Upper Orders//Benedict Bridgerton

⚘eight⚘

In a town filled with ambitious mamas and fortune-hunting gentlemen, marrying above one's station is an art form, indeed. But Miss Daphne Bridgerton's advance from future duchess to possible princess is an achievement that even this jaded author must applaud. Though this author cannot dismiss the Duke of Hastings quite so soon. He may have let the diamond slip through his fingers for now, but I shall wager he is not a man to ever hide from a fight.

I sit in the parlor the same as always.

"Kindly remind me, my lord, why we cannot simply send Miss Thompson back to her father in the country?" Aunt Featherington questions.

"The matter is not for discussion," Uncle Featherington tells her, barely looking up from his paper.

"A gentleman caller. Mr. Albion Finch."

A young man walks into the room flowers in hand. "Good day." He sneezes. "Daisies always trouble my nose."

"Miss Thompson is not receiving visitors, Mr. Finch," Aunt Featherington tells her.

"That is quite all right. I am here to call on Miss Featherington," Mr Finch explains.

Philipa looks quite surprised.

"Miss Philippa Featherington?" Aunt Featherington asks.

Philipa stands and walks over to Mr Finch. She curtseys before taking the flowers from him. "Thank you, sir."

Daphne and I sit in the parlor of her family's home.

"Is it true? Is my greatest friend to be a princess?" I question. "If I were your sister would I to get to be a princess?"

"Calm yourself," Daphne tells me. I smile. "I am not yet engaged to the prince."

"Will you have to wear a crown?" I ask.

"Perhaps for special occasions, but only if I should marry the prince," Daphne tells me.

"Will you have to learn German?" I ask.

"Perhaps, but only if I should marry the prince," Daphne says.

"Will you have to move to a beautiful castle far, far away?" I question.

Daphne chuckles. "You are worse than Hyacinth."

I laugh. "Philipa had a caller this morning."

"Really?" Daphne asks. I nod. "How nice for her."

"He seemed like... a strange one," I confess. "So truly perfect for Philipa." Daphne chuckles. "So what of you? Are you to see the prince today?"

"Anthony is taking me to a boxing exhibition," Daphne tells me.

"Where does the prince come in?" I question.

"He will be there," Daphne assures.

"Is a boxing exhibition truly where you should be courting the prince?" I ask.

"I don't see why not," Daphne offers.

As we all know, there is nothing this author loves more than a scandal, and tonight's soiree promises more than its fair share, courtesy of the recently widowed Lady Trowbridge. Some may call her celebrations too provocative, and I would caution any young lady from getting caught up in the sensual nature of her fêtes. For one scandalous move between an unwed couple, a wayward touch, or heaven forbid, a kiss, would banish any young lady from society in a trail of ruin.

As we enter the ball Aunt Featherington spots the rather rotund man she hopes to marry Marina off to.

"Lord Rutledge." She grabs hold of Marina. "Miss Thompson has spent all afternoon telling us how eager she is to converse with you."