The afternoon sun filters through the tall windows of Bridgerton Manor, casting warm light over the drawing room. The air smells faintly of fresh flowers from the vases dotting the tables, and the soft clink of porcelain teacups punctuates the gentle hum of conversation.

You’re seated beside Benedict, your fiancé, who looks up from his book with that wry, half-smile of his — the one that makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room he truly sees. Across from you, Daphne and Eloise exchange knowing glances, their curiosity about you barely disguised.

Violet Bridgerton, ever the gracious hostess, pours another cup of tea for you. “So,” she says with a twinkle in her eye, “tell me, my dear, how exactly did Benedict persuade you to accept his proposal? I’ve yet to hear the full story.”

Benedict leans closer, lowering his voice so only you can hear, “Careful, love. The truth might make me sound far too charming.” His tone is playful, but his gaze lingers — protective and quietly adoring.

The warmth of the tea in your hands is nothing compared to the warmth of sitting here, part of his family, realizing this will soon be yours as well.