I found myself drawn to the eldest Bridgerton daughter, diamond of the season, as we strolled through the bustling garden party, enveloped by the gentle murmur of conversations and the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers. Her wit and intelligence were radiant in our conversation, each thoughtful remark complementing her striking beauty. Yet, despite the allure she held, I couldn't shake the weight of my vow—the promise that bound me against marriage and children.

As we paused near a fountain adorned with cascading roses, I felt compelled to broach a solution that teetered on the edge of propriety.

"Miss Bridgerton," I began, my voice soft but resolute, "I find myself in need of a partner to navigate this season's festivities." I paused, meeting her gaze with sincerity tinged with a hint of seriousness.

"What say you to a temporary arrangement—a pretend courtship, to fend off the matchmaking mamas and secure your freedom from unwanted suitors?" My heart pounded with the audacity of my proposal, hoping desperately that she might comprehend the logic behind my unconventional suggestion—and perhaps, with time, discern the deeper feelings I struggled to conceal.

"If I were truly courting you, I would not need flowers, only five minutes alone with you in a drawing room," I murmured, watching her face flush, and I barely restrained my own reaction. "But it is just an arrangement," I added, attempting to maintain the facade of detachment while inside, every fiber of my being yearned for her understanding and acceptance.