✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒 ˚｡⋆ ༘˚✧
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𝐱𝐯. 

"𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 time did the invitation specify?" inquired Athena, her voice carrying a note of impatience. They were all gathered at the breakfast table, though her thoughts were elsewhere. She had stolen Benedict away the previous evening, and sleep had been a distant thought. They had spent the better part of an hour conversing about the most trivial things, yet it had delighted her. So much so, in fact, that time and sleep had entirely slipped her mind. Benedict had bid her farewell with a swift, secretive kiss and departed unnoticed.

Her mother, looking up from her plate, tilted her head in disapproval. "At times, Athena, I do believe you forget every instruction I give you."

Athena sighed, rolling her eyes in frustration. She had no patience for this reprimand. "Could you not simply tell me, Mother, without making a spectacle of it?"

"Someone's in quite the mood," her mother remarked, delicately patting her lips with a napkin. "Best conceal that attitude before Lord Beaumont arrives. He's coming to escort you."

Athena frowned. "Since when?"

Her mother raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback. "Since he became your future husband, of course. You are expected to attend every gathering together."

Athena glanced down at her now cold eggs and sighed. "But he isn't my fiancé yet, is he?"

"What is the matter with you, young lady? This is most unlike you. Do you not desire a husband, children, and a household of your own?" her mother pressed, her tone sharp with concern.

Athena nodded quickly, taking a sip of water in an attempt to collect herself. "Of course, it's all I've ever wanted," she muttered under her breath, though the words felt hollow, more rehearsed than sincere.

Her brother caught her gaze, narrowing his eyes as he studied her expression. He mouthed silently, "What is going on?"

Athena shook her head subtly and mouthed back, "Nothing." But the unease in her eyes told him there was more she wasn't saying.

He sighed, stifling a quiet giggle, and poured himself another cup of black tea, adding two generous spoonfuls of sugar. Archibald had always been a sucker for anything sweet.

𝐈𝐓 felt like hours had passed before they finally arrived. As her mother had said, Lord Beaumont had come to escort her. Unfortunately for Athena, the carriage ride had been stiflingly silent, save for the brief moment when he inquired about the previous evening—when she had made her hasty exit.

She had, of course, crafted a polite lie, apologizing for leaving so abruptly and explaining that she hadn't been feeling well since the morning. He had accepted the excuse without much reaction, but the tension between them lingered in the air, heavy and unspoken.

The window beside her had remained open for the entire ride, and now that they were nearing their destination, Athena leaned out slightly, taking in the scent of the flowers—one of her favorite smells.

"What are you doing?" Lord Beaumont asked, his voice laced with a hint of disgust.

A knot tightened in Athena's stomach. She quickly pulled herself back inside and cleared her throat. "My apologies."

His cheeks flushed red as he glanced at her, clearly flustered. "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so impolite. I've just never seen a lady do that."

Athena rolled her eyes, meeting his gaze. "So what? Does it really matter?"

He straightened up, quickly shaking his head. "Of course not. My apologies."

Before she could respond, the carriage door swung open, and without waiting for assistance, Athena leapt out, eager to escape the awkwardness of the moment.

Out of the corner of her eye, Athena saw her mother gesturing for her to take Lord Beaumont's arm, and reluctantly, she did. They walked together into the house, making their way through its grand corridors before stepping out into the backyard. Upon arrival, they presented their invitations and were handed delicate glasses of lemonade.

Barely a moment passed before Athena realized that nearly everyone was staring at them. Lord Beaumont, pleased with the attention, greeted each person they passed with a smile and a nod. Athena, on the other hand, was desperate for a reason to detach herself from him.

As soon as she spotted a familiar face, she seized her chance. "I see Eloise Bridgerton," Athena said quickly. "I should go say hello."

Lord Beaumont looked momentarily puzzled, then his eyes found Eloise as well. "Why don't I accompany you? I don't believe I've had the pleasure of greeting her before."

No, she thought to herself, but instead she forced a smile and replied, "Great."

They proceeded together toward Miss Eloise, who at present was engaged in conversation with her companion, Miss Penelope Featherington.

"Miss Eloise," said Athena with a gracious inclination of her head, before turning to address Miss Featherington, "it is a pleasure to see you once more."

Both ladies offered a graceful curtsy, to which Athena responded with a composed nod before returning to her place beside Lord Beaumont. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Mr. Benedict Bridgerton striding across the field in the company of his brother, Lord Anthony Bridgerton, and his wife, Lady Kate. Their manner suggested the discussion between them was of some weight.

Athena paid little mind to the chatter around her, her attention drawn instead to the trio, curious as to the nature of their conversation. They moved in the direction of the gathering crowd, seemingly too absorbed in their discourse to notice the others about them.

Just as Athena presumed Mr. Benedict would not glance their way, he did. His gaze found hers and Lord Beaumont's, and, in that moment, his easy smile faltered. It was plain to see how he swiftly cleared his throat and, with a brief word, excused himself from their company.

She observed in silence as Benedict disappeared up the stairs and into the house, a heaviness settling in her chest.

"Athena, are you well?" Eloise's voice drew her back to the present.

Athena blinked and turned, offering a faint smile. "Actually, I may need to excuse myself for a moment."

Lord Beaumont, ever attentive, leaned in slightly. "Allow me to accompany you, perhaps to the lemonade stand?"

She inwardly sighed, frustrated by his persistent presence. Why won't he just leave me be? she thought, though outwardly, her demeanor remained composed. Instead of revealing her true sentiments, she simply nodded, forcing a polite smile. Together, they walked away, leaving Miss Eloise and Miss Penelope to their conversation.

Lord Beaumont poured them each a cup of lemonade, and Athena, without hesitation, emptied hers in a single gulp.

"My, you are thirsty," he teased, taking a leisurely sip from his own cup.

Athena's head began to feel strangely warm, and her dress, once perfectly fitted, now seemed uncomfortably tight around her waist and chest. She forced a smile, trying to maintain composure. "Indeed. It is quite warm out today, isn't it?"

She glanced away, hoping the fresh air would cool her, but the growing discomfort within her was hard to ignore. Something about this moment, or perhaps her surroundings, felt slightly off.

"Perhaps I need to visit the ladies' room," Athena said abruptly, feeling a wave of dizziness wash over her. The sensation of faintness was overwhelming, and she knew she couldn't remain outside any longer. Before Lord Beaumont had a chance to protest, she offered a quick curtsy and hurried off. Her glass was discarded on the nearest table, and she almost ran as she made her way up the stairs.

Reaching the first room on the right, she slipped inside and quickly closed the door behind her. It was an office, empty and undisturbed. Athena rushed to open each window, letting the cool air rush in, before collapsing into the plush office chair. She pressed her hands to her temples, trying to steady her breath, the cool breeze offering slight relief to the heat tightening around her chest.

Alone at last, she could only hope no one would think to follow her here. 

Athena glanced around the dimly lit room, its rich, somber atmosphere enveloping her. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, each filled with leather-bound volumes that hinted at years of collected knowledge. Red velvet chairs, worn but elegant, were scattered about, their deep hues absorbing the little light that seeped through the open windows.

In the corner, a small bar table stood, its polished surface gleaming faintly, displaying an assortment of fine decanters filled with various liquors. The air smelled faintly of old paper and wood polish, with a hint of something sharper—perhaps brandy or whiskey. The quiet solitude of the space was a welcome change, a sanctuary from the pressing heat and the company below. She allowed herself a deep breath, before she stood up again. 

Athena knew it wouldn't be long before Lord Beaumont came searching for her—he was far too persistent to leave her alone for long. The thought unsettled her as she paced slowly across the room, trailing her fingertips over the velvet chairs, her mind wandering.

She reached the small bar table and instinctively picked up the first bottle her hand landed on. Bourbon, it read. The cap was half-off, and she hesitantly lifted it to her nose, but immediately regretted it as the sharp, potent smell stung her senses, intensifying her headache.

Yet, there was a voice in the back of her mind whispering that a drink might help her forget—forget the oppressive heat, forget Benedict's cold look, forget Lord Beaumont's hovering presence. Her fingers fumbled with the cap before she popped it off entirely, lifting the bottle to her lips. "A little taste won't hurt," she murmured to herself, and with that, she took a sip.

The liquid burned as it slid down her throat, the warmth spreading through her chest. It was harsh and unforgiving, much like the emotions she was trying to drown. But in that moment, as the fire coursed through her, it felt like a small escape.

She hesitated for only a moment before lifting the bottle again, taking another, deeper sip. The bourbon burned even more fiercely this time, but with it came a strange, numbing sensation that dulled the ache in her head and the tightness in her chest. For a brief moment, the world outside the dark, quiet room seemed distant—Lord Beaumont, Benedict, the crowd, the whispers of judgment—everything faded into the background.

She leaned against the bar table, the cool wood beneath her hands grounding her as the warmth from the drink spread through her limbs. Another sip, she thought, would make it all just a little easier to bear.

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