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Pistols at dawn was never going to end happily. Though she’d tried to tell herself that all would be well. That he would come through that door and the duel had been called off and it was all a horrible misunderstanding. That would have been the best outcome. The other two, both much more likely than a cancellation, hardly bore thinking about. The first would mean Anthony had killed someone. The second would mean he hadn’t survived the duel. Neither was any better than the other.

Siena’s stomach kept lurching as her mind raced from one dreadful thought to another. She couldn’t bring herself to eat or drink a morsel.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door. Her heart leapt. Could it possibly be him?

She went to open it. Only to reveal a Whistledown pamphleteer.

Before she had time to respond, the boy put a pamphlet in her hands and hurried off.

She stared down blankly at the pamphlet. Its uncharacteristic black border boded ominously. Her eyes scanned the front page and she let out a wail of despair.

Anthony was dead.

He had come off the worst in that stupid, stupid duel and now the Duke of Hastings was on the run.

Siena couldn’t remember what she did next, but at some point she must have closed the door because, shortly after sunset, she was sitting on the settee with her head in her hands and there was another knock at the door.

Part of her didn’t even want to get up to open it. Maybe if she ignored it, whoever it was would go away.

The knocking, however, continued.

Siena remained on the sofa. Why couldn’t they just leave her alone in her grief?

“Miss Rosso,” a voice called from the other side of the door.

She froze. That voice was unfamiliar and very few people even knew she lived here. Maybe she should answer the knocking after all. If nothing else, to tell the person to leave her alone and be on their way.

Again, she made her way to the door and opened it. Only this time, it wasn’t a Whistledown pamphleteer. It was a manservant in an all-too-familiar lilac livery. A member of the Bridgerton staff.

“Miss Rosso.” He gave a bow. “A message for you from Mr—Viscount Bridgerton.” He held out a letter sealed with a heavy wax seal.

And again, before she had time to make reply, the letterbearer had bowed once more and made a hasty exit.

Siena shut the door and ran her thumb over the wax seal. The Bridgerton coat of arms.

She tore it open. The hand wasn’t one she recognised.

Dear Miss Rosso,

By now, you will no doubt have heard of my brother’s passing. I have found some documentation he left behind which is of great importance and pertains to you. If you are able, may I request a meeting with you at nine o’clock tonight at the parlour of the Redruth Hotel to resolve the particulars. I do not wish to cause you any worry. I will not make a pauper of you and I know my brother would not have wanted such an outcome either.

Yours,

Benedict Bridgerton

Siena’s stomach lurched. This day had been one full of surprises and none of them pleasant. Now Benedict, a man she had only ever seen in passing at White’s and in the theatres, was the new Viscount Bridgerton. That was inevitable, she supposed, given Anthony had left no heirs. What was strange was that he wanted to meet with her of all people less than twenty four hours after the fatal duel. Wouldn’t he have more important things to be doing? And what was all this about not making a pauper of her?

She paced back and forth. Nothing made any sense. None of this day made any sense.

But Benedict had said he didn’t want to cause her any worry. What was more, the word around the backstages of the theatres and in the modiste’s dressing rooms was that Benedict was a good-hearted man, if rather a libertine.

She made up her mind. She was going to attend this most odd meeting this evening and see what he had to say.

The grandfather clock in the hallway chimed a quarter past eight o’clock. She had best start getting ready if she was going to make this mysterious rendezvous. A few quick ablutions and she threw on her black velvet cloak. The one Anthony had brought her when the winter began.

Ready, she headed out of the house and made her way west to the Redruth Hotel. Whatever awaited her there could not possibly make this day any stranger, could it?

~~~~

A few minutes before the clock struck nine, Siena made her way up the entrance steps of the Redruth Hotel.

She didn’t come here very often, but she had met a gentleman patron here a time or two before. She dashed through the lobby and into the hotel parlour.

It was hard to identify who was who out of the shadowy figures in the dimly lit room. A small fire crackled in one corner and there were only a few oil lamps here and there. Clearly, this was a place where one would go to meet if they did not wish to make their business widely known.

She ran her gaze carefully across the room. There he was. A familiar figure in profile, sitting alone at one of the small tables. Benedict Bridgerton.

She made her way towards him. “Mr Bridgerton, sorry, Viscount…” she broke off. This was all too much to handle. Today was too much to handle.

Benedict looked up at her. His eyes were red-rimmed like her own. “You don’t have to worry about all that.” He sighed. “I wish it wasn’t true.”

If his face was any colour tonight, it could only be described as grey. Like one of those statues of the great and the good in some public square.

He spoke again. “Thank you for coming, Miss Rosso.”

Siena gave a nod of acknowledgement.

“Please, have a seat,” he said.

She made to sit down, not bothering to remove her cloak. In fact, she might as well keep her cloak hood up entirely. The Redruth Hotel parlour was a place that seemed to smile on anonymity.

The pair sat at the table in silence for several moments, not meeting one another’s gaze.

Then, Benedict broke it. “My brother, this morning, right before. Well, you would know where and what I mean. He told me there was the name of a lady in his writing desk and that I must ensure she be provided for. So I am honouring his wish."

Siena’s eyes widened a little. Today kept getting stranger and stranger.

The new head of the Bridgerton family continued. “This afternoon, I was in his office because well isn’t that what a viscount should do?” He laughed mirthlessly. “So I went to his desk and of course found your name, for who else’s name could he have possibly have meant. And also this document.”

He reached inside his jacket and retrieved a piece of paper. He unfolded it and placed it in front of him, with the writing upside down from his point of view so Siena could read it with ease.

She could barely focus on what she was reading. With today’s events, nothing in front of her made any sense.

“My brother decided to settle a lump sum of £15,000 upon you, to ensure you are provided for,” Benedict said.

Siena’s breath caught. For a woman of her birth, this was a life changing sum. This would be a good dowry for almost any woman in the country, the higher tiers of the aristocracy such as the Bridgertons excluded.

She looked down again at the paper in front of her. Focusing her eyes, she realised that what Benedict was saying was true. This was Anthony’s hand without a doubt. And he really had intended for her to have £15,000 in the event of…well, in the event of something that didn’t bear thinking about. She gulped and a sob almost escaped her throat.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice quavering. “But I cannot accept this.”

“Please don’t say that. I must carry out my brother’s wishes.”

His brother’s wishes. She had seen them in his own hand. She gulped again. Whyever had Anthony done this? Was it out of love? Guilt? Or some combination of the two? Whatever the cause behind Anthony’s bequest, Benedict was right. This was something she should not refuse.

Benedict added, “I know Anthony wanted you to be looked after. Please, accept, Miss Rosso.”

Siena nodded. “I will, thank you.”

A brief wave of relief flashed across Benedict’s face before his serious, statue-like expression returned. “In that case, the estate can organise some financial advice for you. For how to invest it securely, if you would like.”

“Thank you.”

Benedict nodded. “I’ll have someone send through some details next week.”

Another brittle silence.

Siena almost started to get up to leave.

But something Benedict said stopped her. He ran an exasperated hand through his hair. “Would you stay? For a drink?”

Why not? It was this or going back to the house and ruminating alone on this otherworldly day. Better not to be left in the company of her own thoughts tonight.

She nodded. “Yes, yes, I will.”