chapter seven: hunting season
( trigger warning: violent content. )

❦

   A bee sting.

Charlotte Wentworth never knew such a small thing could create such a stir. But, alas, there she was. Sitting along her bay window the morning after she was stung by a bee in the gardens of the Bridgerton home. The morning after his hands held onto her. The morning after his forehead melted into hers. The morning after her nose brushed against hers so delicately. The morning after her lips were so close to his she could feel his breath wafting her face.

   And to think, that all came from a bee sting.

   Charlotte was drastically quiet and kept to herself for the rest of the evening after the incident, claiming to her siblings she had been stung by a bee and was admittedly a bit shaken up by the whole ordeal. She retired from dinner early and spent the time up until it was time to go to sleep in the library to somehow distract her mind from her thoughts which were consumed by everything she wanted to forget.

Even as the next morning crept, Charlotte caressed the side of her collarbone where the bee stung her skin as she watched the gardeners start their work on the grounds for the day. She was so entrapped with what was happening outside her window, she did not notice her sister coming toward her with a look of concern, and maybe even a bit of apprehension.

   "Lottie," Amelia's soft voice called to her, "is it the sting?"

   Charlotte sat up from her position, "what? Whatever do you mean?"

   "Is it still bothering you? It seems ever since the awful creature pricked you, you've been keeping to yourself."

   Accepting the cup of tea her sister gave her, Charlotte chuckled in denial, standing from her seat to get herself ready for the day, "no. No, not at all, Lia. And, uh, how are you? Are you... are you still feeling upset by the viscount's lack of action?"

   Amelia sighed, "his mind seems elsewhere lately. I thought I'd be announcing an engagement at tomorrow night's ball."

   "We return to Mayfair in a few days," Charlotte grabbed her sister's hand in reassurance, "where there will be many other suitors, as I told you."

   "Suitors who will only suspect that there is something lacking in me when they discover the viscount is no longer interested," Amelia exclaimed before grasping her sister's fullest attention, "he is the one I want, Lottie. The viscount. His family, this home, the life he offers me. I've been thinking, and... I am now quite certain I know why he has not yet made his declaration. It is because of you. You hate one another."

   It was only when Amelia left her sight to go to her own wardrobe did Charlotte let out a long exhale, "uh, hate is probably too strong a word."

   Amelia continued her rant while she paced as Charlotte sat in front of her, "it is clear from your exchanges with the viscount he shared your feelings. All this time, I thought I needed your help getting him to fall in love with me. But I have realized what I need is your help getting him to fall in love with you."

   "Amelia, I certainly can't—"

   "Can you really not see anything engaging about him?"

   Charlotte nodded, but made sure not to nod too much, "yes. I suppose I can see how he might engage... a person. Yes."

   "Then you'll still help me encourage him to propose? Because I have not given up. I will not give up," Amelia watched her sister closely, feeling satisfaction roll through her once she saw her nod. After a moment, she lifted her head, much more chipper than she was at the start of the conversation, "well, I'll leave you to get ready, then. See you at breakfast, Lottie."

   Charlotte silently watched her sister leave their shared room, only flopping down on the bed once the door was shut, heaving a heavy sigh. She thought she was leaving complicated behind back in France. Why it was complicated to follow her all the way to London was beyond her.

A knock on the door made the Wentworth sit up from the bed, making the woman furrow her brow at the unexpected sound, "come in."

Sara, one of the server girls, walked through the doors, a piece of paper in her hand, "for you, Miss Wentworth."

"Oh," Charlotte got up from the bed and grasped the paper, "thank you, Sara."

The younger girl bowed in respect before leaving the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. Though if she had stayed for only a moment longer, she would have seen Charlotte drop the note to the floor, along with her legs, which grew numb to any feeling as any breath she had in her lungs escaped her.

I found you, my dear.
Time to come home.
- 𝓦

❦

   The rest of the ton had arrived at Aubrey Hall, yet Charlotte had never felt so out of her own body. When her fingers moved, she did not feel them move. When her legs moved one after the other, she did not seem to control where they were headed. When she smiled in greeting at someone, she did not remember who she was smiling at only a second after locking eyes with them. How could she when she now knew the truth.

   He had found her.

   William knew where she was. And it was time for her to go home to him. How did he figured out where she fled to? She had no idea, but that did not matter. What Charlotte needed to do was clear. Marry Amelia off, tell her siblings everything and leave for France as soon as she could. Alone.

   Charlotte was sure all of that was going to go over well with her siblings. Especially Daniel. She could not wait. But for now, she was to try to mingle with the rest of the ton as normally as she could.

   "Charlotte!"

   The woman paused in her mindless wandering of the grounds and sighed. Let the normal mingling begin. Charlotte glanced toward her sister, who called her name, who was sitting at a nearby table with Viscount Bridgerton, who looked less than happy to see her still alive after her being stung by the bee they encountered.

   Amelia, oblivious as could be, gestured her sister over to her and the viscount beside her, "come sit with us."

Eyes following the viscount, who stood from his chair out of respect, Charlotte walked to the chair opposite of his, feeling her sister's hopeful gaze on both of them.

"Miss Wentworth."

"Lord Bridgerton."

   Stiffly, the two sat back down in their respective seats. Charlotte shifted in her seat, trying to make herself as comfortable as possible in this less than ideal situation she currently found herself in. Her eyes darted anywhere but to the people at the table with her as her fingers started picking at her cuticles on her lap without even realizing.

   Amelia pursed her lips, eyes unwavering from her sister's tight form, "did you tell the viscount about your new sting?"

   Charlotte could not help but chuckle at the irony but played along, putting it plainly to the man in front of her, "I got stung," to which he hummed in acknowledgement, "I am well."

When neither of them decided to take the conversation foward, the youngest at the table took it upon herself to do so, "Charlotte was telling me how she is eager to see more of the grounds of this magnificent estate."

   "I was," the older woman of the two blurted the question without thought.

   "After having spent the last few days on her own," Amelia glanced at her sister with almost pleading features before giving the viscount a sweet smile of persuasion, "might you give her a tour today while I spend time with the other ladies?"

   Before the viscount could give his own protest, Charlotte beat him to it, "I am certain Lord Bridgerton is occupied with other guests."

"Shooting, in fact, with the other gentleman," the viscount nodded with a hint of feigned sadness, "the party is to leave quite soon, I'm afraid."

Amelia's hand patted her sister's clasped hands stationed on her lap enthusiastically, "did you know Charlotte is an excellent shot?"

"Of course she is."

Narrowing her eyes at the viscount, Charlotte felt her pent up frustration toward the man only grow, especially when a laugh left his lips. The scoff that left his mouth, the raising of his brow, the shaking of his head. The words, breaking down every syllable. Of course she is. Before she could utter anything in retaliation, Benedict and her own brother made their presence known.

"Are we all set for the hunt, brother?"

Lord Bridgerton stood from his seat, almost too quickly, "indeed we are."

Seeing her window closing, Amelia implored her sister, "Charlotte, tell him how you used to shoot all the time. Daniel, you used to do it with her."

"Miss Amelia—"

"Charlotte is being modest."

The older woman wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile off his face, "do you not think it true?"

The viscount settled his amusement before addressing Amelia, "perhaps your sister aims straight on the field, but surely she would have some trouble managing—"

"Why would you assume I would have any trouble managing at all, my lord," Charlotte had him right where she wanted him, "because I am a woman?"

"No—no," the viscount could only blink harshly at the accusation, his brother behind him laughing silently at his downfall, "I did not say that."

"But you thought it."

Anthony could not help but chuckle once more at the predicament he came to be in, "ladies do not hunt."

"Do not, or are not allowed to," Charlotte possessed a point no man could ever argue with, and all three surrounding her knew that.

"If I may, sister," Daniel chimed in at his own risk, not wanting to be in his sister's line of ever glowing fire, "you do not enjoy the sport. Why would you want to participate?"

   Charlotte could only deadpan at her brother, "I may not enjoy the idea of killing innocent animals for sport but that does not mean I do not have the talent to do so."

   It was true. While Amelia was inside learning all the basics she needed to possess to be a living young woman in society, Charlotte was riding horses and aiming at the sky with a shot-gun with her father and Daniel. Though it was never one of her favorite things to do out of all her activities she had the fortune to learn and participate in, she still gained the skill of being an almost perfect shot.

Clearing her throat to diffuse the very standoffish tension surrounding the once peaceful table shaded by the beaming sun, Amelia smiled in satisfaction, "I am certain Daniel would not mind keeping an eye on Lottie as an act of chaperone during the hunt. Wouldn't you, brother?"

"Not at all."

"Oh, what fun you will all have! Getting to know each other all the better."

Charlotte was clearly bursting at the seams with excitement.

❦

When Charlotte agreed to go hunting, she imagined she would actually get to see a living, breathing animal. So far, she had seen absolutely nothing. Just trees, horses being rode and testosterone infested air. Though it was now known hunting was not her favorite activity, it was clear these men had barely a clue how to actually track down an animal.

   The Wentworth siblings trotted beside each other, one more bored than the other. While Daniel was admiring the wooded green and fresh air around him, Charlotte kept a sharp eye on the Bridgerton siblings ahead of her. Though she could not hear them, she had a feeling she was the subject of their conversation. Nevertheless, she was going to try and make the most out of the trip, no matter the annoyances that were soon to inevitably follow.

   "To the right, gents!"

   As opposed to everyone else around her who followed the leading man a certain direction, Charlotte was hesitant as she caught up to the viscount, her brother riding past her to catch up to Benedict, "where are they going?"

   Lord Bridgerton raised his brow at the unexpected question, "toward our camp, I believe."

   Charlotte furrowed her own brow at his answer, "there are tracks going off to the left. Look," she nodded her head in the opposite direction everyone else was going, "in the moss. You can see the cloven shape. If we go to our camp now, we may miss our quarry entirely."

   Sighing, though knowing she had a point, the viscount was far too stubborn to admit she was right, "let us stay with the group. If we find nothing, I shall offer myself up for your target practice."

   Charlotte almost let a laugh escape her lips, "very well."

   The two found themselves in the back of the large group, taking their time to mosey along the grassy plain of the Bridgerton estate. Though there were the tallest of trees and blooming flowers around her, Charlotte's eyes were gravitating toward him of all things. However, she was trying to fight it. It was silent between them for a few minutes before it was broken.

   "Where did you learn—"

   "It is a rather—"

Charlotte looked away from the man, pursing her lips as the air around them grew thick. She did not need him to finish his question for her to know what he wanted to ask. Furthermore, she knew she had no way of escaping answering it.

   "My father was a secretary for an ambassador for the French embassy," she started, looking straight ahead though feeling his eyes watching her, "when he had a free moment, he would take me to hunt with him and Daniel. Even as a young lady. My grandparents hated it, though. I think that is one of the reasons he included me in Daniel's lessons."

   The viscount looked pleased at the information, "then it seems you'll manage quite well. Even if it is not your favorite activity, I've heard."

   "Only because of the killing of innocent creatures," the Wentworth defended, though she did not feel like she needed to with him in that moment, "I still enjoy the rush of the aim and the act of the shoot itself."

   Her wording of reasoning made a surprise chuckle leave his lips that could not be stopped, causing the woman to join him even if she did not wish to. It was odd for the pair to have a normal conversation such as this one without it ending in an argument, a screaming match or an insult of some kind. It was nice, refreshing.

   Though the silence that followed the pleasant conversation was killing her.

   "Lord Bridgerton—"

   "Yes?"

   And just like that, anything Charlotte had on her mind to say to him disappeared. All she could do was stare at him, waiting for something, anything, to enter her thoughts, but alas, she came up with nothing by the time his name was called by his brother for him to keep up with the rest of the group. The woman pulled at the reins in her hands to stop her horse from trotting forward to catch her breath and collect her thoughts. Though the hunt had just begun, it felt as though she had been there all day.

   Getting sick of not being able to follow her own instincts, Charlotte simply shrugged her shoulders and started steering her horse in the opposite direction, where she knew she would find an animal to hunt. After all, that was what she was there for. However, the farther away she got from the rest of the group, the more weary she became. After all, she still had her husband closing in on her in a direction she could not yet see coming. But still, she had to be ready. On her guard, ready for anyone or anything to strike at any moment in time.

She found herself on the edge of the forest, where she knew most deer tended to linger. After setting her sights on one, Charlotte ducked between a large, dead tree and aimed her weapon toward the animal, ready to shoot at a moments notice. Just as she was about to pull the trigger, a voice sounded from behind her.

"Miss Wentworth!"

"Shh," the woman hissed, not taking her eye off the animal in front of her, "get down."

Following her instruction, Lord Bridgerton watched her with an exasperated expression, "are you quite serious? You cannot just go off like that with your gun. Daniel was worried sick. I basically had to force him to stay with the group and—"

"Would you be quiet?"

However, the viscount was not done, shifting in his crouched position at the gall the woman next to him had, "it is rather like you, leaving everyone behind."

Charlotte refrained her eyes from rolling to the back of her head, "no one wishes to hear what you think you know about me."

"I do not need to think. I know," her silence prompted the viscount to continue, "from the moment I saw you walking alone in the streets of London, it was obvious that rules are meaningless to you. Perhaps if you had not been out once again the other morning, we might not have been put in such a difficult situation."

Slinging her gun off the wooded trunk, Charlotte hissed back at him, her narrowed eyes daring, "exactly which difficult situation are you referring to, my lord?"

"Your," the man ceased his answer at the look she was giving him, then chose the safest answer, "the other morning."

"When I was stung?"

"After which you put my hand to your bosom."

"To show you I was unharmed. You were overcome," though it felt wrong to throw his troubles back in his face, Charlotte felt it necessary at the time.

"Indeed I was not."

"You then looked at me."

"You looked at me!"

"Not the way you did."

"And how exactly did I look?"

Their usual back and forth came to a stand still as Charlotte struggled to find an answer of her own, exhaling sharply at the realization of such, watching him do the same, his chest physically heaving up then down drastically. It seemed as though they were caught in a stand still. However, Charlotte had no time to focus on what could be. She had too much happening in her life to dwell.

The sound of branches cracking in the distance made the woman snap her head toward the sudden disturbance, resuming her position with her rifle in hand, "there is something there."

   "It'll signify little if you mean to
hold your gun in that way."

   Closing her eyes with a deep sigh to settle her aggravation, Charlotte dryly defended herself once more, "I know how to hold a gun."

   "Evidently not a British one," the viscount raised a brow, and after a moment of silence on her end, he let out his own sigh of frustration at her stubbornness, "you have to—"

   "I require no instruction."

And before she knew it, his arms were around her, trapping her on either side of his embrace, though the only parts of them that were connected were their hands as Anthony guided the woman in the correct position, "here," he softly instructed, his lips barely touching the top of her ear, "just hold it," their fingers then intertwined on the trigger of the gun, "like this."

Charlotte could no longer breathe. He was so close to her, she knew he could feel every little movement she made. All she could think about was his hands on her, his arms surrounding her—encasing her. He was everywhere, and she did not fight it. Feeling the tip of his nose brush her cheek, she tilted her head, locking eyes with him. She was so close to him, she could see every detail of every speck of gold in his eyes. It was entrancing.

And suddenly, it was all over.

"This way, boys. I saw movement over here."

The two snapped out of their trances and out of their embrace just in time for the hunting group to set their sights on the two, Benedict and Daniel at the front of the crowd.

"There the two of you are," Benedict acknowledged oblivious to the obvious tension between the two, though Daniel knew better, "well, you better rejoin us before the rain ends our pursuits."

Just as the words left his mouth, rain started to pelt from the sky, stopping Charlotte in her tracks as the men continued on without her. Exhaling greatly to herself, she reminded herself it was just rain.

But of course, it would never just be rain ever again. Not for her.

❦

It was dark outside now and it was still raining.

   Charlotte's eyes could not seem to close or leave its gaze on the ceiling shadowed by the moonlight that could not be outshone even by the occasional thunderbolts appearing. She had been up for hours now. Even when the lights went out for the night and her sister wished her a pleasant sleep, Charlotte could not seem to say goodnight to the world for even a few hours. However, the more her mind raced, the heavier her eyelids started to become.

Storms were never something the Wentworth enjoyed. Some found them relaxing, soothing; easy to fall prey to sleep to. For her, she found them unsettling. The harsh pats of water falling on the glass of the windows surrounding her, the sudden flashes of light followed by the loud booms of angry thunder coming from the sky. After all, storms were the setting of the beginning of the end for her...

   Let it happen.

   Charlotte was always taught that when the moment came to satisfy her husband, to always let it happen. She knew it was her own doing. Once she married William, her body, her mind, her very soul was no longer hers to own. She could do nothing but lay there, and let it happen. And that night was no different than the others.

The ceiling was a familiar sight Charlotte knew of all too well. The marbled details could be counted with every thrust she numbly felt as William seemed to not be able to contain himself. And usually, the young woman could carry herself away from the situation she finds herself in too often. However, this time was different.

With each passing second, Charlotte could feel herself starting to panic with the heavy feeling in her chest. It felt as though a pile of bricks were just piled on top of her. She could feel her arms start to grow heavy as her finger tips that were clutching the sheets of her bed start to grow numb. buzzing with desperation to regain feeling.

   "W-Wait, Will, stop," Charlotte barely uttered as her words seemed to be caught tight in her throat. Unclenching her fist from the fabric beneath her, she shakily laid her palm on his bare chest to try and get his attention, "stop, please. Will—"

"Shut up."

   Shutting her eyes at the dismissal, Charlotte clenched her jaw at not only the internal pain she was feeling, but the increasingly glaring pain she started to feel as his movements started to grow harder and faster. It was almost unbearable. And though she was told to always stay quiet, the woman could not help but let out a sharp yelp, one that seemed to echo throughout the room. Though her sounds of misery only drove his urges even further.

"William, please, I beg of you," Charlotte cried as she could only wish for the torment to end, "please, stop!"

   Her pleas were ignored as she could no longer keep in her grunts and almost screams of pain as his pace never let up. It felt like it could go on forever, until it stopped. Suddenly, the pressure of William's body was ripped off of her as his body hit the floor with a loud thud. Sitting up onto her elbows weakly, Charlotte made stunned eye contact with her brother, who sported a look of fury on his features. Before William could even attempt to get up from the floor, Daniel brought his fists down into his temple, rendering him unconscious. It was only then did Charlotte start to breathe normally, in sheer relief.

As Daniel stepped over her husband, Charlotte's eyes filled with heavy tears, "Daniel—"

Her brother did not let her say whatever she was attempting to say, coming over to the bed and picking her up, one arm under her legs and the other cradling her back. Knowing he was in his protective mode, Charlotte did nothing but wrap her trembling, sore arms around his neck and let him carry her out of the room...

Charlotte sat up in a flash, feeling her body beat with sweat as she pleaded to herself not to wake her sister who was sound asleep in the bed beside her own. That night stayed with her like a plague on her mind. That night, Daniel packed all their stuff, and made Charlotte promise him that after that night, they would never see him again. The next night while William slept soundly in his bed, the siblings escaped into the night without being noticed until their lack of presence was felt. Clamoring out of bed the quietest as she could, doing her best not to pay attention to the rumbling storm outside, the woman found herself walking to the library Audrey Hall provided to all those fortunate to attend a stay.

Letting the moonlight and the small candle in her hand guide her down the hall and into the room, Charlotte grabbed the first book that caught her attention and opened the book to a random page, seating herself against the wooden bookshelf, her knees tucked into her chest as her nightgown covered every inch of her skin from the chest down.

   Charlotte did not know how long she had been sitting there, but it was long enough for her to have gone through at least thirty pages of the book. Her mindless reading was interrupted by the entrance door creaking. Charlotte looked up from her book before abruptly, and not so gracefully, got up from her position once she saw who came through the door.

   "Lord Bridgerton—"

   "I did not mean to startle you," the viscount spoke in a gentle, almost cautious tone, something foreign to her ears, "I saw a light and thought I might have left a candle lit."

   Charlotte forced a small smile, feeling quite exposed, "no. Only me."

"Could you not sleep," Anthony stayed at the doorway, feeling as if he was intruding on her moment to herself, but also because she was only in her night attire, "if your lodgings are not comfortable—"

"No. It is the storm. I have always found them unsettling," the Wentworth clarified before opening her lips to say more, but something stopped her. She could not tell him, not now, not ever. She came up with an excuse, one that would not send her into a spiral of lies. She walked toward the large windows as flashes entered the room from the lightning, "my father used to read to me during the monsoons. Now the rain makes me think of him."

A truth told as a lie.

   Making a split decision, the viscount stepped into the room fully and met her halfway in front of the windows, reaching to take the book out of her grasp, observing the closed hardcover, "this is my father's library. These books were some of his most treasured possessions."

Charlotte watched him for a moment before taking the book back when he offered it, inhaling sharply, "how did he die?"

Closing his eyes with a deep sigh, Anthony disclosed something he refrains from telling anyone, especially her, "he was stung by a bee."

   Taken aback by his answer, Charlotte leaned back on her heels, her eyes widening just a bit for him to notice. It all made sense to her, the reaction to her being stung, the panic attack that came with it. He genuinely thought she was dying from a bee sting. Her heart felt as though it fell into her stomach at the revelation.

   "My lord, I—I am so sorry. I—"

   "To see a great man felled by such a small creature, it was, um," he trailed off for a moment, his eyes getting lost in the memory, "it was humbling, to say the least."

The air around them grew quiet as their minds simultaneously ran out of words to say. Charlotte swallowed the lump in her throat that seemed to have made a sudden appearance, causing her to clear her throat that muddled out the silence between them. Bringing the book into her chest, the woman turned away from him to look out into the storm, bringing her free hand up to tuck a loose strand of hair out of her face.

"You're shaking."

   Charlotte snapped her focus back to him as his eyes were locked on her hand that brushed her hair back, which was, in fact, trembling slightly, "no, I'm not."

   "Yes, you are."

   Sniffling quietly, Charlotte took the small amount of courage that built in her to face him once more, "do you know why my father used to read to me during storms such as these, Lord Bridgerton?"

   She did not give him the chance to respond.

   "Because of the nightmares that came with them... I shall bid you goodnight."

❦

peace & love—comment & vote xoxo
edited: june 2024