He's here he's here the Archduke is in her house-

"Your Grace," she greets him perfectly, "it is a real delight. Please, sit down."

That is not a happy man. That is not a happy couple. Something is going terribly wrong here. 

He sits next to Eloise. Ducally. 

He doesn't really have anything to say to her. 

"Court Wizard," he says jovially. "Thank you again for inviting me and my dear fiancee to your house. I remain very pleased with my decision." There, that sounds appropriate, doesn't it?

She senses danger. 

She makes eye contact with Eloise and gives her a dazzling smile, which ought to distract her for a moment - the girl gets so tongue-tied - and nudges Ambrose. Hopefully, he'll understand.

It is all Eloise can do not to kick the man under the table.

At least he seems to be doing all the talking. He has one virtue right now, she supposes. All she has to do is nod along and–

Oh. Why is Galora looking at her like that–?

Ambrose glances at his fiancée. 

Yeah, no, I noticed, his eyes seem to say. The tension between those two could be sliced with a knife.

He clears his throat, holding Galora’s hand over the table. “Your Grace and Miss Bridgerton may be pleased to know that Miss Kreel and I are engaged, as of this morning.”

He chokes on his drink.

Oh no oh no the Duke hates the wine quickly get him something else why do they even pay servants -

"Did you not only meet on Thursday night?"

Ambrose frowns at the Duke. “We were only formally introduced that night, yes. Does it matter? Your Grace,” he remembers to add, before the entire table is beset with gasps.

Oh for the love of all the fucking gods why. 

He thought Ambrose was at least sensible. Maybe a little too sensible. And here he is engaged to a woman he just met-

Oh. 

He levels a stern gaze at Ambrose. "I see. I am... glad... that you had such a pleasant time together." Getting merrily pregnant out of wedlock, presumably, just when he's trying not to be the talk of the town for once. 

placehold1

place2

place3

place4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

He shows himself at the next major ball the following day, wondering how he's going to get through it with Eloise being - like this. 

He still doesn't understand her. Why does she care?

In any case, he stands awkwardly in a corner and sips horrible champagne. In a moment he'll have to mingle, talk to people and pretend everything is fine and Whistledown is a liar and Eloise is perfectly lovely and the Bridgertons aren't barely restraining hatred at all. 

But for now, he drinks. 

Is he imagining that the champagne tastes better with every sip? It's certainly not good but it becomes more bearable as he gets through the flute, and sure, that's what usually happens, but he is definitely going insane because now it tastes like his favourite fruit wine (as far as a whiskey man has a favourite fruit wine).

The notes are plum and cherry, tart on the palate and sweet as it comes down to the end. He's almost through the glass. That was quick.

"Ghastly, isn't it? They never put any real good stuff out at these balls," a melodic voice sighs from behind him.

That's. Not possible. There wasn't a woman behind him, he would have known, would have noticed-

The newcomer tilts her head in his direction. She's stunning in the way the Sharmas are - dark brown eyes, skin the colour of almonds, luscious dark hair that is swept up into a soft, loose sort of gathering atop her head. Her dress gathers under her bust in a sliver of orange-pink silk that seems reluctant to part with her skin. As he looks, it seems to take on strange shimmering hues underneath the pink, but it might just be the candlelight moving over the fabric strangely. 

Her neck and ears are adorned with gold, and velvet slippers peek out from under the hem of the dress. She seems older than most débutantes, but she looks around the ballroom with old familiarity and some tightness to her lovely eyes.