Chapter Eight - The Cowper Ball

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"Lady Cower," I dip into a small curtsy and bow my head, "your looks wonderful!"

"Oh thank you, Florence... might I say, you look quite beautiful indeed," Lady Cowper remarks, smiling softly at me before turning her attention towards mama, who quickly begins to chatter to her.

Behind us, Lord Cowper and papa were already engrossed in a conversation about their hunting escapades, the two joking and laughing together as we all walked in.

"Flore!" Cressida rushes towards me, grinning as she looks me over, "don't you look ravishing. I do rather think that this dress is my favorite of the season so far!"

"Oh, please Cress! I rather think that your dress is my favorite of the season so far as well!" I look down at her dress and smile, "it truly is stunning!"

"Come on! I simply must show you what we have done!" Cressida grabs my hands and pulls me through the house, babbling on about the decor that her mother had chosen and the string quartet that was hired to come to play for the night. "Oh, it will simply be the best ball of the season! The whole of the Ton is coming!"

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"Henry- where are we going?" I ask, following him towards one of the back rooms with a puzzled look.

"Anthony and Simon seem to be locked into an intense conversation, sister," Henry mutters, "I just need to break it up then we can go back into the ballroom and you can continue to dance the night away."

"I presume he failed to mention where he got that purple eye," Simon hissed, glaring at Berbrooke with contempt.

"I was careless with a cabinet door," Berbrooke rushed out.

"He was careless with his honor," Simon corrected, "he attempted something last night I shan't dignify with words, when your sister planted a face... not before Henry- your sister threw him to the ground. Deservedly so."

Henry's eyes grew wide with shock as he looked from Simon to Anthony, to Berbrooke then to me. "Is this true?"

"I..." I couldn't seem to find the right words, opting rather look at Henry with a gaped mouth.

"My Lords, you must know-"

"Shut it, you old flea," Henry snapped, turning his attention back towards Berbrooke. "Do you want to explain to me why my sister has a cut on her face, or why her back was bruised this morning?"

"Would you like to tell him, Berbrooke... or shall I?" Simon hissed.

"Daphne would have told me if this were true," Anthony said, looking out of the room and towards his sister, who was now dancing with one of her suitors.

"Would she?" Simon turned his gaze away from Berbrooke and looked at Anthony with a knowing look.

Anthony paused, putting his glass down on the table behind them before moving to stand in front of Berbrooke, so close that they were almost toe-to-toe, with Anthony towering over Berbrooke shorter frame. "You will never speak to my sister again, Berbrooke."

"But we are to be married!" Berbrooke exclaimed indignantly.

"You are to be buried if you so much as look in her direction," Anthony seethed. He moved to step closer toward Berbrooke but was held back by Simon. "Be grateful you will not take a punch from yet another Bridgerton."

"Or from a Huntingdon," Henry hissed, clenching his fist as he looked over the man. "I doubt your already shattered ego will survive that."

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-T