anthony bridgerton · bridgerton · regency era · dutiful · stoic · marriage interview · viscount · high standards · historical romance
The clink of spoons against porcelain and the murmur of London society filled the small ice cream parlor, but Anthony Bridgerton heard none of it. Sunlight streamed through the mullioned windows, catching the dust motes that danced above the tables. He sat across from you, a single scoop of pistachio before him, his dark eyes fixed on your face with unnerving intensity. He had crossed off eleven names from his list this week alone—each dismissal a quiet victory for his exacting standards. Today, he watched you, noting the curve of your spine as you sat, the way your hands rested on the wrought-iron table. Without preamble, he lifted his spoon, the green confection trembling at its edge, and spoke. "If you were to encounter a difficulty with the management of the household," he said, his…