Chapter Text
The palace was adorned in festive splendor. The day meant to be the crowning jewel of London’s 1814 season, a grand affair culminating in the marriage of the Queen’s chosen diamond, Miss Edwina Sharma, to the most eligible bachelor of the year, the Viscount, Lord Anthony Bridgerton.
Everything had been executed to perfection until that very moment.
The Viscount had been nothing short of relentless in his pursuit of the young lady, despite the interference of her elder sister, who had successfully dissuaded many other perfectly suitable — and in some respects, superior — suitors. For while Lord Bridgerton was undeniably wealthy, he remained, after all, merely a Viscount
Still, the courtship had progressed .
They had gone far beyond the brief courtship of the Queen’s previous Diamond, Miss Daphne Bridgerton, whose favoured match had ended before an engagement, let alone a wedding.
But Queen Charlotte should have known better than to trust the Bridgertons.
That family was as wealthy and influential as it was chaotic. In fact, it had been thanks to their predictably scandalous nature that she had unravelled the mystery of the elusive Lady Whistledown.
The Queen still harbored a few doubts, though only out of an excess of caution. In truth, only four individuals fit the profile, and three could be dismissed as improbable choices. She would admit to herself, and only to herself, that she had very nearly overlooked the answer. She lacked irrefutable proof, despite having sent investigators scouring London in search of her.
And yet, she was certain: the notorious writer was none other than the most unassuming and oft-forgotten Miss Penelope Featherington.
A girl overlooked by all, except when she was being ridiculed — even by herself, in her own publication. Whether that had been a deliberate act of consistency or a means to deflect suspicion, Charlotte could not say. What had betrayed her, however, beyond her words, was her unwavering attachment to the Bridgerton family. As Lady Whistledown, she always shielded them from true scandal, working behind the curtains to mitigate the backlash and consequences the family suffered; and as Penelope Featherington, she stood closer to them than anyone outside their own blood. She defended them with unwavering devotion, placing them above herself and even above her own kin, as though they were her true family.
Knowing this truth did little to ease the Queen’s irritation over this fiasco, or her concern for what the young woman might write of it.
Had the girl anticipated this turn of events? Did she know the details behind this scandal? Given her familiarity with the parties involved, it was likely. And that, more than anything, vexed and displeased Queen Charlotte.
“A failed wedding, hosted by the Queen. As if I required such embarrassment,” she declared to her trusted confidante, who had joined her in the chambers where she had withdrawn to.
“It is hardly your fault, Your Majesty,” Lady Danbury replied with measured composure.
“Lady Whistledown will make it so. ‘Her Majesty has chosen poorly,’ she will write.” The Queen paused, her fingers tapping lightly against the arm of her chair. “My once-immaculate taste, called into question. Her words carry far too much weight for my comfort.”
“Your Majesty, with all due respect, we may very well find ourselves in a predicament beyond repair,” Lady Danbury said carefully before continuing with deliberate calm. “It would be prudent to consider—”
“Well, it must be repaired,” the Queen interrupted, her voice leaving no room for argument.
Lady Danbury inclined her head before suggesting, “Perhaps I may go and find Miss Edwina. There may yet be something I can do.”
The Queen turned sharply. “Brimsley.” Her faithful attendant stepped forward at once. “Escort the guests to the gardens and ensure that no one departs. The nuptials shall resume shortly, and we will proceed as planned.”
As Queen Charlotte continued to deliberate on her next move, Lady Bridgerton was shown into the room.
“I must extend my deepest gratitude to Your Majesty for such a splendid event,” she began, her voice warm with sincerity. “Every detail is simply breathtaking, and—”
The Queen cut her off with a wave of her hand. “While I do appreciate the adulation, Lady Bridgerton, unless you have come to inform me that your son and his bride presently stand before the altar, I fear I have little patience for such pleasantries. For this wedding to fail is entirely unacceptable.” Her sharp gaze shifted to Lady Danbury. “Yes, Lady Danbury, have you anything to say?”
Lady Danbury, ever poised, inclined her head. “As always, Your Majesty, I am humbled by your generosity of spirit.” But for once, she faltered. “Though, uh… though—”
Queen Charlotte arched a brow, clearly unimpressed. “It is most unlike you to be at a loss for words, Lady Danbury.”
Gathering herself, Lady Danbury continued, “Though it pains us greatly, both Lady Bridgerton and I are in agreement that Miss Edwina must decide her own fate.”
“Well,” the Queen mused, a slow, disdainful smirk curling upon her lips. “I did not realize the diamond outweighed the Crown.”
As she spoke, a plan was already forming in her mind. She could not compel this bride to see the ceremony through, they were correct, but she still had a groom. And, perhaps, another bride who would not dare defy her will. She had always been fond of the Bridgertons, after all. She had proven as much time and again.
The mere prospect of their downfall will eclipse any thought of escape.
“It does not, Your Majesty,” Lady Danbury assured her swiftly, though her expression remained guarded. Before another word could be spoken, the doors swung open, admitting Lady Mary — the mother of the runaway bride — who entered in haste, her youngest daughter at her side.
“Forgive our intrusion, Your Majesty,” she said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air.
“Your regret is noted,” the Queen replied coolly. “I do hope my efforts today have not been in vain.”
Lady Mary dipped into a graceful curtsy. “Far from it, Your Majesty.” She hesitated but then found her resolve. “Rather, today has served as further proof of the boundless care and devotion you hold for your people, ma’am.” Then, her voice grew firmer. “Edwina and I stand before you now in recognition of all that you—”
The Queen sighed, waving a hand in exasperation. “Is there not a soul alive who can address their Queen without resorting to sheer flattery?” She wondered, for a moment, whether Lady Whistledown would behave in the same manner, given her strikingly contrasting personalities. But at that moment, her sharp gaze settled upon Miss Edwina. “Child. Are you here to tell me that you will marry him, or not?”
Before the girl could respond - though her hesitation was already answer enough - the King entered.
The presence of the King, and Miss Edwina's attitude toward his ramblings, reminded the Queen why she had chosen to name the young lady her 'Diamond.' That same reminder of Miss Edwina's kindness — genuine and soft— also highlighted the strength she lacked to set clear boundaries or challenge the Bridgerton family, traits that were so vital for fitting into their world.
A strength her sister might have.
The Queen had no doubt about what had transpired — though some might not have understood the swift manner in which the Viscount had assisted Miss Sharma, even before the bracelet had touched the ground.
The man was focused on her, not on the woman in front of him at the altar.
Her Majesty knew, however, that the two sisters were bound by more than blood. Would a marriage survive the unraveling of that bond? They were the only family the older woman had, and, from what she had gathered, she had sacrificed much to secure a future for Miss Edwina.
The kindest and dearest to our hearts are those who wound us most deeply, and such a wound would likely sour and rot any semblance of affection between the couple.
A true shame, but the show must go on. As intrigued as she was at the possibility that their clear attraction might prevail, even if only through their sheer stubbornness, she was unwilling to take a chance and wager on that outcome, unlikely as it was. She wondered as she watched young Edwina assist their King.
And so, in that moment, she made a decision. Dismissing most of the guests attending her, she turned to Lady Bridgerton. "Lord Bridgerton would do well to prepare himself, for there shall be a wedding today, though his bride is not to be Miss Edwina."
Lady Violet struggled to grasp the Queen’s meaning. It became clear, however, as Charlotte went on, emphasizing that if her son wished to retain his title, he would see this marriage through with the bride of her choosing.
Then, once she was alone again, without hesitation she summoned Miss Penelope Featherington.
The weight of the Crown is that it is tangible. It is a physical reminder of position and power. That is why Lady Whistledown circulates her pamphlets rather than relying on whispered rumors. A whisper is fleeting, relevant only for as long as it is spoken, but ink upon paper holds permanence. The same cannot be said of true love, of course. It shifts. It forgets. It forces one to remember who they once were. And it compels them to choose, time and again, how they shall live with it.
And even if the couple to be did not share love between one another, they both truly loved, without reservations or conditions, their family — well, the one that would have become theirs if things went as the Queen wished.
And they would go as she wished because she was Charlotte of Mecklenburg-Strelitz, Queen of Great Britain and Ireland, and this was The Queen’s Will.