Inspired by Kathani Sharma’s hatred of English tea and the fact Anthony is absolutely WHIPPED for this woman. Here is my ficlet. Thank you a million times over to my incredible beta @tofanasmuse ilysm.
Let me know what you think, send requests anytime, and free Palestine.
–Grace Williams xo
Word Count: 562 | Rating: General | Vibe: Fluff
Chai Love You
Kate Bridgerton still had little desire for Anthony to splash around his money on expensive gifts, despite her change in title. She appreciated living comfortably, sure, she would not deny that, but spending the family fortune on lavish clothes and hats was not something that brought her a great deal of joy.
Of course, to every rule there is an exception. They had barely stepped off the boat in Bombay, but Anthony could already see how Kate was settled in a way she never was in England. More than anything else, the flavours of this city and country were refueling Kate’s soul. Anthony tried to appreciate them, but his English palate recoiled from the amount of chili.
Anthony, like any respectable doting husband, insisted on shipping whatever spices Kate desired back to England. Unlike most gifts proffered by her husband, Kate welcomed this one most happily.
Now here Kate stands, one week past her honeymoon, as the only Bridgerton who knows how to turn on a stove, making herself chai long after everyone else has gone to bed.
“What are you doing?” Anthony asks softly, leaning against the doorframe to the kitchen.
“Oh,” Kate turns, slightly startled, “I didn’t mean to wake you when I got up. I’m making a pot of chai,” she looks back to the stove, lightly stirring the mixture of milk and spices.
“I’m most impressed you know how to,” he replies amusedly, pressing himself off the wall.
“You’re impressed I know how to make a drink native to my culture?” she raises an eyebrow.
“No, of course not,” he rushes to clarify, “that you know how to use the,” he spares a look combining embarrassment and disdain, “stove.”
“You cannot be serious,” she snorts unbecomingly, falling into uncontrollable laughter that is much too loud given the hour of night.
“Did the cook not make chai this afternoon?” Anthony huffs, resting against the table in the centre of the room.
“She did…” Kate says slowly.
“What is it, Viscountess? Lady of the household?”
“Evidently my written instructions were not clear enough. The chai the cook made was, for lack of a better descriptor, inadequate.”
“Would you like to hire a second cook? One who specialises in Indian cuisine?”
“That’s most thoughtful of you to offer,” Kate smiles, placing a terracotta cover over the flame once her chai finishes brewing. “If a household this large has always had only one cook, then I shall not change that. I will just have to teach the cook of my culture’s food.”
“And you will do a most excellent job, of that I am certain,” Anthony grins proudly.
“I will do my best, to teach a cook how to cook,” she hums bemusedly.
“Is your chai adequate, my love?” he asks fondly, watching each delicate movement of the cup to her lips.
“It is perfect,” she sighs happily, unsure how she went without it for so long during the last London season. The two months since they had left India was long enough.
“I shall see to it that we always have the ingredients you require on hand,” Anthony promises, bringing her empty hand to his lips.
“If the Bridgerton fortune is to go to a collection of spices you cannot pronounce, I will ensure it does not go to waste. I shall see to it that you learn to love chai.”
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