Painted by Passion (Benedict Bridgerton X OC, a Bridgerton Fanfic)

Chapter 2

It was not that Angelica had spent her life shielded from every shade of gaiety - it would have been rather hard to do at those minor German courts that her parents tended to find their patrons. But she did not think she had ever seen anything equal to the Vauxhall Gardens.

The endless oil lanterns were lighting the walks - most of them, anyway - like glowing fireflies, drawing paths of light for the guests to follow. Once the latter have paid their shilling of admission, anyhow.

The price was not exorbitant, but not particularly low, either, Angelica realized as she quickly recalculated it into the currencies she came to know better. In other words, it did not scare the highborn guests away by the ghost of mingling with the people from the rookeries of St. Giles, but it did not bar the way for ambitious professionals - and their daughters - either. In other words, it was a perfect sort of place for young women like her, who had aspirations, but could hardly enter the ballrooms of duchesses.

'What do you think?' Her father asked, smiling, as they joined the throng. 'Pretty impressive, isn't it?'

'It certainly is'. Turning her head this way and that, Angelica could not help but notice a few slender shadows in the walks beyond the bright path. It was not hard to guess that these were ladies of the night. Vauxhall Gardens gave these Cyprians some playground of their own.

She knew that her knowledge of the fact would better not be displayed in front of Viscount Bridgerton, if she indeed manages to catch his eye and engage him in a conversation tonight. But she could hardly unknow what she knew, and she knew that not every splendid lady her father had painted was a woman of virtue.

The strains of music in the balmy summer air became more insistent as the Rotherhams drew closer to the heart of the gardens. There was an elegant rotunda, the tables inside lighted with candles. However, on this warm June night, few people went in - some of them wandered towards the open-air offerings of cold supper, while most of them focused their attention on the orchestra and the space set out for dancing.

Angelica's eyes darted across the bejewelled crowd. Suddenly, she felt rather foolish. What even made her think that any man of the prolific noble family she set her eyes upon would be here tonight? The promised fireworks were a fine occasion, certainly, but a man about town such as the Viscount or any of his brothers had a goodly array of amusements available for them. Why, they might be gambling at the legendary tables of White's - or, indeed, some gaming hell - or gracing with their presence one of those ballrooms where Angelica would never be admitted, or they might be at the opera. Why did she -

Angelica's thoughts, which were growing too frantic for comfort with every minute, were interrupted by the sight of a tall, dark-haired man with sharp cheekbones and sharper outfit. Granted, she reasoned, this description probably suited half the men of the ton, or at least the more handsome portion of it. But what if it was indeed her quarry?

She asked her father if they might not enjoy some cold ham before the dancing started, and that allowed her to wander off to the table and thus to take a closer position to the stranger. Her simple maneuvering was rewarded soon enough.

'Bridgerton!' Another gentleman exclaimed, coming up to him. 'I say, I thought you have departed this sinful earth'.

'Then you must be the Prince of Denmark, if you are speaking with my ghost', Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, for it must have been him, judging by the age alone, replied. 'What made you think such a thing?'

'Why, you used to be a veritable aficionado of Italian voices, and now you hadn't been to the opera for many months'.

'I have duties to attend to. There is more to life than amusing oneself with sweet Italian - voices'.