Lady Danbury's ballroom glittered like a field of stars. Golden light spilled from towering chandeliers, cascading across gowns of silk and satin, jewels winking like constellations at every turn. The air carried the faintest trace of roses and beeswax polish—a scent that spoke of refinement and power.

Williema stood near her grandmother, her posture perfect, her hands folded just so. She was acutely aware of every glance cast her way, every murmur that trailed in her wake. She was the Walters girl—the one whose debut had been delayed by Lady Whistledown's untimely return. A curiosity. A question mark in silk.

"Chin up, my dear," Lady Edwina murmured without turning her head. "A diamond does not doubt she is a diamond. She simply is."

Williema forced the corners of her lips upward, offering polite smiles to passing acquaintances. She was determined to appear composed—even if her heart still fluttered with the memory of Lord Bridgerton's warm gaze in the forest.

Across the room, Edward was speaking with a graceful young woman. Lady Edwina Sharma, no doubt. His expression was one Willa had rarely seen on him—a mixture of keen interest and uncharacteristic hesitation.

"Your brother is smitten," her grandmother remarked dryly. "If he would only stop posturing, he might have a chance."

Before Willa could respond, a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Lady Walters."

Her head turned—and there he was. Lord Anthony Bridgerton, impossibly composed in black evening attire, his dark eyes fixed upon her as though no one else in the room existed.

"My lord," she managed, curtsying.

"I had wondered if you would attend," he said. "Though, in truth, I rather suspected you would not allow Lady Whistledown to rob you of the season entirely."

"It is not in my nature to retreat," she replied, her tone cool though her pulse quickened.

"Excellent," he said softly. "A quality I admire."

They stood in silence for a moment, the hum of the ballroom swelling around them. His gaze did not waver, and Willa found herself both unnerved and... pleased.

"May I have the honor of this dance?" Anthony asked.

For a moment, she hesitated. She was not certain she ought to be seen in his company so soon after their rather... unconventional meeting. But before she could summon a proper refusal, Lady Edwina's voice cut in, sharp and commanding.

"You may, my lord," her grandmother answered for her. "My granddaughter is an excellent dancer."

And so, she found herself swept into his arms as the orchestra struck up a waltz.

"You have recovered from your ride the other day?" Anthony asked quietly, guiding her effortlessly through the steps.

"I was never unwell," she said, her gaze fixed just beyond his shoulder. "Merely restless."

"Restlessness can be dangerous," he murmured. "It leads one to unexpected places. To unexpected... company."

She looked up at him then, her eyes meeting his in open challenge. "And you, my lord? Do you often seek out unexpected company?"

"Only when the company proves worth the risk."

She could feel the weight of his words, the way they settled between them like something fragile and dangerous all at once.

"You speak as though this is a game," she said.

"Life in the ton is nothing but a game, Lady Walters," he replied, a faint smile touching his lips. "The trick is knowing which moves to make—and when to make them."

Before she could answer, the waltz ended. Anthony bowed, his hand lingering over hers for just a fraction longer than propriety demanded.

"I trust we will speak again before the night is through," he said, and then he was gone—disappearing into the crowd as though he had never been there at all.

"Willa," Edward's voice broke her reverie. He appeared at her side, the faintest flush on his cheeks. "You must meet Lady Edwina Sharma and her elder sister, Kate."

The elder sister's presence was commanding, her dark eyes keen as they swept over Willa. "Lady Walters," Kate said, inclining her head. "I have heard much about you."

"I hope only good things," Willa replied with a polite smile.

Kate's answering look suggested she had already formed her own opinion—and that it was not easily swayed.

As the conversation turned to the upcoming events of the season, Willa's mind drifted. Somewhere across the ballroom, she could feel Anthony Bridgerton's gaze upon her again.

It was going to be an interesting season indeed.

The music from Lady Danbury's ballroom spilled faintly into the side corridor, a muffled blend of violins and polite laughter. Willa had escaped the press of the crowd for only a moment—just enough to steady her thoughts after the unsettling waltz with Lord Bridgerton.

She had not meant to linger. And she certainly had not meant to overhear.

The low murmur of two male voices carried down the corridor, one unmistakably belonging to Anthony Bridgerton.

"—I tell you, wives and sweethearts are entirely different creatures," Anthony said, his tone dry. "One offers companionship, duty, the proper raising of children. The other..."

"Pleasure?" someone spoke, supplied, a note of mischief in his voice.

Anthony gave a short laugh. "You make it sound crass. But yes—affection, excitement. The sort of things that burn bright and fade quickly. A man must keep the two quite separate if he wishes for a peaceful life."

Willa's brows drew together. She leaned imperceptibly closer, keeping to the shadows.

"And yet," someone replied, "you speak as if a wife cannot be both."

"Because it is rare," Anthony said simply. "Marriage is a matter of stability. It is not about... infatuation. That is for youth, for distraction. A wise man chooses a wife for her sense, her breeding, her ability to maintain a household. Not for the flutter of his pulse."

The man chuckled. "And here I thought you might surprise me one day."

"Not in this. Feelings are... unreliable."

There was movement, the rustle of coats as the brothers shifted. Willa shrank back into the alcove, pulse racing. She had not meant to eavesdrop—but the words lodged in her mind like splinters.

A man who did not believe in love within marriage.

A man who thought a wife was to be chosen for practicality, not passion.

When Anthony's deep laugh echoed again. Willa slipped from her hiding place, her face composed. She had felt the men had left, she was thinking within her thoughts.

But inside, something sharp had taken root—a mix of curiosity, disbelief, and an odd pang she could not yet name.

The rustle of footsteps turned toward her, and a moment later, Anthony himself rounded the corner. He stopped short, eyes widening for the briefest second before schooling his expression into polite neutrality.

"Lady Walters," he said, voice pitched low. "Were you—?"

"Eavesdropping?" she cut in. "No, my lord. Your voice carries. You might consider lowering it next time you intend to make such... charming pronouncements about women."

Color touched his cheekbones. "You were not meant to hear that."

"I assure you, I wish I hadn't," she said crisply. "But now I am enlightened. Should I ever require a man to calculate my worth like a ledger book, I will know exactly where to find you."

Anthony's brows drew together. "That is not— You mistake my meaning."

"Oh, I believe I understood you perfectly," she replied, her tone deceptively sweet. "A wife for duty. A sweetheart for pleasure. I imagine the only trouble comes when a woman refuses to be one or the other."

Something flickered in his eyes — embarrassment, perhaps, or regret. "Lady Walters, I spoke carelessly. I do not... I did not intend to—"

"Please," she said, holding up a gloved hand. "Do not trouble yourself with apologies. I prefer candor. And now I know precisely the sort of gentleman I am dealing with."

He exhaled slowly, as though unused to being dismissed. "It seems I have made a poor impression."

"Indeed," she said, sweeping past him without a curtsy. "But do take comfort, my lord. It is only my debut season. I am sure I will hear far worse before it is over."

He turned slightly, watching her go, an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. Anthony Bridgerton was many things, but flustered was not often one of them.

And yet, here he stood—unsure why it mattered so much that Lady Williema Walters now thought the very worst of him.

Willa had heard enough. Anthony Bridgerton's deep, dismissive voice still rang in her ears — wives are tolerable enough if they keep to their duties...

The words clung to her like burrs. She stepped out into the garden, letting the cool air and scent of roses try to wash it away. She would not waste another thought on him.

She lifted her chin, willing her heart to steady. She was Lady Williema Walters, and no careless remark from a man — even a Bridgerton — would shake her confidence.

"Lady Walters?"

She turned, startled, to find Viscount Jacob Calamot standing at the end of the path, framed by a trellis heavy with blooms. He bowed with practiced ease, but his smile was warm and unstudied.

"I had hoped to find you," he said. "The company inside pales in comparison to a walk in the gardens... especially if the company is yours."

Her lips curved before she could stop them. "You do flatter rather shamelessly, my lord."

"Only when there is truth to it." He stepped closer, offering his arm. "Might I persuade you to take a turn? It would be a pity to let the evening pass without conversation."

She hesitated — then slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Very well. But I warn you, I'm not easily impressed."

"I'm delighted," Jacob said with a low laugh. "It means I must work for your favor. I much prefer a challenge to a surrender."

They walked slowly, their steps in perfect rhythm, and he asked her about her travels, her favorite novels, her opinions on the season's music — not a single word about dowries or lineage. She found herself laughing, genuinely, for the first time that evening.

As they reached the far end of the path, she glanced toward the ballroom terrace — and stilled.

Anthony Bridgerton stood there, half in shadow, his gaze locked on her. There was no polite social mask on his face now — only something unreadable.

Willa's heart skipped, but she quickly looked away, tightening her grip on Jacob's arm.
She had promised herself she would forget Anthony's words, and she would.

Yet as Jacob continued to speak, she could still feel Anthony's eyes on her, following her every step.

Willa and Jacob had just turned back toward the terrace when the click of polished boots on gravel cut through their quiet conversation.

"Willa," Edward's voice was smooth but firm, his tall figure appearing between the hedges like a sentry on patrol. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere for you."

She arched a brow. "I was hardly hiding."

"Perhaps not," Edward said, though his eyes flicked sharply to the Viscount. "But the evening is moving along, and there are several people you must meet before we leave."

Jacob released her arm but offered an easy smile. "Your brother is quite right, Lady Walters. Duty calls." Then, with a bow to Edward, "We were merely enjoying a walk. I trust there's no harm in that?"

"None at all," Edward replied, though his protective tone suggested otherwise. "Still, it's best we head back. We've kept to ourselves long enough."

Willa inhaled, part of her wishing to argue — if only to prove she could make her own choices — but she caught the warning glint in Edward's eyes. With a reluctant nod, she allowed herself to be guided toward the terrace.

And that was when she saw him.

Anthony Bridgerton.

Still leaning in the shadows just beyond the terrace doors, his gaze followed her with the same quiet intensity she'd felt in the garden. His jaw was tight, and though he said nothing, the air between them seemed to shift as she passed.

She refused to acknowledge him.

Instead, she tilted her chin higher and looked up at Jacob with a bright smile. "Perhaps you'll save me the next dance, my lord?"

"It would be my honor," Jacob said warmly, clearly oblivious to the man watching them.

But Anthony was not oblivious. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly, as though he'd just realized the evening was not going according to plan.

The ballroom shimmered with candlelight, the air thick with perfume, gossip, and the rustle of silk gowns.

Willa stood beside Edward near the edge of the floor, pretending to listen to his polite chatter with another gentleman while her eyes scanned for Jacob. She spotted him instantly — tall, well-shouldered, moving through the crowd with the confident ease of a man who knew exactly how welcome he was in every room.

When he reached her, he bowed low. "Lady Walters, I believe this is the moment you promised me."

She curtsied with just the right amount of grace and mischief. "So it is. Let's hope you dance half as well as you charm, my lord."

"If not," Jacob said, offering his hand, "you may feel free to step on my toes."

As they took to the floor, Willa felt the music sweep her up. Jacob was an excellent partner — steady, attentive, never once letting his eyes wander to anyone else. He asked her about her childhood summers in the countryside, about her favorite flowers, even about the type of horse she preferred to ride. Each question felt more like genuine curiosity than polite filler.

And then she felt it — that unmistakable prickling sensation of being watched.

Her gaze drifted to the far side of the room. Anthony Bridgerton stood near the refreshment table, speaking to Lady Danbury, but his attention was not on his companion. His eyes were fixed on her, following every turn, every sway of her gown, every flicker of her smile.

Jacob must have noticed the flicker in her expression, because he leaned closer. "Something the matter?"

"Not in the least," she said, bright and airy. "In fact, I am enjoying myself very much." She made sure to laugh just loud enough for it to carry.

Anthony's jaw tightened. He took a slow sip of his champagne, though his gaze never left her.

The music swelled, and Jacob guided her effortlessly through a perfect turn. "You are radiant tonight, Lady Walters," he murmured.

She smiled up at him, the picture of charm and contentment. But deep down, she knew exactly what she was doing — and exactly who was watching.

By the time the final note played, Anthony's champagne glass was still in his hand, untouched since the last sip.

The night had drawn to its inevitable close. Carriages lined the street outside the ballroom, their lanterns flickering in the cool air as footmen hurried to and fro. Inside, the last of the guests lingered in polite farewells, the music long since faded to soft chatter.

Edward was speaking to Jacob near the door — no doubt giving some subtle, brotherly warning — while Willa found herself intercepted by a familiar, commanding figure.

"Lady Walters," Lady Danbury greeted, her cane tapping smartly against the marble floor. Her sharp eyes swept over Willa, reading far more than Willa would have liked. "You've had quite the evening."

Willa curtsied. "It has been... eventful."

Lady Danbury smiled faintly, though it was more knowing than kind. "I saw you dancing with young Calamot. The boy has manners, I'll give him that."

"He is pleasant company," Willa admitted.

"And yet..." Lady Danbury tilted her head, watching her as though she might catch the lie in midair. "You are clever enough to know pleasant company is not the same as happiness."

Willa hesitated, her practiced smile faltering. "Happiness is rarely a luxury in a match, my lady. Noble families marry for duty, not—"

"Not for love?" Lady Danbury cut in, her brow arched. "Tell me, child, did your mother never speak of her marriage?"

"She... she and my father seemed fond of one another," Willa said carefully.

"Fond?" Lady Danbury's voice dropped lower, her tone suddenly gentler. "Your mother adored that man. I knew her when she was your age. She had offers from men far richer, far grander, yet she chose the one who made her laugh until she cried. She married for love, and never regretted it."

Willa blinked, startled. "I did not know."

"Then know this now," Lady Danbury said, her cane giving one sharp tap for emphasis. "Do not chain yourself to a man simply because others tell you it is wise. Wisdom can be cold. Love will keep you warm when all else fades. That is the truth your mother lived by — and I would advise you to do the same."

For a moment, the bustle of the ballroom faded away. Willa felt something shift in her chest, a mingling of hope and fear she couldn't name.

Lady Danbury straightened. "Go on, your family's waiting. But remember what I've said. Even diamonds can choose where they shine."

As Willa stepped out toward the carriage where Edward, Edmund, and her grandmother waited, she felt Anthony Bridgerton's gaze on her from somewhere in the shadows — though whether he had heard Lady Danbury's words, she could not say.

The carriage rocked gently along the cobblestone streets, lantern light casting fleeting shadows over Willa's face. Her grandmother sat opposite her, eyes closed as if already halfway to slumber, while Edmund gazed absently out the window. Edward sat beside Willa, far too alert for her comfort.

"You're quiet," Edward observed, breaking the steady rhythm of hoofbeats.

"I am tired," Willa replied, smoothing her skirts without looking at him.

He leaned back with a faint smirk. "You weren't tired when you were dancing with Calamot. In fact, I'd say you were quite... animated."

Her lips curved into a polite, noncommittal smile. "I enjoyed his company. He is kind."

"And you like kind men?" Edward asked, watching her carefully.

"I like men who do not speak as though women are a burden to be endured," she answered, sharper than she intended.

Edward raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like someone in particular."

Willa glanced toward the window, unwilling to let Anthony Bridgerton's name pass her lips. She could still hear his voice in her mind — that careless, dismissive tone — and she hated the way it still stung.

Her grandmother stirred then, opening her eyes. "You will do well to remember, Willa, that society is a game. Those who know how to play it will win. Sentiment has little to do with success."

Lady Danbury's voice came back to her, quiet but unshakable: Even diamonds can choose where they shine.

"I understand, Grandmother," Willa said softly, though her fingers curled in her lap.

Edward studied her profile but said nothing more.

Outside, the city gave way to quieter streets. The hum of the evening faded into the steady beat of hooves and the faint clatter of wheels. Willa closed her eyes, trying to push Anthony from her thoughts and focus on Jacob's warm smile instead.

It was not easy.

And somewhere, she suspected it never would be.

A/N: I'm back my readers! What do you think? I came back stronger than ever! Leave some feedback! Tell me do you ship her with anthony? Or Jacob?