As My Whimsey Takes Me

Title: As My Wimsey Takes Me
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: Bridgerton (TV Series) / Twilight Saga / Lord Peter Wimsey
Pairings: Bella/Anthony Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton/Duke of Hastings
Word Count: 6.5k
Rating: PG
Warnings: gambling, time travel, no vampires, Bella is pragmatic, we have Lord Peter Wimsey characters, no Owestry (I couldn’t give him an unhappy ending)
Prompt: for GSchneider who wanted gambler!Bella who takes the place of Marina and foccaciabread who wanted FL falling for ML and chasing him

As My Whimsey Takes Me

Bella walked up to the impressive house in Grosvenor Square and used the knocker.  She was wearing a modest though expensive dress in mourning and her best bonnet.  She knew she was one of the best dressed women in London although she did not have an account with Madam Delacroix.  Lady Danbury had complimented her on her dress just the week before in a glacier, her two eldest daughters in attendance.

Bella was quite used to garnering attention. 

She frequented the gambling dens of London and had several offers of male companionship over the past two years.  However, despite whatever Bella had believed when she lived in Forks, she knew that no respectable woman in Regency England would take a tumble in the sheets with even the most wealthy of gentlemen.  She needed a husband—and a husband she would get.

She couldn’t gamble forever, after all.

She also couldn’t allow herself to fall pregnant and be a single mother in 1813 London.

The door was answered by a matron and Bella was admitted.  She handed over her parasol and her bonnet before presenting her card—for Lord Featherington.  The matron looked surprised but curtseyed, asking her to wait.

Bella did not have to wait long.

Featherington appeared himself, peeking into the hall, his eyes widening when he saw her.

He showed her into his study quickly, clearly hiding her from his wife and family, and offered her a seat.

Bella took off her lace gloves and stopped Featherington with a look after he sat behind the desk.

“You will not offer me a drink, Lord Featherington?” she inquired politely, her voice nonetheless laced with steel.

He paused.  “I have only liquor, Miss Swan,” he apologized.  “It would be seen as unusual if I sent for tea.”

Bella let it pass.  “You owe me sixteen hundred pounds.”  She waited for him to answer.

Featherington nervously dithered.

“You will not answer me?”  She looked up at him again.  “I know I am not your only creditor.”

“If I could just have more time,” he tried to convince her, but Bella would have none of it.

“You have a very comfortable home,” she noticed, looking around.  “I trust that Lady Featherington knows nothing of your gambling debts.”

“—No.”

“You have daughters?” Bella checked.

He swallowed nervously.  “Three daughters,” he answered.  “I have—spent—their dowries.”

Featherington was more degenerate than Bella had previously thought.  She nodded, however.  “I have a proposal for you.”  She paused.  “Do you have claret?  I find myself parched.”  She waited.

Featherington fell over himself to get up and go to the door, calling for a servant to bring him a glass of claret. 

Bella patiently waited.  Featherington retook his seat behind his desk and drummed his fingers against the blotting board, clearly nervous.  The matron reentered with a glass of claret and set it in front of Bella without a word before exiting. 

Picking it up, Bella took a sip. 

She was done making Lord Featherington sweat.

“Your daughters are in society, are they not?” she asked carefully.

Featherington swallowed nervously.  “Yes, all three.”

Bella nodded.  “I wish to be entered into society,” she told him, “to find a respectable match.  I have a fortune.  What I do not have is respectability.  Lady Featherington sponsoring me—as, say, your cousin from the country—would give me that respectability.  This will pay your debt to me in its entirety.”  She looked him in the eye.  “I will come tomorrow in my carriage with my maid.  I trust you can give me my own room.”

Relief washed over Featherington’s features.  “It would be my pleasure, Miss Swan.”  He hesitated.

“Yes?” Bella asked, taking another sip of her claret.

“I do not know your Christian name,” Featherington told her.  “I also take it you are past the age of entering society—I have known you these two years at least.”

She stood, picking up her gloves.  “My name is Isabella Marie Swan,” she told him, putting her gloves back on her hands.  “The ladies may call me ‘Bella.’  I much prefer it.”

He nodded as he stood with her.

“And women always lie about their age.  I shall not be the first.  The gentlemen will believe that I am in the flush of youth.  I can easily pass as eighteen, or are you saying I look aged, Lord Featherington?”

“No,” he assured her quickly, falling all over himself again.  “I would never say such a falsehood, Miss Swan.”

“Good,” she agreed.  “You shall expect my carriage after luncheon tomorrow.  I have several trunks.  Tell your wife I am an heiress whose father just died.  I have quite the fortune, after all.”

Without so much as a goodbye, she walked out of the study and went to the door, where she was given back her parasol and bonnet. 

Bella, however, paused when she got to the carriage.  A handsome man was riding up to a house across the square.  His horse whinnied and he expertly shushed him before he looked about.  His eyes caught Bella’s and held.

Bella paused, taking him in.  He was quite handsome. 

She entered the carriage and smiled to herself at the thought of her new neighbors.  She hoped they were agreeable.

The next day she arrived by carriage with her four trunks and her maid.  She had shut up the flat in Bloomsbury and given her footman and carriage driver a vacation, which was unheard of in Regency England, but she didn’t know what else to do with them.

The horses would be stabled for the rest of the Season, which had begun not three days before.

Bella had missed the presentation to the Queen, but she did not mind that.  She did not fancy wearing a white gown and having feathers in her hair.

The matron—Mrs. Varley—showed her up to her room, and she was quite pleased with it.  Charlotte, her maid, bustled around her.  Bella took off her bonnet and checked herself in the glass.  Seeing that she was presentable, she went downstairs to be introduced to her new ‘cousins.’

“Remember, girls,” she heard a voice say.  It must be Lady Featherington.  “She is from the country.  How pretty can she be?  We must remember to be kind.”

Bella smirked to herself. 

She walked into the Drawing Room and took in a lady in green sitting on the settee with her three daughters arranged behind her, all with auburn hair, and in gowns of various shocking colors.

“She’s beautiful,” a girl sighed, and Bella smiled kindly at her.

Lady Featherington looked massively disappointed.  “Are you in mourning, dear?” she questioned carefully, taking in Bella’s mode of dress.

“Papa died,” she informed her, coming to take a seat.  “It is why I was sent to Lord Featherington.”

“Oh poor dear,” the kind girl twittered.

Lady Featherington forced a smile back on her face.  “Tea?” she inquired.

That night there was a ball.  Bella never quite caught the name of her hostess, but it was her first public appearance.  She dressed most carefully in dove gray, instructing Charlotte to put diamond clips in her hair.  She met the Featheringtons in the Drawing Room and was cramped in the family carriage with them.

Meeting eligible gentlemen in a ballroom was not as difficult as Bella had assumed. 

She was a fresh new face, and just like at Forks High, she was the shiny new toy.  Wearing gray did not seem to be a deterrent and once one gentleman had approached her and asked her to dance, a second came up to her, and then a third.

Then Bella saw him, her neighbor.  He was tall, in a blue coat, with dark hair and striking blue eyes.  He had a young girl in white on his arm, and Bella was immediately jealous. 

Still, Bella remembered not to step on anyone’s toes.

“Who is that young lady?” she asked her dance partner as she crossed places with him.  “The young woman in white who is repelling suitors?”

“That is Miss Daphne Bridgerton,” he answered, “with the Viscount Bridgerton.” Hmm, they were brother and sister then.  Bella would have to consult her Debrett’s.  “She was a triumph at her debut.”

“Indeed?” Bella mused as they came together in the dance.  Her eyes were not on Daphne Bridgerton, however, but Viscount Bridgerton who seemed to have just cut a gentleman outright.  Interesting.  It seemed like he wasn’t allowing his sister to dance.

Viscount Bridgerton’s eyes scanned through the crowd and rested on the dancers, but he did not seem to see Bella and his gaze passed right over her.

Bella found herself disappointed.

The dance ended and whoever she was dancing with bowed to her.  She obligingly curtseyed.  Her eyes were still fixed on Viscount Bridgerton.

Someone asked her if she wanted punch. 

Bella had never tasted punch.

Then she heard the name ‘Bridgerton.’  She looked at the eager young man whom she was being introduced to.  “Bridgerton?” she asked.

“Indeed,” he agreed.  This Bridgerton was certainly tall but he was nothing more than a puppy.  He reminded her strongly of Mike Newton.  “May I have the next dance?”

She forced a smile on her face.  “Of course, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Bella allowed this Bridgerton to lead her onto the floor and she twirled into the dance.

Viscount Bridgerton was now leading his sister Daphne out of the ballroom.  She hadn’t danced once.  She looked disappointed.  Bella felt equally disappointed.  She was dancing with the wrong Bridgerton brother.

“You seem to come from quite a large family,” she opened with, although it was his place to begin the conversation.  “Tell me about your family.”

Bella danced the rest of the night away.

When she arrived back at the Featherington House, she tuned out Lady Featherington and immediately went to her room.

“Was the night a triumph?” Charlotte inquired as she began to take out Bella’s hair.

Bella sighed.  “I danced every dance,” she reported, “but not with the gentleman I most wished to dance with.”

Charlotte gave her a conciliatory look.  “You shall surely have a plan though, mum.  You always do.”  She was now brushing out Bella’s hair. 

“Yes,” Bella agreed as she sat forward and thought to herself.  “I know who his sister is.  If I befriend her—I shall see him.”  Turning in her seat, she looked up at Charlotte and smiled.  “We have a plan of attack.”

“I shall dress you most particularly tomorrow,” Charlotte promised.  “If we are to see his sister, we must make a good first impression.”

“Indeed,” Bella agreed, turning back to face the glass.  The plan ran through her head again.  “Pity I must wear black.”

“You look most excellent in black,” Charlotte soothed.

It was true.  Bella looked stunning in black.  She would make a strong impression on Daphne Bridgerton, who would report back to Viscount Bridgerton if he was not there.  She would get on an intimate basis with her, and then she would get a family invitation to promenade or dinner—it would be too easy.

She smiled to herself.  It was a gamble, but she liked gambles.

Of course, before she could call on Daphne Bridgerton, Bella had to deal with all her callers.  Gentlemen and lords, more than she could count, appeared in the Featherington Drawing Room with flowers and gifts.  Even the Bridgerton boy called on her. 

Charlotte stood behind Bella, writing in a little booklet with a pencil, taking down each name, each gift, so Bella could start keeping a log.  She was planning on snagging the Viscount Bridgerton, but she would not put all her eggs in one basket.  She intended to have a husband by the end of the season, and a husband she would have.

When the gentlemen were finally gone, she took Charlotte and walked across the square to Bridgerton House.

She had had new cards printed.  Now they read “Miss Isabella Swan of Featherington House.”  She presented one to the footman and waited to be shown in.

Daphne was sitting on a couch among a pile of biscuits, her mother in attendance, and two children playing marbles on the floor.  Another young woman was reading a book some ways off.

“Miss Bridgerton,” Bella greeted.  She came in and curtseyed.  “Forgive me for being so forward, but I saw you at the ball last night, and you were not dancing. I somehow knew you were a kindred spirit!”

Daphne looked at her, completely bewildered. 

“I am a Featherington cousin, lately come from the country.  I am afraid I know no one in London and must make my own friends.”

The Dowager Viscountess had offered her a seat and was now giving her a cake.

“Not at all, Miss Swan,” Daphne replied carefully.  “I did not know I was so conspicuous.”

“Not to the casual observer,” Bella admitted, “but my father was a naval captain,” she lied, “and he taught me to be observant.”  She politely took a bite of her fondant.  “I also danced with one of your brothers.  I am not certain which one, to be entirely honest.”

Daphne smiled genuinely.  She was so easy to manipulate.  Life was a game of cards, Bella found. 

“I believe that was Colin.”

“Colin,” Bella agreed.  “I believe you have four brothers.  Mr. Colin was telling me.”

The Dowager Viscountess leaned in.  “You have not read Lady Whistledown then?”

Bella looked at her in confusion.  “Who is Lady Whistledown?”

“She is a gossip sheet,” Daphne informed her, “but she is most scandalous because she names her subjects.  Everyone is reading her.”  She seemed disturbed by this.

“I take it,” Bella began carefully, “that you have been named, Miss Bridgerton.”

“I have,” she agreed.

“Then if I should read her, I shall not believe a word she prints!” Bella declared, although she silently promised herself to get her hands on the latest copy immediately.  Surely Lady Featherington was reading it, even if she wasn’t allowing her daughters to peruse its pages.  “Gossip is ruinous,” she concluded.

Daphne smiled at her.  “I think we shall be great friends, Miss Swan,” she decided.

“I do hope so,” Bella replied, smiling at her kindly, trying to channel the shy girl she had been in Forks all those years ago and not the hardened gambler she had become.  “I do not believe Prudence nor Phillippa care one way or the other about me.  I do not know about Penelope yet.”

The double doors opened at that moment to reveal the Viscount Bridgerton, tall, dressed to perfection, and with a hopeful look on his face.  “I am told we have a caller,” he declared, looking into the room.

Daphne looked at him sadly.

“Only me,” Bella declared from her seat beside Daphne.  “I do not believe we have been introduced.”

Viscount Bridgerton took her in and recognition passed across his face.  “You know the Featheringtons.”  He came into the room and closed the doors behind him.  Approaching Bella, he offered his hand.  “Daphne.  Introduce me to your friend.”  He had a small smile on his face.

“Anthony,” Daphne told him, “this is Miss Isabella Swan.  She is a Featherington cousin.”

Slipping her hand into his, Bella was sure to blush.  “Viscount.”

The Viscount was now looking between her and his sister.  “You know each other then?”

“Just,” Daphne answered.  “It is most fortuitous.”

“Most,” the Viscount agreed, looking back at Bella.

Bella counted the visit a success and had a sashay in her step when she returned to Featherington House three quarters of an hour later.  She was sure to have her parasol open to bring attention to herself and had Charlotte walk more than three steps behind her so that her figure was fully visible from the windows of Bridgerton House, should anyone be looking.

The next day, suitors came again, and Charlotte took down notes.

After they had left, Bella walked across the square to Bridgerton House.

Daphne only had one suitor—a disgusting little man name Lord Berbrooke.

“You cannot like that man,” Bella whispered after he had left.  “He is a positive toad.”

Daphne laughed into her hand.  “He is that,” she agreed.  She changed the subject.  “We are going to the opera tonight.  Are you attending?”

“Lady Featherington has not mentioned it,” Bella told her, smoothing out her black skirts.  “I am not certain she particularly likes the opera.”

“It is a chance for the gentlemen to be at the club,” Daphne sighed.

“I suppose it is,” Bella agreed.  She didn’t like that thought at all.  Now that she had made Viscount Bridgerton’s acquaintance, he should ask her to dance at the next ball.  He should come visit her during calling hours, but he had not turned up.

It was early days yet, she reminded herself.  Early days.

It turned out they were not going to the opera, so Bella spent the evening in her room, reading poetry.  She was rather bored.  Now that she had entered society, she was no longer entering London’s poker matches.  She had instructed Lord Featherington not to breathe a word of her plan.  She knew there would be some crossover.  Some of the men she gambled with would see her in society’s ballrooms but her knowledge of their debts and their good breeding would ensure their silence.

Every morning the gentlemen came with flowers and gifts.  Every morning Charlotte would write down their names.  Every morning Viscount Bridgerton did not come.  Every morning Bella was disappointed.

“Mama had the Duke of Hastings over for dinner last night,” Daphne shared when they went promenading one afternoon.  They were both carrying parasols.  Daphne was wearing light blue while Bella was a column of black beside her.

Every time they passed a gentleman, even if he was walking with another lady, he would nod his head to them.  Bella was quite popular.  She would be married quite soon if she wanted to be.

“Is she matchmaking?” Bella inquired.

Daphne took her arm.  “I think she may be.  She sat us beside one another.”

Bella hummed.  “Do you like the Duke of Hastings?”

“He is full of himself,” Daphne confessed.

“Most men are,” Bella agreed.  “Is your brother looking for a wife?”

“Colin?”  Daphne did not take her meaning.  “He has gone to pay call to you every morning this week if I’m not mistaken.  Would you like me to ask if he’s serious?”  She turned to Bella with her guileless blue eyes.

Bella hesitated.  “Not Colin.”

Daphne looked confused.

Bella bit her lip, a habit left over from her childhood.  “The Viscount—” she admitted carefully, blushing.

Understanding spread over Daphne’s face.  “Oh, Bella,” she sighed as they began walking again.  “Anthony—he—I’ve heard whispers that he has a mistress.”

“Most men do,” Bella agreed.  Many men had approached her over the past two years, wishing to make Bella their mistress.  She knew the way of Regency England all too well.  “That does not mean—”  She hesitated.

“Mama cannot get him to take the idea of finding a wife seriously.  She has been trying for years, I am afraid to say.”  Daphne looked at her anxiously.  “I did not know your thoughts turned toward him.”

“It was a silly, misguided thought,” Bella lied.  “I shall put it out of my head.”

“Colin is quite fond of you,” Daphne tried.

“He is a third son,” Bella told her honestly.  “I have a fortune, it is true, but I wish to marry a man with an estate with possibly a title attached.”

Daphne turned thoughtful.  Then, “I shall speak to Mama.  She will know how to approach Anthony.”

Bella looked at her.  Daphne was looking straight ahead.  “Thank you,” she whispered, squeezing her arm.

They continued to walk.

The next ball was held in a garden.  Bella quickly broke off from the Featheringtons, but before she could find Daphne, she was asked to dance.  She smiled at the gentleman and took to the dancefloor.  She had hired a dance master to teach her the nicety and had stepped on the poor man’s toes quite a bit, but she had mastered it in the end.  Now she could dance with ease and carry on a conversation.

Colin Bridgerton, of course, asked her to dance, and he was all smiles.

Bella smiled back at him, but she felt no particular warmth toward him.  He was a waste of her time.

When she got off the dancefloor, she looked around surreptitiously for Daphne but could not see her.  She wondered where she had gone to.  She certainly was not on the dancefloor.

Bella was so busy looking for her that she did not see Viscount Bridgerton approach her.

“Miss Swan.”

She turned to see who had addressed her and had to keep herself from smiling too broadly.  “Viscount,” she answered, curtseying.  “I hope you are enjoying your evening.”

He looked over her shoulder as if he could not be bothered with the conversation.  “It is an evening out in company,” he agreed noncommittally.  “Mother thought you looked as if you needed a partner.”

Oh, so he was only asking her because the Dowager Viscountess had pushed him toward her.  It seemed like Daphne had kindly mentioned Bella’s preferences after all.

Bella was sure to smile at him, but not too much. 

“How kind,” she replied.  “I should very much like to dance.”  She accepted his hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dancefloor.

He was a very stiff dancer, but Bella did not mind.  She was sure to smile prettily at him and try to appear open.

The Viscount was grimacing.

The silence stretched between them, and Bella was getting desperate, almost asking him about his horse, when Viscount Bridgerton suddenly paused in the dance and looked over her shoulder.  “Why I never—” he breathed before catching up a step.

Bella could not look behind her, but she looked at him questioningly.  “What is it?” she inquired.  “Is something happening behind me, my lord?”

“Daphne is dancing with Hastings,” the Viscount told her, clearly bewildered.  “He told me he had no intention of marrying at all.”

“Perhaps it is just a dance?” she suggested, allowing him to spin her in his arms.  Viscount Bridgerton was not looking into her eyes, as he should be, but looking at a place somewhere else on the dancefloor, presumably at Daphne and the Duke of Hastings.

“Nothing is just a dance with Hastings,” he replied angrily.

As soon as the music ended, the Viscount barely even bowed to her before he was stalking off.  Bella was left bewildered, looking after him.  Daphne was indeed standing next to the Duke of Hastings, blushing prettily as he whispered something in her ear.

Well done, Daphne.

Bella walked off the dancefloor, but was soon claimed by another dancing partner.

She noticed two of the Featherington girls whispering to each other and clearly regarding Daphne and the Duke.

At about this time, Bella decided she needed to choose a new favorite.  Viscount Bridgerton clearly was not looking for a wife, and clearly did not care if Bella was dead or alive, other than she was Daphne’s friend.

Within a fortnight of entering society, she was going through a checklist with Charlotte.

“No,” Bella decided, “not him.” 

Charlotte crossed him off the list.

“Who’s next?”

“Viscount St. George.”

Bella flipped through Debrett’s.  Interesting.  Presence of a Marquis.  Eldest son of the Duke of Denver.  Name Wimsey.  Wait—Wimsey.  “As my Whimsey takes me.”  She paused.  “He’s Lord Septimus’s eldest brother.”

Charlotte looked up from her list.  Pulling out her little booklet, she flipped through it.  “He has given you expensive flowers or chocolates every day since you have arrived, mum.  He is one of your most ardent suitors.”

“Check my dance cards,” Bella instructed.

Charlotte pulled out the vanity drawer and took out the little stack of dance cards that were arranged in order by date, and carefully started going through them, eyes squinted so as to decipher the handwriting.

“All but one,” she declared. 

“I am fond of Septi,” Bella mused.  “I would not mind him for a brother-in-law.”

“You would be a Viscountess,” Charlotte told her.  “A future Duchess.  Does anyone know your dowry?”

“To my knowledge there have been no rumors,” Bella told her, thinking.  “I shall write to Septi and ask him to come here one afternoon, when we are not expecting callers.”

“Will Lady Featherington allow it?” Charlotte checked.

“I will ask Lord Featherington if I can use his study.  Nay, I shall demand it,” Bella told her, making up her mind.  “I will write him a note as well.”  She got up from the bed, where she was lounging, and went to the vanity, Charlotte giving up her seat after putting the dance cards away.  Taking out a sheet of paper, she wrote to Lord Septimus Wimsey, asking him to call the next day at two o’clock and to ask for Lord Featherington.  She signed it “Bells” and sealed it with wax and imprinted it with her insignia that she had had designed when she had first started collecting on large debts.  She handed it to Charlotte.  Next, she wrote a short note to her host, telling him she would need use of his study.  He was in no position to refuse.

The next morning, Bella told Charlotte to refuse all morning callers except for the Viscount St. George (except, if by some miracle, Viscount Bridgerton were to call).  She told Charlotte, if she had to, to have them wait in a line, or to simply take their calling cards and gifts at the door.

Viscount St. George called at quarter to eleven.

He was allowed into the Drawing Room which had only Bella and the Featherington ladies present.

“Ah, a caller!” Lady Featherington declared.  “I have been quite put out.”

St. George hesitated on the threshold, but Bella smiled at him warmly.

“Viscount,” she greeted, “do come in.  I gave Carrie special instructions to allow you entry.”

“Did you deny entry to everyone else?” he inquired as he presented her with a bouquet of white roses and daffodils.

“I am afraid I did,” Bella confessed, offering him the seat beside her.

Viscount St. George was a tall man approaching middle age with a slender build, straw colored hair, and gray eyes.  He wasn’t necessarily handsome, but he was respectable and well dressed, with glasses perched on his nose.  Bella would never fall in love with him, but she hadn’t expected to fall in love when she had decided to marry.  She was looking for respectability not a romance.

The days of weeping on the forest floor for Edward Cullen were well behind her.

Her fancy for Viscount Bridgerton had proved an aberration.  She had chased him for a fortnight but he barely noticed her.  Men all over London noticed Bella.  She had become well aware of her charms when she had crawled out of that tunnel that began in 2005 Volterra and ended in 1811 Montalcino.  She was certain none of the Kings knew of its existence otherwise they would have exploited it or sealed it up.  Still, Bella was aware of her powers as soon as men began to proposition her in the early eighteen hundreds.  The attention never stopped.  It seemed Bella was considered a “dark beauty.”

Bella looked at the Viscount St. George.  “You intrigue me, Viscount,” she told him, now that she had considered him the night before.  “Are you often taken to courting young women in the London social season?”

Lady Featherington, from her place across the room, looked up in shock at the question, but did not interfere.  She was well aware of Bella’s control of her own societal position and merely squired Bella to the functions in Town.

St. George blinked once from behind his glasses.  “Well you should ask, Miss Swan,” he told her outright.  “You are quite popular.  Are you taking stock of your suitors?”

“I am,” she admitted.  “If you wish to send any references my way, I will be most obliged.”

St. George seemed pleased.  “I see this may be a business arrangement.”

“Partially,” Bella agreed.  “I have no father to do it for me.”

“Featherington is not in a position to act as father?” St. George inquired carefully.

Bella gave him a steady look, allowing her silence to answer for her.

“I see.—Well, Miss Swan, I am finding I am nearing the age where I need a son for my father’s title.  I could buy myself a wife, of course, but where is the romance in that?”

Bella considered him.  He did look a great deal like Septimus. The resemblance was certainly there.  “I understand you have many brothers and sisters.”

“Many of them are already married,” he told her.  “I have many nieces and nephews.  They are all well provided for with professions and dowries.”

“I hope you have not been at the gaming tables all these years,” Bella checked.

“Quite the opposite,” St. George told her.  “I have been teaching at Oxford.  I never left after I attended as a student.”

Bella raised an eyebrow at this.  St. George was an academic then?  She could see it.  He wasn’t exactly dorky, but he wore glasses.  If she looked at him in a certain light, perhaps she could see it.  It appealed to her love of literature.  She had always wanted to go to college and study Austen and Bronte.  Of course, Austen had only just published her novels less than a decade previously and Bronte had not yet written her masterpiece.

“What do you read?” she inquired.

“Anglo-Saxon,” he replied.

Bella was impressed despite herself.

“If we were to marry,” Bella asked carefully, not wishing to presume too much, “would we return to Oxford?”

“I am a fellow,” he informed her.  “I would go and give a lecture by and by.  I have rooms there.  I would only be gone every now and then.  You should not miss me.”

“You think too little of yourself,” Bella assured him.  “Where is your father’s seat?”  She had looked it up, but she wanted to hear it from him.

“Norfolk.  Duke’s Denver,” he informed her, clearly pleased with it.  “Some of the sisters still reside there, but they need not bother you.”

“I never had a sister,” she confessed.  “Staying with the Misses Featherington is the closest I have got.”  She paused, looking over at Philippa and Prudence.  Penelope had gone off somewhere.  “Perhaps Lady Featherington would allow us to promenade.”  She now turned to her hostess.

Lady Featherington immediately looked up.  It was clear she had been listening in.  “Why yes,” she agreed with an affected smile, patting the back of her hair.  “We would be most delighted to go promenading tomorrow at two o’clock, if that would suit his lordship?”

“Most suitable,” St. George agreed, nodding his head to her.  He turned back to Bella and gave her a small smile.  “Miss Swan.”

“Viscount.”  She gave him her hand and he kissed it.

He politely said goodbye to Philippa and Prudence who were all settled on the couches with their mother.  He seemed thoughtful, Bella thought.  That only spoke well of him.

“Well,” Lady Featherington declared when the door shut behind him.  “Unequalled love and he believes himself worthy of you.  Quite the declaration.  Have you decided on him then, Miss Swan?”

Bella looked at her flowers happily and thought that she had made the right choice, if she couldn’t have Viscount Bridgerton.  “That is a lovely message, is it not?  And he has brothers!”  She looked pointedly at the Featherington girls.  “Many brothers!”

Philippa looked especially excited at the prospect. 

Bella wasn’t so mean spirited that she wouldn’t spread her good fortune around.  Featherington may owe her a gambling debt, but Lady Featherington was being charitable—albeit out of a sense of duty—by squiring her in society.  She was also staying pointedly out of Bella’s affairs, which she appreciated.

After calling hours were over, Bella checked with Charlotte.  “How many callers?”

“Fourteen.”  She handed over the cards.

Bella flipped through them.  Colin Bridgerton.  No Viscount.  She should have known.

The flowers were all brought into the Drawing Room and the chocolates taken up to Bella’s bedchamber.

When two o’clock came, Bella was at her embroidery.  She heard the knocker and waited until Mrs. Varley came and whispered in her ear that she was needed in the study.

She set aside her sampler and excused herself.

Featherington was waiting for her with Lord Septimus.

“I’ll just leave you to it then, shall I?” Featherington asked, looking between them, curiosity clearly in his gaze. He knew better, however, than to ask questions.

They had all gambled together.  Featherington probably owed Septimus money.  He owed nearly everyone money, he was so deeply in debt.

As soon as he left, Bella approached Septi and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s this, Bella?” Septi inquired, going to the sideboard and pouring them both a stiff drink.  “Why are you here at Featherington House?”

“Have you been in contact with your elder brother?” Bella asked carefully.

“Which one?” Septi joked, handing over the drink.  He was the seventh of eight sons and the eleventh of thirteen children.

Bella laughed a little and they took the two seats in front of the desk.  Bella looked him over fondly. 

Septi was tall, just like his brother, the Viscount St. George, with equally gray eyes, straw blond hair, but he was quite handsome.  His father, the Duke of Denver, had given him two thousand pounds when he turned eighteen, and Septimus had gambled it and turned it over into a fortune of nearly twenty thousand pounds.  He was now quite well off and had no need of a profession, unlike most younger sons.  He was thinking of buying a small estate somewhere and settling down, which Bella fully encouraged.

“Featherington owes me sixteen hundred pounds,” Bella began again.

Septimus whistled.

“I called in the debt by having his wife launch me in society so I could find a respectable husband.”  She took a sip of her drink.  Septi had made it straight.  It rather burned the back of her throat.  “I am posing as a cousin from the country whose father died, so I have come here.  I am quite the sensation.  Your eldest brother—St. George—is one of my suitors.”

Pausing in taking a drink, Septimus considered. “Georgie has finally decided to take a wife then.”

“Yes, it seems he has,” Bella agreed.  “He checks all the boxes.  He has an estate, he is titled, he has no children, no encumbrances, all of you younger brothers and sisters are provided for, he is respectable, no bad habits, he likes to read, he does not gamble at the tables or at the races—”

“He is twice your age,” Septimus pointed out sullenly.

“What does that matter?” Bella asked.  “He is ready to settle down.  He is not flapping around like men your age.”

“No, I suppose you are right.”  He downed his drink.  “Are you informing me of your intentions or are you asking my permission?”

Bella looked at him kindly.  “If you forbid me—”

“I would never forbid you,” Septimus admitted.  He sighed.  “You know I am gone on you.”

“You are nineteen, Septi.  You are my dearest friend—”

“I know,” he agreed, smiling privately.  “It is the best I can hope for.”  He set his glass aside with a clank.  “Well, I very much like the idea of having you in the family.  Pater would be horrified, but I take it your chunk of change is much larger than anyone supposes.”

The estimate of Bella’s worth was one hundred and twenty thousand pounds, which was three times the worth of even the wealthiest of heiresses.  Her fortune was actually much larger.

“It is grossly undervalued,” she promised.

“Is it?” Septimus grinned.  “Do we have to pretend not to know each other?  I dedicated an entire book of sonnets to you.”

Yes, Bella remembered.  “We just will not explain it.  Young people of consequence always know each other even if you were never on my dance card.  Tutors, friends of friends.  It could be anything.”

“Shall I tell Georgie?”

“I will tell St. George.  We promenade tomorrow.”  She smiled at him.  “You can confirm it when he shows up in your rooms and threatens you.”

Septimus scoffed.  “Georgie would never threaten me!”

“Not even over a woman?”

“Especially not over a woman,” Septi insisted as they rose.  “Believe me, I know my brother.”

“If you say so,” Bella conceded. 

They walked to the door together.  Pausing, Septimus looked down at her.  “To think,” he murmured.  “You will be the mother of the future Duke of Denver.”

“If everything goes to plan,” she answered.

“When you go all in,” Septimus told her, “you always win.”  He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.  “Keep me informed.”  He opened the door and exited the study.  Bella stood there for a moment and considered.  She had gambled on Viscount Bridgerton and had seemed to have lost.  A future Duke, however, was a greater prize than a lowly Viscount, she reminded herself.  Somehow, she didn’t seem quite so convinced.

When Bella and the Featheringtons arrived in Regents Park the next day, Viscount St. George wasn’t quite there yet.  Bella looked around and saw Daphne with the Dowager Viscountess and a younger sister.  She never could quite remember her name.  She was still in raised hems.

She walked over with her parasol and reached out for her friend.  “What is this I hear about Lord Berbrooke and an illegitimate son?” she squealed as Daphne joined her.  “I thought he was forcing a special license on you?”

“It is quite wonderful, is it not?” Daphne sighed in joy.  “He is quite gone.”

“Marvelous!” Bella enthused.  “I suppose that leaves the way quite clear for the Duke of Hastings.”

Daphne seemed slightly shifty at his name, but just a second later a bright smile lighted on her face.  “Yes, the Duke,” she agreed.  “And you?  How do your suitors go?”

“I have decided,” Bella told her friend, pausing and turning toward her.  She took a deep breath.  “The Viscount St. George.”

Surprise registered on Daphne’s face.  “Viscount St. George?” she checked.  “Are you certain?”

“Quite certain,” Bella confirmed, shifting her tone to be as bright as it could be.  “He is everything I ever wanted.  He is the eldest son, he will be a duke, he has an estate, he is eminently respectable—”

“I will try harder with Anthony,” Daphne promised, squeezing Bella’s hand.

“No,” Bella shook her head.  “I am quite done with daydreaming.”

“You deserve a love match,” Daphne insisted.  “I want that for you.”

“I think he might love me,” Bella murmured, almost to herself.  “If he loves me, that will be enough.  We will both be Duchesses.”

“Bella—”

“Miss Swan—”

Blinking, Bella looked up and saw Viscount St. George approaching.  She pasted a smile on her face.  Dropping Daphne’s hand, she turned and waited for him to reach them.

They bowed to each other.

“You know my friend, Miss Bridgerton?” Bella checked.

“Miss Bridgerton,” St. George greeted, tipping his hat.

Daphne smiled sweetly.

The three stood carefully around each other.

“I believe we have an appointment,” Bella said, breaking the silence.  “Daphne, is the Duke to promenade with you this afternoon?”

“Yes.”  Her voice was wispy, and she cleared her throat.  “Yes,” she said more loudly.  “I expect him any moment now.”  She smiled at the two of them again.  It was clearly faked.

“If you will excuse us then, Miss Bridgerton?” St. George politely asked.

She nodded and stepped out of their way.

Bella took St. George’s arm and fell into step beside him, walking into her future.

The End.