Chapter 12

Bridget led Abel through a footpath that ran alongside the estate wall. She noticed him roll his eyes as he steered his horse after hers, but thankfully, he bit back whatever comment he wanted to make.

Thanks to their argument, it was already bright enough for her father's servants to notice her riding back with Abel.

The footpath went all the way to the back of the estate, and with the garden party happening later, all the activity would be happening out front.

The chatter between her and Abel had flowed easier than ever before the entire walk home, but she could not deny the awkwardness that hung in the air between them.

He could have tried to kiss her, she thought, forcing down a blush.

If he tried… I don't think I could have resisted.

She could still feel his firm yet tender and protective grip around her waist. She hadn't missed how easy it had been for him to lift her off her horse.

Conversation between them became shorter the closer they got back to her father's estate, however, and now they rode through the back gate in silence, a million unsaid words hanging between them.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Your Grace," Bridget said as she dismounted outside the stable.

"The pleasure was all mine," he mumbled, jumping down from his saddle graciously. "I trust you to remember the terms of our agreement, and I look forward to sharing more early morning rides with you."

Before she could respond, the stable boy, Griffin, rushed out and grabbed Brimmer's reins from her. He was halfway into the stables when he blessedly remembered his manners.

"Pardon, M'Lady," he said as he swirled, bowing low. He glanced at Abel, as if seeing him for the first time, and bowed again. "Er, Your Grace…" He turned and bolted into the stables, leaving the Duke watching after him, slack-jawed.

"What in the heavens…"

"Forgive Griffin," Bridget said, smiling. "Had a nasty fall last year and bumped his head something fierce. He's been having gaffes and lapses like this one ever since. He's quite erratic, really, but he's great with the horses, so Father kept him. More importantly, he helps me with Brimmer, since I can't ride her as much as I would love to, and he's always kept my secret safe."

"I see." The Duke had affected his usual stoic demeanor. "I have to go now. Good morning."

With a sharp bow, he turned around and marched away.

Bridget watched him leave and couldn't quite decide which she wanted to do more: smother the man with a pillow or suffocate him with kisses.

Bridget felt more alive as she dried her hair. The cold bath was uncomfortable, but it had given her the boost she needed to get through the day.

The coming day promised both excitement and exhaustion. Today was the annual ton gathering hosted by her father in their sprawling estate's gardens.

Bridget, the unmarried daughter, knew all too well the scrutiny that awaited her—whispers and pitying glances from the gossip mongers about her ‘unsuitable' spinsterhood. She ignored the impending social storm with steely resolve.

Today wouldn't break her. She refused to be defined by societal expectations. Throwing on a simple yet elegant emerald green dress, she surveyed herself in the mirror, a playful smile tugging at her lips. The dress mirrored the vibrancy she felt within, a stark contrast to the expected subdued tones most unmarried daughters favored.

Downstairs, the morning bustle was in full swing. Servants scurried about, polishing silver, arranging a profusion of flowers, and preparing a feast fit for royalty.

Bridget greeted Mrs. Higgins, the head housekeeper, with a warm smile. Mrs. Higgins, with her kindly face, had practically raised Bridget alongside her own children.

"Nervous for the garden party, Lady Bridget?" Mrs. Higgins inquired, a knowing look in her eyes.

Bridget chuckled. "Maybe a little," she admitted playfully, "but mostly amused by the sheer chaos."

Their conversation was interrupted by a hurried shout from the library. Hector burst in, his usually mischievous grin replaced with a grimace.

"Bridget, you wouldn't happen to have seen Father's favorite silver polish, would you?"

"Hector," Bridget sighed, rolling her eyes, "not touching the silver again, are we?"

Hector, ever the charmer, flashed his most innocent smile. "Just a little shine, Sister. Can't have our guests thinking the Earl's gone soft, can we?"

Bridget knew better than to argue. Hector, despite his occasional antics, possessed a genuine warmth that endeared him to most.

"Just don't overdo it," she warned, a smile playing on her lips.

Her mother appeared in the doorway, her face etched with concern. "Bridget, darling, everything seems to be going wrong this morning. We—" She spotted Hector standing in the corner. "Well, bother, you will have to do. Come now."

Hector groaned as the Countess hauled him out of the room, giving him instructions in a torrent—instructions that Bridget was certain Hector was going to abandon the moment he was alone.

"Lady Bridget? Are you well?"

Bridget blinked and turned to Mrs. Higgins. How long had she zoned out, staring off into nothing? "I am. It's just… seeing Elliot settled feels strange, and Virginia…" she trailed off, the pain of her estranged sister still raw even after a decade.

"Oh, My Lady!" Mrs. Higgins rushed forward and threw her arms around Bridget, much as she used to do when Bridget was younger.

She was always more family than a servant, and the laws of propriety didn't apply to her here.

They let each other go, and Bridget felt much better. The pain would always be there, but there were some good days.

"Thank you, Mrs. Higgins. You're as steady as a lighthouse in a storm."

"My pleasure, dear." Mrs. Higgins gave Bridget one of her warm smiles, then went back to folding napkins on a counter.

Bridget slipped quietly out of the room, feeling lighter than she had felt all morning. She glanced into the library as she walked past and saw Elliot sitting at the desk, his nose buried in a ledger.

"Come on, Brother dearest," she chirped. "Less accounting and more preparation for your impending nuptials! Don't you want to impress Olivia?"

Elliot, ever the composed one, looked up with a smile. "Don't worry, Bridget. Olivia and I are perfectly prepared." He blushed slightly. "Besides, it's Father whose approval I'm truly worried about."

Bridget squeezed his shoulder. "He'll come around, Elliot. He just needs to… thaw a bit. I still don't see why you have to work on the estate accounts now of all time, though."

"I find that it settles me," he said. "Helps me clear my head. Moreover, Hector avoids this room passionately. Be a dear, and close the door behind you when you leave, please."

Bridget chuckled quietly and waved, shutting the door as Elliot had asked. The entire ground floor was in chaos as she made her way to the porch. She found Hector leaning on the railing, watching the activity in the garden with a bored expression on his face.

"Ready for the inevitable, Sister?" he inquired.

Bridget raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning, you mischievous devil?"

Hector chuckled, feigning innocence. "Oh, nothing elaborate. Just a few strategically placed… let's say, conversation starters amongst the floral arrangements."

Bridget couldn't help but laugh. Hector was always good for a bit of harmless fun, a necessary antidote to the ton's stuffy propriety.

The morning continued in a whirl of activity. Bridget helped organize last-minute details with the caterer, supervised the flower arrangements under Hector's watchful eye (to ensure his ‘conversation starters' were well hidden), and finally, with a sigh of relief, sat down in the garden to take a break.

The sun climbed higher, but Bridget didn't mind the heat. It was pleasant, and a soft morning breeze created a fine counterpoint as it caressed her face and blew her hair.

The air buzzed with the industrious hum of bees and the melodic chirping of birds as they flitted restlessly from tree to tree. Bridget closed her eyes, drinking in the sun, the activity of the workers a pleasantly distant sound in the back of her mind.

"Lady Bridget!"

She started, the deep voice cutting into her reverie. She turned and found herself face-to-face with Abel. His imposing figure seemed to dwarf the vibrant blooms around him, yet a hint of a smile softened his usually stoic features.

"Your Grace," Bridget greeted, surprise flickering in her eyes. "An unexpected pleasure seeing you here so early." Twice in one morning, a new record.

"Indeed," Abel replied, his voice a low rumble. "I decided a stroll through the gardens would be a welcome respite before the festivities begin."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the gentle buzzing of the bees. Despite their history, Bridget couldn't help but be drawn to the unexpected vulnerability flickering in Abel's blue eyes. She wondered if he had felt what she had felt earlier today when they had gone riding.

"The gardens are looking splendid," he remarked, gesturing towards the vibrant blooms with a hint of genuine appreciation. "Your family has a fine eye for detail. I should have looked a bit closer when I first got here… Perhaps then I would not have misspoken."

"Thank you for saying that," Bridget replied, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "We take great pride in these grounds."

A beat of silence followed, then Bridget, unable to contain her curiosity, blurted out, "I see you've picked up the novel I recommended."

Abel raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement dancing across his face. "Indeed, Lady Bridget. I must confess, the book is not entirely dreadful."

Bridget feigned offense, clutching her hand to her chest dramatically. "High praise indeed, coming from you, Your Grace."

A chuckle escaped his lips, a sound almost at odds with his imposing figure. "You mock me, but I speak the truth. The author, despite the fanciful plot, possesses a certain… way with words that I find myself… appreciating."

This glimpse into his unexpected literary side piqued Bridget's curiosity. Here, in her father's perfectly manicured garden, the formidable Duke seemed… almost human.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, a delightful exchange about the book, dissecting characters and plot points with a shared passion for the written word.

Bridget discovered a sharp wit underlying his stoicism and was surprised by the depth of his intellect that lay beyond his haughty persona.

Their debate on the book's ending was particularly intriguing. Bridget championed the optimistic portrayal of love while Abel remained a skeptic, his voice laced with a hint of cynicism that hinted at a deeper story.

"Perhaps," Bridget argued, a glint in her eyes, "the author simply believes that even in a world of cynicism, love has the power to prevail."

Abel's gaze lingered on her for a moment, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "Perhaps," he finally conceded, his voice tinged with a hint of melancholy.

Suddenly, the chime of the clock tower signaled the approaching noon. Abel glanced towards the Borthwell manor, his brow furrowing slightly.

"The preparations for the garden party are well underway," he remarked, his voice regaining its usual formal tone.

"Indeed," Bridget replied, quietly. "The entire ton will be descending upon us this evening."

Though uttered with apprehension, her emerald eyes still held a spark of defiance.

Abel observed her with an amused expression. "Perhaps," he suggested in a playful tone, "you could offer them a bit more… unpredictability this year?"

Bridget's lips curled into a mischievous smile. The Borthwell garden party was known for its elegance and formality, a stark contrast to the playful spirit that simmered just beneath Bridget's mask.

"Now, Your Grace," she began, a twinkle in her eyes, "wouldn't that be a delightful surprise?"

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the clatter of approaching footsteps. From around the corner emerged Hector, a mischievous grin plastered across his face. In his arms, he carried a rather peculiar contraption—a large, ornately decorated birdcage with a single, brightly colored parrot perched inside.

"Hector!" Bridget exclaimed, a mix of amusement and exasperation coloring her voice. "What on earth is that?"

Hector, unfazed, bowed theatrically to Abel. "Your Grace, allow me to present the newest addition to the festivities—Theodore, the purveyor of poetic pronouncements."

The parrot squawked, its voice surprisingly clear and distinct.

"Love conquers all!" it screeched, flapping its wings dramatically.

Abel blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Bridget, meanwhile, couldn't help but burst into laughter. This was Hector in his element, a master of organized chaos.

"Hector," she said through her laughter, "you ingenious pest! Now, before Theodore decides to make any other scandalous declarations, let's get him settled."

Hector grinned broadly.

As attention turned to Theodore, a welcome distraction from the formalities to come, Bridget stole a sideways glance at Abel. A faint smile lingered on his lips, amusement battling with his usual stoicism.

The arrival of other guests soon transformed the serene garden into a bustling social scene. Ladies in their finest gowns gossiped under parasols, gentlemen in tailored suits exchanged pleasantries, and the air thrummed with polite conversation and nervous laughter.

Bridget, ever the dutiful daughter, found herself swept into the social whirlwind. She greeted distant relatives, exchanged pleasantries with families vying for alliances, and endured probing questions about her unmarried status. Yet, throughout the cacophony, her mind kept drifting back to Abel.

Their unexpected conversation resonated with her. Here, amidst the superficiality of the ton, she had found a connection with him, a shared appreciation for literature and a hint of rebellion against societal expectations.

She pushed thoughts of him out of her head. Friends. That's all they could be.

You don't fall head over heels for a man simply because you both enjoyed the same book.

She hurried into the house, trying to avoid more questions about her lack of a husband.