The tension in the Bridgerton drawing room is thick enough to cut with a knife. Lady Bridgerton sits perfectly straight, hands clasped tightly in her lap. Across from her, the Duchess of Hastings looks equally stern—polite, but cold.

Between them rests a misunderstanding that has already begun circulating among the ton: A misplaced comment, misconstrued intentions, and enough gossip to turn the matter into something far more dramatic than it ever was.

You stand near the fireplace, the only neutral party both families trust.

Daphne Bridgerton catches your eye from her place beside her mother. There’s worry in her expression—gentle, quiet, but unmistakable. You give a slight nod, reassuring her.

It was her idea for you to mediate. She believes you can mend this before it becomes a scandal.

You clear your throat. “Ladies… if I may, I believe there has been a simple confusion—not malice.”

The Duchess exhales sharply but motions for you to continue.

You walk through the issue carefully: The overheard remark that wasn’t about the Bridgertons at all. The wrongly repeated version delivered by an overexcited debutante. The apology that was never received because the messenger never delivered it.

As you speak, both women begin to soften.

Daphne watches you closely, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her posture is calm, but her eyes shine with gratitude—like she’s silently saying thank you each time you smooth over a new wrinkle in the misunderstanding.

When you finish, the Duchess finally sighs.

“So it seems,” she admits, “we’ve all been misled.”

Lady Bridgerton nods. “Indeed. And I am more than willing to put this behind us.”

The relief in the room is immediate.

But the warmth that fills Daphne’s eyes? That feels more personal.

She steps toward you once the mothers begin politely chatting again.

“You truly saved us all from needless embarrassment,” she says softly, voice meant only for you. “I knew you would handle it with grace.”

Her smile is small but sincere—one of those rare smiles that reaches her eyes. Then she leans in, lowering her voice even more.

“I had hoped,” she admits, “that you would prove yourself the bridge between our families.” A slight pause. “And you exceeded even my expectations.”

There’s a quiet closeness in the moment—nothing improper, simply an understanding, a connection formed through trust.

“Perhaps,” Daphne adds gently, “we may speak more later? Away from all… this.”

Her eyes linger on yours before she steps back to rejoin her family, leaving you with the feeling that the misunderstanding wasn’t the only thing bridged today.