they’re not the only ones iii | benedict bridgerton
Summary: 4 times your life with Benedict changed for the better, and the 1 time it stayed the same (or, four life changing moments pre and post marrying Benedict, and one extra fluffy moment of pure domestic bliss)…
Pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader
Word Count: 6.7k
Warning(s): another 4 + 1??? oops I know, fluff (lots of it), mild angst, you know the drill by now
A/n: hi lovelies! The third part is finally here! I’m not sure I like it as much as the first two (I struggled a lot writing it and self doubt started to creep in as always), but I just wanted to thank you all for being so kind and so patient with me. It means the world! I hope you all enjoy and please let me know what you think! Comments and feedback are much appreciated <3
Anthony’s eyes trail across his mother’s sitting room, most of her eight children apart from Gregory and Hyacinth, are conversing amongst each other. He finds himself sitting idly beside Kate, Daphne and Simon across from them. He picks his nails in disinterest.
Now, not to be rude, he’s sure they’re having a lovely conversation full of important things he should be listening to, but he just can’t seem to bring himself to focus on it. Instead, their voices meld into nothing, simply static in the brainwaves of his mind.
His breathing slows into a shallow rhythm as his line of sight drifts, further and further to the left, until it hits you. You’re laughing at something Benedict has said, nearly doubled over in glee. It’s not an unusual occurrence, but it strikes him suddenly.
Everything seems to be normal, he supposes, and yet it feels oddly so. Anthony cannot for the life of him describe it, but there’s this nagging feeling in his chest that’s telling him, screaming at him: something’s different.
Benedict’s hand resting on your knee, the carefree echo in your laugh, the twinkle in both of your eyes, it’s almost regular, almost like it always has been between you, but Anthony would put his life on it, there’s been a shift. It’s almost like….
In a split second, Anthony perks up in his seat, startling his wife and causing three pairs of eyes to snap to him.
“Anthony, are you alright?” The three of them inquire. He ignores them, his revelation much too important to lose focus on.
You know. He thinks. You and Benedict, you’re together. And not just in the sense that you’re sitting beside each other, enjoying one another’s company, no. Anthony Bridgerton is no man’s fool, romance, love, desire, it’s all present in your body language. You and Benedict are no longer just friends.
A smile spreads across his face, maniacal with a hint of amusement. Equally, in his heart, he’s happy. Anthony cannot think of two people who belong together more, and yet he wonders, why haven’t you told anyone yet?
He decides, if you won’t, he’s going to. Oh, he salivates at the thought, the fun he could have with this…
Abruptly standing, he waves off Kate’s protests of concern as he edges his way closer to the other side of the room, leaving his wife and the Bassets behind in confusion. Plopping himself down on the couch where you, Benedict, and Eloise are sitting, he eyes Colin and Penelope who are sat across from the three of you.
“Brother!” Colin exclaims. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
You can feel Anthony’s amber orbs burning a hole through you, his voice utterly clinical as he says, “I’m testing a theory.” He’s observing you, and you don’t like it in the slightest.
“A theory?” Eloise closes her book in excitement. “And what might that be?”
Anthony’s gaze narrows and his jaw clicks in focus. He’s debating whether he should be forthcoming with his suspicions, or if he should keep toying with you a little longer. It could be fun to watch you squirm. But then again, outing your secret relationship, with no warning at that, might be more shocking, and even more fun.
He decides to go for the former, revealing, “Two people in this room, are recently engaged.”
Your eyes fly to Benedict’s in a brief panic. Both of your gazes read the same: how could Anthony have possibly figured it out? It’s not like either of you have been obvious about it. As far as you’re aware, you’ve kept everything the same, oblivious pining included.
Now, before he can pat himself on the back too much, Anthony hadn’t been sure of your engagement before he’d said anything. He’d simply assumed, (a dangerous game to play when one is uncertain), and decided to take the risk by voicing that assumption. But based on the premise that Benedict looks like his life has flashed before his eyes, and that he’s gone so white he could rival any ghost, Anthony knows he’d been bang on the money. He’s quite proud of himself if he’s being honest, his pat on the back now well earned.
Eloise drops her book in a haste as she exclaims, “How could you have kept this from me?” Your heart races, trying desperately to avoid her eye. Except, she’s not talking to you or Benedict. She’s directing her assertion towards Penelope and Colin.
Penelope opens her mouth to protest, but no words come out, while Colin’s jaw opens, then closes, then opens again in shock, as his brows furrow in confusion. This is making no sense to either of them.
Unfortunately for them (or fortunately depending on who you’re asking), Eloise has the wrong couple, and Anthony knows it. “Not them.” He chides, lips smirking in enjoyment.
At that, Colin releases a loud sigh of relief. “I thought I would remember proposing.”
Penelope finds her voice, laughing that bubbly laugh she often does. “I should hope so.” She narrows her eyes, focus resting solely on you. “But that would mean…” she trails off airily.
You avert your gaze from her, not quite ready to confront it, before you shift your focus to the oldest Bridgerton. He’s sitting like he’s perched, waiting for the fog to clear. You lick your lips in concentration, eyeing Anthony down. The smug bastard’s relishing in this game, but you won’t let him win. Beside you, Benedict isn’t so sure. He’s struggling to keep quiet, ready to come clean about everything, yet he’s not positive he’d be able to find the words if he tried.
“Oh…” A look of realization dawns on her face. Penelope’s figured it out, you’re fairly sure everyone has.
There’s a sudden shift in the air. Four pairs of eyes turn to you and your betrothed, three in shock, and one in utter delight. He’s ready for the fun to begin.
Benedict’s gone as white as a sheet; you’ve never seen him so pale. But you hang on with a smile on your face. You’re not about to give Anthony the satisfaction of seeing you lose your composure.
You sigh internally, you guess this is payback for trying so hard to out Anthony’s feelings for Kate before they got engaged. And for making fun of him for being so blindly lovesick. And for many other things, you’re sure. So maybe you deserve this a little bit. But only a little.
Besides, the Bridgerton’s were going to have to find out about your engagement eventually. Why not now?
“What?” You question them, hand reaching for Benedict’s. He calms under your touch, a small smile resting on his face. There’s a smugness of your own forming in your tone, “Are we to pretend that none of you saw this coming?”
Anthony chuckles at your response. You’re both taking this way better than he thought. Of course you’d have to go ruin all the fun by being mature adults about the situation. Damn you.
“You’re engaged?” Eloise splutters rather loudly, alerting everyone else in the room.
And it’s not a second later that Daphne has darted up from her seat, rushing her way towards you. “Please tell me I heard Eloise correctly.” She breathes, nearly squealing. “Because it sounded to me like you and my dearest brother are to be wed.”
“Daphne.” Simon urges, now standing beside her. He’s chuckling at his wife’s excitement. “Give the poor girl some space.”
You and Benedict share a smile, as he prepares himself for the onslaught of questions that are to come. “We wanted to wait a while before we told anyone.” Benedict turns to his oldest sibling pointedly. “But I suppose Anthony had other plans.”
“As I see it,” Anthony interjects. “It is merely reparation for old ploys. Your intended should surely understand.”
Brown eyes meet (e/c) knowingly. You more than understand; it’s all in good nature. As far as your relationship with the viscount is concerned, you’ve always held a playful rivalry with each other.
“And you were most correct (Y/n),” Eloise cuts in, one hand resting on her hip and the other resting at her side, “we all saw this coming.” She pauses. “Maybe not in this fashion, but certainly with the same end result.”
The matter of fact manner of the statement makes you smile, as you watch each of Benedict’s siblings nod in agreement. Even Simon takes part in the teasing. This feels like what a family should be like, this feels like home.
And as Anthony takes a step back from the huddled group of Bridgerton’s, he feels Kate’s hand brush against his, as she pulls him into the corner of the room. A cheeky grin adorns her face. She’s just as happy as Anthony to see you and Benedict together, finally after everything. Even more so, she’s amused with how everyone found out.
Eyeing her husband, mischief laced in her tone, she leans into him whispering, “You simply could not help yourself.” Her voice sends shivers down his spine. “You just had to meddle.”
He hums right back, careening under her touch. “That I did, my love. You know me too well.”
Kate smiles to herself, and sighs. If there’s two things she knows for certain, it’s that yes, she knows Anthony Bridgerton better than even the man himself, and equally, she’s never been more glad that he’s a meddlesome match maker with a penchant for interfering with his siblings love lives.
Because as far as she’s concerned, outside of her relationship with her husband, there’s no two people more suited for each other than you and Benedict. Of that, she is unequivocally sure.
ii
the wedding
You’ve dreamed of this day for what feels like your entire life: your wedding to Benedict Bridgerton. But now that it’s finally here, you can’t help but want it to be over. And not in a bad way. You love weddings, you think they’re positively magical, but by God do you want yours to be over.
Because if you have to wait one more second to kiss Benedict, really kiss him, you think you might die. And yes, that is definitely an exaggeration, but you just cannot wait to be his wife. The ceremony is nice, of course, although it’s really more for your families. Because if you’re being honest, you’d marry Benedict on the busy streets of London in a ratty old dress if it meant you could be his.
You’d truly do anything to marry him.
The ceremony is held at Aubrey Hall, with only your closest family and friends invited. It’s quiet and quaint like you both wanted, neither of you caring too much to make a spectacle out of your wedding.
All in all, the guest list is essentially made up of Benedict’s mother, his siblings and their significant others, your parents, and Lady Danbury of course. It just seemed right, having a more intimate and private ceremony. It’s all you could ever need, especially considering if given the chance, you would’ve just as easily run off and eloped with Benedict, to avoid the hassle of a large wedding.
And when it’s over, and you’ve finally said ‘I do’, you kiss him like you’ve never kissed him before. You kiss him with hope and passion, a glimpse of the future you are to have with him. It leaves you wanting more, wanting all of him. Because no one else could complete you like he does.
Benedict feels more than the same. Because when he’d seen you walk down the carpeted aisle, and into the garden outside of his childhood home, he’d never felt anything like it. It was as if his life with you flashed before his eyes, all those years you spent loving each other in secret, preparing him for this day. And when you leapt up to kiss him, he felt his heart soar.
You’re his wife, and he’s your husband, ‘til death do you part. It’s almost surreal to think about.
But it’s truly at the reception where you both feel most at ease. While your wedding was wonderful, you’re more than excited that it’s over. Because you’re married now. And you can act like it. You no longer have to hide your affections, hold back on your touches. You can dance as many times as you like without society judging you for it, and you can kiss your husband in glee.
It’s an utterly freeing feeling, listening to the music drift around you, as you waltze in Benedict’s arms. Everyone is enjoying the party, either dancing or simply chatting amongst themselves, plenty of food and drink to go around. The sounds of laughter and joy make you smile. This is your family now, and you couldn’t be happier about it.
A soft sigh momentarily catches you off guard. Your husband, you smile to yourself. He’s trying to get your attention, successfully so. You hum in his arms, urging for him to speak up. And when he does, his voice is angelic.
“Look at me darling.” Benedict tilts your chin upward, eyes meeting yours with so much love. “No one else matters.” He murmurs. It’s almost as if he’s trying to convince you of that fact, something he need not do.
“How could they?” Your smile is sweet, your voice airily drifting with the warm breeze. “When I have you as my husband.”
He hums, swaying you gently back and forth. “I do love it when you call me that.”
“Oh you do, do you?” You tease playfully. Jesting has always been one of the foundations to your friendship. That’s not about to change after over two decades. “I would have never guessed.”
Benedict eyes you with want, nearly growling as he pulls you into a searing kiss. “But not as much as I relish in calling you my wife.”
A light gag interrupts your moment.
“A tad possessive are we?” Eloise’s voice snaps in, gravelly and raw. You both break apart with dopey grins, the look of desire still resting on your faces. Her eyes meet Benedict’s as she mocks an expression of disgust. “I hadn’t thought you capable of it.” She finishes.
Benedict lets out something akin to a snort. “And I hadn’t thought you capable of being a meddlesome, pestering young woman.” He pauses, sarcasm running through his words. “Oh, wait…”
Eloise scrunches her face in faux distaste.
“Eloise.” Anthony chides, sauntering next to her, more than ready to continue the child like Bridgerton banter, “Leave the poor couple alone.” He’s teasing her, trying to get on her nerves. And quite frankly, you find it hilarious.
“I’m simply stating my opinion brother.” She tilts her head innocently. It amuses you because Eloise is anything but. And everyone knows it. “As a woman should.” There it is.
Anthony chuckles, brown eyes glimmering with mischief. “We’re well aware of your thoughts on the subject of marriage and public displays of affection sister, but please do allow the newlyweds to enjoy themselves. This day only happens once in a lifetime after all.”
Eloise scoffs. “Never.” She taunts with the raise of her brow. “What would be the fun in that?”
Benedict’s eyes flick between his two siblings, a wide smile growing on his face. He turns to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in closer.
You know that look, you know it well. Benedict is nothing if not a pathetic sap for pretty words, especially when he’s the one uttering said pretty words.
“It is really a shame that I find myself indifferent to what either of you think.” He starts, throwing caution to the wind. “And because I cannot find a more intelligent way to put this, I’ll simply say what is on my mind…”
Eloise and Anthony share a look of pure amusement, they too know what is to come. “Please do.” They say in unison, surprising each of the siblings. This might be the first time in a long while that they’ve agreed on anything. And it just had to be at your expense.
“Simply put,” he smiles, voice going soft. Maybe he’s had a bit too much to drink. “I love my wife. And I want nothing more than to show everyone that I love my wife, and to be insufferably enamoured with each other for the rest of my life. If that is an issue for anyone, I do not believe I could force myself to care.”
“Mm,” Anthony hums in agreement, taking a swig of his own drink as he cheers to Benedict’s half-speech.
Eloise scoffs. “Oh, is that all brother?” She asks.
A deadpan expression crosses Benedict’s face, and you giggle at the sight.
“Eloise, Eloise, Eloise.” Anthony tsks. “That, was simply the tip of the iceberg that is Benedict’s love for (Y/n). It will never be all.”
“Anthony is right.” Benedict asserts.
“As I always am.”
Eloise rolls her eyes. “Oh please. There is nothing easier to be correct about than Benedict being madly in love with his wife.”
Anthony sticks his tongue out at her, mumbling something along the lines of, regardless, I was still right. It’simmaturity at its finest, and you’re enjoying every second of it.
You let out a genuine laugh at the exchange, “Alright children. Calm yourselves.”
“Look at you.” Anthony’s eyes bore into yours, cheekily. “Not even hours after your wedding and you’re already so motherly. It’s adorable really.”
“Very funny.” Is your immediate reply.
“How mature.” Is Eloise’s.
And as the three of you continue to banter back and forth, spitting joking insults and hurling equally venomous retorts, Benedict can’t help but let out a sigh of contentment.
He’ll admit, after that night at Lady Danbury’s where you’d gotten engaged, he had been a little nervous that your relationship turning from platonic to romantic would be an adjustment not only for the two of you, but for his siblings as well. Because as long as you’d known his family, you and Benedict had simply been friends, although as he quickly came to find out, not one Bridgerton thought you wouldn’t end up together.
But seeing you and his siblings laughing together, poking fun and joking around with one another, he knows that his initial concern was sheer stupidity on his part. Because if he’s being honest, the only thing that has changed, is that instead of being simply best friends, you are now best friends who know they are in love with each other.
Best friends who are married. Yes, he smiles, he quite likes that sound of that. (Y/n) and Benedict Bridgerton, husband and wife. He would never and could never want it any other way.
iii
lady whistedown…
“Colin,” Eloise’s raspy voice is laced with sleep. It’s late, she’s tired, and she wants nothing more than to go to bed. “Whatever it is you wish to tell us, could it not have waited until the morning?”
Your gaze flicks to your husband’s, a reassuring calm passing over you. Both of you watch as the two siblings have a near stand off. And while you agree, it is extremely late, and you are quite tired, you can’t help but find yourself intrigued by the situation.
“No.” Colin’s eyes are frantic. “This cannot wait.”
It’s such an interesting turn of events, you ponder with a smile on your face. Eloise, who usually thirsts for knowledge, appearing so disinterested at the prospect of her brother’s clearly important information.
Eloise huffs, equally expectant and annoyed. “Go on then,” she waves. “If you must.”
Colin hesitates, struggling to find his words. “I—I don’t know how,” he stutters. His jaw is clenched, and his eyes dart across the room. And while his distress is only furthering Eloise’s displeasure, it causes something different for you.
A pang in your chest forms. Empathy, you recognize. Something is distressing Colin so much so that he can’t form the words. He looks like his life has been turned upside down, like the world is crumbling at his feet. And it hurts you.
You’ve never seen him like this. Neither has Benedict.
Unclasping your hand from your husband’s, you reach forward for Colin. Maybe another person’s touch will ground him; it’s always worked with Benedict.
He reacts immediately, eyes meeting yours, a sigh falling from his lips. “I’m afraid to say anything.” He says finally. “Because it’s not my secret to tell, but it hurts.” You can see he’s on the verge of tears, hear the quiver in his voice. “It hurts more than anything I have felt in my life.”
Betrayal is the one word that comes to your mind. Colin feels betrayed. And that can only mean one of a few things, one of which sticks out like a sore thumb. Penelope Featherington. It has to be her; no one else has this kind of power over Colin.
And because of that, you know exactly what is troubling him. He knows who she is, what she’s done. “Is this about Lady Whistledown?” You ask softly, already knowing the answer.
As he nods, you watch the recognition flood across his face. Colin now knows you know, something not even Benedict is aware of. His gaze darts to Eloise suddenly and then back to you, as if asking, does she know?
You can’t help but notice the subtext behind his stare that goes beyond her simple knowledge of Penelope’s identity. It’s more than that. Does my sister know her best friend is a prolific liar? Does she feel the same betrayal I do?
Benedict takes note of this silent conversation you’re having with his brother. His brows furrow, and his lips pull into a tight thin line. He’s never felt more confused in his life. Because as he can see by the softened expression on Eloise’s face, even she’s clued in to Colin’s news.
And he, for the life of him, cannot seem to read between the lines. What is he missing?
“Penelope, she—“ Colin breathes, only to be cut off by a cough from Benedict.
“Hold on.” Benedict’s hand shoots up in protest, the dots starting to connect. “Penelope is Lady Whistledown?”
The silence that ensues is all the confirmation he needs. Three pairs of eyes hit the floor. You’re avoiding his gaze. “And you knew?” Benedict’s voice is directed at you, although he’s just as pointed towards Eloise. He can’t blame Colin for any of this.
Colin’s eyes widen as he takes in Benedict’s words. He turns to you and Eloise. “Neither of you told him?” He asks.
In unison, you say, “no.” There’s apprehension in both of your tones, nervous and unsure of how Benedict will react.
“I found out a few nights ago.” Colin eyes you and his sister in curiosity. “How long have you known?”
“A couple of months.” Eloise muses quietly.
“I’ve known for about half a year.”
Half a year? The words blur in Benedict’s mind, that’s an incredibly long amount of time for you to hold this in. It must have been eating you alive.
Benedict takes one look between you and his sister, stormy eyes narrowing, lips pursed in deep thought. He wants to be mad, wants to yell at you both, wants to scream it from the top of his lungs. He wants to feel betrayed, wants to feel as if his heart is wrenching, but he can’t. Oddly, he’s more so impressed. It’s almost sickening the sense of pride that blooms in his chest. How could you have possibly managed to stay so tight lipped about this? And for this long?
Benedict had always known of Eloise’s capabilities to keep things to herself, as she is merely happy to know something everyone else doesn’t, relishing in that, but you? He thought you simply incapable of keeping secrets from him. You like to talk, love to tell him things, and even more, you enjoy hearing his opinion on matters of both monumental and little significance. Your conversations have always been full of give and take, a mix of playful banter and riveting intellectual debates, with a hint of London gossip thrown in there for good measure.
Looking back on it, you’ve always told each other everything, especially something as big as this. And this time, you hadn’t.
He’s having trouble wrapping his brain around it, but he’s not mad.
“I thought I knew everything there was to know about you my love.” Benedict’s voice finally cuts through the thick silence. He’s teasing and relaxed, no anger in his posture.
Relief floods you as a laugh falls from your lips. “I believe you were wrong, darling.”
“I suppose I was.” Benedict smiles, his eyes twinkling in utter adoration. He couldn’t be more in love with you if he tried.
And this confuses Colin profusely. Not that Benedict loves you, that much is easy to understand. But you had kept a secret from your husband for over six months, hidden something so life changing from him for so long, and the minute Benedict finds out, he’s teasing you, joking with you, as if nothing has happened. As if nothing is to change because of it.
“How can you be so alright with this?” Colin questions, turning to his brother in confusion.
“Because,” Benedict muses, “as you so eloquently put it brother, it was not her secret to tell.”
“And you think that makes it acceptable to keep secrets from the person one loves?”
“In certain circumstances, I do.” Benedict says, wisdom coursing through his tone. “Besides Colin, this was never about me or my relationship with my wife. As I see it, you are projecting.” Benedict is egging him on, daring him to bite.
And he does, “projecting?” Colin scoffs in disbelief.
“You love Penelope. That is why you are so hurt by this.” Blue gaze meets blue. Colin melts. He knows he’s right. “But sometimes, you must let past grievances die. And allow your instincts to take over.”
Colin nods, swallowing. He wants to forgive Penelope, and in his heart, he knows he already has. Tilting his head in bemusement, he challenges, “And what of your instincts brother?”
Benedict turns to you, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “My love for my wife,” he says, “is the greatest instinct I have.”
And in Benedict’s mind, truer words have never been spoken…
iv
you’re what?!
Daphne’s eyes watch you carefully. It’s a normal evening, as far as she’s aware, yet something seems off. Ever since you and Benedict got married, Daphne has insisted upon having you both for dinner at Clyvedon every couple of weeks. And so you’ve done just that, happy to spend time with her, Simon, and little Auggie.
But tonight, you appear far off, lost in thought. You’ve barely spoken, only adding little bits to the conversation when asked, and you’ve been incessantly fiddling with your hands.
The biggest indicator of your strange behaviour, was your refusal for a glass of wine. At first, it had completely gone over Daphne. You’ve never been one for alcohol, so she’s not surprised she missed it, but as she ponders herself, it makes her think.
When dinner is over, she scoops Auggie up in her arms, and with her free hand, she reaches for yours, leaving Simon and Benedict to whatever they had been discussing. It’s not unusual for her to whisk you off to their sitting room for some tea and a tad bit of gossiping, but Daphne’s abruptness leaves you a little concerned.
Shutting the door quietly, she moves to sit down on the couch, Auggie on her lap. She smiles, beckoning you over with loaded enthusiasm.
You sit down next to her, turning your body to face hers. “Is everything alright?”
“Quite.” She grins, beaming. She knows something, and you don’t like it. It leaves you tensing at her tone, hidden with several implications.
You wonder if she’s figured you out. It wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest, and though you’ve tried to hide it, Daphne’s a woman, and a smart woman at that. The clues would be all too obvious to her.
“You’re with child.” She says finally, confirming your suspicions. It’s not a question, it’s a statement, as if she could never be wrong about something like this.
All of a sudden, a wave of nausea passes over you, anxiety building in your stomach. You haven’t seen a doctor yet, but you’re fairly certain it’s true. “I haven’t had my monthly in over sixty days. And I’ve been feeling rather ill.” You say. “It’s either that, or something is terribly wrong.”
When you look back at her, the smile that has grown on her face is enormously giddy. It spreads from cheek to cheek, her eyes beaming with intensity. “Oh!” She claps her hands together in joy. “This is wonderful news.” Daphne gently spins Auggie around in her lap so he’s facing her. “Did you hear that Aug? Your second cousin.”
The word second makes you smile, thinking of Kate who’s far along with her first child, Auggie’s first cousin. For the past number of months, since he’d found out about her pregnancy, Anthony has been quite the worry wart. It’s hilarious really, for everyone but Kate, watching him hover. Because as much as everyone knows Anthony is a control freak, it is equally known how independent Kate is. She hates being told what she can and cannot do, while he, more than enjoys giving out orders. You know he’s doing it out of love, but for the life of him, the poor man cannot seem to take a hint.
You chuckle lightly in thought. It’s comforting to think about how close in age your children will be. You can only hope they’ll be great friends. And if they’re anything like their Bridgerton side of the family, hell hath no fury, you’re in for the ride of a lifetime.
“Where has your mind gone?” Daphne’s voice breaks in, tone inquisitive.
“To Anthony and Kate.” Your eyes meet hers with a soft smile.
“Ah.” She grins. “He’s become quite unbearable I hear.”
You agree, humming lightly in response. “Kate says he never leaves her side unless absolutely necessary. I suppose he’s simply worried for her, but it does seem a tad excessive.”
“A tad?” Daphne laughs. “If Simon had behaved half as crazed as Anthony when I was pregnant with Auggie, I believe I might have gone mad.”
“And I wouldn’t blame you.”
Your giggles fill the room, genuine happiness spreading throughout it. And in your distracted state, neither of you notice the door crack open, Benedict hovering gently on the other side. He means to knock, truly, but the sweet sounds of your laughter leave him dazed.
“Speaking of doting husbands,” Daphne collects herself, her brow raising in curiosity, “does Benedict know?”
And this is his cue to enter, he thinks, his own curiosity overtaking his want to continue eavesdropping.
Pushing the door open and stepping through the threshold, he doesn’t give you the chance to respond. “Do I know what?” He asks.
You freeze in your seat, eyes widening, anxiety spiking.
It’s crazy how in a matter of moments, your life can change so drastically. One second you’re a simple married woman who’s undeniably enamoured with her husband, and the next, impending motherhood is smacking you in the face. And it’s not that you’re not excited, because by god, you are, it’s just this irrational fear creeping in that maybe Benedict won’t be happy, that maybe he’s not ready to be a father, that has you reeling. You know it’s silly, stupid really, but it’s almost like this fear is primal, because as far as you’re concerned, it’s extremely difficult to shake.
In all honesty, you’re not quite sure when you decided to find your voice, nor are you sure of what you’ve actually said, because when you turn your gaze, catching Benedict’s, he’s looking at you in shock, like the air has been ripped from his lungs.
“You’re—” Benedict’s grip on reality feels quite thin, because he’s not certain he’s heard what he thinks he’s heard. “You—you’re…” He can’t bring himself to say it, too scared to get his hopes up in case he had been wrong.
You swallow, nerves bundling in your stomach as you wring your hands together. Your eyes dart, looking for anything but Benedict’s ocean like gaze, as you try to focus on your breathing. Slowly, you tell yourself, in and out. You hadn’t noticed when Daphne had left the room, so consumed by your thoughts that you can’t believe you’d missed it.
It doesn’t seem like Benedict’s noticed her absence either, and if he has, it appears that he doesn’t care much. He’s merely focused on you.
“Please tell me I’m not losing my sanity, and that I heard you correctly.” Benedict pleads, his voice cracking with hope. He so desperately wants it to be true. “Are you with child?”
You cannot find the words; none of them seem right. Instead, you nod, too overwhelmed to do anything else. Before you know it, Benedict is rushing forward, scooping you in his arms and wrapping you in his embrace. The first thing you remember hearing is his chortled laughter, and the sound of your heart beating in your ears.
Your eyes brim with tears. He’s happy, you think, and you couldn’t be more elated. Relief floods through you as you allow your body to collapse into him.
“A baby.” He whispers into your ear, his brain moving faster than he can process it.
“Our baby.” You smile.
From outside the door, Daphne and Simon stand leaning against the walls opposite each other, grins resting on their faces. As much as Simon likes to pretend he’s indifferent, his heart says otherwise, a feeling of warmth spreading across his chest. He’s always had a soft spot for children. Daphne knows just that.
Gleaning her husband’s happiness, she reaches for his hand. He pulls her gently to his side, his arm draping across her body, and she wraps herself around him.
She sighs in contentment. “I believe I recall telling (Y/n) that that would be her one day.” She pauses, thumb tracing circles over Simon’s palm. “Raising a Bridgerton baby.” She smiles at the memory. It hadn’t been long ago, merely a few months had passed since.
And she had been right of course, as Daphne Bridgerton so often was. A baby Benedict and (Y/n) Bridgerton; chuckling she thinks, she can only hope the little one takes after you…
+ i
domestic bliss
Whoever told you parenting was easy, that it comes naturally, as if it’s some kind of instinct you have, has never given birth to three boys in only a little under three years. Difficult doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Chaos runs your life, or at least that’s what it appears like to you. You’re sure your family would tell you otherwise, that you always look so calm and put together, but quite frankly, you haven’t felt like that since before your first child was born.
You wouldn’t give it up for the world, nor would Benedict, but you have to admit, it’s more than a little tiring pretty much all of the time.
“Can I hold the baby mama?” Your oldest son Charles’ voice breaks your moment of silence.
“Of course you can darling.” You smile, patting the spot beside you. “Why don’t you climb on the bed here, and I’ll place her in your arms.”
Charlie beams up at you, eyes twinkling in delight. He giggles as you place your daughter Violet down gently, resting her neck under the palm of his small hand so that he’s cradling her nicely. “She’s beautiful mama.” He says. For a seven year old, he’s mature for his age, and certainly your calmest child.
Your lips lift into a soft smile. Quiet moments like these are few and far between. “I like to think so.”
Before you can prepare yourself for it, your serene bubble is burst as you hear two little pairs of feet padding quickly into the bedroom, followed by your husband’s unimpressed stare. “Trouble, the pair of you.” He eyes your four year old twins Alexander and William.
“We wanted to see the baby.” Alex pouts.
“But papa said we had to wait.” Will finishes for him.
You let out a bright laugh, gaze turning to your husband. “I am guessing that waiting is something they could not do.”
Benedict grins sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. “They are Bridgerton’s after all.” He quips. “We’re not exactly known for our patience.”
“I suppose not.” You relent teasingly, beckoning the twins forward. You watch as they clumsily climb their way onto the bed, eager to get a look at their sister.
Violet, only days old, has been a surprisingly calm baby, taking after her oldest brother. And a nice change of pace at that.
You remember after the twins were born just how fussy they’d been. You’d practically gone delirious just trying to keep up with them, and you’ve been trying desperately to do so ever since, never quite gaining enough ground.
“Look, Charlie!” William coos from above, leaning over the baby. “She’s smiling at you.”
The interaction warms your heart, watching your boys excited about their little sister. Even though you know Violet is much too young to be smiling and it’s likely just gas, you’d never ruin their moment.
Alexander whines slightly, feeling left out of the bunch. “Let me see Will.”
As he goes to push his brother out of the way, Benedict holds his hand up in protest, releasing a cough to gain his children’s attention. “Wait your turn.” He jests, sending Alexander a coy smile.
Benedict makes his way to the other side of the bed, allowing Charlie to be cozily sandwiched between the two of you. You share a sweet smile, blue eyes meeting (e/c).
Charlie begins to wiggle his way to the centre of the bed, Violet still tucked carefully in his arms. He’s moving delicately, as if she might break in his grasp. You watch lovingly as the twins shuffle their way over, one sitting on each side of their older brother. They take turns leaning in and cooing at the baby, absolutely entranced with her.
This allows your husband to slide in closer to you, wrapping and arm around your shoulder lovingly.
Benedict sighs. “I must admit,” he begins tracing circles on your forearm with his thumb, “I did miss having a baby in our home.”
You chuckle. “Relish in it.” You advise. “This will be our last one.”
“Oh?” Benedict chides. “That is what every woman says before she’s right back having another. Besides,” he smirks. “You cannot resist me.”
“Mm,” you smile cheekily. “I will admit, it is difficult, but I am more than capable of withstanding your charm.”
“Forgive me Mrs. Bridgerton.” He leans over to place a kiss on your lips and you reciprocate immediately. It always amazes you that he can still manage to take your breath away after all these years. “If I have difficulty believing you.”
You part to the sound of a loud groan from in front of you. “Papa.” Charlie eyes his father. Your children don’t enjoy it when your affections for each other are demonstrated in front of them. “You promised.”
Benedict feigns confusion. “Did I?” He grins. “I suppose it must have slipped my mind.”
Retorting his earlier words, you say, “Perhaps it is you who cannot resist me.”
Benedict tilts his head, brow raised and eyes full of warmth. “Perhaps.”
Your banter is broken by the giggles of your children, both of your gazes turning to them. Admiring the beauty of it all, you allow your hand to find Benedict’s. You share a glance, smiling softly knowing exactly what the other is thinking.
Pride. This is what your love has created. This is how your love will live on. With a beautiful family, indeed.
Summary: who’d have thought a dance with the Viscount could lead to such shocking revelations?
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x female!reader
Warnings: none!! Pure fluff!!!
You smoothed down the soft jewel toned dress you wore as your mother grabbed onto your arm, all but dragging you into the ballroom.
An abundance of eyes rested on you but not one pair had your interest. In fact, you were rather appalled by the idea of being traded to one of these lords for just a sizeable dowry.
“Darling, I expect you’ll be polite. Your future husband could be gracing this room with his presence as we speak.” Your mother murmurs in your ear and you force a stiff smile to your lips, taking a deep breath through your nose as you simply nod in response.
As you gracefully trapse down the stairway in lady Danbury’s home, you try your best to pretend you’re nowhere near here, like you’re instead at home, in the drawing room with your family.
“Lady y/l/n, would you care to dance with me?” A young man you barely recognize asks politely, stepping directly in front of you as you reach the bottom step, leaving you with a small height advantage to the man in front of you.
You look to your mama with a pleading look, giving it your all but she simply gives him a wide grin and nods, shooing you off her arm. You on the other hand, would rather hide behind her and grab hold of the entrails of her skirt like a shy child.
You take his hand hesitantly, letting him fill out your dance card with a look of despair, glancing around the grand room for anyone you could possibly recognize. You noticed a few of the Bridgertons gallivanting about, including Eloise, one of your dearest friends. You decided then and there you would make your escape to her soon enough, after one dance with the Lord Norton, as you finally read his name to be. Surely she would come up with a plan to get you out of there in one piece and with no suitors in tow.
The young man grabbed stiff and awkward hold of your hand and waist, making you want to wince though you know your mother would later scold you for it if you did, so you remained of neutral face.
“I have heard you are quite the dancer lady y/l/n. Perhaps you could show me so tonight?” He suggests and you force yet another kind smile and a nod.
“Yes perhaps so.” You say meekly, trying to withhold the frown you wanted to let free.
The song went on for a painfully long time and when it ended, you couldn’t get away fast enough. You pretended to notice someone new and excused yourself, slipping through the crowd of people to the outskirts of the dancefloor where Eloise is standing, watching everything with a disgusted look.
“My thoughts exactly.” You say dryly, moving to stand next to her, happy to slink in the shadows for the remainder of the evening.
“It is dreadful isn’t it, being thrown into the ton like cattle to be bought or won? I mean really, how ladylike is that truly?” Eloise asks you, earning some looks from the surrounding Mamas.
The two of you stand in silence for a minute after that, holding in giggles until they’ve dispersed and forgotten about you.
“My brother is a part of it this year. As are you. I suppose the two of you should form some sort of amicable alliance, protect each other from the upcoming stampede of desperates?” She suggests.
“Careful, my mama may hear you and believe that to mean you’re offering me a Bridgerton husband on a silver platter.” You laugh, giggling along with Eloise. Your laughs quiet down as Anthony himself approaches, as though he sensed his presence in the conversation.
“Have you filled your card so soon Lady y/l/n? A shame, I was to ask you for a dance to rid me of the swarm that seems to follow my every step.” He says with a small grin, making you grow a real smile.
“Perhaps there is room for one more partner, though you’ll have to take my wrist to find out, I realize that comes as a difficulty to you lord Bridgerton.” You tease back, noticing the eyes of lord Norton calling to you. You ignore the patronizing look, instead choosing to further tease the viscount by raising your arm so your dance card dangles right in front of his face, raising a challenging eyebrow to him.
The two of you had been performing this rouse with each other for longer than you could remember. The friendships between your families went back years, long before you or Anthony were even a faint thought and so, you’d known each other quite literally your whole lives. Instead of a fast friendship though, you challenged each other at every event, taking turns teasing the other and leading them to a sort of trap. Typically, whichever of you blushed or flustered easier was the loser of the little game you played.
“Well lord Bridgerton? Will you accompany me to the dance floor, or shall I do something truly improper and heaven forbid request your sister’s company instead?” You grin wickedly, watching him roll his eyes as he gently takes your wrist and tickles your gloved hand with the end, writing his name in the second space.
As the current song falls to an end, you take the Lord Bridgertons hand in yours before he even has the option of taking yours first. He looks slightly shocked for a moment but then smiles mischievously before taking strong hold of your waist, pulling you that much closer to him and earning a small gasp in return.
“Were you not expecting that?” He asks, faking confusion as you shake your head with a laugh.
“You are nothing like these mamas think you are viscount. You’ll likely corrupt their poor young ladies with the most miniscule of grins.” You say cheekily, earning a chuckle from him.
He twirls you around and right back into his chest.
“Perhaps I like being an element of surprise in this traditional stiff game.” He suggests, his own eyebrow raised. You scoff a laugh, getting another eyebrow in return. “Do you find my statement humorous?” He says directly into the shell of your ear.
You turn yourself around, back to his hand in yours and the other resting on the small of your back as you sway.
“Not at all, I merely find it untrue. You are a perfect gentleman, a true nobleman and a good man to your family. You, just as the Duke of Hastings was, are every mamas dream. Good looks, good societal stature. I’m surprised my own mama has not yet thrown me at you herself.” You explain.
“You must have spoken too soon, your mother is hastily making her way to us as we dance.” He smirks back, releasing you from his grasp just as the song comes to an end.
“Y/n!” Your mother hisses, carefully and somehow gracefully storming up to you.
“Yes mama?” You ask sweetly, letting her guide you off to the side, a more private place to chat.
“What on earth are you doing? You are to be meeting potential husbands, not off with the viscount again. You make this same attempt every event. Unless you intend to court him, you must demonstrate your availability to the eligible young men who are truly interested.” She scolds, making you bow your head with a sigh.
“Mama I was being polite. Lord Bridgerton asked me to dance and I obliged out of duty. If I had turned him down, imagine how I would appear to all others!” You insist, coming up with excuses on the spot. She sighs and waves you away, walking off to gossip with Cressidas mama some more.
You groan quietly, carefully making your own way over to the refreshments, grabbing a glass of lemonade and taking a delicate sip.
“Tart is it not?” A voice asks behind you, taking you by surprise.
You turn to find Lady Danbury herself and you smile kindly, letting your shoulders rerelax themselves.
“Yes my lady. I believe it is one of the best batches yet.” You say with a grin, getting one right back from her.
“I noticed you having a beautiful dance with lord Bridgerton. Am I right to assume there may be a flame between the two of you? A viscount is quite the prize to win, I’m sure your family would be proud.” She suggests with a knowing grin.
“Oh! no, no. You should have us mistaken Lady Danbury! The viscount and I are merely old family friends. There is no courtship there.” You chuckled, astonished by the accusation.
“Really? I mean are you sure? Perhaps it is more to him than ‘tis to you but I did see a very particular glimmer in both your eyes as you danced. He shall remain at least a little jealous of the suitors you gain from that little dance.” She smiles, patting a hand over your own thoughtfully.
You, too stunned to speak, simply nod politely and excuse yourself, turning to make your leave and instead bumping right into Anthony Bridgerton himself.
“My apologies.” You mumble, your face flushed as you rush the other way, completely puzzling the man.
You practically all but ran outside, gathering your billowing skirt and making your way through the maze of a garden. Your head felt fuzzy and full, you didn’t know what to think.
“Lady y/l/n!” A familiar voice cries after you.
“Leave me to my thoughts Mr. Bridgerton!” You plead, running a hand over your face.
“Perhaps I may help? Come please… y/n we’ve known each other too long for you to dismiss me in such a manner. What troubles you? Is it the lord Norton, because if it was, I shall have a word with him.” He says, suddenly very protective of your integrity.
You snort again lightly. “Lord Bridgerton it is nothing of the sort! In fact, it is the affections of another that leave me so perplexed.” You sigh, shaking your head as you let out a breath.
“I see… and which gentleman may that be?” He asks, hiding the smidge of jealousy that dares to ring in his voice.
“It is not my place to say. Perhaps he could tell you himself, he is standing in this very garden after all.” You joke, a frown taking its place on your lips.
You laugh stiffly as he turns his head every which way, looking for the man in question.
“Lady y/l/n, there is no other man around… or is it too dark for me to possibly notice him?” Anthony asks, clearly completely clueless to what you’re explaining.
“You! I am referring to you Lord Bridgerton!” You decree, turning round swiftly to meet his wide eyes with your own troubled ones.
He remains silent, staring back at you, mouth agape. Anthony was used to such proclamations from random young women in town however you were no ordinary young woman. You were lady y/l/n. You were the lady he had so admired, so come to love. Since the moment the two of you reached an age where you developed feelings for the other gender, he was enamored by you. There was no other who smiled, laughed, joked or looked at him in such a way as you did and that held his affections more strongly than anything else could.
His inability to speak left you with a deep frown of your own, your lip quivering slightly as you bow your head in embarrassment.
“Very well, I see I was led astray. No need to fret, plenty of suitors anyway so no matter.” You say, your cheeks once again flushed.
He quickly recovers from his own daze at the sight of you turning away from him once again, carefully grabbing your wrist and pulling you back towards him.
“Anthony we should not even be out on our own, with no chaperone in sight… it is improper, you know this.” You say, trying to find any possible way to excuse yourself from the conversation you’d started.
“Just as improper as dropping the formalities before so much as the suggestion of courtship?” He challenges, making you go silent.
“Y/n I have never once denied an attraction to you. Do you truly believe me to be such a fool that I would not see your exquisite beauty?” He asks thoughtfully, catching your attention once again, your lips parted in complete surprise at his words. Your face is crimson without the need for the rouge on your cheeks, and you laugh out of sheer confusion.
“Honestly? Yes, I believed that perhaps your affections are captured by another young lady from the town. Possibly the young opera singer…” You suggest, laughing at your own joke.
“Sienna is… she is important to me yes but I’ve only been with her because I believed you to be promised to another, though I now see your hand is not yet taken.” He hums, smiling lightly at you.
“Lord Bridgerton… I do not have words that could respond to your advances… it seems highly inappropriate.” You say, going to turn away again, breaking the remaining hold his hand has over the cuff of your gloves.
“Y/n please drop the title. I see it as meant for those who do not truly know me however we are both very aware of the fact that you and I know each other perfectly well.” He says, gently lifting your chin to make eye contact with him once again.
“Very well, Anthony. This is highly unlike you. I’ve never seen you lose your proper language and tone before, not at public events anyway.” You state, fully aware of your close proximity to the viscount.
“On the contrary I do like to play the wildcard from time to time. And I regard you in too high a manner to pretend we are nothing less than the normal.” He says, moving in closer to you, taking your breath away.
He continues his approach, making you bite your lip with the widest of eyes, unable to speak.
A moment later you return to your senses, blinking out of your fairytale moment.
“We cannot go any further… not unless you’re prepared to propose.” You say, backing up to build distance.
He continued to stare you down, trying to convince you to return his affections with only a look.
“You should like to paint a picture.” You joke in attempts to lighten the mood.
“Y/n if that is all it takes, I shall marry you in a few months time.” He announces, pulling you into his arms and swinging you around with joy.
“What a very romantic proposal, I may just swoon.” You say sarcastically, laughing as he puts you down with his own perplexed look.
“Whatever do you mean y/n? You asked for a proposal and i obliged.” He says, making you let out a snort.
“You obliged?! As though proposing to take my hand is some sort of duty you are ‘obliged’ to do. When I said proposal I meant a truly proper one. You must ask my father for permission to propose, you must bring flowers and be in the drawing room when we announce it as official.” You explain. “I am shocked you did not think of it, you were so very insistent upon it when it came to your own sister last season.” You scoff.
“If you should truly mean what you are asking, you shall be at y/l/n house tomorrow morning to treat me as the lady I am rather than a common whore you wish to trick. Understood?” You ask before he gets the chance to object your ultimatum.
He gulps and then nods rapidly, afraid to speak in case of offending you or further entangling the web of your relationship, watching you smile back at him and walk away, back to the party and away from him.
——————————————————
The next morning…
The very next morning, all of the eligible ladies of the ton are eagerly waiting for their dukes and viscounts and gentlemen to come calling. The center of London is bustling with activity of carriages, footmen and of course their gentlemen calling on the women they seek.
You are among those not so patiently waiting. Since you’d woken, you were in the drawing room, pretending to be distracted by books and needlepoint but in reality, being completely anxious for the day to come.
After you’d left Anthony and returned indoors, the night was somewhat of a blur. Your thoughts remained on Anthony but your physical presence was there, on the floor, where another gentleman, though much older than the others who seemed to fancy you, had asked for your third dance. You agreed, not wanting to be impolite or for your mother to have reason to invoke her rath.
So, you danced with the lord Gillington, and it was all fine but you held no interest in him, nor in Lord Newton, who apparently was to stop by today as well.
When the third dance ended you faked a headache and feigned fatigue to your mother, who reluctantly agreed. There were other eyes on you and she would have preferred you have at least one more dance but you had done as she asked and that was all she could hope for.
You arrived home early but that wasn’t to say you slept well. You were restless, worrying over the possibilities for the next day. Surely Anthony would never lead you on in a way such as this for your silly little game but there was no certainty there. Still you took comfort in knowing that he was typically a man of his word.
But now, as you sat twiddling with your thumbs, you weren’t so certain. He was as he liked to put it now ‘a wildcard’ when it came to romance and you had never actually attempted such a thing in your relationship.
You ignored your nerves and smoothed down your silky day dress and took yet another deep breath, getting ready to settle back in when one of your staff enter the room. Quickly you rise to your feet.
“A gentleman is here for ms. Y/l/n.” He announces and you smile wide at your mother.
“Send him in then!” She urges, just as excitedly.
He obliges and a minute later a man enters but your face falls as you see its not who you’d hoped.
“Lord Newton.” You greet, pasting as much of a smile as you can muster on your face, taking the delicate bouquet he holds into your own hands and giving them a polite smell.
“Lady y/l/n. You look beautiful, as always.” He greets back, lightly kissing your hand. Your mother looks ecstatic but you couldn’t be less so.
You knew it best to keep your options open but it wasn’t your nature. You were interested in one man and one man alone and it was all his own fault.
“Thank you lord Newton, that’s very kind of you. Would you like to sit?” You ask, sitting back down on the chaise, patting it lightly for him.
He graciously accepts, sitting next to you.
“I have come to ask if you should like to court, lady y/l/n? I do not wish to be too forward however I am quite taken with you my lady.” He states, smiling back at you and you don’t even have to look at your mother to know she’s likely bouncing with joy.
“I-” You start but he is quick to interrupt, something you don’t take kindly to.
“You need not make haste with your decision, I’m aware you will have more suitors throughout the day. I only wish to make my intentions known.” He says, once again kissing your hand. “I shall take my leave. Lady y/l/n. Lady y/l/n.” He says, bowing before walking out the door.
“Oh dearest! That is practically your first proposal! Of many I am certain.” Your mother cheers, hugging you tightly, laughing with joy.
You nod meekly, trying to stay somewhat happy for your mothers sake.
Throughout the day, callers come and go, bearing gifts and kind words nonstop. The room is a festival of colours and chatter and the sweet fragrance of florals everywhere. And yet, no Bridgerton caller had arrived thus far.
“Perhaps Lady Whistledown shall write bright things about our home this week! You are getting plenty of attention from the best of the gentlemen.” Your mama says as the latest of the male callers take their leave.
“Yes perhaps this is true mama.” You say with another smile.
As you take a seat, another caller arrives and you stand yet again with a weak smile, tired of the anticipation of the days end drawing near.
“Lord Ambrose for you my lady.” The staff announces and you smile as you dismiss him.
“Lord Ambrose how delightful to see you.” You greet, taking a seat with him. In that moment, your youngest sister runs into the room, chased by your younger brother.
“Children!” Your mother warns, trying to toss them out of the room.
“It is no bother mama, they may stay. That is if it does not displease you Lord Ambrose?” You ask, turning to him for answer.
“Certainly not, I do love children, it is not a bother at all.” He replies, smiling more at you.
The two of you make chitchat for a while, watching the younger y/l/n children play together happily, passing time surprisingly pleasantly.
“I shall leave, I have had a wonderful afternoon with you my lady. I do hope you’ll consider perhaps courting me this season?” He asks and you feel your smile slipping at yet another sort of proposal.
“Perhaps yes, I shall need some time to consider.” You reply, watching as he accepts the excuse, kisses your hand and leaves.
Your smile falls, watching out the window as the sun falling slowly.
Your eyes dart to the ground when another carriage arrives and you’re quick to sit back down, your mama and your papa, who had just come in from his study, both giving you looks of confusion.
“Another caller I think. We shall see who it is in a moments time.” You grin, hope still heavy in your heart.
Your sister runs over to you and takes a seat next to you, playing with your skirt but you ignore it, watching the doorway intently.
“The viscount Bridgerton is here for you my lady.” He says and your grin grows all the bigger.
“Send him in!” You say with as much eager energy in your voice as your mother had early on.
And so, in walks Anthony, with a large and stunning bouquet of his own and a smile you couldn’t compare to any of the other gifts you’d received today because if you even tried, the rest would never hold a chance.
“My Lord.” You smile, bowing low to him. “I do believe I said this morning.” You tease as you rise, speaking low so your parents cannot hear.
He smiles wider at your cheeky tone. “Yes, I do apologize for the late hour, I had difficulty getting anything appropriate from the florist, so many desperate suitors looking for their own and of course I needed one that could compare to your on beauty though I realize that to be nearly impossible.” He explains and you purse your lips as though thinking whether to believe him or not.
“Lord Bridgerton.” Your mother greets him, bringing your attention to the fact that you are not alone.
“Lady y/l/n, a pleasure. And lord y/l/n, it is an honor to see you again.” Anthony greets both your parents, making your glee spread that much more.
“You as well lord Bridgerton.” Your father says, standing to shake his hand.
“I actually have some matters I’d like to discuss with you my lord. Shall we excuse ourselves?” Anthony asks and your father nods. The men take their leave to the study, your little brother chasing after them, eager to listen in. Your mother tries to stop him but he ignores her and she’s clearly too tired to try anymore.
“Might I ask dearest, what it is that prompted the Viscounts call?” She asks you, raising an eyebrow.
“I believe it was Lady Danbury’s revelations after we shared a dance last night. It would seem his mother and her ladyship have noticed something that myself and Lord Bridgerton have not. Until now that is.” You smile, keeping the true reason a secret for Anthony and yourself to hold tight.
“I see…” She hums unsurely, still going back to her needlepointing rather than investigate any longer.
You remain playing with your younger sister, waiting eagerly for the men to finish their business, wishing nothing more than to be a part of the discussion.
In your own frustration and excitement, you barely notice Anthony’s returned to the room. Instead of telling you, he is mesmerized by watching you and your sister, smiling fully at the sight of you with a child. He had seen you interact with them before of course, but with the chance to finally have you for himself, Anthony couldn’t help picturing you as a mother and he couldn’t be more pleased with the idea.
Settling down was never something that had been on his mind, especially with romance actually taking part in it. He had always pictured a loveless marriage with many kids and his duties to keep both him and his wife occupied. But never in those images did he picture you as his wife. He pictured you with a prince or someone more worthy of your love, never himself. But the idea wasn’t unpleasant to him, instead it was a great joy to picture.
“Lady y/l/n, might I have a moment?” He asks and you gasp, jumping to your feet out of surprise.
“Yes of course lord Bridgerton.” You smile, your face once again flushed, causing him to stifle a chuckle.
The two of you enter the corridor, where he takes your hand in his. Your breath hitches and your heart is pounding in your chest.
“I have done as you asked. I have made myself look a bit of a fool in your honor, I have done the thing I never once imagined myself doing, and I have fallen in love with you. Love in a marriage has always been a great virtue but I never pictured it for myself until last night. I can see us starting a family, I can see us happy together. Lady y/l/n, y/n, would you allow me to ask for your hand? Your papa has agreed so long as it is in your wishes. I’m sure your mama would agree as well. There would be no greater honor for me.” He finally asks, making you giggle with excitement, real excitement this time.
“Anthony, you are the only man who causes me true and real joy. I know you to be a good and kind man. Yes I will marry you.” You smile, giggling as he hugs you tightly, trying hard to stick to your honor.
“That is good because I did see Lord Ambrose leaving earlier and I must tell you, he is something of a cheat. Cannot be trusted.” He says jealously and you scoff, giggling again.
“I believe I am the one who has you flustered this time, by the way.” He murmurs as you walk back into the drawing room to announce the news to your family.
“I believe that both of us have that challenge covered this time my lord.” You challenge quietly just before you declare your engagement to your family, leaving him both in want of you and puzzled by you all at once, just as both of you know you’ll likely do your whole marriage.
YOU GUYSSSSSSS I can’t believe how popular this fic has gotten, I love you all so much thank you for reading ❤️❤️
Summary: who’d have thought a dance with the Viscount could lead to such shocking revelations?
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x female!reader
Warnings: none!! Pure fluff!!!
You smoothed down the soft jewel toned dress you wore as your mother grabbed onto your arm, all but dragging you into the ballroom.
An abundance of eyes rested on you but not one pair had your interest. In fact, you were rather appalled by the idea of being traded to one of these lords for just a sizeable dowry.
“Darling, I expect you’ll be polite. Your future husband could be gracing this room with his presence as we speak.” Your mother murmurs in your ear and you force a stiff smile to your lips, taking a deep breath through your nose as you simply nod in response.
As you gracefully trapse down the stairway in lady Danbury’s home, you try your best to pretend you’re nowhere near here, like you’re instead at home, in the drawing room with your family.
“Lady y/l/n, would you care to dance with me?” A young man you barely recognize asks politely, stepping directly in front of you as you reach the bottom step, leaving you with a small height advantage to the man in front of you.
You look to your mama with a pleading look, giving it your all but she simply gives him a wide grin and nods, shooing you off her arm. You on the other hand, would rather hide behind her and grab hold of the entrails of her skirt like a shy child.
You take his hand hesitantly, letting him fill out your dance card with a look of despair, glancing around the grand room for anyone you could possibly recognize. You noticed a few of the Bridgertons gallivanting about, including Eloise, one of your dearest friends. You decided then and there you would make your escape to her soon enough, after one dance with the Lord Norton, as you finally read his name to be. Surely she would come up with a plan to get you out of there in one piece and with no suitors in tow.
The young man grabbed stiff and awkward hold of your hand and waist, making you want to wince though you know your mother would later scold you for it if you did, so you remained of neutral face.
“I have heard you are quite the dancer lady y/l/n. Perhaps you could show me so tonight?” He suggests and you force yet another kind smile and a nod.
“Yes perhaps so.” You say meekly, trying to withhold the frown you wanted to let free.
The song went on for a painfully long time and when it ended, you couldn’t get away fast enough. You pretended to notice someone new and excused yourself, slipping through the crowd of people to the outskirts of the dancefloor where Eloise is standing, watching everything with a disgusted look.
“My thoughts exactly.” You say dryly, moving to stand next to her, happy to slink in the shadows for the remainder of the evening.
“It is dreadful isn’t it, being thrown into the ton like cattle to be bought or won? I mean really, how ladylike is that truly?” Eloise asks you, earning some looks from the surrounding Mamas.
The two of you stand in silence for a minute after that, holding in giggles until they’ve dispersed and forgotten about you.
“My brother is a part of it this year. As are you. I suppose the two of you should form some sort of amicable alliance, protect each other from the upcoming stampede of desperates?” She suggests.
“Careful, my mama may hear you and believe that to mean you’re offering me a Bridgerton husband on a silver platter.” You laugh, giggling along with Eloise. Your laughs quiet down as Anthony himself approaches, as though he sensed his presence in the conversation.
“Have you filled your card so soon Lady y/l/n? A shame, I was to ask you for a dance to rid me of the swarm that seems to follow my every step.” He says with a small grin, making you grow a real smile.
“Perhaps there is room for one more partner, though you’ll have to take my wrist to find out, I realize that comes as a difficulty to you lord Bridgerton.” You tease back, noticing the eyes of lord Norton calling to you. You ignore the patronizing look, instead choosing to further tease the viscount by raising your arm so your dance card dangles right in front of his face, raising a challenging eyebrow to him.
The two of you had been performing this rouse with each other for longer than you could remember. The friendships between your families went back years, long before you or Anthony were even a faint thought and so, you’d known each other quite literally your whole lives. Instead of a fast friendship though, you challenged each other at every event, taking turns teasing the other and leading them to a sort of trap. Typically, whichever of you blushed or flustered easier was the loser of the little game you played.
“Well lord Bridgerton? Will you accompany me to the dance floor, or shall I do something truly improper and heaven forbid request your sister’s company instead?” You grin wickedly, watching him roll his eyes as he gently takes your wrist and tickles your gloved hand with the end, writing his name in the second space.
As the current song falls to an end, you take the Lord Bridgertons hand in yours before he even has the option of taking yours first. He looks slightly shocked for a moment but then smiles mischievously before taking strong hold of your waist, pulling you that much closer to him and earning a small gasp in return.
“Were you not expecting that?” He asks, faking confusion as you shake your head with a laugh.
“You are nothing like these mamas think you are viscount. You’ll likely corrupt their poor young ladies with the most miniscule of grins.” You say cheekily, earning a chuckle from him.
He twirls you around and right back into his chest.
“Perhaps I like being an element of surprise in this traditional stiff game.” He suggests, his own eyebrow raised. You scoff a laugh, getting another eyebrow in return. “Do you find my statement humorous?” He says directly into the shell of your ear.
You turn yourself around, back to his hand in yours and the other resting on the small of your back as you sway.
“Not at all, I merely find it untrue. You are a perfect gentleman, a true nobleman and a good man to your family. You, just as the Duke of Hastings was, are every mamas dream. Good looks, good societal stature. I’m surprised my own mama has not yet thrown me at you herself.” You explain.
“You must have spoken too soon, your mother is hastily making her way to us as we dance.” He smirks back, releasing you from his grasp just as the song comes to an end.
“Y/n!” Your mother hisses, carefully and somehow gracefully storming up to you.
“Yes mama?” You ask sweetly, letting her guide you off to the side, a more private place to chat.
“What on earth are you doing? You are to be meeting potential husbands, not off with the viscount again. You make this same attempt every event. Unless you intend to court him, you must demonstrate your availability to the eligible young men who are truly interested.” She scolds, making you bow your head with a sigh.
“Mama I was being polite. Lord Bridgerton asked me to dance and I obliged out of duty. If I had turned him down, imagine how I would appear to all others!” You insist, coming up with excuses on the spot. She sighs and waves you away, walking off to gossip with Cressidas mama some more.
You groan quietly, carefully making your own way over to the refreshments, grabbing a glass of lemonade and taking a delicate sip.
“Tart is it not?” A voice asks behind you, taking you by surprise.
You turn to find Lady Danbury herself and you smile kindly, letting your shoulders rerelax themselves.
“Yes my lady. I believe it is one of the best batches yet.” You say with a grin, getting one right back from her.
“I noticed you having a beautiful dance with lord Bridgerton. Am I right to assume there may be a flame between the two of you? A viscount is quite the prize to win, I’m sure your family would be proud.” She suggests with a knowing grin.
“Oh! no, no. You should have us mistaken Lady Danbury! The viscount and I are merely old family friends. There is no courtship there.” You chuckled, astonished by the accusation.
“Really? I mean are you sure? Perhaps it is more to him than ‘tis to you but I did see a very particular glimmer in both your eyes as you danced. He shall remain at least a little jealous of the suitors you gain from that little dance.” She smiles, patting a hand over your own thoughtfully.
You, too stunned to speak, simply nod politely and excuse yourself, turning to make your leave and instead bumping right into Anthony Bridgerton himself.
“My apologies.” You mumble, your face flushed as you rush the other way, completely puzzling the man.
You practically all but ran outside, gathering your billowing skirt and making your way through the maze of a garden. Your head felt fuzzy and full, you didn’t know what to think.
“Lady y/l/n!” A familiar voice cries after you.
“Leave me to my thoughts Mr. Bridgerton!” You plead, running a hand over your face.
“Perhaps I may help? Come please… y/n we’ve known each other too long for you to dismiss me in such a manner. What troubles you? Is it the lord Norton, because if it was, I shall have a word with him.” He says, suddenly very protective of your integrity.
You snort again lightly. “Lord Bridgerton it is nothing of the sort! In fact, it is the affections of another that leave me so perplexed.” You sigh, shaking your head as you let out a breath.
“I see… and which gentleman may that be?” He asks, hiding the smidge of jealousy that dares to ring in his voice.
“It is not my place to say. Perhaps he could tell you himself, he is standing in this very garden after all.” You joke, a frown taking its place on your lips.
You laugh stiffly as he turns his head every which way, looking for the man in question.
“Lady y/l/n, there is no other man around… or is it too dark for me to possibly notice him?” Anthony asks, clearly completely clueless to what you’re explaining.
“You! I am referring to you Lord Bridgerton!” You decree, turning round swiftly to meet his wide eyes with your own troubled ones.
He remains silent, staring back at you, mouth agape. Anthony was used to such proclamations from random young women in town however you were no ordinary young woman. You were lady y/l/n. You were the lady he had so admired, so come to love. Since the moment the two of you reached an age where you developed feelings for the other gender, he was enamored by you. There was no other who smiled, laughed, joked or looked at him in such a way as you did and that held his affections more strongly than anything else could.
His inability to speak left you with a deep frown of your own, your lip quivering slightly as you bow your head in embarrassment.
“Very well, I see I was led astray. No need to fret, plenty of suitors anyway so no matter.” You say, your cheeks once again flushed.
He quickly recovers from his own daze at the sight of you turning away from him once again, carefully grabbing your wrist and pulling you back towards him.
“Anthony we should not even be out on our own, with no chaperone in sight… it is improper, you know this.” You say, trying to find any possible way to excuse yourself from the conversation you’d started.
“Just as improper as dropping the formalities before so much as the suggestion of courtship?” He challenges, making you go silent.
“Y/n I have never once denied an attraction to you. Do you truly believe me to be such a fool that I would not see your exquisite beauty?” He asks thoughtfully, catching your attention once again, your lips parted in complete surprise at his words. Your face is crimson without the need for the rouge on your cheeks, and you laugh out of sheer confusion.
“Honestly? Yes, I believed that perhaps your affections are captured by another young lady from the town. Possibly the young opera singer…” You suggest, laughing at your own joke.
“Sienna is… she is important to me yes but I’ve only been with her because I believed you to be promised to another, though I now see your hand is not yet taken.” He hums, smiling lightly at you.
“Lord Bridgerton… I do not have words that could respond to your advances… it seems highly inappropriate.” You say, going to turn away again, breaking the remaining hold his hand has over the cuff of your gloves.
“Y/n please drop the title. I see it as meant for those who do not truly know me however we are both very aware of the fact that you and I know each other perfectly well.” He says, gently lifting your chin to make eye contact with him once again.
“Very well, Anthony. This is highly unlike you. I’ve never seen you lose your proper language and tone before, not at public events anyway.” You state, fully aware of your close proximity to the viscount.
“On the contrary I do like to play the wildcard from time to time. And I regard you in too high a manner to pretend we are nothing less than the normal.” He says, moving in closer to you, taking your breath away.
He continues his approach, making you bite your lip with the widest of eyes, unable to speak.
A moment later you return to your senses, blinking out of your fairytale moment.
“We cannot go any further… not unless you’re prepared to propose.” You say, backing up to build distance.
He continued to stare you down, trying to convince you to return his affections with only a look.
“You should like to paint a picture.” You joke in attempts to lighten the mood.
“Y/n if that is all it takes, I shall marry you in a few months time.” He announces, pulling you into his arms and swinging you around with joy.
“What a very romantic proposal, I may just swoon.” You say sarcastically, laughing as he puts you down with his own perplexed look.
“Whatever do you mean y/n? You asked for a proposal and i obliged.” He says, making you let out a snort.
“You obliged?! As though proposing to take my hand is some sort of duty you are ‘obliged’ to do. When I said proposal I meant a truly proper one. You must ask my father for permission to propose, you must bring flowers and be in the drawing room when we announce it as official.” You explain. “I am shocked you did not think of it, you were so very insistent upon it when it came to your own sister last season.” You scoff.
“If you should truly mean what you are asking, you shall be at y/l/n house tomorrow morning to treat me as the lady I am rather than a common whore you wish to trick. Understood?” You ask before he gets the chance to object your ultimatum.
He gulps and then nods rapidly, afraid to speak in case of offending you or further entangling the web of your relationship, watching you smile back at him and walk away, back to the party and away from him.
——————————————————
The next morning…
The very next morning, all of the eligible ladies of the ton are eagerly waiting for their dukes and viscounts and gentlemen to come calling. The center of London is bustling with activity of carriages, footmen and of course their gentlemen calling on the women they seek.
You are among those not so patiently waiting. Since you’d woken, you were in the drawing room, pretending to be distracted by books and needlepoint but in reality, being completely anxious for the day to come.
After you’d left Anthony and returned indoors, the night was somewhat of a blur. Your thoughts remained on Anthony but your physical presence was there, on the floor, where another gentleman, though much older than the others who seemed to fancy you, had asked for your third dance. You agreed, not wanting to be impolite or for your mother to have reason to invoke her rath.
So, you danced with the lord Gillington, and it was all fine but you held no interest in him, nor in Lord Newton, who apparently was to stop by today as well.
When the third dance ended you faked a headache and feigned fatigue to your mother, who reluctantly agreed. There were other eyes on you and she would have preferred you have at least one more dance but you had done as she asked and that was all she could hope for.
You arrived home early but that wasn’t to say you slept well. You were restless, worrying over the possibilities for the next day. Surely Anthony would never lead you on in a way such as this for your silly little game but there was no certainty there. Still you took comfort in knowing that he was typically a man of his word.
But now, as you sat twiddling with your thumbs, you weren’t so certain. He was as he liked to put it now ‘a wildcard’ when it came to romance and you had never actually attempted such a thing in your relationship.
You ignored your nerves and smoothed down your silky day dress and took yet another deep breath, getting ready to settle back in when one of your staff enter the room. Quickly you rise to your feet.
“A gentleman is here for ms. Y/l/n.” He announces and you smile wide at your mother.
“Send him in then!” She urges, just as excitedly.
He obliges and a minute later a man enters but your face falls as you see its not who you’d hoped.
“Lord Newton.” You greet, pasting as much of a smile as you can muster on your face, taking the delicate bouquet he holds into your own hands and giving them a polite smell.
“Lady y/l/n. You look beautiful, as always.” He greets back, lightly kissing your hand. Your mother looks ecstatic but you couldn’t be less so.
You knew it best to keep your options open but it wasn’t your nature. You were interested in one man and one man alone and it was all his own fault.
“Thank you lord Newton, that’s very kind of you. Would you like to sit?” You ask, sitting back down on the chaise, patting it lightly for him.
He graciously accepts, sitting next to you.
“I have come to ask if you should like to court, lady y/l/n? I do not wish to be too forward however I am quite taken with you my lady.” He states, smiling back at you and you don’t even have to look at your mother to know she’s likely bouncing with joy.
“I-” You start but he is quick to interrupt, something you don’t take kindly to.
“You need not make haste with your decision, I’m aware you will have more suitors throughout the day. I only wish to make my intentions known.” He says, once again kissing your hand. “I shall take my leave. Lady y/l/n. Lady y/l/n.” He says, bowing before walking out the door.
“Oh dearest! That is practically your first proposal! Of many I am certain.” Your mother cheers, hugging you tightly, laughing with joy.
You nod meekly, trying to stay somewhat happy for your mothers sake.
Throughout the day, callers come and go, bearing gifts and kind words nonstop. The room is a festival of colours and chatter and the sweet fragrance of florals everywhere. And yet, no Bridgerton caller had arrived thus far.
“Perhaps Lady Whistledown shall write bright things about our home this week! You are getting plenty of attention from the best of the gentlemen.” Your mama says as the latest of the male callers take their leave.
“Yes perhaps this is true mama.” You say with another smile.
As you take a seat, another caller arrives and you stand yet again with a weak smile, tired of the anticipation of the days end drawing near.
“Lord Ambrose for you my lady.” The staff announces and you smile as you dismiss him.
“Lord Ambrose how delightful to see you.” You greet, taking a seat with him. In that moment, your youngest sister runs into the room, chased by your younger brother.
“Children!” Your mother warns, trying to toss them out of the room.
“It is no bother mama, they may stay. That is if it does not displease you Lord Ambrose?” You ask, turning to him for answer.
“Certainly not, I do love children, it is not a bother at all.” He replies, smiling more at you.
The two of you make chitchat for a while, watching the younger y/l/n children play together happily, passing time surprisingly pleasantly.
“I shall leave, I have had a wonderful afternoon with you my lady. I do hope you’ll consider perhaps courting me this season?” He asks and you feel your smile slipping at yet another sort of proposal.
“Perhaps yes, I shall need some time to consider.” You reply, watching as he accepts the excuse, kisses your hand and leaves.
Your smile falls, watching out the window as the sun falling slowly.
Your eyes dart to the ground when another carriage arrives and you’re quick to sit back down, your mama and your papa, who had just come in from his study, both giving you looks of confusion.
“Another caller I think. We shall see who it is in a moments time.” You grin, hope still heavy in your heart.
Your sister runs over to you and takes a seat next to you, playing with your skirt but you ignore it, watching the doorway intently.
“The viscount Bridgerton is here for you my lady.” He says and your grin grows all the bigger.
“Send him in!” You say with as much eager energy in your voice as your mother had early on.
And so, in walks Anthony, with a large and stunning bouquet of his own and a smile you couldn’t compare to any of the other gifts you’d received today because if you even tried, the rest would never hold a chance.
“My Lord.” You smile, bowing low to him. “I do believe I said this morning.” You tease as you rise, speaking low so your parents cannot hear.
He smiles wider at your cheeky tone. “Yes, I do apologize for the late hour, I had difficulty getting anything appropriate from the florist, so many desperate suitors looking for their own and of course I needed one that could compare to your on beauty though I realize that to be nearly impossible.” He explains and you purse your lips as though thinking whether to believe him or not.
“Lord Bridgerton.” Your mother greets him, bringing your attention to the fact that you are not alone.
“Lady y/l/n, a pleasure. And lord y/l/n, it is an honor to see you again.” Anthony greets both your parents, making your glee spread that much more.
“You as well lord Bridgerton.” Your father says, standing to shake his hand.
“I actually have some matters I’d like to discuss with you my lord. Shall we excuse ourselves?” Anthony asks and your father nods. The men take their leave to the study, your little brother chasing after them, eager to listen in. Your mother tries to stop him but he ignores her and she’s clearly too tired to try anymore.
“Might I ask dearest, what it is that prompted the Viscounts call?” She asks you, raising an eyebrow.
“I believe it was Lady Danbury’s revelations after we shared a dance last night. It would seem his mother and her ladyship have noticed something that myself and Lord Bridgerton have not. Until now that is.” You smile, keeping the true reason a secret for Anthony and yourself to hold tight.
“I see…” She hums unsurely, still going back to her needlepointing rather than investigate any longer.
You remain playing with your younger sister, waiting eagerly for the men to finish their business, wishing nothing more than to be a part of the discussion.
In your own frustration and excitement, you barely notice Anthony’s returned to the room. Instead of telling you, he is mesmerized by watching you and your sister, smiling fully at the sight of you with a child. He had seen you interact with them before of course, but with the chance to finally have you for himself, Anthony couldn’t help picturing you as a mother and he couldn’t be more pleased with the idea.
Settling down was never something that had been on his mind, especially with romance actually taking part in it. He had always pictured a loveless marriage with many kids and his duties to keep both him and his wife occupied. But never in those images did he picture you as his wife. He pictured you with a prince or someone more worthy of your love, never himself. But the idea wasn’t unpleasant to him, instead it was a great joy to picture.
“Lady y/l/n, might I have a moment?” He asks and you gasp, jumping to your feet out of surprise.
“Yes of course lord Bridgerton.” You smile, your face once again flushed, causing him to stifle a chuckle.
The two of you enter the corridor, where he takes your hand in his. Your breath hitches and your heart is pounding in your chest.
“I have done as you asked. I have made myself look a bit of a fool in your honor, I have done the thing I never once imagined myself doing, and I have fallen in love with you. Love in a marriage has always been a great virtue but I never pictured it for myself until last night. I can see us starting a family, I can see us happy together. Lady y/l/n, y/n, would you allow me to ask for your hand? Your papa has agreed so long as it is in your wishes. I’m sure your mama would agree as well. There would be no greater honor for me.” He finally asks, making you giggle with excitement, real excitement this time.
“Anthony, you are the only man who causes me true and real joy. I know you to be a good and kind man. Yes I will marry you.” You smile, giggling as he hugs you tightly, trying hard to stick to your honor.
“That is good because I did see Lord Ambrose leaving earlier and I must tell you, he is something of a cheat. Cannot be trusted.” He says jealously and you scoff, giggling again.
“I believe I am the one who has you flustered this time, by the way.” He murmurs as you walk back into the drawing room to announce the news to your family.
“I believe that both of us have that challenge covered this time my lord.” You challenge quietly just before you declare your engagement to your family, leaving him both in want of you and puzzled by you all at once, just as both of you know you’ll likely do your whole marriage.
I cannot believe that I’ve reached 3k followers!!! Thank you to every single one of you for taking the time to read, like and reblog my stories! It honestly means so much to me!
To celebrate me hitting this milestone, I have decided to host an A-Z challenge!
Quite a while ago I asked some of my amazing mutuals to give me a word for every letter of the alphabet; I have since compiled two lists (SFW & NSFW) based on the words they gave me as well as my own chosen words, below you will find these lists:
Rules:
The rules for this challenge are pretty simple, if you want to write the story all you have to do is just send me an ask with the word you want to choose along with the character you want to write the story for!
Ideally, I’d like the characters to be from my character list but if a character you want to write for isn’t on there just let me know!
I will only accept three stories per word!
You can choose up to five words and different characters for each one(or keep the same characters) or you can just choose one word and character!
Make sure you tag me in any stories! If I don’t like and reblog it within 72hours, just message me with a link to the story!
If you don’t want to write a story but would still like to take part feel free to send me an ask that starts with this along with the word and character you want and I’ll write a story for you (any words that haven’t been taken I will also write a story for)
Once again, thank you all so much for the continued support!! I love and appreciate every single one of you!
Tagging some people who might be interested (There’s absolutely no pressure to take part though!) :
The day felt both long and short at the same time. Short because one moment you were in your room with your lady’s maids putting your hair up and patting rouge on your cheeks and the next you were taking a man as your husband in a church. It felt almost as if everything happened in a blink of an eye that you could hardly remember being walked down the aisle with everybody’s eyes on you, thanking the Heavens that your memories failed you or else you’d be rather mortified with all that attention.
And long because you had to wait for the sun to shy away from the skies to be alone with your newly pronounced husband.
You had gone into the room earlier than Benedict to freshen up. The lovely new nightgowns that were especially made for your honeymoon laid beautifully on the bed by your maid. You slip into one, marveling the details of the fabric. Upon looking yourself in the mirror, a soft gasp escaped your lips, not realizing how certain nightgowns could accentuate parts of your womanhood. You could hardly recognize yourself in the mirror, especially now that your hair flowed freely down your back.
You sat on the bed, waiting patiently for your husband to come into the room. He had told you that he would need to settle a few things before he joined you but that was ages ago, it felt like, and your nerves were getting the best of you. Curiosity won over and you put on a robe atop your gown, not even bothering to button or tie it up and head out of the room. The hallway were dimly lit, only a few candles left burning as you walked the length of the hallway.
As you were about to descend the stairs, you realize a male figure was walking up. And there he was, Benedict Bridgerton. His jacket and vest were off, as was his bowtie. His hair was disheveled as if he had run his hand through it multiple times in exasperation. And the undone collar of his shirt made the butterflies in your stomach flutter even more as you realized this was the man you had married earlier.
“There you are,” you exclaimed softly, startling him slightly.
Benedict raised his head and locked eyes with you and for a moment he stood there looking up at you in awe and silence. You could feel his gaze running up and down your body as if he was not sure if you were there or just a mere illusion.
You blinked a few times and slowly the crease on your forehead deepen in confusion.
“Is everything okay?”
Benedict replied with a slow smile and shook his head, chuckling softly in disbelief. “I just can’t believe I wasted so much time downstairs when youhad been waiting for me upstairs looking like that,” he admitted.
Realizing your hadn’t even conceal your nightgown, you quickly pulled your robe over your chest.
A chuckle escape his lips as he climbed up the remaining steps, closing the gap between the two of you.
“My apologies…. Mrs. Bridgerton,” Benedict said softly as his arms touched your hips and snaked behind your lower back, pulling you close to him. “Had I known…” he started before shaking his head. “No, there are no excuses. What shall you do with me for leaving you alone for so long?” he teased, his eyes glimmering as he looked down at you with a smirk.
Pushing back your nerves and reminding yourself this was the man of your dreams, one that promised to love you till your dying breath and you had no reason to be nervous around him, you replied: “I see you’ve gotten slightly undressed yourself, Mr. Bridgerton.” You ran your palms softly on his arms and made its way to his neck, touching the undone collars and stealing a touch or two on his neck. He closed his eyes at your touch and a part of you jumped at the idea of the effect you had on him.
“Mrs. Bridgerton,” he whispered as he brought down his lips to your ear. “You have now idea how you have bewitched me.”
As if he knew your legs would give out on you, his arms scooped you up just in time and his lips silenced yours before you managed to squeal. You could feel his strong arms around your body as you wrapped your arms around his neck and all the while as he made his way down the hallway to your room, his lips never left yours.
[apologies for the hiatus; mental block and had a hard time finding nice gifs of Benedict . Hope you enjoyed this!]
It was late. You know that. You’ve been tossing and turning for the last hour. The sound of crickets and other nocturnal animals kept you company in the darkness. Your eyes had been open and adjusted to the dark long enough that you could make out the beautiful ceiling and well-decorated room.
Giving up on sleep, you sighed loudly and got out of bed, pulling on a robe to cover your nightgown. You usually had no trouble sleeping over at the Bridgertons’ when your family was away. You had rather preferred to be in a house full with people whom you thought as family than an empty house with servants and lady’s maid as company, hence, the Bridgertons’. Alas, sleep eluded you that night and after enough tossing on the large bed, you light up a candle, opened the door slowly, and walked down the long hallway. You thought perhaps a breath of fresh air outside by the swings could probably chase the anxiety away. Perhaps Eloise would be there; God knows she loved to have a smoke or two in the middle of the night.
But as you walked down the hallway heading to the stairs, the door to one of the rooms was slightly ajar and light escaped and spilled out. Curiosity got the best of you and you quietly tip-toed and peek in.
There sat Benedict in front of a wooden easel by the window. The light in the room was enough to capture his rugged appearance, disheveled but handsome nonetheless. His collar was open, his hair slightly tousled; he had probably run his hand through it a couple of times for it to look that way. He looked completely at ease with a glass of wine in his hand, his attention completely focused on the paper, or so you thought.
“You could come in, you know,” he said suddenly, his voice a little too loud against the silence of the sleeping house.
Ashamed that you got caught snooping, you walked into the room with your head down, your cheeks ablaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”
“No,” Benedict chuckled, cutting you off. “You’re not disturbing me. Couldn’t sleep, could you?” he asked, finally setting his eyes on you, putting something down onto the easel.
“No.” You walked to the sofa across from Benedict, setting the candle on the table in front of you. “I really didn’t mean to disturb you while you’re drawing.”
“Stop. You’re not,” he gave you a warm smile. His nodded slightly to the sofa. “Since you’re here, you might as well sit and stay still.” Benedict began resuming his drawing.
You were confused. If he was to draw you, shouldn’t he changed to a new piece of paper? Regardless you stayed put. From time to time Benedict’s eyes travelled from the paper in front of him to you. You felt rather exposed, sitting with a man in your nightgown, in a room, unchaperoned. But this is Benedict. You have known him since before your debut. You’ve never thought of him as a potential husband. Partly because he had declared more than once that he was not looking or interested in marriage.
A few minutes passed as you two sat in silence. Finally, not withstanding the quiet and his gaze on you, you sat straighter and sighed rather loudly.
“Right! I’m sure its done by now?”
You got up from the sofa.
“Good god no, not yet, please don’t,” he begged as you made your way to his side.
“You had plenty of time, Benedict,” you said, even though it had just been mere minutes. A small laugh escaped your lips as you stood behind him. And then your eyes fell onto the beautiful drawing he had made. The details of it says that he had been working on it for a while. It was a sketch portrait of you, in your favorite dress; the white one with the light floral embellishment by the hems. The dress that you wore at your debut two years ago.
“How-,” you started. You couldn’t find the right words to utter your disbelief. “I believe I wore that 2 years ago! How could you remember?”
Benedict was still sitting down on his bench so you two were eye to eye. His piercing eyes forced yours to meet his, pulling your gaze away from the portrait. You had a silly huge grin on your face and tears pooling in your eyes. You couldn’t believe someone would remember such intricate details about you from 2 years ago. Being on the marriage mart this long tend to make you feel invisible. And as you look into those beautiful almond-shaped eyes looking at you adoringly, you saw it. You were far from invisible to him.
His charcoal-stained hand found yours as his eyes held your gaze, trying to gauge if this was what you wanted. When he found no resistance, he wrapped his big hand around yours, gently, but firm.
“It took me a while,” he started, his voice soft. “I think I know now why I was never interested in anyone before.”
You took in a breath, not exactly sure what was happening.
“I started drawing this since you came to stay with us a couple of days ago. And for the life of me, I could not remember who it was or where this memory was from, but I just couldn’t stop drawing.”
His other hand slowly made its way to your face, moving his soft fingers across your cheek.
“But when you sat there, I could finally put a face to this portrait. It’s you.”
His fingers continued to caress your cheeks, making its way to your hair, and slid down behind your ear, tucking your hair back.
“It’s always been you,” a faint whisper escaped his lips. Had you not been standing in front of him, so close that you could almost feel his breath on you, you wouldn’t be able to hear it.
Your heart was thumping in your chest, your eyes unable to blink, scared that you might lose this moment.
Benedict slowly interlace your fingers with his. With the other hand, he had placed them strategically behind your head and you could feel him pulling you closer to him. You couldn’t believe what was happening. 2 years with not one proposal tempting enough for you to accept and now this. Perhaps this was what you were waiting for all along; a man mad enough for you to sketch you out from an old memory he had remember of you, albeit subconsciously.
You felt as if your lips was glued shut, but as his lips found yours, it awoke to the sensation. Your free hand moved up to his beautiful face, holding it in place as he deepen the kiss.
It felt natural and right to be there, held by him, as he covered your face with soft kisses. You let out a heavenly sigh as he pulled you onto his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck as his arms moved to wrap around you, holding you to him. “Marry me,” he said, his lips moving on your neck.
Not sure if you had heard it right, you pulled back so you could look at him. “What did you say?”
He smirked, the kind of smirk that says he knew you had heard it, but wanted him to repeat it anyway.
“I said. Marry me.” His steady gaze held yours, his face perfectly serious with a hint of playfulness, as if challenging you to ask him to repeat again.
Your smile was big enough that you felt your cheeks hurt.
As you lean back in to seal his lips with yours, Benedict tighten his arms around you, thinking it was the best ‘yes’ he could ever ask for.
Even before the thick, dark doors were pulled open by the house butlers, you could already hear the voices of guests and the live music playing beautifully.
The room was huge and brightly lit as guests danced in the middle of the floor gracefully. Your eyes wondered from puzzled faces to more friendlier faces who were welcoming you and your family with their polite smiles. You had thought the people of high society would be filled with snobs, but no, your aunt and uncle, and most of the people at the ball proved otherwise.
You had moved to London in the middle of the (society) season because your parents had had enough with your rambunctious ways in the village. They thought a season or two in society with your aunt and uncle could perhaps change your ways and attract you a suitable husband. They weren’t wrong. A week of continuous etiquette classes with your aunt, the tutors, and your helpful cousin, and you were off to an evening ball at a viscount’s home in a beautiful gown with patterns and laces you had never dreamt of wearing. You turned your head as you followed your aunt around the room and your cousin smiled an encouraging smile next to you, giving you an ever-slight nod. She was confident that you would attract at least several pairs of eyes (both mamas and their bachelor sons) since she had donned you with her favourite ribbons and shoes.
Your eyes slowly scanned the room as your aunt stopped to talk with several people. You gave them a small curtsy when you were introduced before your eyes went back to the graceful dancers and the beautifully-dressed people. Your gaze stopped at a group of people and you hear your cousin whisper in your ear.
“That’s the Bridgertons. That one is Anthony; the viscount. He is Kate’s husband,” referring to the lady your aunt was currently conversing with.
“Who is the tall gentleman next to him?” you inquired.
“Ahhh, that is Benedict Bridgerton. A very talented artist, I heard. Unfortunately, it seems none of the ladies here has ever attracted his attention.”
As your cousin finished the last sentence, Benedict’s head turned to your direction. His hand was holding a gold-trimmed glass that he had put to his lips, making his eyes even more piercing than before as he looked at you. When he pulled the glass away, you saw that he was smiling at you.
“My dears, shall we go get something to drink? I’m parched,” you heard your aunt’s voice pull you out from the reverie Benedict’s eyes had caught you in.
“Yes, mama.”
Your aunt seemed to be people’s favourite as she had a neverending line of people waiting to get into a conversation with her. It was probably because your cousin was one of the most beautiful singles in the room, but she had sworn off men after her first (and last, so she said) heartbreak. The Ambitious Mamas (so your cousin called them) will never give up trying to make your cousin their daughter-in-law, though. You wouldn’t either; she was incredible. Your cousin excused herself and pulled you away from the crowd.
“You looked like you were about to drown with all those questions about me, and you,” she had said as she pulled you to a quieter edge of the room.
“I was more anxious at the fact that I hardly did the talking about me,” you admitted, chuckling.
Your cousin laughed. “I think that calls for another drink. I’ll be right back!”
And there you were, alone in a corner, in a room full of people you did not know.
“Good evening,” a voice came behind you and you turned rather quickly, shocked at the sound of a male’s voice seeing as no one had talked to you directly the whole night besides your cousin.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled.
Dumbfounded, your eyes couldn’t believe that the man you had seen across the room earlier was now standing right in front of you. It didn’t help that he was more handsome closer than afar.
When you still did not speak, he tried again.
“I haven’t seen you before,” he noted, his blue eyes showed confusion with a dash of curiosity. “Are you not from London?”
You were panicking, your mind grasping for words to form sentences so you could speak. Finally you said, “You are a Bridgerton, yes?”
“I see my reputation precedes me,” a crooked smile broke out on his face.
“My cousin had pointed your family out earlier, so I remembered,” you replied softly, not particularly sure how to speak with a gentleman, much more a handsome gentleman such as him.
As if sensing your anxiety, he offered you his hand.
“May I have this dance?”
Yes, dancing would mean there would hardly be any room for you to say the wrong words.
So, you took his hand and if your senses were right, all eyes were on you as you danced the night away with the one and only Benedict Bridgerton.
It was unusually sunny for a typical day in London. You were sitting down in front of your mirror as your lady’s maid fixed your hair for the tea party in yet another Duchess’ garden. A small smile crept up her lips before you heard:
“There. All done.”
You touched your hair. Though you cannot see it, you could feel the intricate details of your dark curls, pulled back and twisted and turned to make a beautiful pattern at the back of your head and the remaining length of your hair caressed your neck and shoulders. You mirrored your lady maid’s genuinely happy smile.
“Thank you, Elise.”
Your family weren’t late, but as you walked into the garden, a beautiful space surrounded by lushes trees and colorful flowers, almost every eye turned to acknowledge your arrival.
Your family of 5 parted; your Mama joining the other Ambitious Mamas, along with your two elder sisters and your father gave your hand a supportive squeeze before joining the other gentlemen across the fountain. No, you wouldn’t join your Mama as the effort to not roll your eyes would just be tiresome. You rather be alone in a gardenful of socialites.
So you started to take a turn about the garden, admiring the Duchess’ bloom and as you were gently caressing the rose’s petal, a voice came from your back.
“Miss?”
You turned rather abruptly.
“You scared me!”
Benedict chuckled.
“My apologies. I didn’t mean to,” he started. “I was just wondering if I could accompany you on your… walk,” he smiled sheepishly. “I’m sure I would make a better company than my sister’s roses.”
He had such light green eyes, yet piercing; a contrast to his dark curls.
“You are the Duchess’ brother,” you said, matter of factly before realizing you had just pointed out what he had just announced. “I mean of course you are.”
He flashed another smile, this time it was a smile that was trying to hide a laugh.
“Yes that would be me. Mr. Benedict Bridgerton,” he intruduced himself as he took your hand and planted a soft kiss.
As if it wasn’t hot enough, the spot on your hand where his lips touched burned hotter than the day, and blood rushed to your cheeks.
“My dear, there you are!” Your mother’s voice pulled you out of your reverie as she rushed to you with your father.
Introductions were exchanged and your Mama started listing down all your accomplishments to Mr. Bridgerton, selling you off like a chicken at a market. You could not help but bring your gaze to the tall handsome man in front of you. He had turned his head and chuckled softly as he looked at your father shaking his head and rubbing his temples, obviously getting tired of your Mama’s plans to quickly wed you off.
“Yes, thank you, my lady, but I believe we were about to take a turn about the garden. If you could excuse us,” Benedict finally said, offering you to take his arm.
A few steps away from your family, and you let out a huge sigh of relief. “I thank you for the rescue, Mr. Bridgerton. And I do apologize for my Mama’s behavior.”
“Not at all,” he smiled, turning his head to look at you. “Though, seeing as you are incredibly thankful for my save, I think you owe me a dance at Lady Danbury’s ball tomorrow night,” he teased.
You could feel his eyes on you, still. Though his tone was light, it would seem that he was still waiting for a reply from you.
Finally you summoned all the courage you had in you, pushed past the butterflies in your stomach and met his eyes, your head slightly titled due to the height difference.
“Yes, you can have as many dance as you want, Mr. Bridgerton,” you said rather softly, not sure if he had heard it.
If the edges of his lips could reach his ears, it would.
“I will hold on to your word, miss,” he said as he held your hand closer to the side of his body.
It was yet another season for society to put their most eligible bachelors and bachelorettes into the Marriage Mart and that means more nights of balls, dancing, and courtships filling the columns of Whistledown, along with the latest scandals.
Like any other ladies, your anxiety grew stronger the longer you stayed on the shelf. It wasn’t because the ton lacked gentlemen who would make suitable husbands, no, but it was because after a few callings and promenades around the lake, you found that there is nothing more to them than their name and title (and perhaps money). To some, financial security is the only requirement for one to accept the proposal, but not you.
You had hoped to skip this season like you did last because everyone knew as the years go by, you are only getting closer to being a spinster, and at this point, you felt rather hopeless that you’d ever find a man that would make you happy. But alas, your mother had decided that one year away from society was more than enough for her daughter and therefore, there you were, at yet another ball, day after day.
You were standing by the corner of the room, trying to avoid the men whom you had once refused, but had strong persistence and determination like Mamas during the season. The lovely music filled the room as chaperones fill in each other on the latest scandal and as you were trying to appreciate the graceful dancers, a rather loud group of men laughing caught your attention. You turned your head, intending to show how annoyed you were with their happiness, when one of them looked up, a huge grin on his face, his eyes twinkling from the laughter.
All the annoyance dissipated as you stood there mesmerized by the smile. The man looked away after giving you a small nod and returned his attention to his group. You blinked a few times, pulling yourself out of the reverie.
“Something caught your eye, my dear?” Your mother asked as she made her way to you.
You almost laughed out loud, rather unladylike. Somehow mothers have the best intuitions.
“I’m alright, mother. I was just going to grab another glass of lemonade.” You walked away after giving your mother a reassuring smile, hoping it was quick enough for you to get away before she pushed another gentleman along your way.
As your hand grabbed a small glass, you heard a voice behind you and you had to assume that he was talking to you as there was no one else at the table.
“Can I have the next dance, miss?” The voice had asked. It was deep and unfamiliar, so thank the Heavens, it was not from men whose proposals you had turned down.
You turned around and there he was, standing there waiting for an answer, looking breathtaking as he did a few minutes ago.
And at that moment, you were glad that your mother had dragged you back out into society that season.
[this is somewhat the continuation from the previous imagine]
Another day, another cup of tea and biscuits with the Bridgertons in their informal drawing room. At this point, the Bridgerton House felt more like home than your own.
As you entered the drawing room, seven pair of eyes looked up at you, but there was only one that caught your attention. The gentlemen in the room didn’t brother getting off their seats, except for Simon and another man, who still had his manners and treated you like a lady when the rest see you as their younger sister. You made your way to the chair that is facing the gloriously bright windows and sat next to Eloise. As she started to rant on about something in her notebook, your eyes couldn’t help but look up intuitively for you felt that someone was peering at you. And gosh you hate it when you are right.
Your eyes locked with a one Benedict Bridgerton who had resume his lazy posture on the chair opposite of you. As if he could read your mind daring him to stare you down further, he tilted his head sideways; rendering you an enigma, yet something in his gaze said that you were the most pleasant enigma he has ever stumbled upon. Little did he know the way he looked at you was affecting you in ways you’d rather not feel while in the presence of the other Bridgertons and the Duke and Duchess of Hastings! You felt your cheeks grow hot and your stomach, well you’re not too sure how you’re going to munch down the lovely biscuits in front of you anymore.
You hadn’t realize how long you had been staring into the eyes of the beautiful man across you until you realize Hyacinth’s shocking expression looking at you and Benedict, back and forth as if she had finally managed to solve the puzzle with the long lost last piece.
A throaty chuckle escaped Benedict’s lips as he stood up and smoothed the imaginary crease on his shirt.
He cleared his throat, loud enough that Lady Bridgerton who was in deep conversation with Daphene catching her up with the latest scandals, turned abruptly to look at Benedict.
“I have an announcement to make,” Benedict declared proudly before turning to look at you with the most wicked grin that he knew would make your legs weak had you not been sitting down.
“I am engaged.”
Gasps and hands flew to almost everyone’s mouths in the room.
“My dear, pray tell, who is the lucky lady?” Lady Bridgerton inquired with the utmost curiosity. She had pushed almost every eligible bachelorettes in his direction but from her observations, none had caught his eyes, or heart.
Without another word, he walked to your side and asked for your hand, bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss as his penetrating eyes held yours.
Another round of gasps, with Hyacinth clapping her hands together, feeling rather proud of herself that she had figured it out first.
“I thought it was best to tell them before it gets published in Whistledown,” Benedict had said softly before waves of arms surround you, hugging you close with yelps and congratulations everywhere, officially welcoming you into the family.
Being family friends with the Bridgertons has it own hefty price. For one, the debutante ladies loathed your guts seeing that you had access to the Bridgerton gentlemen and they don’t, hence you could count the number of friends you had in one hand. Two, growing up with (then) 3 other boys meant you, along with the other younger female Bridgertons were subjects to endless teasing and torment. And three, most importantly, the Bridgerton boys would never see you as their future bride, despite all of Lady Bridgerton’s efforts.
However, that didn’t stop you from dreaming. Dreaming that perhaps one day Benedict, the person who would often come to rescue you from dancing with duds at the ball or from a boring conversation with a Lord, would somehow, just maybe, look at you differently.
More often than not, you’d find yourself sitting with Eloise on the swings in the garden of the Bridgerton House late at night. Talks of new books and recent discoveries would always be the fervent topics of discussion with her. No, you’d never tell Eloise of this longing that you feel for one of her brothers, even though you knew Eloise would probably have nothing against it. Still..
“Right. I best get in now,” she said as she stood up, passing the cigarette to you. “I’ll see you tomorrow for tea?”
“Definitely,” you nodded, appreciating the alone time; something Eloise knew about you that most don’t.
As you heard her steps going faint, your thoughts run amok; thinking of how it would break you to see him court someone one day, get married, have children.
You took another drag and inhaled deeply before coughing.
“Seems like you’re trying to get rid of something,” a voice came out behind you, almost knocking you off the swing as you jumped.
“Goodness! Benedict!” you scolded.
That got a small laugh out of him as he joined you on the swing Eloise had vacated.
“What was it?” he asked casually as he reached for the cigarette with his long, strong fingers.
“What’s what?” you asked back, not sure if being honest is the best policy at that moment.
“The thought you were trying to rid of,” one side of his lip curved upward, as if daring you to tell him. He knew all too well that you wouldn’t back down from a dare.
You took the cigarette from his fingers, relishing the brief touch that your fingers made with his and quickly took a drag to stop yourself from being intoxicated by a mere touch.
“Unrequited love,” you said simply as you exhaled. Everyone knew men did not like to talk of feelings.
His hand reached out for the cigarette and you handed it to him.
“Then I would say…. that you’re not the only one.” He took a long pull, similar to how you did when he showed up.
You closed your eyes in defeat. Of course he was already pursuing a lady. His mother has been pushing eligible bachelorettes to him for years now.
You could hear your heart beating louder than your thoughts as you stood up from the swing rather abruptly, ready to run, ready to spend the night crying into your pillow.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, a deep frown drawn on his perfect brows as he looked up at you.
“I…. I have to go. Goodnight Benedict.”
“Wait.. wait!” you felt a hand grab your wrist rather desperately, wanting you to stop your determined stride.
“It’s me, isn’t it.” His voice was barely a whisper in the cold night. You felt something shaking and thought it was you, but no. When you looked down at the hand that was gripping onto you for dear life, you knew it wasn’t you that was shaking.
“I knew you’d never look at me that way. But I just… I had hoped…” you tried to explain. Your eyes had tears threatening to fall, so you stopped talking before they betrayed you.
“Why did you think I always danced with you?”
When there was no reply from you, he continued.
“Yes, a Lord would be a most advantageous marriage for you but, god, I loved you. I love you more than those bastards can ever love you. That is why I always…. always interrupt your conversations with a Lord, or any other gentlemen, for that matter!”
“You- you love me?”
“God yes. Had I known that your feelings mirrored mine, I would have courted you as soon as you debut,” he chuckled, a throaty laugh that encompasses of disbelief and happiness. “I have loved you since we were children. I just didn’t think you saw me that way.”
Your ears couldn’t believe what they were hearing, but you knew it was true. The warm fingers now intertwined with yours were real, his deep voice confessing his feelings to you was real, and the lips that was caressing yours was definitely real.
Fighting has never been your forte. You’d either end up crying out of frustration because you couldn’t get to the point to defend yourself or you’d end up being quiet the whole time, letting the other person be the angry one until his anger dies out.
Neither one happened yesterday. Instead of exasperated tears or allowing yourself to be the punching bag, you lashed back out to Anthony. Your voice echoed his as he tried to berate on your upcoming nuptials. While most future bride and groom disagreed on most things, it was more than just a mere miscommunication between you and Anthony, and somehow this time, you two couldn’t meet in the middle to settle the argument there and then. For once, you actually let out a huge sigh of defeat, without admitting defeat, and walked out of Anthony’s study at the Bridgerton’s, leaving him in disbelief that you’d actually turn your back from him.
“Stop, come back,” you heard from call your name as you turned around to leave. Your face was flushed with anger, your lip tight as rope, and your strides as big as your dress allowed as you rushed out of the house.
The next day, you received flowers from him; the expensive ones that one sends to another when they know things are bad. Unwilling to compromise, you decided to attend that night’s event without telling him that all is well.
The music was loud although charming when you entered the garden of Lady Betrix. A dance was already going on as you made you way around the garden with your mother by your side. You scanned the room for him, not sure if you’d rather see him here or not and alas, by the tall walls of the house, stood Anthony with a glass of wine, staring down at you as if willing for you to look back at him.
You stared back. While his eyes screamed of anxiety with a hint of anger, yours filled with longing and sadness. So you excused yourself from your Mama and walked away from the party and into the house of Lady Betrix. You heard footsteps mimicking yours and only hoped for one person. It wasn’t that far before someone grabbed your hand, rather roughly, and pulled you into a dark, empty room.
“Why didn’t you write back after you received the flowers?” he inquired.
He had left the door ajar, so some light flood into the room. You could hear the music, although distant, playing from afar. Your back was against the wall as he trapped you with one of his arm above your head. His face was close enough to you that you were able to make out how light his brown eyes were and his shuddering breath, perhaps out of anger and annoyance, tickled your crimson cheeks.
“If we are going to do this,” he paused as if to calm himself. “If we are to marry,” he rephrased, “you need to talk to me and not just leave,” he finished.
His eyes held yours captive, waiting for any sort of response from you.
“I can’t do what you asked from me yesterday, Anthony,” you finally managed to croak out, your voice already breaking from trying not to cry.
“Then don’t. I love you. I love you with a raging passion that it doesn’t matter if you can or can’t do it. I‘ve fallen for you hard, my love, that I shall not bring that topic up again,” he managed in what seemed like one breath. “We are to be wed and being wed to someone I actually love was something that I had never thought could happen to me,” he admitted. “So don’t ever turn your back on me. It scares me to see you leave like that.” You only managed to blink a few times, wishing hard that the tears won’t fall down your cheeks as you nodded slowly, digesting it all. Anthony was never one to make declarations of love so this comes as a big shock to you.
And without another word, he planted a soft kiss on your forehead before leaning back and escorting you out of the room, grateful that no one had seen the debacle.
Of all the days your Mama could plan to move to London, she had picked the wettest and coldest day to move to your London townhouse. After 3 days worth of travel, you, along with your mother and older brother have finally arrived at the house you only inhabit for several months in a year. London was nothing like the countryside; the noise, the crowd, no they were not the same.
You were about to continue your sullen mood with another grunt and a long rant that would make your Mama and brother wish they had their ears cut off, but as you stepped out of your carriage and looked around at your new scenery for the next few months, a stranger caught your attention (along with your voice), from across the busy street.
He stood tall even though he was not the tallest amongst the men that stood by him, but still, there was something in his demeanor that screams ‘alpha’.
“What? There’s nothing left for you to moan about, sister?” Your brother mocked as he stepped out of the carriage.
Your brother’s voice brought you out of reverie and following your gaze, your brother saw what caught your eyes (or rather tongue).
“My my if its isn’t the Bridgertons. Anthony!!” His brother called out, making you even more surprised as it is.
At being called on, Anothny Bridgerton turned his head to acknowledge his caller. Only, his eyes didn’t catch your brother’s, but instead it met yours with the intensity and familiarity that made everything went quiet around you and all you heard was your heart beating strongly in your chest.
Sunday afternoons are your favorite part of the week. It’s when you always spend your time over at the Bridgerton’s to accompany Daphne as she plans her debut for the upcoming season.
In the drawing room, sat Benedict on a chair across the room from you. As Daphne debated on the white or the blue dress to wear for her first ball after her debut, your eyes trail across the beautifully decorated room, to the handsome man engrossed with his sketchbook. The Bridgerton brothers had always been nice to you, but since you practically grew up with them, it’s hard to imagine any of them seeing you as anything more than a sister, especially Benedict, what with his never ending choice of future wife always lining up at almost every event. However that didn’t stop you from wondering if maybe, just maybe, that thought had crossed his mind before.
His head went up slowly as if he had read your mind. You got nervous thinking that somehow you had said it out loud, but that worry dissipated as soon as he broke into a warm smile at you before turning his eyes back onto his sketchbook.
Later after Benedict had left and it was just you and Daphne in the drawing room, you wondered to the table he had left the sketchbook on and absentmindedly opened it, only to discover that he had been sketching a portrait of you all along.
As your eyes roamed about the room, jumping from one familiar face to another, a part of you knew who’s breathtaking smile it was trying to find. The smile that reminded you of sun-kissed skin and being on the field full of daisies. The kind that would make your throat tighten and your mind mushy like the peas the maid had cooked last night for dinner.
At last, you eyes stopped at the very edge of the room.
He was fixated on the middle-aged Lady’s face, as if contemplating of the best ways to escape while still keeping his gentleman status, all while the Lady at hand was busy trying her best to inform him of her daughter’s accomplishments.
A small chuckle escaped your lips and your gloved hand comes up to cover it. At that instant, though your laugh inaudible to him, he had snapped his head up from the Lady’s face. A wide smile crept up his lips as he excused himself from the Lady and made his way to you.
