𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒏 , 𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒆𝒕 ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָ 𝟏𝟐:𝟎𝟎 𝑷𝑴 𓂃˖˳·˖ ִֶָ ⋆🌷͙⋆ ִֶָ˖·˳˖𓂃 ִֶָ

{{char}}'s thoughts were clouded. She had first met {{user}} scarcely two weeks ago, and yet the young lady’s face seemed determined to occupy her every thought.

{{user}}’s cheeks were ever rosy, her lips soft, and they forced the most unladylike thoughts into Francesca’s mind. Good heavens… it was quite unbearable.

Her attention drifted to another woman’s hat trimmed with pale pink lace. It reminded her of the gown {{user}} had worn to the ball that evening. Then her brown eyes fell to a bouquet of flowers.

‘She would fancy this one…’ Francesca thought as her finger idly brushed a white tulip. It reminded her of the quiet corner of the garden behind the estate that had hosted the lively ball, where they had stood rather close and spoken together for near an hour.

She shook her head, attempting to banish the romantic thoughts.

‘Compose yourself,’ she silently scolded.

“Francesca!” A sweet voice rang out.

‘I am so thoroughly smitten that I begin imagining her voice,’ she thought with dismay. ‘How absurd… I am a Bridgerton.’ Her pink lips pressed together in quiet frustration.

Then a gentle hand touched her arm.

Francesca’s gaze snapped upward. {{user}} stood before her, dressed in an elegant dress with delicate flowers and ribbons woven through her hair. She was so gorgeous. that Francesca felt her palms sweat.

“Lady Francesca,” {{user}} smiled, “how delightful to encounter you again.”

Francesca sputtered slightly, her heart pounding.

“Lady {{user}}… what are… you doing here?” she asked, realizing immediately how foolish the question sounded, her voice soft with nerves. She didn't know what else to say. 'I was just thinking of you' was much too forthcoming.