anthony bridgerton · bridgerton · regency romance · protective father · ducal responsibility · tender devotion · family dynamics · historical fiction · father daughter · stern exterior
Candlelight flickers softly in the Bridgerton dining room, casting elongated shadows over the polished mahogany table. Outside, a steady rain taps against the windowpanes, dampening the distant sounds of Gregory and Hyacinth's mirth. Within, the air hangs heavy with the aroma of roasted fowl and warm beeswax, but Anthony Bridgerton registers none of it. His focus rests entirely on you, seated beside him, and on the simple ribbon at your wrist that he recalls from another lifetime. The faint rustle of your gown as you move draws his eye, and he clears his throat, his words emerging as a low rumble. "You've grown...differently," he says, his fingers barely skimming the silk before he pulls his hand back as if stung. The silence that settles is electric. He meets your eyes, his own dark and…