#poly triad

With each turn of the carriage wheel, Anthony could not help but think of the monumental task that lay ahead. The very act of finding a suitable bride weighed heavily on his mind, a daunting prospect given the limited pool of eligible young women on the marriage mart. He was, after all, a man of considerable standing, and his own notorious reputation as a capital R Rake would work against him in some capacity. Yet, this was to be the season that the Viscount would begin the race to find his Viscountess.

He had known of the eligible women written upon his list in some capacity since the announcement and celebrations of their birth, their lives and lineages meticulously tracked by gossiping mothers, ambitious matchmakers. He knew their families, their fortunes, and the whispers of their accomplishments or shortcomings.

He knew the lineage of each family, and the scandals that had stained some of them. He knew the social circles they frequented, the accomplishments they had accrued through years of lessons, and the social standing they held. He also knew the whispers of their characters and any flaws that might make them unsuitable, from a quick temper to a propensity for extravagance. This information, while seemingly helpful, only served to complicate matters further, making the selection process feel more like navigating a treacherous minefield than finding a partner for life. The upcoming Danbury ball, which kicked off every social season, loomed large in his thoughts. It was the event where he’d begin his search.

As the day neared its end, with the satisfying and successful presentation before Queen Charlotte, a sense of quiet triumph settled over Sterling House. Although the prospect of marital happiness was merely a guise, Miss Sterling was among the hopeful young ladies who had entered the marriage market.

The meticulous planning, the carefully cultivated whispers, the strategic alliances – all had culminated in a successful debut. The commencement of the first stage of Operation 1814 was without question, as the integration into the Ton had been seamless, a delicate dance performed with grace and precision. However, the true test, the crucible in which reputations were forged and shattered, would come at the first ball of the season. It was there, amidst the glittering gowns, the soaring violins, and the ever-watchful eyes of society, that the true worth of their efforts would begin to unfold.

The whispers of potential suitors, the judgments of the vying mothers, the intricate web of gossip – all would converge, and the success or failure of their carefully constructed strategy would be decided under the twinkling chandeliers, if events fell into place guided ever so gently by their hands as they pulled upon the invisible puppet strings. With the sun having disappeared below the horizon and the other residents of the house already asleep in their beds, a profound stillness settled over the halls of the townhouse. A pin drop would be heard if it were to fall.

As Leigh, Darcy, and yourself remained seated around the grand mahogany dining table, the shadows created by the flickering candlelight began to dance around the room, stretching and contorting the familiar shapes of the opulent furnishings. Discussions of the upcoming Danbury Ball and the Queen’s own soirée had long since fallen by the wayside, replaced by laughter, punctuated only by the soft clinking of silverware from the half-eaten meal. The embossed invitations had promptly arrived one after the other, not long after you had returned to Sterling House.

This would be a night brimming full of whispers and gossip that would linger long after the last waltz. Information was power, especially in their line of work; this would highlight impending obstacles to tackle in the name of the mission.

Now, however, the weight of unspoken anxieties pressed upon you all, a stark contrast to the carefree anticipation that had filled the house less than a week before. The air was thick with something unsaid, a palpable tension that seemed to seep into the very fabric of the room.

Leaving the three of you dressed down in their comfortable pyjamas to reflect on the events of the day. Shadows danced playfully across the walls, their movements dictated by the flickering flames of the candles. Amidst this intimate setting, a light-In this serene moment, Reader, Leigh, and Darcy found solace in each other's company, finding strength in the simple act of coming together to share their thoughts and feelings. And as the night deepened, the flickering flames continued to cast their mesmerising shadows, a reminder of the transient nature of time and the enduring bond that held them together in that quiet, candlelit room.

The clinking of glasses and the gentle murmur of their voices are the only sounds that fill the room until Edward appears, his dark blond hair neatly combed, and a tired smile gracing his lips. He has come to retrieve Darcy, his partner, and with a shared look of affection, they bid Leigh and Reader goodnight and head off to bed. Reader and Leigh head up not long after. It felt as if you had lost no time, that you had stepped right back into the same easy-going friendship that you had when you had lived together.

The social calendar would soon begin to fill with gatherings, dinners, balls, and gentlemen calling upon their preferred debutantes. The season was upon them, and the pursuit of matrimony was in full swing. The whispers of the Ton would soon be buzzing with anticipation, waiting for the next scandal, the next match, the next love affair. As the Queen had not found her diamond of the first water at the presentation, the Ton would turn to Lady Whistledown and the writer’s honest writings as they awaited to see who would be chosen. Her observations held sway, and her pronouncements shaped reputations, for better or worse.

A copy of her latest column lay forgotten in the sitting room, its words already dissected and debated. It had been a hot topic at the after-dinner staff meeting, where the butler had shared the news and opinions, and whether the Sterlings would soon feature in the writer’s next issue was a subject of heated discussion amongst the cooks, maids, and footmen. The staff, privy to the secrets and gossip of the household, eagerly anticipated the latest revelations, knowing that Lady Whistledown’s words held the power to make or break a reputation.

“Inevitably, they will soon catch the writer’s gaze”

Madelyn had left your side after helping you out of the many decorative layers of fabric and out of the restrictive grasp of the corset beneath it all. She had missives to pen with the recent information that she had gathered from her first venture out into London. She was eager to get the task completed before bed; you hoped that she wasn’t burning the midnight oil. But then again, you could not judge when you had done the very same as you laughed through the last few hours with Darcy and Leigh.

She missed the flickering screen of a laptop casting long shadows across the room, illuminating piles of scattered notes and empty coffee cups that bore witness to the late-night sessions of attempting to finish the endless amount of reports. Madelyn remembered the adrenaline-fuelled rush, the shared jokes that masked the mounting anxiety, and the triumphant feeling of finally hitting “submit” just as the first rays of dawn began to peek through the blinds. It was a camaraderie forged in the fires of academic pressure, a bond that transcended the exhaustion and sleep deprivation. It all felt like a different lifetime.

Even with the hidden pipes of running water and buried cables humming with electricity, a constant, low thrumming that hinted at a continuous level of power that flowed between the floors. This was a testament to the ingenuity of the engineers and architects who had outfitted the townhouse.

As far as anyone could tell, the ground floor was the only part of the building that was untouched, creating the impression that entering it was like walking directly onto the set of a period drama. The live performance was poised to begin, with the rooms fully prepared to receive visitors. When the first gentleman made the choice to visit and pay a call on Miss Sterling.

With her blackout blind firmly in place, she could risk turning on a small lamp, Madelyn didn’t want to be the one to raise curiosity at the sight of an unfamiliar source of illumination radiating from a small window on the uppermost floor of Sterling House. After switching off the bedside lamp, she reached over and then climbed into bed.

BRIDGERTON HOUSE/DRAWING ROOM

Vida had taken the opportunity that presented itself; her only day off had fallen on the day after Miss Eloise’s interrupted presentation. She had spoken of going out to visit one of the many markets and stalls that popped up all over the city as she and the other servants broke their fast at dawn. This was far from what she had planned for the day, as she needed a believable alibi. She needed to gather information from within the Bridgerton household using the chameleon technology that she had been assigned before deployment. Developed in conjunction with MI5, the aim was to create a more streamlined and effective system for spying and gathering intelligence.

Upon activation, she would be concealed within a hidden vantage point, perhaps a shadowed alcove or a camouflaged position amongst the environment. From this concealed location, she could observe the target area and monitor the movements of anyone within it. Should any individual's gaze sweep in her direction, the advanced perception filter, a carefully calibrated system of illusions and sensory manipulation, would instantly activate. This filter would subtly warp their perception, rendering her presence invisible or, at the very least, unremarkable.

The observer might see only a flickering shadow, a distorted shape, or perhaps nothing at all. The filter’s effectiveness was dependent on several factors, including the distance, the observer's attentiveness, and any unusual environmental conditions. Its primary function was to maintain her covert status and prevent her from being detected while she gathered critical intelligence or awaited her moment to depart and head below stairs.

The sun-drenched drawing room of the Bridgerton residence was a scene of languid leisure. Benedict lounging in a comfortable chair near the window, sketching in a large pad, his brow furrowed in concentration as Violet stood, observing the dance lesson and Hyacinth, seated on a nearby chaise lounge, with a bowel of pastries and fruit with an air of casual grace. Across the room, Francesca was at the pianoforte, her fingers dancing over the keys within reach, filling the room with a cheerful melody. Eloise, ostensibly “practicing” her steps with Gregory, stumbled through the movements with a marked lack of enthusiasm.

An exasperated-looking dance master, a sour little man in his fifties with a perpetually pinched expression, stood observing their efforts, wringing his hands and muttering under his breath, clearly not impressed with Eloise’s attempts. As Vida quietly slipped into the room, the sound of silverware and the chatter of guests created a vibrant atmosphere that was dramatically different from the silent approach she undertook.

The drawing room, alive with the sound of music and the rhythmic movements of dancers. The dance master directs the steps, his voice cutting through the air. Hyacinth, unimpressed, whispers her thoughts to Benedict, unaware that Eloise is within earshot. Benedict, mischievous as ever, points out the potential consequences of their gossip just as Eloise, from across the room, makes her presence known. Gregory, the unfortunate victim of a misstep, interjects with a plea to protect his feet.

Eloise, unfazed by the commotion, questions the necessity of continuing the dance. Violet, ever the voice of reason, reminds Eloise of the importance of impressing the Queen. Eloise, known for her wit, cleverly deflects the seriousness of the situation. Benedict, always ready with a jest, teases Eloise about her missed chance at being the season's diamond. As tension mounts, Anthony's entrance signals a shift in the atmosphere, setting the stage for what's to come.

Vida observed Eloise Bridgerton with a deep sense of empathy, recognising the unenviable circumstances of her birth. While blessed with a life of luxury, Eloise found herself on a predetermined path, devoid of the opportunity for higher education. Her unquenched ambition, a vibrant spark within her, was destined to be extinguished upon her marriage, unless she was fortunate enough to find a husband with a progressive mindset – a scholar who would permit her access to knowledge and intellectual pursuits traditionally reserved for men.

In stark contrast, Vida, despite her own financial limitations, possessed the freedom to pursue higher education and broaden her intellectual horizons.

Anthony, a flicker of amusement in his voice, addressed the room. "Was anyone else aware that dear Colin has apparently decided to add Albania, or some such exotic locale, to his itinerary as he gads about the world?"

Vida’s gaze follows the conversation as it unfolds. This was one of those comfortable, familiar discussions which were a world away from her own. The Bridgerton so casually spoke of globe trotting as if everyone partook in such an expensive, lengthy venture. Her own family could barely afford a yearly weekend away to the coast. It was a treat; that she had happily waited an entire year for, those two nights spent by the sea. While the wealthy elite could easily afford to travel anywhere at a moment’s notice.

Delicate china teacups clink softly, and the aroma of Earl Grey fills the air. Eloise Bridgerton, a young woman of sharp intellect and a tendency towards witty cynicism, is reluctantly swaying to the distant strains of music. Violet Bridgerton, her mother and the matriarch of the family, observes her with a knowing glint in her eye.

Eloise let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly as she performed another perfunctory sway. Her tone, though laced with a veneer of polite inquiry, dripped with a familiar exasperation. "No," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of playful rebellion. "But how happy for him that he can simply decide to do that." Her gaze flickered towards the music, a silent, unspoken commentary on the perceived ease with which certain members of their family navigated life's decisions, particularly those involving romantic entanglements or sudden departures.

Just then, the stately figure of Violet Bridgerton turns, her presence commanding and yet warm. A gentle smile played on her lips as she addressed her eldest son as he came into the room, her voice a soothing balm. "Joining us for tea, Anthony?" she inquired; the invitation hung in the air, a quiet invitation to participate in the afternoon's gentle ritual.

Vida’s head followed, jumping between the members of the Bridgerton household gathered within the drawing room. She had to hold back any chuckles that might arise, refusing to give away her position within the shadows. She needed to be invisible, to monitor, to gather any information that might surface within such private conversations as this. Few would look past the meticulously crafted façade, which served as both a shield and a lure for prospective partners.

The future, as meticulously sculpted and rigidly defined long before a child could take its first steps, dictated an unavoidable trajectory of unyielding instruction. Mandatory lessons in language, etiquette, and dance were not mere suggestions but an inescapable gauntlet, demanding not just endurance but absolute excellence. For Vida, the seasoned spy, whose own path offered a glimmer of hope – the freedom to depart once her mission was accomplished, to shed the constraints and disappear back into the anonymity she so expertly navigated.

But for Eloise, the reality was starkly different. This world, so carefully constructed around her, was not a temporary trial but her permanent prison. The austere contrast between their potential fates settled heavily upon Vida, a sobering realisation for someone who found solace and strength in the periphery, in the unseen spaces. It was a poignant, almost unbearable sight to witness the nascent pain etched into the young woman’s eyes, a pain that bloomed with every melancholic sway around the opulent, yet confining, room. The polished floor, a stage for her forced grace, reflected the inescapable nature of her gilded cage.

Vida’s gaze continued to be pulled back to the young miss, the one who was about to enter the marriage market. Vida wished to pick at her mind, to understand the intellectual forced to fit into the mould that society desired her to be. There was no doubt in her mind that if Vida had it available to her, Miss Eloise Bridgerton would thrive in a modern world where women had choices, the same opportunities as their male counterparts. She would have equal footing, but Vida could not, no would not cross that line and drag her off into a world that was no more than a fantasy to a young woman of this gilded age.

It hurt when it should not.

“I will not be distracted, even by my own misgivings,” She muttered, quiet enough that no-one would hear her words above the artfully played melody that drifted throughout the room, as Francesca continued to practice the pianoforte.

The Viscount's voice, a low rumble, cut through the air as he politely declined his mother's offer. His expression remained unreadable, a smooth, polished façade that hid the man beneath. Vida watched, the faint scent of lavender from her gloves filling her senses, trying to discern any flicker of emotion behind the impassive mask of the untouchable gentleman. The man tucked away, only the titled Viscount Bridgerton visible. Vida had studied his profile, and it seemed accurate. Anthony's words, crisp and decisive, echoed in the room: "I am afraid I must pass. Too many calls on my funds today. Now that the season has started, I shall need to fill your coffers at the Modiste and oversee the hiring of a few extra staff, and your ring, when you have the chance, I shall need it. The fields by Ferryhallow — I was thinking we might hold off on leasing them this year due to the hard frost."

His mother’s face tightened with disbelief as she listened to him lay out his plans. The quiet hum of the morning was broken by his matter-of-fact declaration, his intent to wed presented as a cold, hard business transaction. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, like a plucked string. “I beg your pardon?” Turning to face her son, trying to understand the logic, the reason that had led him to this very announcement. Yet this was also what Vida had been waiting to hear, the need for more staff as they entered the social season.

“This man had no tact,” Vida mused, wondering how the Sterlings were planning on assisting with the Viscount’s search for a bride. Anthony’s response was specifically tailored to address what he perceived as the core of his mother’s inquiry. “The frost hardens the soil, saps it of nutrients.”

The Dowager Viscountess’s frustration was displayed plainly on her face, unsure how far her eldest son had planned on falling. Chasing a business deal, instead of a love match like she had with his father, Edmund. “That is very well — but you requested my ring?” Violet had to ask but Vida, the silence within the shadows would hear it, the uncomfortable truth hidden within her words, the pain at the loveless future that she was being forced to endure to bear witness to.

The woman’s personnel file, which served as a solitary, pure conduit to her deepest wishes, revealed her profound desire for nothing less than the absolute happiness of her children, and a fervent hope that they would experience the very same quality of love that had so profoundly shaped her own marriage. With very little effort, the Viscount was tearing it down.

“Father’s betrothal ring,” Anthony interjected as he stood behind Gregory. Benedict’s lips curled into a cheeky smile, sharp and bright as a sunbeam, and he asked, “Did someone catch your eye at the presentation, brother?” She was keen to observe his reaction, and the playful teasing had become a favourite sport for Vida to watch.

It was as if she was on the side-lines of a game of verbal table tennis, with far too many active players for her to guess who would bat next. As she swivelled in her plush velvet seat, the rich fabric brushing against her skin, she faced Anthony directly. “I thought all of the young ladies looked beautiful,” she declared, her voice clear and honest, carrying the sweet scent of innocence. Her words, unvarnished and heartfelt, echoed a naivety yet untouched by the sharp, glittering edges of the world beyond the gilded cage of Bridgerton House, a sanctuary that shielded her gentle spirit.

Without causing any noticeable disturbance to her cloaking technology, Vida moves in a way that is so slight it would only reveal a trivial change to anyone who looked at her way.

Anthony’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of understanding crossing his face, and his voice, though sharp, resonated with the truth of his words. “Not particularly.” A faint scent of beeswax polish hung in the air as he continued, his gaze distant. “And all of the young ladies looked the same. Like young ladies.” He turned to Violet, the rustle of silk from her gown a soft sound in the stillness. “I should simply like to be prepared when the opportunity presents itself.”

A tremor of disbelief ran through Violet’s voice, "The opportunity…" She struggled to process the idea of finding a wife as a mere opportunity, as if he were discussing a business deal or settling a debt rather than a lifelong commitment. Anthony, with a crisp efficiency, declared, "I have already compiled an index of the season's eligible misses and have arranged interviews." The sudden stillness in the room was palpable, all eyes turning to him. Violet managed a strained smile, the corners of her lips pulling tight. “Interviews?”

“Dearest, I shall be more than happy to give you my ring when you find someone with whom you are very much in love. Besides, it is in safekeeping at Aubrey Hall.” Gathering her composure, Violet spoke with a firm and unwavering conviction. With the decision settled in her mind, a troubling worry as she moved towards her second son.

As Anthony rapidly consumed his sweet treat and began to depart, Violet, with evident concern, turned towards Benedict and earnestly requested, “See that he is quite well.” Her voice, exhibiting remarkable clarity, conveyed that the utterance was less of a demand and more of a gentle request;

Benedict replies, surprised at what his mother had asked of him. Preferring to continue with his more artistic pursuits than a morning spent with his eldest brother. “Me?”

Anthony's voice, firm and resolute, cut through the hushed anticipation. "I am not in need of coddling," he declared, his gaze sweeping across the assembled individuals. "I assure you all. Everything is in order." As if to punctuate his words with undeniable proof of time's steady march, Anthony reached into his waistcoat pocket. The familiar, almost rhythmic sound of his pocket-watch began to emanate from within – a soft, yet insistent TICK TICK-TICKING.

He had added one additional stop after receiving a late invite, one that he had been unsure of. Yet, it had arrived; he would call upon them shortly; it would be necessary before he could add another to the list.

Miss Sterling

This was her cue to exit, to make a hasty retreat and back to her room in the servant corridor. Vida had heard enough; there would likely be nothing more to be gained from listening in any further. There were enough information scraps for her to pad out her latest report. Mrs Wilson would likely be on her way up; this was not the time to bump into the housekeeper who had already marked her down as one to watch, one that might bring trouble to this most reputable of houses. Her steps fell in line behind Anthony’s masking the additional creaks of the floorboard beneath her feet as she turned left as he went right.

The prior evening

The confines of his study offered Darcy a space where he could briefly pause and catch his breath. The message had arrived not long after supper the prior evening. It had a terse message that got straight to the point; he had been expecting messages and invites such as this in the days ahead, as the season unfolded. Viscount Bridgerton had taken notice of her, asking for a formal introduction before he could be seen out in public engaging in even the briefest of conversations. All in the name of the rigid rules that governed polite society.

Anthony Bridgerton would call upon them for a proper introduction before the very first ball. The heat of the lit fire caressed his face as Darcy leaned upon the alcove of the fireplace, playing with the paper within his hands. No-one else had seen what had been written within; it was his eyes only. Even Edward, his beloved Eddie, had not been privy to this secret. As he tossed it into the flames, he watched as it vanished from sight.

The slight steps behind him were familiar enough for Darcy to remain still, as arms soon followed, snaking around his waist. “Where have you gone this time? Hopefully, no-one where I can’t follow Love,” Edward was a romantic at heart, but only when it was the two of them alone like this. He leaned back into his partner’s embrace, sighing happily as come the morrow, he could not be as openly affectionate with his other half. They would be strangers beyond these walls, even within it if they had company.

“Lord Bridgerton is calling upon us in the morning; I will break the news to the Captain before she heads to bed. It’s only fair that she is prepared,” Darcy said, knowing that this information would catch Edward off guard.

“Already? I thought that until after the Danbury Ball we wouldn’t be receiving anyone,” Edward said, as Darcy turned his head inward, burying his face into his lover’s chest.

“As a general rule, no, but this situation is different because of who is making the inquiry,” he replied, acknowledging that other gentlemen would have simply taken notice of her and waited. Until Lord Sterling, acting as his sister’s chaperone, the curious lords would then step forward, assuming he would then execute the formal introduction, enabling them to subsequently speak with her in the ballroom or even add their names to her dance card. This wasn’t any lord; this was one target of their mission, Lord Anthony Bridgerton.

“I get that, it just seems out of the norm,” Eddie replied, the very pragmatic man, who would never step outside of his orders. In one way, it was out of the norms of the but yet, father had forged marriage contracts whilst their wives were still heavily with child. Lord Bridgerton was simply trying to secure the best match possible.

“As you know, the rules prevent him from speaking to women of the same social standing without a formal introduction,” Darcy pressed, reminding the man who held him of the situation that they were in. The world that only ran smoothly whilst the rules were enforced.

“Still,”

“I have already extended an invitation; this is our way in Eddie” He had to shut this down; Darcy hated this but orders were orders after all.

“The mission comes first;” Edward replied, stiffly leaning in, resting his head on the other man’s shoulder. Softly grazing his lips against the scant visible flesh peeking out from his stiff, pressed shirt. “We have to play along,” Darcy replied, moaning at the slightest touch; it had been an age since he had been underneath his lover. This might be their only chance until the mission was over, until it reached completion.

God, the months apart had been difficult. Yes, there had been brief moments whilst they were in the countryside where they could be together. Whilst his pretend wife and best friend kept herself busy whenever Edward returned with news and updates. Those little moments, no matter how special, were always over by the time that he woke alone with the first rays of dawn; then it would be weeks before he was graced by his presence once more.

Maybe they might retire after this was done. Maybe he might finally broach the subject of marriage and propose to Eddie. Darcy had used his time apart wisely, at least, by procuring the perfect ring under the guise of an alternative engagement ring for Lady Alexandra.

“I know that Darcy, I hope, that the Captain understands that;” With a brief parting of his lips, his partner spoke, then returned with greater passion, his hands yanking at the tucked fabric of his shirt.

“She does, but I will remind her,” Darcy replied; his breath catching in his throat, “I just want to focus on you and me, and breaking that desk.”

A tight, forced smile stretched across your lips, a brittle façade as you fumbled through rehearsed answers. The hurried briefing earlier echoed in your mind – the frantic flipping of flashcards, each question a potential pitfall. Your palms felt clammy, a tell-tale sign of the frantic pulse thrumming beneath your skin. This wasn’t a job interview, but a potential marital match with Viscount Bridgerton, the air thick with unspoken expectations. Your singular goal: fail, but subtly. You had to be a disappointing option, not an outright pariah, a delicate tightrope walk with your future hanging precariously in the balance.

It was a fine line to walk, but yet, a single thought kept cropping up.

“It doesn’t matter what I say; it will never be good enough;”

The subtle shift in the atmosphere was palpable, as if the words you thought were merely whispers to yourself had taken on a life of their own. The realisation that they had been heard, understood, and now demanded a response left you feeling exposed, vulnerable in a way you had not anticipated.

In that fleeting moment of connection, the boundaries between inner thoughts and spoken words blurred, revealing a truth that could no longer be ignored. Your gaze locked with his, searching for understanding, for a way to bridge the gap that had unexpectedly opened between you.

As the weight of the unspoken hung heavy in the air, you braced yourself for what would come next, uncertain of where this unexpected turn of events would lead. As you stood in the dimly lit hallway of Sterling House, the weight of your words hung in the air, lingering between you and the other person. The unexpected reaction on his face mirrored the surprise that welled up within you. It was a moment frozen in time, the silence broken only by the sound of your own heartbeat echoing in your ears.

You softly spoke, unknowingly believing that the words never left your mouth, that they were nothing but thoughts rushing through your head. For you, yourself, and no one else to contemplate when you were sequestered back within the halls of Sterling House. You raise your gaze to meet his, not expecting the look of confusion staring right at you.

As the penny dropped, an uncomfortable silence settled over the table. Lord Bridgerton had heard your words. You could not know the importance of this moment; this had been the first of many instances to come that directed the tide in its proper course. This was where it all would stem from; the seed had been planted, now it needed to be nurtured. Only with the arrival of one Miss Kate Sharma would it begin.

“Semo drio andar via” In that tense moment, the words, hushed and urgent, came not from your friend, but from Leigh, your senior officer and handler. The Venetian dialect had been chosen to relay secret messages. Hearing the melodic sounds, most would label it Italian, yet the unfamiliar vocabulary and unusual cadence revealed a different origin, easily missed by untrained ears.

He endlessly replayed the entire situation in his head, Anthony desperately trying to uncover the true intent behind Miss Sterling’s words, words she never meant for him to overhear, the echo of her voice seeming to taunt him with its hidden meaning. Her reaction to the prospect of becoming his wife was unlike anything the ton had ever witnessed from one of their own. It felt like she was reliving a memory, knowing the future outcome.

Translation: Semo drio andar via - We are leaving now