#Benedict Bridgerton

[sunshineh26]

Now I understand why someone created a blog for only to repost this fic, It is really truly dear now to me 🥹 Benedict you will always be my first option 😔✋🏻

Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death. 

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society. 

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul. 

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even. 

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach. 

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought. 

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily. 

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit. 

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball. 

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony. 

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone. 

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize. 

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life. 

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future. 

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.” 

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

[sophiebaek]

Waiting for the day I get this in hd

[multi-fandom-imagine]

hi !! I don't know if you are taking any Bridgerton request at the moment but if you are could you write one where Benedict and reader were courting but he started to spend less time with her so she wears a revenge dress to one of the balls and gets a lot of attention so Benedict gets a bit jealous? with a happy ending please

A/n: Man I cannot remember the last time I've written for Bridgerton.

It hurt, seeing someone you cared about slowly pull away from you so when it was announced a ball be thrown you'd decided to set your own plan into motion and you'll make him see.

The ballroom was alive with music and laughter, the chandeliers were casting a golden glow over the swirling mass of dancers. Benedict Bridgerton had barely stepped through the grand entrance when he spotted you.

And he almost forgot how to breathe.

You were stunning...no that wasn't the correct word, you were devastating. The deep sapphire gown you wore clung to you in a way that left nothing to the imagination yet remained utterly tasteful. The delicate lace along the bodice highlighted the graceful curve of your collarbone, and the rich color made your eyes shine brighter than any star in the sky.

He swore you stole his breath away.

But it wasn’t just the dress—it was you. The confidence in the way you held herself, the way you smiled just enough but never too much, and the way every gentleman in the room seemed to gravitate towards you as if drawn by some invisible force.

Benedict clenched his jaw, fingers tightening around the glass of champagne in his hand as he watched another man—a Lord he didn’t even recognize—lean in closer, his gaze lingering far too long.

Your laugh ringing in his ears as you turned your head away shyly.

He hadn’t meant to let things slip between them. Between his art, his family obligations, and the pressures of society, he had let the days turn into weeks, and the weeks into something dangerously close to neglect. You had been patient, always so understanding, but now… now he saw the consequences of his absence. No...that was a lie, those weren't the reasons.

You were his best friend, more than his best friend and when Benedict realized that he started to pull away, he started to pull away because it scared the ever loving shit out of him.

And now you weren't waiting for him anymore.

He should have known better. Should have seen that you wouldn’t sit idly by while he withdrew into himself. You had always been too brilliant for that, you didn't deserve any of that.

And now, every man in the room knew it too.

Benedict downed the rest of his drink, barely tasting it, before setting the glass aside and moving through the crowd. He wasn’t reckless like Anthony, nor as effortlessly charming as Colin, but what he lacked in their methods, he made up for in quiet determination.

You still laughing when he reached you, a soft, melodic sound that sent another wave of jealousy coursing through him. That made his heart beat a bit faster, sent his pulse racing.

“May I have this dance?” His voice was smooth, but there was a weight to it—a claim beneath the polite words.

You turned, the laughter in your eyes flickering when you met his gaze. “Oh? I thought you were otherwise occupied this evening.”

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to keep his composure. “I was a fool.”

Your brow arched. “I won’t argue with that.”

A smirk tugged at his lips despite himself. “Then let me prove to you that I am your fool.”

For a moment, yoi studied him, as if weighing whether or not to make him suffer just a little longer. But then, with a small sigh, you placed your hand in his.

“Try to keep up, Bridgerton.”

And as he led you to the dance floor, the rest of the room faded away—because there, in his arms, was the only world that had ever truly mattered.

[everythingbridgertonbxm]

Then Another

Benedict Bridgerton can't seem to stop kissing his spouse.

A/N - All the kissies. 885 words.

💋

Benedict had always supported your love of writing, one of the many reasons you fell in love with the man and one of the many reasons the man fell in love with you. He usually happily sat with you as he did some simple sketches and you wrote.      

Tonight is different. Benedict appears to have given up his usual hobby of making charcoal meet his sketchbook, though you do not question it. Instead you take your usual place on the settee, leaning against the armrest and making quill meet paper. That’s when Benedict finds a different hobby for the evening.    

He slowly reaches for the hand which is holding your paper steady, and lifting it–lips meeting skin before he quickly glances up at you.     

Damn you Benedict Bridgerton for getting my heart racing so quickly. You look down at him as he glances up at you, a sweet, though mischievous smile which only has you blushing. You let out a smile as he kisses your hand again. “Ben, I have a few things I would like to write down. I had an idea that came to me on our promenade at an earlier hour,” you say to your husband.    

“My dear, don’t let me stop you,” he responds cheekily, not letting go of your hand. He places another kiss on your hand, and then another and then another before offering a smile reserved only for you.  

You are unsure how to respond to your husband, your heart thumping a bit quicker. “Ben, I will be needing my hand back,” you muster out, watching your husband place more kisses to the back of your hand. You blush profusely when he looks up at you for a moment, those stupid puppy-dog eyes.    

Moments later he places a kiss on your wrist, then another, before slowly making a trail of kisses up your arm, teasing your skin rendering you speechless. You find yourself in a place somewhere between wanting to giggle and gasp. You finally find your voice. “Ben, I truly wish to be able to express my words before they slip my mind and I do need both arms and hands for that.”   

He reluctantly nods, letting go of your arm and stepping back, before a smile breaks his face. “Then I shall find another place to kiss.” He leans in towards your face, one arm on the armrest behind your head and the other around your waist.   

You and Benedict had been married for nearly eight months and his hand finding your waist still had your heart beating like mad. You swear your face is entirely red, which the second-eldest Bridgerton seems to ignore.   

“Perhaps this is a good place.” He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your lips, then another, then another, strategically not allowing you to speak. His lips then move along the side of your mouth before tracing up to your cheek, then another on your other cheek, then another on your forehead.     

You find your voice again. “Benedict, that is not–” You are cut off upon letting out a sharp breath when his kisses find the edge of your jaw. You lift your chin, as if on instinct inviting his lips to find your neck.  

He quickly obliges, trailing kisses along the side of your neck which is when you know you will not be doing any writing this evening. You find just enough time between kisses to place your paper and quill down which Benedict understands as a surrender to getting any work done.     

“Benedict,” you whisper when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. You can feel his breath, warm on your neck and you know he is smiling. Your heart is racing and you are amazed it hasn’t sprung forth from your chest.    

He places another kiss on the spot, then another, and another before finding the bit of skin behind your ear. You feel him remove his hand from the armrest and place it on your hip pulling you up from the settee, keeping you balanced as his lips find yours again. You smile as he places a soft kiss on your mouth, then again. The next one is a little bit more passionate, and he pulls you towards him, not leaving a single bit of space between the two of you.     

“Perhaps we should move this to the bedroom so we do not have to move ourselves,” you offer between kisses, and smiling. You laugh as he does not respond, instead hastening to grab your hand and pulling you down the hall of your home and towards the bedroom. He quickly pulls you in, shutting the door behind him before taking your face in his hands.   

Your heart is racing and you can’t help but smile as he places another kiss on your lips, then another, then another, and another before he slowly backs you up towards the bed. You let out a laugh as you fall onto your back, Benedict falling on top of you. Benedict continues to smile, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then your neck, then another on your neck. You don’t stop giggling for the rest of the evening, as he finds every possible place for his lips to meet your skin. Always finding a place to kiss, and then another.

[dailybenophie]

Benedict not letting Sophie breathe by Kyla

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 20: Confession

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 2.6k

Masterpost Previous chapter

Benedict and Sophie laid bare in each other’s arms and lost track of time, dozing in and out of consciousness, saying nothing more about the impossible situation they found themselves in. They both just wanted to savor these moments of mingled skin and breath and limbs; Sophie because she was certain it would all come to a crashing end soon, and Benedict because he was steeling himself with the courage needed for his next course of action. 

When the noises of lunch preparation could be heard in the kitchen down the hall, they finally rose and dressed, helping each other with all of their layers and buttons. Benedict found himself unable to look away as Sophie sat at her small mirror brushing and pinning her hair back into place, her delicate fingers twisting through her short tresses and exposing her slender neck. Something about the sight made it hard to breathe and he realized that this strange feeling overtook him only when he looked at Sophie. In quiet moments when she was resting or going about her own business, it was as if he grew deaf and blind to the rest of the world and could see only her. Every detail was sharp: the lock of hair that hung loose by her ear, the tendon in her neck that flexed when she moved her shoulder just so, the curve of her lip as she concentrated. She entranced him. She made him want to paint her, over and over again, so that he could capture these details that felt so precious to him and revisit them when they were not together.

He was resolved. He knew what he had to do. Sharing a final tender kiss, he stepped warily out of her room, scanning the hall for any other servants. Then he moved briskly through the lower level and straight out the back door before anyone could see him and grow curious.

He didn’t need anyone’s blessing to pursue Sophie, but he wanted it. He loved his family; his mother, his elder brother, and didn’t want the complications of his choice to be perceived as an act of rebellion or resentment against them. It wasn’t. It was simply what his heart was telling him to do and he felt powerless to resist it.

He knew to start with his mother. She had always been a remarkably good listener. And truly, for all her annoying matchmaking ways, she was more qualified to give advice on matters of the heart than anyone he knew. Anthony was already suspicious and upset with him, and so bullheaded that he would undoubtedly muck everything up as he had done so repeatedly before: with Daphne’s season, with the Royal Academy.... No, Benedict would notify Anthony once he and Sophie had decided how they could - how they wanted - to be together. He respected Anthony as Viscount and head of the family, but he would not let his brother hold sway over such an intimate and crucial part of his life. But his mother was bound to be more understanding and perhaps even helpful.

Cutting through the garden, he entered the house again through a side door and straightened himself in a hall mirror. Making his way to the drawing room he found his entire family gathered for the afternoon, save for Colin and Anthony which was no doubt for the best.  Francesca was at the piano, engrossed in playing a beautifully complicated tune, Hyacinth and Eloise sat scowling at each other over the chess board, and Gregory was spinning little Edmund around in his arms while Kate and his mother sat watching from a sofa, laughing. After warning Gregory not to encourage their nephew to sprout wings and fly away, he leaned to his mother and asked if she wanted to join him for some air. The way her eyes grew sharp he knew she saw through his innocent request, but she smiled and nodded her way politely out of the room, took his arm and let him lead her outside.

“Benedict,” she smiled nervously as they sat in the chairs tucked against the house’s wisteria-covered back wall. “What is it dear?”

He suddenly found himself feeling both childish and guilty. He was running to his mother for help, but was also about to induct her into the difficulty of his situation. Where should he even begin?

He swallowed and said, “I wanted to ask about Miss Beckett.” Violet’s brow knitted with surprise. “How is she getting along at the house?”

Rather than answer him, she looked at him intensely and asked her own question. “Who is she, Benedict?”

“What do you mean?” he balked.

“She is not who she says she is, of that I’m certain.”

Benedict shook his head, trying to decipher her meaning. “She worked for the Cavenders. They mistreated her and she left. I found her on the road.”

Violet blanched. “Did he…Oh dear. Was she…”

“She wasn’t,” Benedict said grimly. “But not for lack of trying I’d venture.”

“The poor thing. How lucky for her that you were there.” 

Benedict didn’t want to be thought of as a hero. He hadn’t done anything. Sophie had extracted herself from the Cavenders and all he had done was offer her a short ride to the village which turned out to be its own unique disaster, requiring Sophie to turn around and care for him. Remembering that night, the wild adventure of it all and the sweet days that had followed, he couldn’t suppress a smile. Hoping his mother hadn’t noticed, he reverted back to her question.

“Why do you say she’s not who she seems?”

“She is far too educated to be a housemaid. Her mother’s employers may have allowed her to share in some of their lessons but all of them? I doubt it. Benedict, the girl speaks French!”

“She does?”

“I caught her reading a French book in Eloise’s room. And I think I heard her curse at Hyacinth in Latin.” 

Surprised as he might be, Benedict couldn’t help but chuckle. If anyone needed the demons exorcised out of her with Latin curses, it was Hyacinth. He was glad he had chosen to speak to his mother. She had the same sense as he did that there was something off about Sophie, something more to her than just being a simple housemaid. 

“She might be a nobleman’s daughter who has been cast off for some reason,” Violet theorized, “or she might be illegitimate.”

The pieces were starting to fall together now in Benedict’s mind. He knew she was illegitimate, but precisely who her parents were was something he had never pushed Sophie to explain. If she was the daughter of an aristocrat, it would explain so much about her behavior. 

“One would think her father would have settled enough funds on her so that she didn’t have to work as a housemaid,” he posited.

“Some men completely ignore their bastards,” Violet’s face wrinkled with distaste. “It’s nothing short of scandalous. Outrageously dishonorable.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both imagining what Sophie’s heartbreaking origin story could be. It made Benedict realize how much he didn’t know about her and how much he wanted to know. If they could be together, he would have the time to ask. But he didn’t need to know every detail of her life to know how she made him feel. 

“Mother,” he said abruptly. 

“Yes?” her blue eyes were intrigued.

He took a deep breath, “When you met Father-”

“It happened in an instant,” she said softly, somehow knowing what he’d meant to ask.

“So you knew that he was the one?”

She smiled, and her eyes took on a faraway, misty look. “Oh, I wouldn’t have admitted it,” she said. “At least not right away. I fancied myself a practical sort. I’d always scoffed at the notion of love at first sight.” She paused for a moment and Benedict knew she was no longer in the garden with him, but at some long-ago ball, meeting his father for the first time. Finally, just when he thought she’d completely forgotten the conversation, she looked back up and said, “But I knew.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and she turned to blink them away.

Benedict felt a lump in his throat and he looked down, not wanting her to see how the memory of his parents’ love affected him too. Would anyone cry for him more than a decade after he died? It was a humbling thing to be in the presence of true love, and he wanted it for himself, jealously. His parents had found love and had the good sense to recognize and cherish it. Few people were so fortunate.

“There was something about his voice that was so soothing, so warm,” Violet continued. “When he spoke, you felt like you were the only person in the room.”

“I remember,” Benedict said with a warm, nostalgic smile. “It was quite a feat, to be able to do that with eight children.”

“Seven,” his mother swallowed convulsively, her voice brisk. “He never knew Hyacinth.”

Benedict chastised himself silently. He should have remembered. He didn’t want to force his mother to revisit her pain. Perhaps it was why they rarely spoke about his father and the loss they had endured. He reached out and grasped her hand atop the small table between them. It seemed the only right thing to do. Violet squeezed his hand back but kept her eyes on the ground.

After a pause, she released his hand, wiped the last tears from her eyes and straightened. She turned to him with a look that he knew could see right through him. “Did you ask me about your father because you are planning to wed?”

Benedict’s heart started to race. Of course she could intuit what he was up to. If he was being honest with himself, it was probably why he had decided to speak with her before Anthony, because she would already know half of everything he was going to say. 

He took a deep breath. “What happens,” he asked, surprised at how readily the words tumbled forth, “when one is attracted to someone unsuitable?”

“Someone unsuitable,” she repeated, holding his gaze.

Benedict nodded painfully. “Someone…” He paused. “Someone a person like me would be discouraged from marrying.”

“Someone perhaps who is not of our social class?” 

Benedict nodded again. She knew. Of course she knew who he was talking about.

“I see,” she chewed on her lower lip for a moment before continuing. “I would have to say that I love you very much.” Her eyes locked intently on his. “But I must caution you to consider what you are doing. Love is, of course, the most important element in any union, but outside influences can put a strain on a marriage. And if you marry someone of say” - she took a breath - “the servant class, then you will find yourself the subject of a great deal of gossip and no small amount of ostracism. And that will be difficult for one such as you to bear.”

“One such as me?” he asked, bristling at her choice of words.

“You and your brothers lead charmed lives.” Her eyes ran over the garden as if the size of their property was proof enough. “Our family is well respected and you have had every door opened to you by virtue of our reputation and our resources. That would no longer be the case for you if you married outside of custom.” She frowned.

Benedict’s cravat suddenly felt too tight. “I could live with that,” he said through gritted teeth. He had seen the vicious ebb and flow of gossip and scandals year after year, season after season. It had always annoyed him how his privileged peers put so much stock into knowing each other’s business and judging each other fiercely for any perceived misstep. It had caused his siblings agony in the marriage mart which was precisely why he had never earnestly sought to participate in it. 

A thought suddenly occurred to him. “And would the rest of the family be made to suffer for associating with me?” He wanted to marry Sophie, more than anything. But he had to know every ramification of that choice. If his marriage would stain the reputation of the family deep enough that it would make it harder for his siblings to find good matches, he would need to proceed carefully.

Violet’s eyes softened. “We have weathered scandal before and always landed upright. That would not be your concern, dearest, if you are truly in love.” She gave him a small smile, then her voice lowered. “But it would be hard on your wife as well. Perhaps hardest on her. She would not be accepted. The ton can be cruel.”

“I know,” Benedict scoffed. He already felt disgusted imagining the ways someone like Lady Featherington would treat Sophie if they knew where she came from. It would be more than he could bear to witness and something he would never subject her to. His mind began to form a picture of a future with Sophie, a future somewhere away from the vipers of the ton, somewhere green. 

“I suppose we would have to live somewhere else,” he stared off, musing to himself.

“I wouldn’t banish you for marrying someone you love,” Violet’s voice cracked and he turned back to find fresh tears in her eyes. “But if you choose it, perhaps that would be for the best, yes.” 

The weight of their conversation suddenly sank into Benedict’s chest. If he married Sophie he would have to leave his family. Not just in the standard way of setting up his own house, but truly distancing himself from the lifestyle and people that were all he had ever known. They would need to live far away, out in the countryside or maybe in another country entirely. They would not attend the social seasons in London or the events of society. They could visit with the family in their private homes but would have to be careful about that as well. He would leave his mother, Anthony, Eloise, all of them, in a much more significant way than he had ever imagined. 

“Only you will be able to make this decision,” Violet continued, bringing Benedict’s thoughts back to the present, “and I’m afraid it won’t be an easy one.”

Benedict nodded, feeling a sadness rise within him for causing her pain, for pulling away from her and everyone else. But a voice was also whispering inside his soul, quiet but insistent, telling him to trust. That Sophie was worth it. She was the one.

His mother sighed, looking tired and wistful. “I wish your father were here,” she said.

“You don’t say that very often,” he said quietly.

“I always wish your father were here.” She closed her eyes for a brief moment. “Always.”

And then somehow it became clear. As he watched his mother’s face in the bright light of the garden, finally realizing - no, finally understanding - the depth of his parents’ love for one another, it all became clear. 

The voice in his soul spoke with resounding clarity, saying the word aloud for the first time. Love. He loved Sophie. That was all that should have mattered.

He’d thought he’d loved the woman from the masquerade. He’d thought he’d wanted to marry her. But he understood now that it had been nothing but a dream, a fleeting fantasy of a woman he barely knew.

But Sophie was…

Sophie was Sophie. And she was everything he needed.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away @benophievisuals

[dollypopup]

Hello!! I was just wondering if you had / knew of any Colin headcannons that aren’t pen centric (I love that girl but 😭😭 idk ppl write / view Colin like he just exists for pen and it’s so mf tiring)

!!!!! OH BOY DO I!!!!! (I love this ask, thank you so much, I am VIBRATING with excitement)

+The first horse Colin learned to ride on was named by him and he called him Blot. (shoutout to @waterfireflyer2 for this one!!!!) He had initially meant to name him BOLT, as in he's so fast like a bolt of lightning, but he misspoke and he was Blot forevermore.

+Colin was the shortest of his siblings, including Daphne AND Eloise up until he was about 14. Year after year, he went off to Eton, a scrappy, scrawny little thing and came back equally as tiny. Then, one year, he outgrew approximately 6 pairs of pants in one summer and showed back up to Aubrey Hall with his ankles and wrists bare out too small clothes, taller than even Anthony

+His sisters LOVED giving him makeovers when they were growing up. He was a consistent companion at tea parties. They'd have to put him in Fran's dresses because he was too small for Daphne's or El's

+Colin had a stuffed animal that he carried with him EVERYWHERE as a child. Wherever Colin was, so was King Arthur, his little teddy bear. He spent a lot of time looking for the PERFECT stick sword for him to hold and insisted on making little paper crowns for him to wear

+Colin's favorite brother is Benedict. He was the one who used to pick Colin up and put him on his shoulders so Colin would feel tall

+Anthony taught Colin how to box

+Once, Colin almost broke his arm trying to save the family dog, Biscuit, when he scrambled into a really small hole under a tree and couldn't get out. Turns out, if the dog is too big, so is Colin. He was stuck for like five hours and wriggled wrong. Ended up spraining his shoulder, but Biscuit and he both got tons of extra treats and attention, so it was worth it

+Colin used to sneak into the kitchen to swipe food for Violet when she was going through grief to try to cheer her up. He made an altar of uneaten snacks and rough drawings and flower bracelets for her in his attempts. The staff all knew, but they didn't give him a hard time about it

+Colin was very, very adept at disappearing. Most of the time, people didn't come looking for him (too many kids in the house to always worry, besides). Longest he was missing was three days and they found him in the barn with his favorite cow, Petunia, and a tummy ache from living off of sweets

+Colin taught Daphne how to throw a punch and Daphne taught Colin sarcasm

+He learned how to cuss at Eton

+He and Fran used to duet together. She'd play piano and he'd sit next to her. They would take turns pushing the pedals (@orangepeelshortbreadcookies is the mastermind for this one!) and come up with nonsense songs to sing together. Their hits include 'Catch and Toast' (of course) but also 'Biscuit ate the Butter' and 'Mud Bugs in our Rugs'

+Greg thinks Colin is the coolest brother

+Colin's favorite Greek god is Athena

+Colin always had a hard time making friends. People tend to LIKE him, he's a nice person, but anything beyond the surface level is difficult for him to maintain. He compartmentalizes a lot of his negative feelings or prefers to deal with them on his own. It makes confiding in people really difficult for him

+Colin once tried to learn how to play the violin. It. . .didn't go well

+When Hy was first born, Colin would sneak into the nursery to sing her lullabies

+Colin had a hard time sleeping on his travels. Seasick on the boat and then wary on land, he became an increasingly light sleeper. Most of his journal entries were written at night

+Colin is naturally left handed, but learned to write and fence and do most things with right as well because of the society they live in. He writes his journal and important letters with his left, however. You can only tell because the handwriting looks different

+Colin really enjoys arithmetic. HATED his religion courses, though. He found it hard to read through a lot of the verses, especially aloud

+The family member who responded to most of his letters was Hyacinth. She wanted to hear about the different foods and animals he saw, so he tailored his letters to fit her interests. Her letters back were pages on pages long and he kept every single one

+France, in particular, was lonely for Colin.

+Colin's favorite Family Member in Law is Kate. Hands down. Kate's favorite Family Member in Law is Eloise, but Colin's a very close second.

+Colin learned to sew when he was traveling

+Colin didn't get to spend a lot of time with his Dad when he was still alive. As a result, he mostly gravitated to Violet and had a bit more of an arm's length relationship with his father.

+After Colin was horsewhipped by his dad in the stables (canon according to book lore), he never used a flogger with a horse again

+Colin knew about Eloise's dealings at the printer shop and he supported her

+Colin visits Edmund's grave the least out of all his siblings

+Colin's middle name is Christopher

+Of all the siblings, Colin has the best spice tolerance

+Colin lost a baby tooth in a fist fight with another boy at Eton whilst he was going through grief over losing his father. Anthony had to pay extra to keep Colin at the school

+Fran once cut his hair so unevenly in a makeover that they had to concoct a plot of how he got tree sap in it to keep her out of trouble

+Colin used to help Violet make the paper birthday crowns and was very adept at folding. Colin would also help her when they were spinning thread and yarn from sheering the sheep. He spent a lot of time with his hands out for Violet to wrap skeins around. He always had the softest hands because of the lanolin and got made fun of for it by some of the boys at Eton

+Colin's favorite flower is a morning glory. he likes how they look like colorful little trumpets

+After his growth spurt, when he got into an argument with Anthony, he said 'Are you just mad because I have the high ground?' and got an earful about being disrespectful

+Colin was a particularly surly teenager from the ages of 16 to 17 in particular

+Colin's favorite passtime he spent with his dad was feeding ducks at the pond at Aubrey Hall. He named every single one of them

+Colin hates shooting and hunting, and frankly, he's not very good at it

+Colin's unconventional talents include: whistling whole songs, picking the best blackberries in the summer, and somehow having every single cat ever adore him despite the fact that he's very much allergic

+Colin is ticklish

+Colin is a gold medal hair braider and was in high demand amongst his sisters for night time hair styles when their governess and nanny would wind them too tight

[romance-vintage]

I love that Eloise didn’t immediately/at all spot Penelope, even though she’s wearing a bright ass pink outfit. It shows why Ben is her favorite brother. They both literally can’t identify someone, even if it’s painfully obvious who they are.

BRIDGERTON (2020-)

PEN, ELOISE AND THEO

2.05

[leclercari]

#the "oh." moment: bi bridgerton siblings™ edition

[dailybridgerton]

#he doesn't joke about flowers BRIDGERTON (2020—) S03 | E05

[bats-baby]

kinda glad part 2 came out during June so I can wish these two a happy pride month 😚🫶🏼🏳️‍🌈

[kat-rose-griffith]

Did Pen really choose to write so much about the Bridgertons in Whistledown or did she kind of have to constantly write about them because they’re the messiest bitches in the ton?

[myladyrey]

how i'm sleeping tonight knowing colin and penelope are happily married with a healthy baby, benedict and francesca are bi, kate and anthony are going to india to visit edwina and give birth to their baby (and maybe already have since penelope has), eloise is friends with penelope again and going to see more of the world as she wanted, francesca is on her honeymoon with john, michaela end game is on the horizon, violet finding love again, and benedict is next season.

[lokisaysbye]

Colin: 🙂

Benedict: 🥰😚😘

Thats *his* baby brother iktr

[aftgmostly]

Now those, are facts

[redroses07]

should i make a part 2?