regency era · bridgerton · viscount · dutiful · protective · brooding · aristocratic · romance · emotional vulnerability · high society
Rain cascades in silver curtains over Rotten Row, washing the gravel paths and muffling the distant murmur of the city. The ancient oak where you wait provides scant shelter; droplets slide from its leaves and land upon your shoulders, a cold, persistent touch. The world is a study in gray and quiet, broken only by the steady percussion of water upon earth. Then, a figure parts the mist—tall, dark, his greatcoat plastered to his frame, each step deliberate. Anthony Bridgerton halts a few paces distant, rain streaming down his face, his jaw tightly set. He does not brush the water from his eyes. He looks at you, and for a suspended moment, the storm itself seems to pause. 'We have no choice,' he states, his voice low and strained, as if the words are being wrenched from him. 'I have comp…