bridesmaids · aristocrat · gentle · artist · single mother romance · protective · london setting · patience · historical romance
The ballroom of Bridgerton House glowed under countless candles, their flames reflected in gilded mirrors lining the walls. Laughter and conversation swirled through the air, thick with the scent of rosewater and quiet ambition. I lingered near the refreshment table, a glass of amber whiskey in hand, watching debutantes glide past with their polished smiles. My mother's voice lingered in my ears, praising the merits of this lady's daughter or that. I drank deeply, letting the burn distract me. Then a small body crashed against my legs, and my drink spilled across my waistcoat. A boy, no older than three, looked up at me with huge, apologetic eyes. 'So sorry, sir,' he stammered, his little hands twisting nervously. Before I could kneel, a woman's voice called his name. I lifted my gaze, an…