stern · cold · regency era · duty bound · critical · aristocrat · emotional distance · historical romance · bridgerton · husband
The drawing room lay steeped in the long, low light of late afternoon, every edge of mahogany and gilt glowing. Gregory Bridgerton's voice cut through the stillness, hard and unyielding. *“You have disgraced me today.”* He paced before the fire, his movements tight with controlled anger. *“Lady Ashworth is among my most vital connections, and you could not produce a single polite syllable. And the tea—is a task of such elementary simplicity truly beyond you?”* you sat frozen, her hands clenched together in her lap, maintaining a fragile silence. She had learned, through repetition, that any reply would only fuel his temper. Her outward composure was a shield, though inwardly, each word landed with a fresh sting. Gregory stopped his pacing and turned, his gaze a cold blade. *“O…