesty instilled in her by her mother all those years before.
Closing the remaining distance between them, the Princess leaned in, her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper meant only for Kate to hear.
“I do hope we shall cross paths again at the next events of this social season. You are quite the amusing companion, Kate Bishop.”
With those final words, the Princess departed, leaving Kate alone once more at the refreshments table. This time, however, she was left in a state of heightened fluster, her mind lingering on the intimate way in which Her Highness had addressed her, using heer given name paired with her maiden name. For a fleeting moment, it was as though she were no longer the Duchess Brandon. She was simply Kate -a spirited, carefree daughter of her father, unburdened by the constraints of marital vows or the weight of symbolic jewelry.
She could not deny the new sensations that settled warmly in her chest, replacing the gnawing disquiet that had plagued her for much of the evening. Nor could she ignore the prickling of her skin that arose at the low, almost sultry way in which her name had been spoken by the Princess. It left a strange, powerful warmth pooling deep within her; a sensation that, while not unfamiliar, seemed magnified in the presence of Her Highness. Even before her title had been revealed, the Princess had possessed an air that left Kate’s pulse quickened and her thoughts scattered.
From that moment onward, the evening became a blurred haze for Kate. Her thoughts were a cascade of bouncing petticoats, radiant smiles, and intricately braided golden hair, flashing before her eyes each time her gaze drifted across the crowded room.
She vaguely recalled Clint escorting her across the ballroom to introduce her to another Princess, all the while lamenting inwardly that she could not bear the thought of yet another teasing royal companion for the night.
The Princess to whom she was introduced, however, turned out to be none other than Clint’s famed best friend, Princess Natasha -the very one whose upcoming nuptials had occasioned the evening’s grand celebration-. Until that moment, it had not even crossed Kate’s mind to consider that the enigmatic Princess she had already encountered might be engaged, much less the royal bride-to-be. Nevertheless, she found herself exhaling a rare and uncharacteristic sigh of relief at the revelation.
She dimly recollected consenting to one waltz with her husband and was fairly certain that she had fulfilled her promise. Yet her focus throughout the remainder of the evening remained singularly devoted to searching the crowd for a dazzling smile, straining to catch the airy laughter and enthralling voice that had bewitched her amidst the chaos.
Had she not known better, she might have believed herself to have indulged in far too many glasses of champagne, so peculiar wass the state she found herself in for the rest of the night and well into the carriage ride home. But the source of her intoxication was not alcohol–it was something far more potent. She was utterly enraptured by what she could only describe as the most fascinating soul ever to grace the Earth.
Her distraction persisted even as they arrived at their Mayfair townhouse. She was scarcely aware of Kamala’s chatter, her words dissolving into the periphery of Kate’s mind. Most unusually, and for the first time in four years of marriage, Kate found herself politely declining Alice’s assistance in settling her for bed -a gesture made all the more remarkable because, despite Kate’s earlier instructions, the loyal maid had waited for their return-.
The night was unusually tranquil. Neither dreams nor nightmares stirred her restless mind in the quiet hours. She could not even recall whether the Princess had lingered in her thoughts as she slipped into slumber. No trace of any such visions came to her upon waking.
As per usual, her husband and she rarely crossed paths throughout the day, each absorbed by their own pursuits and obligations.
The Duchess devoted much of her morning to tending her beloved gardens, lending a hand to the gardener when necessary, and savoring the fragrant blooms adorning the back garden of their town residence.
It was during such idyllic mornings that thoughts of her father crept into her heart more strongly, particularly when she was far from Thornfield Estate with little to occupy her mind. On those tranquil days at home, she would have walked near the hidden lake, accompanied by Kamala and Alice, finding solace in the familiar peace of their countryside haven.
The absence of pressing matters left Kate restless, to the point where she had briefly contemplated retreating back to bed before lunch and even more so afterwards. Yet, determined not to upset her already disordered routine, she retired instead to the library, where she turned her attention to the books she had brought from the Estate.
Engrossed in her thoughts and her reading -a romantic novel that was steadily losing her favour, as the male protagonist’s constant belittling of the heroine’s character and intellect vexed Kate beyond measure-, she paid little heed to the commotion brewing just outside the sanctuary of her retreat.
“Miss Kahn, you ought not to be running!” Came the breathless, reproachful voice of Alice, fast approaching the closed doors of the library.
“Oh, Alice! This is a matter of the utmost importance,” the youthful and mirthful voice of her young lady-in-waiting chimed in reply, drawing Kate’s attention from the book. “It must be delivered without delay!”
The library doors swung open,and a pair of hurried footsteps intruded upon her private haven, accompanied by Alice’s flustered scolding and Kamala’s carefree laughter, which echoed through the room.
Ad Kamala -followed closely by Alice- burst into her private nook, Kate could absorb only two things: the maid’s hurried apologies, as she explained her attempts to stop Kamala, and the girl’s radiant smile paired with her impatient little hops.
“What has happened?” Kate asked with a gentle smile, signaling to Alice that she harboured no displeasure toward either of them. “What has got you so excited today, Kamala?”
“This!” The young girl exclaimed, her voice tinged with delight as she extended her left hand, carefully clasping an object.
A letter.
A familiar sense of dread knotted in Kate’s chest at the thought that it might be from her mother. Yet Kamala’s exuberant demeanor did not align with such a possibility. The girl was well aware of Kate’s sentiments toward her mother and would never have been so thrilled to deliver a message from the older woman.
Kate carefully took the envelope from Kamala’s eagerly outstretched hand, her curiosity growing as she noticed Alice standing quietly, her expression marked by a timid yet knowing smile.
She turned the envelope over in her hands, inspecting the back where the address of their Mayfair residence was penned. Her eyes caught on her married name, written in elegant cursive script that spoke of refinement and formality.
Her curiosity heightened by the reactions of the two women before her, Kate turned the envelope to examine the sender’s identity. At the sight of the details, her hands froze, clutching the edges of the cream-coloured paper tightly. A sudden tremor seized her legs, forcing her to sink back into the cushioned armchair she had vacated moments earlier.
It could not be real. Such a thing seemed too extraordinary to be genuine. Yet, as Alice gave a subtle, encouraging nod, and Kamala resumed her excited chattering, urging her to open it, doubt began to give way to the possibility that it might, indeed, be authentic.
A royal missive.
The elegant red wax seal, embossed the royal family insignia -what appeared to be a sandglass entwined with climbing vines, perhaps ivy-seemed to stare back at her, daring her to break it and uncover the contents within.
Hesitation marked her every movement as she delicately broke the seal. Clearing her throat softly, she began to read aloud to the two women who waited with baited breath..
“ Her Royal Highness, Princess- “ Kate faltered, her voice catching as her gaze lingered on the unfamiliar name. Yet, in that moment, an enchanting face materialised in her thoughts, and suddenly, the name felt inexplicably right. Her lips moved to utter the name, though it escaped as little more than a breath, as if the word itself were a secret meant solely for her. “- Yelena ”.
“Well?” Kamala asked impatiently, “Do go on!”
Kate composed herself and continued. “ Her Royal Highness, The Princess, cordially invites Her Grace, Duchess Brandon, to morning tea in two days’ time. ”
Her eyes scanned the letter repeatedly, as though reading it once more would solidify its reality. She struggled to fathom the notion that share had been invited to the palace -and by the very Princess with whom she had exchanged only a brief acquaintance the previous evening.
At the bottom of the missive, beside the royal signature, was a single ornate cursive letter. After careful inspection, Kate concluded it must be the Princess’ initial, though its elegant flourishes bore a resemblance to the letter “A”. She found herself absentmindedly tracing the intricate letter with her thumb, her thoughts already speculating on what this impending morning tea with the Royal Princess could entail.
“Alas,” she finally said, gazing up at the two expectant women, “it seems we are to present ourselves at the palace in a matter of days.”