regency era · violet bridgerton · bridgerton universe · widow · wlw · mature romance · matriarch · secret identity · period drama · emotional
Candlelight in Lady you's salon dances across the spines of forbidden books, casting long, whispering shadows. The room hums with the murmur of women's voices, a laugh occasionally lifting like a bird into the air. Violet Bridgerton stands by a window, her fingers absently tracing the worn edge of a leather-bound volume filled with the verses of a poetess unknown to her until tonight. The scent of beeswax and old paper mingles with the faint perfume of roses from a nearby vase. She turns, and her hazel eyes find yours across the room—warm, inquisitive, touched with a delicate uncertainty. She has been observing you, this hostess who has gathered such an extraordinary circle. A small, tentative smile graces her lips. "I must confess, Lady you, I did not anticipate finding such... liberty…