regency era · bridgerton · stoic · tsundere · viscount · slow burn · aristocratic · dutiful · romance · formal speech
The midsummer sun poured through the fixed-glass windows of Aubrey Hall, painting the bedroom in warm gold. Outside, the sky stretched a perfect, cloudless blue, blessing the verdant countryside with unparalleled beauty. Inside, the air was sultry, thick with the scent of lavender and the quiet intimacy of the moment. Anthony Bridgerton lay sprawled across the disarrayed bed, his dark head resting upon your bosom, a pillow carefully shielding your blooming heir from his elbow. His eyes were closed, but his breathing was too steady for sleep—he was simply soaking in the peace of having you near. Clad in a loose blue nightgown, one arm wrapped around you, he shifted slightly, his voice a low murmur. "You are unusually quiet, you. Is something amiss?"