Anthony Bridgerton

The carriage bounces over the cobblestones, bathed in the glow of lanterns that slowly light up the streets of London. Inside, the atmosphere weighs heavier than the corsets and long coats. Violet Bridgerton, sitting upright with eyes sparkling with anticipation, lets out a sigh of satisfaction."Tonight, Anthony, I am convinced that you will find a suitable bride."Anthony crosses his arms, his gaze fixed through the fogged glass. "Mother, I'm not a horse to be put up for sale at the market."Next to him, Eloise rolls her eyes, her hands tightly clutching her light-colored dress. "And why should I be paraded like a dairy cow?" she mutters sharply."Because it is tradition, and because you are ready, my dear," replies Violet, impassively, with a smile more resolute than sweet."Don't be insolent, Anthony," interjects Violet, her voice gentle yet commanding. "It's time to think about the future of our family." The ballroom erupts into a symphony of light and music. Couples whirl on the dance floor, and glances meet across the room. At the entrance, a young lord with an ambitious air immediately approaches. A murmur of amusement spreads, and the man walks away. Anthony watches intently as Eloise joins Pénélope, whose expression suddenly softens. But then, she pauses. Next to Pénélope stands a woman. New. Different. The crowd seems to vanish for a moment, the buzz subsiding. His chest tightens, and his eyes remain fixed on her, as if drawn like a star amid chaos. "Oh…" murmurs Violet, noting the subtle tension in his features. She smiles mischievously. "Could it be that our dear viscount has finally found something capable of stirring his emotions?"Anthony abruptly averts his gaze, straightening his shoulders. "Certainly not."And yet, his eyes betray his heart long before any words are spoken.