15. Fantasies

(Author's note: This scene was inspired by the hallucinations Daphne had of Simon in the first season. Enjoy!)

Lord Hastings beckoned us back into the ballroom and Cressida promptly returned to her mother who had a shawl waiting for her. Anthony was quick to come collect me as well before I had time to speak to the duke. He brought me over to the parlour where some of the ladies had retreated for tea break. The queen was in there.

"Stay here. We won't be long," my brother told me before going to fetch our father and other brother. Without a word I made my way into the parlour, sitting on the closest seat I could find. My head was swimming from the previous events…..

"Tea, miss?" This parlour maid caught me off guard by holding out a teacup for me. I blinked up at her face startled. "Huh?! Oh… Oh, sure. Thank you," my trembling fingers took the cup from her. I stared down into the brown brew, noticing the depressed lines on my own face. Was I sad? Had what Cressida just said to me affected me so? I'd helped her, and she still hated me….. True, I never expected nor demanded that she like me, but something inside my gut felt raw and betrayed. I felt so…. so….. it's almost impossible to describe. All I remember was staring down at me tea when the ladies' conversation reached my ear.

"Well, if you ask me, Sir Walter Scott's poetry is too fervent," one of the queen's ladies declared. My gaze absently wandered over to the group. They're talking about poets….. Another lady waved her hand flippantly at friend. "That Scot? Pfft! William Blake is much more artistic. He's so romantic with his language," she swooned with a sigh. "Well, I myself prefer the work of William's Wordsworth. Now there's a man who can write poetry," another lady piped up. The lady beside her tisked. "He's nothing compared to John Keats. I've never felt such extreme emotion reading a poem."

It was here that my mind trailed off again; I wasn't interested in their conversation. Instead my eyes drifted out into nowhere, only to suddenly flinch as Lady Featherington and her daughters barged on in. They saw me but ignored me- thankfully. They immediately joined the growing table and jumped into the talk, with the Featherington girls proclaiming their love of poetry. "Oh yes! I've read all the great poets! There's E.T.A. Hoffmann and Lord Byron, of course. But I think Wordsworth is my favourite." "Mine too, sister! Though you know, I have taken quite a fancy to Maria Edgeworth up late.

And there's also Percy Shelley…"

My spoon dropped, grabbing everyone's attention. Before my mind was conscious of what was happening, suddenly all eyes were on me. Meanwhile I sat there still as stone, continuing to stare down at my untouched tea. My head didn't lift until one of them addressed me. "I say, Miss Bridgerton? Are you quite alright?" Only then did my head gradually lift up to face everyone. Their expressions were a mixture of confusion and contempt, clearly thinking it was very rude of me to sit off to the side like that and keep quiet. And they couldn't fathom why I'd just dropped my spoon onto the floor…..

Sensing that they wanted some sort of verbal reaction, my lips began to sputter. "Uh…. Y-Yes! Yes, of course. Everything's….. fine," that word lingered in my mouth. I doubt they believed me but not wanting to wait any more time on me, they returned to their discussion. My head fell again, and my hands loosely held onto the teacup and saucer. If I wasn't careful, I'd drop those too.

That's right. I'd forgotten Percy Shelley was a poet. He was a celebrated author in his own right, as I'm sure his wife would be once she got her book published. That is, if anyone in England would publish her manuscript….. She did say she'd plan to publish it anonymously, but even then Mary or her husband would have to convince someone to do it. Things would be so much easier for her if she was allowed to return to Regent society; if the queen gave her pardon and her blessing….. My eyes drew back up to the monarch, who was drinking from her own cup of tea with gusto. What can I say to her? How can I persuade her to let Mary and Mr. Shelley come back to court with good grace? But if I said anything, then she'd know that I knew where they were… Everyone thought the couple was still on the continent; only I knew they were in hiding somewhere in Britain.

My gaze drifted back down onto the now lukewarm beverage in my bone china cup. It shimmered in the candlelight….. What am I doing? What was the purpose of Mary sending me that book or telling me she'd returned to the island? Why did I help Cressida without first thinking? Why can't I bring myself to truly hate my fiancé, despite him not wanting to marry me? Why is all of this happening to me? And what can I do?

What can I do to help her?

Sucking in a deep breath, I paused for a second to shut my eyes. I closed my eyes and exhaled. I feel so powerless, and I don't even know what I really want. I mean, I suppose I do. I want to continue my education; that's all I've ever wanted. Well, maybe not always…. I did want the same education as my brothers, but my passion for learning really took off after we returned from Europe. I realized love wasn't in the cards for me, so I threw myself into a different obsession. It started then…. back then, when I was still young and had the mind of a child. I drew in another long breath, keeping my eyes closed. I closed my eyes, and let my frantic, desperate, sad mind slip away…

I reopened my eyes to see a familiar sight. I was facing those well-known smooth, ancient grey stones. My hand lifted up to press against one, soaking in the gentle firmness. The mist of the rain outside was already wetting my hair, dampening the edges. Heh, this low, tender grin came back to my lips as I shut my eyes again. It's just how I remember; grey bricks stacked on top of each other and rain…. The rain made them silky and slippery. This nunnery hadn't changed a bit, and somewhere buried in the depths of my soul I remembered every inch of it. It, and…..

My eyes were still closed when I heard his voice for the first time. It was husky and very masculine, just as I'd imagined it. "I thought I might find you up here again." I fluttered my eyes back open and effortlessly spun my heels to face him. The Spaniard, still the same age as when I met him, was standing there with lumber over his shoulder. I smiled at him so softly, so naturally…. I brought my head nearer to the grey stone brick, not taking my stare off him. "And I'm not surprised you found me….. again."

Very, very mildly grinning at this, the man tossed the lumber he was carrying to the ground and took some steps towards me. Just like before, his broad hand lifted up, ready to take mine. And just like previously, my eyes wandered from it back to his stubbled face. His dark eyes were piercing mine.

"What are you afraid of?" He asked me quietly. My eyes lowered ever so gently. "Afraid…. I'm afraid of missing out; of never experiencing real, genuine love. The kind you have here in Europe." "England's in Europe," he replied, making me grin slightly. "Am I speaking Spanish? Or are you speaking English?" "We are speaking to each other," he took another step my way, making my heart skip a beat. My grin morphed into nervous lips; nervous, but a little excited. I'd thought about him so much since that day, and how good someone's hand could feel holding mine… My fingers curled in anticipation.

His own kind grin returned; you wouldn't see it if you weren't looking hard enough. "You've grown….." "I'm nineteen now," my lips trembled. "Ah, a real lady. You are a lady, Daphne." "I don't feel like one. I either feel like a girl who's waiting for love to find her….. or an old maid who's beyond it." "I can assure you, you are not an old maid," he chuckled. "Then why can't I find love back home? Why must I go abroad to achieve what I want? Maybe that's why I feel like a girl….. I'm waiting….. I feel like I'm waiting for my life to begin," my mouth quivered more as my eyes drew out into space frantically.

All semblance of the Spaniard's grin vanished as he stared intently at me. His foot took yet another step forward; the tips of his fingers were almost caressing me now. But he didn't take my hand this time; instead he waited patiently, treating me like a real lady….. Once he was that close our eyes met again. My expression was wary and timid; his was firm and sincere. His hand stretched out even nearer….. "Forget all of this for two minutes. Come here." My lips parted a sliver. My shaky hand reached up to wrap itself in his. Our fingers coiled around the other's.

For a moment, neither of us moved- we simple beheld each other while clasping our hands together. This man towered over me, with his broad shoulders and even broader chest. It was obvious that he was a working man, though I didn't care at all about that. Just like I remembered, his hand cradled mine so closely, so protectively….. We didn't say anything; we didn't have to say anything. As if in perfect harmony together, we stepped closer together in unison. My other hand reached up to rest on his shoulder as I pressed my face into his shoulder. He lowered his head so to touch mine, leaning up against it. His arm coiled around my back, holding me like one might hold a kitten or baby bird. No one had ever embraced me like that before…

And I didn't know it was possible to feel this safe.

We both closed our eyes and I sighed with more ease than I ever had. He didn't stir, just continued to hold me close. My nose nuzzled into his shirt. "Why couldn't it have been like this? Why couldn't we have met now, or spoken the same language in reality? Why did I have to be a child back then?" "You never forgot me?" This was partly a question, partly a statement. "No…" I breathed nearly sorrowfully. He hummed, rubbing his cheek against my hair.

We remained like that a minute longer before he gently pulled me back. He kept his head close but didn't bring his lips to mine. We stared at one another, not breaking away from the other. Neither of us were smiling exactly; the air had this bittersweet taste to it. Almost agonizing in a way…

"You have loved me, Daphne. Now you have to let me go." "How can I? You may be the only man who ever makes me feel this way….." "You don't know that. Somewhere out there is some man- some lucky, lucky man- who hold you the same way….. Who will look at you the same way." "But where is he? Where in Europe can I go and find him?" The Spaniard chuckled softly, shutting his eyes again. "Like I said, England is in Europe." I breathed and we pressed our foreheads into each other's. I could feel the warmth radiating off of him. "I will never forget this. I will find it again…." "This is what you want?" "Yes…. I want to help my friend… and I want to fall in love. I want real love." "It is precious to you?" He asked in a breathless whisper. I inhaled again, clinging onto his hand tighter. "Yes.

It is precious to me."

"Why, Miss Bridgerton! You're crying!" My body couldn't have jerked up harder. The teacup fell from my lap as I looked wildly at the table of ladies. They were all gawking at me again, this time with much more alarm. Lady Featherington was indeed correct. Before I had even begun to realize….. I was crying. My fingers went up to swipe the teardrops from my eyes. I ogled them for a second, not believing that even was weeping. I hadn't realized…..

The ladies' stun soon turned to scorn hidden by concern. You could tell by their tone of voice that they were annoyed by the sudden disturbance. "Are you ill, Miss Bridgerton?" One of the ladies inquired to me. Seeing the position, I was in and feeling really embarrassed, I disobeyed my brother and hastily got up from my seat. "Excuse me," I forced a polite grin, rushing to exit the room. I ran out into the hallway, unable to catch my breath. Luckily for me there was another room nearby with an open door. It was empty inside, so I decided to take shelter for a minute. I didn't shut the door behind me as I wasn't expecting company….

Running over to a chair with a big back, I grabbed its upper sides with both hands. My mouth opened and my heart was racing. The fear of fainting somewhere alone took hold of me, honestly making the situation worse. "This is bad. Calm down, calm down. You can't faint in here…. Calm down, Daphne. Breathe….. Breathe… You're ok; you're alright." "I'm glad to hear it," the door slammed behind me.

My feet shot around as I half-expected to see Lady Featherington or one of the other ladies-in-waiting there. Imagine my utter shock and horror when I find none other than the queen standing in the room with me, sending me a distrustful glare. "Y-Your majesty!" My face revealed absolute terror; we'd never been alone like this before, and it was petrifying me. She walked into the room and took a seat at one of the larger chairs. Her eyes motioned for me to do the same. "Well, sit down," she instructed. I was too frightened to move right away but soon enough I forced myself to do as I was told. Our gazes met; her domineering and mine meek and frail. Little did I know that the upcoming conversation was about to change my whole future.

Mine, Mary Shelley's…. and the Duke of Hastings.