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NEWSPAPERS & NICETIES

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SHE COULDN'T STOP FIDDLING with her skirts while she waited for Anthony to return with his mother and sister. Her excursion to Bridgerton House had been unplanned at best and potentially scandal inducing at worst. No chaperone, just in her nightdress and a robe, hair undone. And she was greeted by the lord of the house himself. Marjorie chuckled ruefully at the circumstances. She never cared about her own name, but if she dragged her family down with her she would never forgive herself.

Not to mention the fact that Anthony Bridgerton was also dressed down to nearly nothing, recalling the way his bare chest had poked through the unbuttoned dress shirt, his hair unruly and blue eyes turning almost incomprehensibly grey. She'd never seen him in that state before. He looked so unkempt, so unlike the man he projected out to the world. He looked...normal. Not like the untouchable man she'd come to know.

Her chest constricted at the thought, something knotting itself in her stomach before she shook it away. She was here for a reason. Her visit was purposeful, not some hopeless attempt to rekindle whatever friendship the two of them had before Edmund's death. Marjorie bit her cheek at the memory, the last time she'd visited Oxford before Anthony had returned home for the summer. Before Este had met the man who ruined her life.

Before the Bridgertons had lost their father.

Before Marjorie had lost her sister.

"Miss Baxter!" Violet couldn't hide her surprise as she strolled into the parlor, eyebrows shooting up toward her hairline, "What a lovely surprise, we weren't expecting you."

"I can help you get rid of Nigel Berbrooke." Marjorie promised, cutting right to the chase instead of dancing around the topic. Daphne's eyes widened and a smile crossed her face.

"Can you really?" The young woman asked, grasping Marjorie's hands in her own as she sat down across from her. The hopeful gaze tugged on her heartstrings, and as Violet slowly took her place next to her daughter. Marjorie pulled her hands free and turned toward the Matriarch.

"My brother James, he runs the paper that publishes Whistledown. If Berbrooke even comes near the gossip sheet, he'll make sure it doesn't run."

Daphne let out a sigh of relief, but Lady Bridgerton's jaw was still clenched, her lips pursed. "That doesn't address the root of the problem," She explained with a thoughtful look, "Nigel Berbrooke will not rest until he's married to a Bridgerton no doubt. And while Mr. Baxter may be able to delay the news, Berbrooke will find a way to defoul us if we do not agree to his conditions."

Marjorie bit the inside of her lip, thoughts drifting toward her own family. They'd courted scandal plenty of times back in Kent, although not to the extent that the ton seemed to have. There seemed to be a new scandal every day, and Marjorie would not allow the Bridgertons to fall prey to it.

They were a respectable family and a wonderful one. She owed them a great deal for caring for her when she was little, and she'd repay it back in full if she could. But even she was at a loss of what to do.

"Is there nothing that can be done?" Daphne asked, wringing her hands as her shoulders slumped, looking defeated. "Am I truly doomed to become Lady Berbrooke for the rest of my life?"
Violet whipped around, an incredulous look in her eyes, but she said nothing. Marjorie however, knew exactly what to say.

"Of course not," She promised, hating the lump that formed in her throat, "You are a Bridgerton. The diamond of the first water. And you deserve far better than that roach."

The girl chuckled and a weight slipped from Marjorie's shoulders, her body relaxing into the chair once again, the Bridgerton girl squeezing her hand in thanks. She pursed her lips, trying to come up with a possible plan to deter the overenthusiastic baron.

She couldn't understand it. If he wanted to publish the story in Lady Whistledown, Berbrooke would spread it throughout the ton until it reached the woman. Soon everyone would believe his sordid tale whether it was true or not.

And there was no way of silencing him either. Unless....

The idea hit her like a brick, eyes lighting up at the thought. She bolted upward and ran toward the door, a smile breaking out on her face. "I have a plan," She assured them, catching the confused glances of both women, "If it all works out, you will be free to marry whoever you choose by this time tomorrow."

Without another word, she shut the door behind her, leaving both women with a quizzical look on their faces at her absence.

The doors of her brother's study burst open, waking the man from his sleep and shaking him from the pool of drool on his desk. "Christ Marge!" He jumped, wiping his face and narrowing his blue eyes at her, "Warn me next time."

She paid no attention to his temper, nor the redness flooding his face as she marched over to his desk and planted her hands on either side of it. "Buy Nigel Berbrooke's story." She ordered.

James's eyebrows knitted themselves together at her words. "What?"
"His lies about Daphne," She clarified, sending him a look as if it should be obvious, "Buy it and promise to publish it."

James arched his brow further up toward his hairline, "You want me to ruin the poor girl's chances at a proper match? Bloody hell, you're horrible."

Marjorie shook her head, biting down on her lip with a smile. "No. I want you to buy Nigel Berbrooke's story on the condition that he tells no one else. Make him sign an agreement or a contract or whatever it is you do for Lady Whistledown and your other columns," She explained, hoping her brother would catch her hint, "And promise him you'll publish it."

In a rare moment of telepathy that only siblings share, Marjorie watched James's eyes light up the same way hers had. A sly smile broke out across his face, all too similar to her own.

"Oh, you are bloody brilliant." He murmured, quickly gathering a piece of parchment and scribbling on it. "Crawley!" James called, unable to hide the excitement creeping over him. 

The butler appeared with a solemn look on his face and James handed him the wax sealed letter. "Please ensure this ends up in the hands of Lord Berbrooke. I have some very important business to discuss with him in the morning."

The brother and sister side-eyed each other with a mischievous smirk and the butler, somehow always understanding what was happening, nodded with the ghost of a smile on his face.

"As you wish, Mr. Baxter."

The door to the study shut once again and the two siblings burst into laughter, James wrapping his arms around Marjorie's waist before hoisting her around in a circle, celebrating the fact that they had won.

And the afternoon of the very next day, as the Bridgertons were sitting down for tea with Mrs. Berbrooke, James Baxter was presenting a contract to Lord Berbrooke that bound his tale to Mr. Baxter's newspaper and Mr. Baxter's newspaper exclusively.

As Marjorie looked on with contentment, a sigh of relief left her lips when the newest edition of Whistledown was published and there was no mention of Daphne, Vauxhall, or the Dark Walk anywhere to be seen.

The same could not be said for Lord Berbrooke.

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It has come to this author's attention that the ton is abuzz with a most sordid tale. It is said that one cannot judge a book by its cover, but in the case of the bumbling Baron Berbrooke, it seems his displeasing appearance is quite an apt metaphor for the state of affairs in his household.

I would not be surprised if Lord Berbrooke were called away to the country on alleged business...business which perhaps, might involve sending some much overdue funds to one former maid and young boy.

Who we can can only hope takes after his mother.

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ANTHONY WAS NOT ONE for admitting his mistakes. He never had been. He was the eldest, he should know best for everyone. Instead he'd had to rely on his mother and Miss Baxter to save the day alongside her brother.

He supposed the man wasn't bad for Daphne. He cared for her, had a solid business, even if he didn't have a proper title, except through his connections through his mother. Anthony could certainly think of more horrific prospects.

Nigel Berbrooke for one. Christ he wanted to go back and slap himself for the suggestion. It was true that Berbrooke would never be a love match for Daphne, at least not at first, but he'd been respectable. Anthony always forgot that his siblings saw marriage very differently than he did.

Particularly Daphne.

She'd been enamoured with their parent's love story, demanding to hear it every year around their anniversary before proclaiming that she would not accept anything less in her own marriage.

How foolish Anthony had been indeed.

Releasing a tight breath, he entered his study, knowing exactly who was waiting for him. His mother sat in a chair, smiling to herself as her needle passed through the thin muslin, no doubt pleased with her efforts.

"I have heard talk that Berbrooke has left town." He pushed through gritted teeth, trying not to show how contrite he really felt. "Am I right to think that this solution did not come about by chance?" His mother remained silent. Anthony exhaled. "I am resolved to handle matters differently in the future."

"Or perhaps not at all." Violet Bridgerton's voice was every bit as chastising as he remembered as a boy, humbling him in only a few words. He cast his eyes downward as his mother let out a sigh. "I know society has dictated your present role in this family Anthony, but with Daphne out I assure you I am more than capable."

Anthony gulped, an uncomfortable feeling settling in his stomach. Was he really that incompetent as a Viscount that his own mother felt the need to step in and save their family?

The family he'd almost dragged into ruin.

The family he'd promised himself he'd look after.

When he didn't say anything, Violet took that as an agreement of her assessment. "This is for Daphne," She explained, showing him the purple embroidery that decorated the muslin. "Tulips. They symbolize passion." Anthony inhaled sharply. "A most appropriate hem for your sister when she decides to marry the duke."

Anthony thought of the interactions between Daphne and Simon, having spent hours examining them as they courted, analyzing each move between them in case Simon wished to try anything beyond simple courtship. It never went that far.

But he'd never glimpsed any sort of passion between them. Friendship, yes, but nothing like what Anthony had experienced with Siena. There were no fervent glances, no gentle touches, not a glimpse of desire between the pair.

What on earth could have possessed his mother to believe that the Duke would forgo his vow and marry Daphne?

His mother gasped in delight, sending him a saccharine smile, "Perhaps your bride would like the same." She brought her needle to the muslin again, "Marjorie has always been so fond of our garden. I think tulips would fit her nicely, don't you?"

Anthony said nothing, his throat tightening at the mention of the Baxter girl. He remembered chasing her through the hedges of the garden, playing hide and seek until the sun had fallen behind the clouds and her father had shown up to collect her. She had been an awkward thing, but only a fool would have called her anything but beautiful. She'd grown into that beauty well, he conceded.

Her temperament left much to be desired, however. 

Gone was the sweet girl Anthony had once known, replaced with a judgemental countenance and a stubbornness worse than Eloise. Marjorie's words cut through him like a longsword, leaving him bleeding and wounded as he scrambled to keep up with her turning mind. Every insult he bore she seemed to have ten in return, like a mythical hydra unable to be cut down.

He supposed it was admirable in a way. Although that alone decided Anthony's view on her potential as a wife. Admiration was a surefire way to affection, and his vow to remain detached from his wife stood above all else.

In that regard, he understood Simon's reluctance.

Besides, his heart belonged to Siena. It always would. Even if he'd cut himself off from her for his sister, Anthony couldn't stop the bubbling in his stomach whenever they were together. The way she made him feel.

It was unlike anything he'd felt before. And he knew he could never marry her. It was the perfect situation. Except now it was harming Daphne. It was harming his relationship with his mother, who seemed convinced he should marry the damn girl if it meant a love match.

Until Marjorie Baxter showed up and suddenly her tune had changed.

No longer was she accepting of the relationship between him and Siena. Instead she was pushing him toward a woman he couldn't stand. A woman he hadn't known since his father was alive.

He wouldn't go back there. He couldn't.

He'd been too vulnerable. Too scared. That wasn't who he needed to be. That wasn't who he was supposed to be.

Anthony was a Bridgerton. The Lord of the Household.

That meant he needed to be strong, even when nobody else was.

And Marjorie Baxter and Siena Rosso made him weak.

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"DO YOU THINK HE WILL PROPOSE?"

Marjorie's fingers froze in her sister's hair, halfway through pinning the braid when her sister dropped the question. "What?"

Augusta shifted in her seat, turning around to meet her sister's gaze, "Colin. We've been courting for nearly a month and I just...I'm worried he won't propose."

Marjorie pinned the braid in place and sat down in the chair beside the vanity, grasping her sister's hand in comfort. She rubbed her thumb on the back of Augusta's small hand, knowing that touch could always help soothe any worries her sister might have.

"Colin Bridgerton is a man of honor. Not only that but he is not the type to lead a woman on as a game." Marjorie explained, hoping her words were correct. 

She prided herself on being able to read others, and while she hadn't spent nearly as much time with Colin as she had with Benedict, she couldn't believe he would be anything but gentlemanly in his approach. "I have no doubt that his intentions are pure and he is simply waiting for the right moment."

Augusta nodded, although Marjorie could tell that she didn't believe her words. "It's just..." The blonde paused, shoulders tensing like she could break at any second, "I really do love him so much and I--I couldn't bear it if he didn't feel the same."

"He does," Marjorie assured her, feeling confident in her assessment, "For christ's sake, he looks as if you've hung the moon every time you say something."

Augusta's brown eyes peeked through her long lashes, her lips twitching upward slightly, "You really think so?"

Marjorie nodded, "I know so. In fact, I would place bets on him offering his hand at the Cowper's ball at the end of the week."

Blood rushed to her sister's cheeks and Marjorie seemed satisfied. Turning back toward the vanity, Augusta let her sister finish pinning her hair up, letting one single strand of blonde hair curl around the neckline of her white dress, the soft chiffon making her look like an ethereal being from the heavens themselves.

Marjorie was dressed in a similar cut, although with a lower neckline and shorter sleeves. Augusta had already done her hair earlier, pinning her wild curls up in a beautiful coiffeur adorned with a silver laurel circlet. Augusta wore a matching one, although hers held a single golden rose at the top of the coronet, almost making her look like a princess.

No one would have doubted her beauty, nor her temperament. She was the perfect woman for anyone to snatch up. Beautiful, even-tempered, witty.

Colin Bridgerton would be a fool of the highest caliber if he didn't marry her right away.

And when they entered the Salisbury estate, their father on Marjorie's arm and their brother on Augusta's arm, she wasn't surprised at all when two Bridgertons made their way over, both seeking dances with her siblings.

Colin and Augusta took to the floor with the same fervor they'd displayed during their courtship, laughter and smiles abundant as the band struck up a lively tune. 

Surprisingly, Daphne Bridgerton was at James's side, offering her dance card and engaging in what seemed to be a wonderful discussion with him.

"Miss Baxter," A deep voice rumbled behind her and she turned to meet the russett hues of the Duke of Hastings, his hand outstretched, "If I may have the honor?"

Marjorie turned toward her parents, her mother's eyes nearly bugging out of her head as her father eyed the Duke skeptically. She grasped the man's hand, her silk glove fitting neatly into his bare palm.

"It appears you have solved two problems in one fell swoop," Simon commented as the dance began. Marjorie played coy, arching a brow.

"I'm sure I do not know what you mean, Your Grace."

Simon smirked as she twirled, their feet sashaying to the music. "Not only have you disgraced the loathesome Lord Berbrooke, but you also seemed to have secured a match for your brother and my so-called future duchess."

Marjorie craned her neck as she saw James and Daphne enter the dance floor, the latter's smile so wide she was sure the girl's cheeks were aching. When the dance instructed their partners to move closer together, she smiled and whispered, "If my brother has managed to woo Daphne Bridgerton, then all the better for him."

Simon chuckled aloud, his laughter drowned out by the strings and drums, "I can speak to that. For Miss Bridgerton herself instructed me to give her space tonight." His head bobbed toward James, "Now I see why."

Marjorie's chest puffed up in pride, butterflies rising in her chest at the thought of both of her siblings finding not only happiness, but love at the ton. That was all she ever wanted for them, and now it was coming to fruition.

She smiled mischievously at the Duke, "Let us hope my efforts are not in vain."

Simon smiled back, "Indeed."

He twirled her again, and Marjorie allowed herself to feel the full force of excitement and happiness she'd been denying herself the whole season, giving into the enjoyable atmosphere.

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Well, well, well, while Lord Berbrooke has run off with his tail between his legs, James and Augusta Baxter only seem to have grown more favorable in comparison. The former saving Miss Daphne Bridgerton from scandal if rumors are to be believed, and the latter charming the cheeky Colin Bridgerton when everyone else seemed to have failed.

Even the beautiful pearl herself seems to have snatched up Miss Bridgerton's seconds, the Duke of Hastings sharing his rare smiles with the woman throughout the night.

With such matches like these, one must wonder what is in the water the Baxter's drink at Kent. For there certainly cannot be a more triumphant return from the outskirts of society than for all three Baxter children to secure two Bridgertons and a Duke.

Perhaps the ton was wrong to judge them so harshly after all.

Yours Truly,

LADY WHISTLEDOWN 

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