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.
Aubrey Hall’s dining room could put most manors to shame within the ton. Paintings the size of the wall, not including the frames, and the delicately crafted chairs from the finest of oak. The table could hold the large Bridgerton family and some with much comfort, even providing elbow room. The rugs were handcrafted and bought the room together in a way the Feeatherington’s could manage. The same carpet now had a large red wine stain that added a hint of character that only the Bridgertons could pull off.
“Lord Bridgerton, may Benedict and I be excused? I believe a walk around the Promenade would be most appropriate,” my smile was forced, Benedict’s giggling scratching a piece of my brain with annoyance.
“Lord Bridgerton, may Benedict and I be excused? I believe a walk around the Promenade would be most appropriate,” my smile was forced, Benedict’s giggling scratching a piece of my brain with annoyance.
“Lord Bridgerton, may Benedict and I be excused? I believe a walk around the Promenade would be most appropriate,” my smile was forced, Benedict’s giggling scratching a piece of my brain with annoyance.
“You always read my mind (Y/N). You’re excused,” the eldest Bridgerton gave me a single nod, a genuine smile painted across his jaw.
“Escort me?” I wasted no time, hauling Benedict from the solid oak chair with force, Eloise barely sitting up straight as her laughter filled the room’s silence.
“I think Benedict is in more dire need of the escort?” Colin muttered under his breath.
“I would be careful, Colin; I know this bamboozle is your doing,” my eyes shot daggers at Colin, his shoulder immediately going straight.
“Oh, I like her,” Kate muttered as I dragged Benedict and I from the dining hall.
“I wish they made paint the color of your eyes,” Benedict traced the side of my face and wanderlust expression on his own.
“Don’t.”
“Why?”
“You had made a cake of oneself in there, and you’re questioning me!” I rested my body against one of the walls, my body giving out at the dead weight I had carried from the room.
“Cake?”
I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths that began from depth of my diaphragm.
“Please don’t close ’em; I must see that color,” Benedict traced his thumbs over my eyelids, the pad of them soft as his voice in the quiet hallway.
“Benedict,” the warning in my voice meant nothing, and his thumb continued down my jaw onto my collarbones.
“I must’ve painted you millions of times within the fortnight I had courted you, but I could never find a paint close to that color.”
My heart leaped against my chest, the anger slipping from my bones like water in one’s hands. His gentle touches and sweet words almost made me forget his tap-hackled state. Almost.
“You must rest.”
“As long as it’s beside you,” my eyes finally opened, “and bare.”
My eyes closed again, letting my head fall back to the thick walls that I had rested my hips against.
“Don’t be so strait-laced now! You haven’t been since the wedding night,” Benedict defended himself all the way to our shared chambers. His pleas of forgiveness were unacknowledged by myself until he landed on the bedding.
“I meant nothing of it, Lady Bridgerton,” his arm reached out for me.
“I’m not Lady Bridgerton. That’s your mother’s title,” I reached out to unbutton the lapels from his person.
“But you are my Viscountess, of my own family.” His nonsense bought a slight smile across my cheeks.
“I might be a Bridgerton, but I’m separate from them. You’re my chosen family,” his eyes shined up at me, his finger gripping my hips, and he continued to explain whatever he was attempting to say. As he rambled, I wondered about his eyes; the shade of blue glowed in the candlelight and made them look closer to green. Much like a pond with a grassy knoll reflecting off the waves. 
But they were blue.
They were blue in a Benedict Bridgerton way.
“Benedict?”
“Yes, my muse?”
“Benedict Bridgerton blue is my favorite color,” I traced his eyebrows, his eye fluttering close shortly after.
“(Y/N) Bridgerton (eye color) is my favorite color,” his words mushed together, his fingers tracing words over my evening attire.
“I knew you’d comprehend. You always do,” Benedict smirked under my fingers, making my blood rush under my veins as if it was drawing closer to him.
“I wish I could say the same.”
Giggles fell from his pink lips, his eyes finally opening as my laughs harmonized with his. His eyes bored into my skin, the glimmer in his own making me nervous.
“I mean every word,” his mouth lightly bit one of my fingers, “I will make my paints just so all of the ton can know what the most elegant color looks like.”
“We’ll see,” my memories recalled the wine-stained rug in the dining hall and his embarrassed giggles. He was drunk or something only Colin knew.
“You don’t believe me?” He quickly sat up and offended scoffed, leaving his mouth quickly. Before answering the question, his feet were padding across the room to the messy corner littered with white drapes and brushes.
“I will make it now for you to see,” he spoke heroically, rushing around his paintings with ease. His body looked at home between the stacks of colors and canvases.
“Benedict, bring you and your Spanish coin to bed,” my hand reached in his direction, but it was no use; his mind was made up. He would paint my eyes with only the moonlight and the harsh candle glow to watch.
No words were shared the rest of the night, just the sound of brushes on canvases and hearts drunkenly smashing into one another. I watched him in all his glory, the content of whatever had engrossed him slowly wearing off, but never his determination. He mixed every paint possible to reach remotely close to my shade of eye, even sober.
“Benedict?”
“Yes, my muse?”
“Done yet?”
“Soon, my muse.”
Soon would be enough, as long as soon lasted a lifetime with him.
a/n: I really wanted to write someone new and Bridgerton is the current hyperfixation so enjoy the possible inaccuracies lol. But also look at his hands in that gif, oh my god
summary: you drink some of Benedict’s special tea and now Benedict must take care of you until the effects wear off. With such a tea in your system, you can’t help but bring up some truths you’ve been hiding and Benedict is right there to comfort you.
word count: 2.1k
The Bridgerton’s lounged in the drawing room as they usually did when the days lulled and the invitations had yet to arrive. Spending their day doing various activities that they had been taught from an early age.
Benedict leaned closer to Colin, whispering feverishly as you walked into the room, going unnoticed by your husband or anyone else as they were all immersed in their own business.
Your brows furrow, smile amused as you take in your husband’s excited expression whilst Colin grows more weary by the moment, his eyes glancing between Benedict and their mother.
Looking away you notice a cup of tea of a precarious color sitting idly next to Benedict’s sketchbook. Having just gotten back to the home, you were rather parched yourself. Glancing at Benedict you see him still deep in conversation with Colin, obviously trying to convince him of something.
Not thinking your husband would mind you taking a bit of his tea, you take hold of the cup and bring it to your lips. Your face twisted and screwed up at the taste of perhaps the most awful tea you had ever tasted in your entire life. It had the strangest texture as well. You knew how Benedict preferred his tea but perhaps he wanted to try something new. And perhaps that is why the cup appeared to be basically untouched. But despite the taste, it satiated your desperate need for a drink, so you continued to swallow it down.
It only took a few moments before two loud gasps sounded out throughout the quiet room and both Benedict and Colin shouted your name.
“Don’t drink that!” They both followed with as they came rushing over to you. You choke on the drink from the sudden noise before carefully setting it back down, clearing your throat, and watching with wide eyes as the brothers came to stand before you. Your eyes locked onto Benedict’s shocked expression.
“I’m sorry, dear. I didn’t think you’d mind. It is just tea,” you explain, brows furrowed, motioning toward the drink.
“Yes, brother. You’re married now. I think it’s about time you learn to share,” Eloise called out from her spot in the room, book in hand. Benedict took a moment to glare at his sister from over his shoulder before his eyes fell back on you, the look in them more concerned now than shocked. He took a step closer.
“It’s not just tea, my love,” Benedict explained, a grin threatening to pull at the corner of his lips. You inhale sharply, placing a hand on your stomach to center yourself.
“Then what is it?!” You ask, a bit too loud, your head jerking to the side to look down at it. Benedict and Colin are quick to shush you, bringing your attention back to them. You look at them expectantly, wondering what it is exactly you just drank.
“Um…” the brothers say together, sending each other dubious looks. Your brows furrow, eyes moving between them. Worry began churning your stomach the longer they hesitated.
“Is it medicine?” You ask, needing any answer they’ll give at this point. “It certainly tasted as foul as medicine often does,” you add, pursing your lips in disgust at the memory of that awful taste. Benedict’s lips pull down into a pursed frown, often a sign he was attempting to hold back his laughter. Which only caused you to grow even more confused.
Benedict quickly took notice of your expression and his features softened. He moved over to your side, wrapping an arm around your waist and tucking you firmly against him, sending down a soft smile.
“Yes, dear, some may describe it as medicinal,” he explains lightly, causing Colin to snort and his mother to scold him for it. You look to Colin, not understanding what was so funny. This had begun to grow frustrating and you were feeling stranger as the minutes ticked on.
“Well will it harm me?” You question a little more firmly, raising a brow at Benedict. His mouth drops open but nothing comes out. He hesitates, appearing to not know what to say.
“No, but I think it wise you two spend the evening alone and away from prying eyes,” Colin interrupts, and when you look to him you see him sending you a punctuated look before doing the same to Benedict.
Benedict’s face lights up as understanding washes over him. They both seem to glance at the family before Colin nods at his brother and turns around to go back to his book and acting as if nothing had just happened. You wait for Benedict to explain. Anything really.
“Benedict, what’s happening?” You whisper desperately, trying to blink back a forming cloud in your mind. Your husband looks down at you, noticing your pupils slowly growing in size. His hand squeezes your waist as he starts guiding you two out the door, his focus remaining on you and his eyes and the firm hand on your body is the only thing grounding you at the moment.
“Come along now, darling wife. I’ll explain everything in the privacy of our quarters,” he offers, his voice starting to slur and slow down. You briefly wonder if he had gotten any of the tea as a lightness threatens to fill your body.
Benedict had just enough time to explain the tea, what was in the tea, and what the powder in the tea meant for you before you were completely out of it.
“Benny!” You squealed, wiggling around in his lap. After a lot of running around, giggling, and crashing into things, Benedict had finally managed to calm you down enough to get you into his lap. You had been staring out the window, eyes wide for a good fifteen minutes as he sat his sketchbook in your lap and started drawing before you suddenly cried out.
“Yes, my sweet?” He asked, not looking away from the sketch of you he had started whilst you were dazed. You frown, much preferring his attentions on the real you. Leaning closer to him, you start leaving open-mouth kisses all over his face. His brows jump in surprise and a smile threatens his lips but he doesn’t much react.
“I wanna play with you,” you whisper between kisses and giggles as thoughts of how his scruff tickles or how his skin smells of sweets fill your head without permission. This time your comment forces out a short bit of laughter from Benedict. He finally looks away from his drawing, setting it down on a table to watch you, extremely amused.
“Really now? I didn’t know the tea would bring such impropriety out of you,” he muses, grin wide and eyes sparkling as he watches you nuzzle against his face. You pulled away as his words slowly started to connect and you giggled at their implication.
“Not what I meant, Benedict!” You shouted through your laughter. A heaviness suddenly pulled at your heart and your smile dropped, laughter quickly ceasing. The sudden shift in mood made your world feel off its axis and you clutched Benedict’s collar to steady yourself. “Jus’ wanted to be close to you. Always s’busy now…” you hear yourself saying though you don’t remember allowing the words to pass through.
Yes, you had grown a bit lonely, but Benedict loved what he was doing and you wouldn’t take it away from him simply because you wanted more attention. You had sworn to yourself you wouldn’t say anything but it seems this tea had loosened your lips.
Benedict’s amusement drained from his face. His features softened as he looked over you, his hands pulling you further up his lap and closer to his chest.
“Oh, my sweet love, I apologize. I know I’ve been busy as of late,” he starts lowly, sincerity bleeding through his tone. A hand moves up to cup your cheek, his thumb swiping across your cheekbone. “You don’t deserve fleeting moments of passion, you deserve my time, my life. As my world you deserve everything and as your husband it is my job to provide it for you,” he expresses, passion and determination clear in his every word.
Some part of you past the cloud of fog in your mind wants to cry in relief at his declaration and have a deeper conversation about this. But another part of you, one that currently has much more control, can’t take his words seriously. Though your husband has always had a silver tongue, you knew his truth sat with his actions.
“Dear husband, how generous you are,” you said with clear sarcasm, making a show of being as dramatic as possible. Benedict lets out a few breathless laughs, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you.
“Well, I do try,” he spoke through clenched teeth and a wide smile as his hands snaked down to your stomach. His fingers pressed into your skin as he began tickling you.
You squealed, back arching in a number of directions as you tried to move away from his torturous grasp. All the while uncontrolled laughter poured out from your lips. Benedict laughed with you, delighted to see you so freely laughing. His heart ached as he tried to remember the last time he had made you laugh.
“B-Benedict! B-Ben-Benedict stop it!” You gasped brokenly as you attempted to speak through your laughter. Benedict raised a brow, head tilting slightly, his hands still working against your stomach.
“What would you suggest I do instead, love?” He questioned, thinking there was no better sight than your smile, no better sound than your laughter. He couldn’t imagine anything greater than to continue this.
“Find something to amuse yourself,” you demanded, your breath harsh. Your stomach had begun to ache but you couldn’t deny it felt brilliant to laugh this much. In an instant his fingers had ceased their movement. You slouched against him, taking in deep breaths of air.
But it didn’t last long as two hands were soon after holding your face and guiding you to a familiar pair of lips. Just as you had gotten your breath back, Benedict kisses you, taking it all away again. He swallows your sound of surprise, moving his lips against yours, passionately and languidly. You quickly caught up, pressing your body against his, your hands clutching his shoulders as your lips worked as a team, kissing each other deeply as if discovering each other again for the first time.
When you broke apart you were both breathless, heavy breaths mingling together. You smiled, eyes flickering over his features. You noticed Benedict appearing to do the same. The awed and dazed look in his eye made your heart race. You both remained silent as you gazed upon each other, a pleasant hum buzzing throughout your body. Benedict spoke after a few long moments.
“Beautiful is not word enough to describe you,” he said softly, a small smile greeting you. You mirrored it, resting your cheek against one of the hands that still held your face. Benedict’s smile slowly disappeared as a thought came to him. “I know my words come easy, but I swear, I give you all my time from now on. Until you grow sick of me and command me away, I am yours. All of me,” he says, his words flowing fiercely and with strong passion. Your eyes narrow playfully as you move closer to him.
“Do you promise?” You whisper. Amusement sparks through his expression and he grins wide.
“I promise, dear,” he promises softly, sending you a light nod in confirmation as his hands move down to hold your waist. You start to nod along with him, becoming hypnotized by the moment. He chuckles quietly in response. The sound makes you jerk back, blinking rapidly.
Your blank gaze moves away from him for a moment as you look around the room suspiciously, eyes still narrowed. When your eyes fall back on him, they widen a bit in surprise. But then you’re curling a finger, signaling for him to draw closer. Benedict follows your silent order and leans in.
“Don’t tell Benedict but I don’t believe I could ever grow tired of him. I cherish him too dearly, you see,” you whisper, explaining everything softly and conspiratorially. Benedict purses his lips as he attempts to hold back his laughter. He eventually manages a firm nod and a serious expression before he speaks.
“I promise I won’t say a word,” he swears, hand placed over his heart. You giggle, your face lighting up as you rest back against him, head laying on his shoulder. Benedict smiles, kissing your forehead tenderly before picking up his sketchbook and continuing his drawing of you as you toyed with one of his golden buttons.
Warnings: injury, little blood, getting stitches, anthony being an idiot, fem pronouns
Summary: after a little accident in town left you in need of some comfort while getting stitches, anthony fears he may be developing feelings for his wife
A/n: this was actually my very first anthony fic so go easy on me lol
Warnings: mutual pining, mention of parental death, breaking of societal rules (this sounds so serious gosh, they hug and whatnot)
Summary: your horse falling ill derails your traveling plans and leads you to dinner with your childhood best friend and his family, what confessions will be made when anthony aims to comfort you?
Warnings: it’s really just some domestic type fluff with flirty benedict, flirty adjacent, no specific mentions of plus-size reader it’s just what I had in mind while writing, fem pronouns
Summary: benedict is a simple man, whenever he sees you wearing his shirt which leaves your bare legs on show for him, he turns into a lovesick fool
The smell of gunpowder filled your nostrils as the smoke was curling up from your riffle. Opening your one eye again, moved you, your head a bit to the side. You wanted to see how well you had done. Opposite from you, heard you a cry, followed by arms swaying up in the air. You exhaled deep at the sound of the loud thud. A body dropping to the ground. No… a corpse. Without thinking to much of it, hurried you up to your feet. The thorns from the bush you had been hiding behind, scratching your hands. Pulling the handle back, readied you, your riffle for another run.
It had to be quick as danger was nearby. Jumping over the bush, hurried you to rejoin your group. Dragging your boots through the puddles. You heard voices, thinking, hoping you had found your group again. Some twigs snapped underneath a heavy boot as it set you off. Your muscles squinted together, sending a wave of panic rushing through your body. You tried to hear from where the sounds came. Somewhere before emerged a man from between the trees. You gasped spotting him. He did the same. Both of you hid as quickly as you could behind a tree for coverage.
Holding your riffle in front of you, added you a bit more gunpowder to it. – “Friend or foe!” – called you out loud. You had to be absolutely sure. There was a risk it was the enemy. You had to act quick than to terminate him. If he was a friend, it would be wise not to kill him as you were already outnumbered. – “Friend!” – heard you him shout back from a distance. The soft wind picking up his voice. – “How can I be certain of that!” – shouted you back. – “State your name and division, Sir!” – You waited for an answer, your eyes scanning the scenery before you. You didn’t want to be ambushed. – “Sir Richard Davis, eleventh division under the watch of General Camberfelt!” – shouted he loud as it made you exhale relieved. – “State yours!” – carried the wind away.
“Lord Y/n Bridgerton, ninth division under the watch of General Williams.” – answered you. – “Bridgerton?” – heard you him repeat. You slowly came from behind the tree, your opponent do the same. From afar, lowered both of you, your riffles. Stepping over crunching leaves, made you, your way over to him. Davis and you met in the middle, patting each other on the arm. – “Ninth? You are far from your station.” – spoke Sir Davis, walking beside you. You hummed loud. – “We got separated.” – replied you. Glancing over your shoulder, were you reminded of what you left behind. Holes in the ground created by explosions. Dismembered soldiers lost forever.
“Here.” – Sir Davis offered you some water from his flask. – “You seem thirsty son.” – You gladly accepted it, pouring the sweet cold water down your throat. When you handed him back the flask, noticed you he had been staring at you. Quirking your eyebrow up, wondered you what he saw in you. – “You seem young.” – stated he. You laughed soft. – “Six-and-twenty, sir.” – answered you proudly. Sir Davis chuckled, patting you on a back. – “A wise young man, I see.” – you turned to look at the woods before you, but Sir Davis was not done speaking yet. – “You the eldest?” – questioned he. You shook your head. – “Third, Sir. When we received the note, I went instead of my brothers.” – your mind went back to the time, you first received the note. The note that would stir a lot of emotions.
Violet handed the note over to Anthony. – “It’s from the army.” – whispered she at him. Anthony’s eyes widened, immediately getting up. He left the parlor as you followed him. You heard enough to understand what it was about. Anthony walked into his study, exhaling deep as his hands leaned against his desk. He got startled by the door opening. You entered, shutting the door behind you. – “What are you doing here Y/n.” – asked Anthony of you, not even have opened the note. – “I’ll do it.” – said you firmly. Anthony gaped at you when you pointed at the note in his hand. – “I… what?” – breathed he out. – “I knew this day would come. Every household in London has been receiving them.” – explained you to your brother.
Anthony was stunned for a moment at your keen observation. Anthony turned himself around to quickly read the note. – “You cannot change my mind about it. I am going.” – insisted you whilst Anthony was still reading. His eyes hastily moving over the words, hoping he hadn’t read anything wrong. He exhaled deep, placing the note down. – “I am the eldest… It is required of me to go.” – spoke he, his back still faced to you. – “It is not, brother.” – Anthony straightened his back, turning slowly around to you. – “You expect me to let you take my place? Y/n, I…” – he shook his head, baffled at the words that didn’t seem to form in his mind. – “This is absurd!” – mumbled he out, rubbing his chin.
You firmly walked across the room to him. – “You are needed here, brother! To look after mother and the others.” – you reminded him of his duty. – “The entire family relies on you. You are the head of the house.” – Anthony bit his lip, shaking his head slightly. – “Then it is still not your task, Y/n.” – said he. You puffed loud, crossing your arms. – “What? You wish to send Benedict? You know as good as me that he wouldn’t survive a day out there.” – called you out, Anthony slightly agreeing with you. – “Benedict his place is with art, not with war.” – Anthony couldn’t argue with that. Defeated slumped he against his desk, exhaling long and deep.
“What must I do…” – muttered he to himself, rubbing his palms against his eye sockets. – “I’ll take the family’s place.” – reminded you him. – “Y/n you…” – started Anthony. – “This is my purpose, Anthony! To fight in honor of my family. War is upon us, and we cannot deny it any longer. If it means getting a chance to end it all, to prevent the war to come knocking on our doorstep. I would gladly take on the beast for survival of our family.” – In that moment understood Anthony. With much pain in his heart, had it to be you. The memory drifted away like snippets of paint touching water.
Footsteps made you alert again. Bringing your riffle to the front, readied you, yourself. Squinting your eyes, spotted you from afar dark patterns against the green scenery. – “Incoming!” – shouted you loud, diving to a secure place. Sir Davis did the same. Rolling over to the other side. Hidden between the bushes, pulled you, your riffle up your shoulder. Closing one eye, focused you on the marching group. They were shouting as well in their language, sending out orders. Bullets were flying around your ears, making you duck down even deeper. You never had gotten used to those sounds. The thrilling sounds of war. Useless war against each other. Sir Davis lifted himself a bit up, firing at the opposite squad. You did as well, silencing your moral. Clearing your mind was the best way to fight this war.
If you stood long enough still to think about what you were doing, you were death. In more ways anyone could possibly think. You fired a shot, sending a soldier down. Ducking again, missed you the bullets firing above your head. – “Bridgerton!” – shouted Sir Davis at you. You got on your knees again, firing again. More men arrived as you felt cornered. Narrowed down. – “Sir Davis!” – yelled you out, getting his attention. He groaned, gritting his teeth. Firing again, send you another man down. Needing to reload, lay you down on the ground. Your coat catching up dirt. Men were falling down like birds, dropping to the ground. There was just one more left. One more man that stood between your survival.
You got up, aiming at him. He was aiming at you as well. You shot first, watching the body drop. – “Bridgerton!” – called Sir Davis out, making you turn sharply around. You had heard it as well. Sir Davis his gun had blocked, leaving him to struggle with it to fire. Standing face to face with the enemy that had snuck up from behind. You raised your riffle, just having to move the handle for another round. It had to be quickly as in a split second all could be done. Adrenaline was shooting through your body, gritting your teeth at the movement of your hand. A shot got fired. A breathless gasp left your mouth, leaving you to receive the impact.
Your arms slowly opening as you dropped to your knees. Your expression numb as the dark crimson red stained your shirt. Sir Davis was shouting as another shot got fired. With foggy eyes, saw you, your opponent fall back with such intensity it swooped him off his feet. Releasing a deep and long breath, rolled your eyes back. Any control you had over your body lost as it dropped to the ground with a loud thud. – “Bridgerton!” – Called Sir Davis out. He dived to his knees, rolling your body over to him. – “Stay with me.” – said he, tapping your cheek. – “Stay with me son.” – repeated he, pushing your cheek with his palm. Feeling a gurgle, coughed you out blood.
Sir Davis’s hand hovered over the red stains forming on your shirt. The red circle growing wider. – “Sir…” – whispered you out, finding some strength to speak. Sir Davis was afraid to look away from your wound. Afraid to look you in the eye. Even though your eyes were closed. You had not the strength to open them. Your body shuddered with every cough that brought along some blood. – “I’m sorry son… forgive me.” – said he, lowering his head. You knew you were not getting through this. Waiting for the dark shim to come and claim you. Sputtering out some blood, reached you for your inside pocket. Slowly opening your eyes, clutched you onto a piece of paper. – “Please…” – whispered you out, barely finding the strength to do so.
Sir Davis lifted his head up, seeing you slide a blood-stained folded paper to him. – “My mother…” – begged you, finding it harder to swallow. Sir Davis gripped onto the paper for you. – “I promise you son. I promise you.” – With some relief, dropped you, your head, eyes rolling back as you drew your last breath. Sir Davis lowered his head against your chest, sobbing loud. It took him a while, but he finished digging a grave for you. He knew he couldn’t take your body with him. Yet he wanted to give you a proper burial. Before he buried you, removed he something significant of you from your vest. To give your family recognition it was you that had passed. Fighting in honor of your country and for the crown.
Violet froze when she heard the knock on the door. Something was amiss, she had felt it all night. She waited curious in the hallway for the doorman to open the door. She tried to get a glimpse of who was at the door. A voice coming through. – “I have an urgent message for the Bridgerton family.” – Violet’s hand moved to her chest, clutching onto it. Anthony frowned, coming down the stairs. – “Mother?” – said he curious, laying his hand on her frozen body. She breathed again at the touch of her son. Anthony looked upon the door with a confused glance. He widened his eyes at the sight of a man in a uniform.
A uniform that hinted he was a general. He was allowed to enter, bowing before Anthony and Violet. – “I come baring news.” – said he respectfully. Violet wettened her lips, having a hint of what news he brought. It was not accustomed for generals to come bare news at the Homefront when their child was doing great. Anthony straightened his back, holding his hands firmly behind his back. He motioned to his study as he did not want to send the man to the parlor. Anthony was leading the general to his study when a curious Gregory came lurking from outside the parlor. Anthony hissed at him to get back.
The general staid up straight when Violet and Anthony stood near his desk. The general placed his hand against his chest. – “Second general Smith, under command of General Williams, Ninth division.” – introduced he himself. – “I apologize for bringing this news to you.” – started he, shuffling his hand into his inside pocket. Violet released a sobbing gasp at the state of the blooded paper he revealed. Anthony widened his eyes, snatching the paper from the general’s hand. – “I…” – the general turned to Violet, bowing deep to her. – “Your son fought proudly for his country and crown.” – Anthony inhaled sharp, seeing his mother collapse to the ground. She had fallen down, opening her mouth as no sounds came out.
Her voice caught in her throat. Anthony hurried to her side, taking her hand in his. She was rocking herself back and forth, her hand tight around her heart. One loud cry for help set her off. Her body trembling followed by a loud scream. Anthony felt the ground from underneath his feet, sending him under. He fell down on his bottom beside his mother, staring bewildered and lost in front of him. His hand trembled and shook with the blooded paper in it. – “I heard…” – called Benedict out, opening the door. Behind him was Daphne. They gasped at the display. Violet sobbing loud, crying for help as she bend down, her face near the ground. Her screams pierced through Anthony’s heart as it reminded him of the day his father died.
Benedict noticed the blooded paper in Anthony’s hand, sliding down the wall as his feet couldn’t carry him anymore. Moving the back of his head against the wall, told he himself not to cry. Daphne inhaled sharp at a sting of pain in her heart. – “I’m sorry for your lose.” – spoke the general before taking his leave. Benedict pulled his knees closer to his body, moving his hand through his hair. Sobbing loud, couldn’t he grasp that his brother was death. Gone. Daphne stumbled to the ground, feeling intense pain throughout her body. – “My baby!” – cried Violet out. – “My son!” – she felt as empty as the day she lost Edmund. Another piece of her family torn by death. She had fought away her terrors and nightmares for so long, she was at peace for a time. Now it hit her harder then before. Her own son. Lost in a more gruesome way then Edmund. Violet kept rocking herself, her hand clutched to her chest for if she wished really hard, you were perhaps laying in her arms. Her son, cradled against her chest, holding you one more time.
Anthony felt guilty. He let you leave. He was the one to agree with it. He send you off into the dangers. There was always a slight chance that you wouldn’t survive it, but now it had become a reality. – “It should’ve been me…” – confessed Benedict, wiping his tears away. – “It should’ve been…” – repeated he. – “Me!” – shouted he loud, balding his hands as he roared in terror. His entire body trembling with the intensity of his voice. His hands unfolded again, dropping lifeless next to his body, feeling dizzy. The door got opened again as the rest of the Bridgerton family entered. – “I saw a general, what happened?” – asked Colin, getting pushed aside by Eloise. Eloise took one glimpse of the room, hurrying back outside.
Her hand covering her mouth as she made it midway the hallway before stumbling to the ground. Francesca gasped loud, smacking her back against the door, staring lost at the ground. – “My baby…” – kept Violet crying out. Colin gasped, throwing his arms around Gregory and Hyacinth. He pulled them away from the room, hearing them cry. – “Is Y/n death?” – asked Hyacinth with teary eyes. Colin slowly nodded. Her lip trembling as she screamed it out, swaying her arms around. She broke free from Colin’s grip, running into the parlor to cry her heart out. Gregory stumbled a bit backwards, unsure how to react to the death of his older brother.
Daphne cried it out, moving over to her mother. She clutched onto her, hugging her as she needed comfort. Violet hugged her firmly back. Anthony dared to open the note, wondering what it said. He moved his hand to his trembling mouth, the paper shaking in his hands. It was the letter his mother send to you before your departure. You had been holding onto it for so long. Now covered in blood stains. A darkness fell over the Bridgerton house. Another young soul taken away too soon. You still had so much to do.
You still had to annoy Eloise with your brotherly jokes when she would participate in the social season. You still needed to see Daphne’s child. Tease your brothers till eternity. Bring your mother to shame by acting a bit reckless and teasing her. You still had so much to do in your life. – “Forgive me.” – said Anthony, his heart aching. Gregory stumbled in the room, coming to sit beside Anthony. Anthony threw an arm around him, bringing him closer. Gregory sniffed loud. – “I don’t know how to move on without him…” – said he, making Anthony rub his cheek against his hair. – “I know it is hard… but we will… Every day will feel like a challenge, but I assure you the pain will ease over time.”
“I don’t want it to ease…I don’t want to forget about Y/n, like I have forgotten about father.”
