#Ratafias | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dragon-kazansky · 7 months ago

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Five - Diamonds

♡♡♡

The next ball you attended felt like quite the intimate affair. Understandably so.

You attended with your mother, but as soon as the Bridgerton's arrived, you waited for the opportune moment to join them. Benedict and Colin seemed particularly pleased to see you already. You were becoming quite close friends with them.

The Duke approached Daphne and asked her to dance. Anthony was about to intervene, but Lady Danbury, who had approached alongside Simon, spoke up before he could. "I shall need someone else to seek me a glass of ratafia, then. Lord Bridgerton..." She holds up her arm, "Do me the honour?"

You hide your smile at her tactics. It was so clear she was trying to prevent him from interfering further.

Anthony gives in. "Of course, Lady Danbury."

They leave.

You watch as Daphne goes with Simon into the main ballroom. You watch them go. As you enter the ballroom yourself, you watch them join the others in a dance.

They look happy together. They are enjoying themselves.

Could it be the Duke does, in fact, feel something for Miss Bridgerton? It certainly looks that way. You can only imagine what Whistledown will say about this.

Benedict smiles as he watches from beside Anthony.

"They look wonderful together," you say softly.

Anthony clenches his jaw from beside you. As the current dance ends, Anthony takes Benedict by the shoulder and urges him forward. "Go dance with your sister."

You look at them as Benedict asks, "why?"

"Because I asked you to!"

Benedict looks less than pleased but goes anyway, groaning. You watch him approach Daphne.

With Simon now free, Anthony marches off to talk to him. You sigh as you realise you are now alone.

Benedict dances with Daphne only for a short while before she parts with him and enters the next room. The same room Anthony went into with Simon. You find yourself walking that way to see what was happening.

You stand in the door as Anthony hurries past. Violet reaches out for him, but he keeps on moving. You find Daphne looking at Simon. She approaches him to speak with him.

Benedict comes up beside you. "Will you dance with me? My dance with Daphne ended early."

You chuckle and take his hand. "As did her patience, I think. What was that about?"

"I have no idea." He takes you to the dance floor. You both start to dance.

"Your family is quite something."

"That's putting it politely."

"Is Lord Berbrooke a problem?" You ask.

"I'm not sure. Anthony seemed to have it all handled." Benedict shrugs. "He seems to have control of the matter."

"Does he?"

"I think so." Though Benedict didn't sound so convinced.

"I have you any callers yet?" He asks, changing the topic. As much as he loved his family, he only cared to discuss them for so long.

"No..." You confess.

"Not one?" He asks, sounding surprised. "How is that possible?"

"The ton have their eyes on Daphne now. I shall be unlikely able to stand out at all." You tell him.

"I find that hard to believe."

"It is true. I appreciate your concern, but I fear I shall not find a match this year. I shall enjoy the rest of the season as much as I can."

Benedict frowns slightly.

"You need not pity me. I am quite content to wait another year." You assure him, or at least try to.

"Still, wouldn't it be nice to know someone noticed you?"

You keep your mouth shut. You fear him being able to read you too easily. Though it seems your silence was enough of an answer for him.

"You need not feel the need to pretend."

"It's nothing."

Neither of you speaks again. When the dance ends, you bow and part ways from him. Benedict watches you go, sensing you would rather have some time to yourself for now.

♡♡♡

Your mother enters the drawing room where you are reading. She has this morning's issue of Lady Whistledown. You care not for the gossip column.

"It seems Miss Bridgerton is indecisive about the duke."

"Is that so," you hum softly, turning the page in your book.

"She would make a fine duchess, do you not think?"

"Yes, quite."

Your mother looks up at you. You're awfully quiet this morning. "Something the matter?"

"Why should anything be the matter?" You ask.

"No reason... You are just so quiet this morning."

"Forgive me. I didn't get much sleep."

"Are you well?" She asks.

"Well enough."

Your mother comes to sit beside you. She reaches for your hand and pulls it into her lap. "You can speak with me about anything."

You smile and squeezes her hand. "I know."

"A mother knows when her daughter is upset."

"I wouldn't say I'm upset."

"Then what is it?" She asks.

You sigh and put down your book. "I have had no one caller this season. I know I am not diamond, and I know we are not Bridgerton status, but I thought surely one man in all of London would come see me."

"Yes. Well, I thought perhaps that Benedict might."

"Mother."

"I know. I know. You told me yourself. I suppose I am glad you have become friends with them. Though he would make a fine husband."

"I am sure." You smile.

"You will find someone. Perhaps not now, but soon. I am willing to wait with you."

You smile at your mother and lean against her shoulder. She kisses the top of your head gently.

You are thankful you have her.

♡♡♡

The grand picnic was an exciting time. All the ton gathered in the park to enjoy the wonderful weather and promanade. It was a chance to see who was courting who, if at all anyone.

You were in attendance with your mother and a couple of maids. You were sitting under the canopy, fanning yourself gently, not that it was extremely hot today. You scanned the park, looking out for family faces.

Lord and Lady Carlisle were strolling by. You spotted two young boys by the lake, one of which you were certain was the son of Mr Thomas who loved but two houses away from you and your mother.

Your eyes found where the Bridgerton's were stationed. Anthony and Colin appeared to be playing games with their younger siblings. Benedict was seated, watching them. You smile.

The thought of a large family seemed so comforting to you. As an only child, you would never know what it would be like to have the company of siblings.

Perhaps, you think, in your future, you may have many children. You would like your children to have the love and support and chaos of each other.

"You're smiling."

You turn to find your mother looking at you.

"What are you smiling at?" She asks softly.

"Nothing," you lie.

You know she doesn't believe you. You also know you can't hide from her either. "Do you think I can have a large family one day?" You ask.

She smiles. "I do not see why not." Your mother had already spotted the Bridgerton's across the way. She knew they were a large enough family. "One day."

You smile as you turn back to them.

"Why don't you go over? I will be quite alright with my own company for a while."

"Are you certain? I do not mind staying."

She smiles softly. "Go. Enjoy yourself. They are, after all, your friends."

You smile and thank her, rising from your seat to go join them. As you get closer, Benedict and Colin both perk up.

"Hello," you smile.

Anthony turns and smiles, too. "Hello. Come to join us, have you?"

"Is that alright?"

Before Anthony can reply, Benedict speaks up, sitting up in his chair. "Of course. Come, sit with me."

You chuckle and join him under the canopy. You sit in the vacant seat. Violet comes over with a smile. "Good to see you, dear."

"I hope I'm not intruding."

"Nonsense!" She smiles, placing a hand on your shoudler gently.

You watch the children play. Benedict offers you some food from the basket beside him, and you accept. Any sour moods about your prospects has been forgotten.

When Simon approaches on horseback, Daphne is quick to flee from her brother to join him. They stroll away.

"Are you alright?" Benedict takes the opportunity to ask.

"Hm?" You turn to him.

"The other night, you left rather quickly the other night."

"I'm fine. I was just tired. Forgive me." You offer him a smile, but he takes note it doesn't quite light up your face.

"Of course."

You continue to pick at the picnic.

Benedict watches you for a little while, but his attention is torn away when a voice calls out.

"Bridgerton!"

You look up in time to see Berbrooke coming forth with something in his hand. His face looks terrible, as if he took a beating.

"A bring cheerful new, Bridgertons."

Violet and Anthony turn to look at the man.

"I have taken matters in my own hands and sought a special license for my wedding to Miss Bridgerton."

"There is to be no wedding," Daphne states, pleading with him.

You stand, worried for Daphne.

"I told you. The arrangement is cancelled." Anthony recalls.

"Lord Berbrooke, you look in a great deal of pain," Violet says. "Shall we continue this in a more private location?"

"I require no further conversation." He says firmly. "Though perhaps I am finally speaking to the true head of the Bridgerton house. For if it were you, I imagine you would have instructed your sister to take better care than to encourage certain attentions while alone with me on the Dark Walk at Vauxhall. Of course, mere hearsay of such scandal could wreak havoc on even the most influential of families. What would someone like, say, Lady Whistledown do with such unseemly information?"

You stare at the man with shock and disgust. You had no idea lf the details of what has happened, but you know enough to know Daphne would never take part in such behaviour.

"Is that a threat?" Anthony asks.

"It is certainly not. Because in three days, I am to marry. I have the diamond of the season." Berbrooke states. "I have the beey best the ton has to offer. I have a Bridgerton. And I shall save her, as well as your entire family, from the ruin which you could not protect them." He looks at Anthony.

You want so much to make his black eye worse. You don't even realise Benedict holds your arm gently to prevent you from moving.

Simon goes to move past Daphne to do the exact same as you thought. Benedict quickly let's go of you to hold him back.

You're caught off guard by how quickly both men moved.

"I look forward to the union of our great families." Berbrooke grins. His grin sends your stomach turning. "Bridgerton. Hastings."

He leaves.

Anthony is left to look at the special license that had been thrusted upon him.

Daphne looks beyond upset.

Anthony and Violet are quick to see Daphne home. Benedict escorts you back to your mother while Colin sees to his younger siblings.

"Will she be alright?" You ask.

"I'm sure. Though you best leave this to my brother."

"She looked terribly upset."

"As she should be. Lord Berbrooke is a horrid little man." Benedict sighs. "My sister deserves the best."

You smile softly. "I'm rather fond of Daphne. Perhaps I shall pay her a visit soon?"

"I am sure she will be most pleased. For now, give her time."

You nod.

You reuter to your mother who comes to stand with you. She had seen Lord Berbrooke approach.

"Is all well?" She asks.

You let go of Benedict to join her. "It shall be in time, I'm sure."

You turn back to Benedict. "See you soon." He nods and departs.

Your mother loops her arm with yours and walks with you. You tell her little of what happened, but you know she, too, worries about Daphne.

When the eyes of the ton are all on you, there comes great pressure and challenges.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn -

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

571 notes · View notes

bestiesenpai · 5 months ago

Text

sukuna bridgerton au pt2

Writing this immediately after posting the first one because this brings me so much joy. The dress I had in mind for the wedding was the one worn by Princess Charlotte in 1816 so if you’d like a visual please refer to that

part one — part three -- part four

Link to the ring i mention here

You managed to push the appointment with the modiste to a further date, reminding your mother that Sukuna hadn’t even proposed yet.

“Oh but he will!” She countered, giddy as could be. “At the coming ball he will.”

“Did he tell you himself?” Crossing your arms in resignation, it felt like you were the mother and she the child with you trying to quell her excitement over something that hasn’t yet happened.

“He did! Asked your father for permission to propose the day after your first meeting!” That made your jaw drop and any further words you had to say were quelled, the fire inside you dampened for a moment.

On the night of this fateful ball, it was forced upon you to wear Sukuna’s family color, Prussian blue. To have gloves or a purse of the color would have been fine with you but a whole dress was too obvious and put you at risk of embarrassment should he decide not to propose after all. But with your parents too blindsided by this burgeoning royal connection there was no hope of talking them out of it.

“(Y/N)!” Walking into the party, you immediately sought out your friends. A few of them had actually been proposed to already and you marveled at their rings decorated with beauties such as emeralds and rubies.

“You’ll get yours soon enough!” They teased, making butterflies erupt inside you despite your best efforts. A fit of giggles took over you as you thought about what the ring might look like.

“We shall see, girls!” Wiggling your bodies, you made your way to the refreshments table, eager to fill your stomachs before descending upon the dance floor. A few men filled your dance card as you ate and you danced with them gleefully. This felt like your last night of freedom before Sukuna caught you within his grasp.

The party was just about in full swing when the Queen and Sukuna made their entrance, causing everyone to pause for a moment to greet them properly. You were just in the throws of a spirited dance with an older male acquaintance when it all stopped. Out of breath and with a ditzy smile on your face, you curtseyed just as every other woman did, barely paying any attention to Sukuna’s long look in your direction. Once the music started up again, instead of coming to him like he assumed you would, you returned to dancing.

“Jealous?” The Queen quipped with a teasing smirk on her face.

“No. Never.” Quickly fixing his gaze to what was ahead of him, Sukuna shook his head. “Come, let's find our seats.” He ignored the chuckle behind him as he led the way and he staunchly ignored the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach - that was something he would rather die over than confront.

After finally finishing every dance with the men on your card, you were able to slink away and find respite. You were admittedly a little tipsy from the Italian ratafia, the cherries in it slightly addicting and adding to the flavor of the pastries you were becoming so fond of.

“Miss (Y/N), His Highness wishes to see you.” A footman interrupted your period of indulgence and motioned to the perch at the head of the room where Sukuna was standing and waiting.

“Please inform His Highness that I am preoccupied at the moment and shall see him when I’m ready.” Giving the footman a curt smile, you snagged another pastry and drink and walked off into another area of the party where some games were being played.

“What is my wife thinking, denying me an audience?” Not even five minutes later Sukuna had appeared behind you and you could feel his annoyance.

“Wife? Who is that?” Looking down at your empty ring finger, you chuckled to yourself. “It seems I am unfamiliar with her, Your Highness.” You laughed again, this time made louder at someone's display in charades. Sukuna laughed as well so as not to arouse suspicion of any ill will.

“Miss (Y/N), I wish for you to accompany me to the main hall.” He said, coming to properly stand next to you.

“I decline that offer, Your Highness.” You didn’t even turn to look at him, instead keeping your eyes on the game and shouting when another person guessed the right answer.

“I- you cannot be serious.” Pinching the bridge of his nose, Sukuna sighed shortly. “Please, you know what has to happen right now.”

“It can wait until this game is over.” You pushed back, finally sparing him a glance. “After all, a gentleman listens to a lady when she says no, does he not?” Your question stopped all further argument from Sukuna and he relented, allowing you to finish your refreshments and watch the game.

“There, it is over now.” Huffing, Sukuna let his hand hover near the crook of your elbow. “Now will you please follow me?”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Giving him a big cheeky grin you walked off ahead and once in the main hall, you stood where he wanted you to, just a few feet in front of the Queen. Clearing his throat, Sukuna motioned for the orchestra to stop playing as he drew everyone's attention to the two of you.

“Thank you for your attention everyone.” He started off, giving the room a once over. “I will not keep you long as I know we are all eager to enjoy the night, but I ask that you bear witness to what I am about to do.”

Taking a deep breath, as if on cue a footman stepped forward and handed him a small velvet box. Sukunas eyes were staring straight at you as he bent down to one knee, making everyone in the room hold their breath.

“Miss (Y/N),” he started, making sure he was loud enough for the room to hear, “even though we have only known each other a short time, I feel the chemistry between us. I do not want to waste time and have you possibly stolen from me by another…” You could tell he was faking being nervous by the way he paused and looked around the room. Always one for a show, he is.

“Will you please marry me?” As the words left his lips you heard your mother gasp and out of the corner of your eye you could see her clutch your fathers sleeve. It felt like time stood still as you looked at Sukuna, then the Queen, then the crowd before you. The scale had tipped in your favor, the power was in your hands; you could say no.

“Yes.” The crowd erupted into applause, launching Sukuna to stand and grab your hand.

“I knew you’d say yes.” He teased, slipping the very large ring onto your finger. It was a gorgeous sapphire, the same Prussian blue as his house colors, with a twisted pavé of sparkling diamonds around it and going down the band. “That's a 7 carat sapphire.” Sukuna boasted, turning your hand so it shined in the light.

“Beautiful indeed.” Seeing the ring and feeling the weight on your finger made what was happening all real and coupled with Sukuna holding your hand so gingerly, it made your heart flutter.

Turning to the Queen, you both bowed to her, earning a nod of the head in return. Turning to the crowd, it was only moments before your friends and family crowded around to congratulate you and see the ring. So many were in awe of the size and their jealousy was hardly contained, some looking down to their own rings in disappointment.

It took a while for the party to return to normal but you eventually found yourself being surrounded by your friends again at a table in the other room, sipping on far too many cocktails in the name of celebration.

“To (Y/N)!” They all cried, equally if not more intoxicated than you were. “May Her Highness not forget about us when she resides in the palace!”

“Please!” You laughed at the new title. “As if I could ever forget my dearest friends!” At that, you raised your glasses and polished them off, trying and failing to gently place them on the table.

You all stayed until the end of the party, stumbling out of your seats and finding your respective chaperones once it was time to leave. Unable to find your mother or father, you wandered around the garden and admired the topiary.

“Aren’t you cold out here?” A familiar voice sounded and you didn’t need to turn to see who it was.

“Not at all, Your Highness. I rather enjoy the evening breeze.” In truth you were but the alcohol was dulling your senses.

“Do not call me that anymore, we’re engaged. Call me by my given name.”

“I will do no such thing.” Turning to him, you shook your head a little too hard. “That should be reserved for people in love and we are not in love.” He groaned in annoyance and followed behind you as you walked in the garden. Sukuna felt the urge to demand you call him by his name, force you to bend to his will but he couldn’t find it in him. So instead he walked quietly and said nothing.

“I do like the ring.” You broke the silence, turning to face him once you decided you’d seen enough.

“You do? It's a family heirloom. Belonged to a grandpa's cousin's aunt or something like that.”

“Hm.” You didn’t laugh at his attempt at a joke even if it did amuse you slightly. Swaying on your feet, you held your hand up at eye level, the gold of the ring contrasting with the black velvet gloves you were wearing.

“It’s quite late and everyone is leaving. We should do the same.” The two of you were close enough to the house that no one would be scandalized by your being unchaperoned but Sukuna knew that if you were in your right mind you would be worried.

“Find my mother then.” Your eyes were still fixed on the ring. Sukuna scoffed at you and brought his hand to yours, attempting to grab onto it. “Do not!” You drew back, clutching your hand to your chest.

“Miss, please.” Sukuna was trying to be a gentleman and ensure your safety though truth be told he wasn’t sure why it mattered so much to him. He could have easily just walked off and gotten a footman to keep watch on you as he gathered your parents.

“I thought you wanted to use given names.” Tilting your head to the side, you looked at him curiously.

“I- be quiet.” A light flush rested over his cheeks and that irritated Sukuna. “Just come inside with me at the very least.” He was feeling the cold and he knew it was worse for you in your dress especially since your shawl had been discarded somewhere.

You stared back at him wordlessly as if seeing him for the first time. Squinting your eyes, you took in his attire, his Prussian blue tailcoat with metallic gold thread embroidered throughout and his crisp white waistcoat peeking out from underneath. The cravat he had on was tied intricately like when you had first met him and the ribbon to his pocket watch was also blue, dangling with an ornate cross and the seal of the kingdom. Gone were the boots he had worn previously, opting instead to adopt the shoes other men wore. His hair had been styled, trimmed and slicked back to showcase more of his face.

“Handsome.” You mumbled, taking a step toward Sukuna.

“What?” Your response surprised him but he didn’t move as you came forward and lifted a hand to graze his cheek.

“This is the first time I’m truly looking at you, Your Highness.”

“H-had you not seen me before?” He cursed himself for the stutter in his words but when the back of your hand brushed his cheek it made his tongue heavy. This softness from you was unexpected and he didn’t know how to handle it.

“I suppose not, hm?” It was like you were entranced by him, mesmerized by his beauty. Sukuna couldn’t tell if you were even really looking at him since your eyes had a faraway look to them. Raising his hand, he cupped yours as it dropped to run along his jaw and he could smell the faint perfume you had sprayed on your gloves. Something delicate and subtle, floral perhaps, just like a lady to use.

“Shall we…” Sukuna was going to ask to take you inside once more but you surprised him again by taking another step forward and resting your hand at the base of his throat. Your thumb ran along his Adam's apple, causing him to swallow quite loudly.

“Yes, let's.” You answered his unspoken question, dropping your hand from him entirely and sidestepping him to go inside. Sukuna remained glued to his spot however, his heart beating so hard he worried he was going to die.

“What is going on with me?” He wondered aloud, flexing his hands in front of him and begging his body to settle. Sure he had women flirt with him before but nothing as tender as this and he was positive you had no idea you were even flirting in the first place. You just…saw him, just observed how he looked and made no effort to do anything about it, hardly even complimented him excessively like he was used to.

By the time Sukuna made it back inside you had left with your parents and he was alone, the Queen having left already as well. Riding back to the palace by himself, Sukuna retraced where your hand had been on his face and sighed, recounting the velvet of your glove and the faintness of your perfume. It unsettled him that as he lay down to sleep he still thought of you and even in his dreams you appeared.

The next few weeks were a blur of wedding preparations. The Queen decided you’d be married at the end of the month, putting a time crunch on everything. You now went to a royal tailor instead of your usual modiste, there were what felt like a dozen ladies maids helping making decisions for you and you hardly had time to sleep.

So much happened in that month that you hardly even saw Sukuna at all. The only times you were together were to tour one of the Queens villas where the wedding was to be hosted and when there was a portrait painted of the two of you together to commemorate the wedding and to serve as a gift from the Queen. And both times you were chaperoned and you were too tired to truly make conversation.

The morning of your wedding came much too fast and you were up at dawn being bathed, fed a light meal and taken to the villa to be dressed in the most expensive outfit you would most likely ever wear. There were more layers being put on than you were used to and your corset was tied just a bit tighter.

“(Y/N).” Your parents stood at the doorway as your wedding dress was settled onto you. Looking at them through a mirror, you could only smile at the way they were getting teary; you’d been instructed not to move by the head maid and she was very serious in her request. You were spritzed with perfume and white gloves were slid onto your hands at the same time you were donned with jewelry. The weight of such pieces, on loan from the royal family for such an occasion, made you nervous beyond compare.

“Final touch, Miss.” Looking back at yourself, you watched as a tiara was taken from a velvet box and put atop your head, secured by pins before a beautiful lacy veil was put on top to complete the look.

“Oh, my daughter.” Your mother couldn’t contain herself and turned away, dabbing at her lashline with her handkerchief. Collecting herself quickly, she stepped into the room and let her hand ghost over the veil. “You are…magnificent.” She whispered, finally grasping your hand tightly.

“Thank you.” You couldn’t look away from yourself, everything was done so precisely. Your dress had more jewels and pearls than you’d seen in your life and you were afraid to touch it or even breathe too much in it; it felt as if you were a living work of art, one that must not be disturbed in any manner for any thing.

“Here Miss, to calm your nerves.” The head maid handed you a dainty glass cup filled with a dark liquid and the scent made your nose burn slightly.

“W-what is this?”

“Spiced brandy.”

“But I’m not nervous!”

“Oh trust me Miss, you will be.” She motioned for you to drink and you looked back down at the cup. It was small enough that you could drink it quickly and be done with it, so you steeled yourself and shot it back, almost retching before the maid slapped a hand over your mouth and got you to swallow it.

“O-oh my god.” You coughed, almost dropping the cup. “That was awful.”

“You’ll thank me later, promise.” She said, patting you on the back and then fixing your makeup. The alcohol worked quickly, making your body warm and a bit looser.

“They’re ready, ma’am.” Another maid announced from the doorway, signaling it was time to get going.

“Right this way.” Led out of the dressing room and down the hallway, the further you went the louder the chatter from all the guests became and the piano playing as background music was nearly drowned out by the buzz of excitement. Coming upon the grand hall, a maid rushed out of one of the doors and for a brief moment you saw just how many people - how many royal people - had attended.

“Thank you for that drink.” You swiftly turned to the head maid who nodded knowingly at you.

“Miss (Y/N) is ready.” She spoke to a footman instead who knocked on the large wooden doors in front of you three times, and through them you heard another gather the attention of the crowd.

As the doors opened, your mother and eldest brother went first and your hand gripped the arm your father had hooked into yours. Your whole life has led up to this moment, this exact time. This was what everyone wanted from you and you were providing as you should, but you couldn’t stop shaking.

“Father.” You turned to him before you stepped into the light from the doorway. “I-I’m nervous, what if I mess up?”

“My love.” He spoke kindly to you, softer than he ever had before. “You could fail a thousand times in a thousand ways and you would still be perfect.” Brushing over your veil, he took a deep breath himself. “Besides, you are not the only one that’s nervous.”

You chuckled breathlessly as he said that and then it was time to walk forward into the light of the venue, into what was fast becoming your new life. Swallowing thickly, you followed him as your father led you to stand in the doorway.

Walking down the aisle was something you’d spoken about, hell even practiced with your siblings and friends as a joke throughout the years, but doing the actual deed was much different. Your eyes roamed over all the guests standing at attention and drinking you in. There was no way to miss all their eyes on you and the way they followed as you walked down. No one said a word, no one dared even breathe too loud as you moved closer and closer to Sukuna.

Sukuna, who was dressed in the most formal attire you’d ever seen him in: a full dress royal military uniform complete with silky white gloves, an Order of the Garter sash, gold aiguillettes and a few medals you didn’t know the meaning of. His military hat was being held by a groomsman behind him and you dared to briefly look down and see his shoes were shined to perfection and he had a full dress sword with a golden tassel hanging from it.

The walk was over before you knew it and soon your father was unwinding his arm from yours to shake Sukunas hand. Giving you a brief kiss on the cheek, you heard him sniffle before he turned away and took his seat with your family.

Standing for a moment, Sukuna looked awestruck as he stared at you. His eyes were a tad wider than they usually were and for a second you thought you saw his eyes get glassy. Holding out his hand, Sukuna helped you up the three small steps onto the altar before letting go and standing at attention before the archbishop.

He wanted desperately to say something to you before the vows started, wanted to say how stunning you were and how happy he was to see you walk down the aisle. But none of that came to him; you had quite truly taken his breath away. So instead, he hyper-focused on the archbishop's words and made sure he said the right things at the right times.

After the last ‘I do’, Sukuna turned to you and lifted your veil almost too slowly, too carefully, as if he was afraid that with any wrong move you would shatter into thousands of pieces. Once he had lifted the veil and folded it away, he stared at you for what felt like ages before he forced air into his chest and leaned forward.

To your relief the kiss didn’t last too long, you weren’t sure how much longer you could take being stared at like this. Both of yours’ lips trembled upon touching and while he did put a little force behind it, Sukuna still made sure to be gentle.

“Shall we?” He whispered once he pulled away, offering his hand and motioning back down the aisle. You couldn’t find the words, so you just nodded your head and allowed him to lead you down. The sound of the guests cheering surprised you and you looked around at all who attended. There were royals from different countries that were here in their traditional dress, all of whom you’d only read about and never thought you’d ever see. All of your friends were there and half the ton, something that brought you great comfort. There was still a sense of familiarity in all of this.

Once the two of you had left the room, it was a mad dash with the servants to fix your makeup and get the two of you into the next room to start receiving guests. Going to the reception hall, you smiled at the inclusion of your favorite flowers and colors along with Sukunas Prussian blue.

Sitting down on an ornate chaise lounge, you thanked the servants that fluffed out your dress and settled your veil over the rest of the seat, letting the full length of it be on display. You weren’t sitting side by side with Sukuna, moreover he sat straight on whereas you were at a slight angle facing him with your dress brushing his knee every so often.

“You look…” He finally spoke, fixing his hat and gloves nervously.

“Yes?” You urged, trying to meet his eyes. It was unlike him to be coy like this.

“Absolutely breathtaking.” The words were a whisper on his lips and he glanced at you as he said them, eager to look back down at his gloved fingers.

“You’re serious?”

“Of course I am. You’re my wife.” Clearing his throat, Sukuna grabbed your hand and held it on his thigh. “Let them in!” He called to the footman and the doors were opened, with the first people ushered in being the Queen, followed by your family. Following Sukuna’s lead, you did not stand when she entered which had you twitching anxiously.

“To the happy new couple.” She said, giving a small clap. “I hope you enjoy the honeymoon I’ll provide to you.”

“Th-thank you, Your Majesty!” Your mouth dropped in shock, you forgot about the honeymoon. And with a honeymoon came consummating the marriage and you could feel your face begin to burn at the idea.

“(Y/N)!” All your siblings cried, rushing in once the Queen had made her exit. The younger ones leapt onto you while a sister right behind you in age ran her fingers over your veil. There was so much they were saying, how beautiful you looked and how ready they were for cake and it had you tearing up.

“Why are you crying?” Your mother asked, immediately grabbing a handkerchief to stem your tears.

“I-I’m going to miss you all, so so much!” Releasing Sukuna’s hand, you allowed your mother to clutch both of them.

“Listen to me, (Y/N)! You’ll see us again! It’s not as if you’re going on some great journey for five years, it’s just to the neighboring kingdom! Why, we can even come visit you if you’d like!” With your mother comforting you like a child, it was up to Sukuna to entertain your siblings and he was not prepared for the ordeal.

“Be careful with that sword!” Somehow two younger brothers managed to begin to unsheathe his sword with the intention of playing with it.

“Your Highness, since you’re our new brother can I ask you something?”

“Yes?”

“Why is your hair pink?”

“Everyone, please!” The look of exasperation quickly growing on Sukuna’s face pulled you out of your misery and a light laugh came out. “Let him rest, we have other guests to greet.”

“Yes, say goodbye to your sister and let us go out to the garden.”

“Bye!” Nearly smothered in a thousand hugs, they all eventually left. Before the next guests were brought in, a maid touched up your makeup at your mothers request.

“You’ll see them again, I promise.” Sukuna said, fixing his coat and a medal that had gone askew. “After our honeymoon we can bring them to the country estate.” Looking at Sukuna’s face you could tell he meant it and that made you smile.

“Thank you.”

As guest after guest came through, your knowledge of politics was put to the test. There was the Emperor Satoru Gojo who you knew Sukuna had a sometimes-not-so-friendly rivalry with. Archduke Nanami Kento whose people were renowned for their knowledge of cooking. King Getou Suguru hailed from a mountainous region with a high monkey population. All of them were kind to you, wishing you well and offering to host you in their country should you ever want to visit.

“Stay still.” Sukuna said abruptly as the next guests came in. The mood immediately shifted upon their entrance and you felt the air leave the room as a group of three filed in. They were clearly aristocrats or royalty Sukuna knew with the way he jumped up out of his seat.

“Your Highness!” There was one in the front who was clearly the leader, his yellow blonde hair contrasted with its dark tips. He had a few black metal piercings on each ear and the way he spoke made you bristle. “What a beautiful wedding!” Walking further into the room, the man locked eyes with you. “And an even more gorgeous wife.”

“Do not speak to her.” Sukuna stepped into his line of sight, effectively cutting you off. Looking at the rest of the group, there was a horrendously scarred woman staring at the floor and a man with inky black hair and a scar at the edge of his mouth. “What business do you have here?”

“Relax, we’re just here to pay our respects!” The blonde man began to waltz around the room with his arms open. “Why, a wedding truly has a way of bringing people together, does it not?” Returning to his previous position in the room, the man motioned to you. “Now, will you introduce us or do we have to do it ourselves?”

“You will not speak to her, you will not look at her.” Sukuna was irate, you could see it in the way his body had puffed up and his hand hovered near the hilt of his sword.

“Nonsense!” The man dared to take a step further and Sukuna gripped his sword, causing the woman to go into motion and move the cape she’d been wearing to the side, revealing a jagged looking blade tucked against her. You heard a few maids stifle terrified noises and you moved without thinking.

“M-my name is (Y/N)!” You shot up out of your seat, making everyone turn to you. The look in Sukuna’s eyes as he turned was white hot and scalding, forcing you to look away. “Her Highness, Crown Princess Ryomen (Y/N).” It was hard to say the entirety of your new title without stuttering but somehow you managed.

“What a beautiful name for a beautiful woman!” Sidestepping Sukuna, the blonde man held out his hand for you and you followed suit, playing whatever game he wanted and resting your hand in his, letting him kiss the back of it. “I am Tsar Zenin, Naoya Zenin.”

Your brow furrowed as you thought back to your schooling. There had been no mention of a Naoya Zenin anywhere in your books or in the newspapers and bulletins your father read. The Zenin family name was vague to you at best; but there was no time to dwell on it further as Naoya flicked his head and the man with the scarred lip came forward and pulled out a wooden box.

“Your Highness, allow me to give you a gift!” The top of the wooden box was removed with flair and inside was a thick suede headband, adorned with large circular diamonds forming a floral pattern with a few other colored gems dotting the empty spaces. There was also a pair of matching earrings that looked much too big for your ears.

“What do you think?” Naoya asked quietly.

“It’s- they’re very beautiful, thank you.” His expression was making you uncomfortable and you glanced at Sukuna. He had gone completely still as he watched the scene unfold before him.

“I hope to see you wearing them when you visit my country. Many women wear this style and I think it would suit you.”

“She will do no such thing.” Sukunas voice broke the buzzing tension in the air, ripping Naoya away from you and scoffing at the gift he gave. “I would never have my wife go anywhere near a country where a prince kills his whole family just to be in power.”

You gasped, nearly stumbling back at the news. Naoya’s eyes flicked to you and his smile faltered; he didn’t want you to know that part about him and moreover if you did come to know, he wanted to be the one to tell you and control the narrative you heard.

“Princess, don-”

“Do not speak to her!” Sukuna grabbed Naoya roughly by the collar and they locked eyes. Naoyas lackeys stood poised and ready should a fight break out but Naoya seemed perfectly content with the situation.

“I see the groom has had enough of us. We shall take our leave.” Raising his hands in surrender, Naoya slowly backed away with a cocky grin on his face. Turning to you, he put a hand on his chest and bowed. “Princess, I hope we meet again soon. I wish to bask in your beauty even longer next time.” With no other words, Naoya and his group left the way they came, making sure to leave the wooden box on a credenza by the door.

As soon as they left, Sukuna was in front of you, inspecting you with his eyes. His body was still painfully tense and you could see the way his teeth ground together every so often.

“Are you mad at me?” You were afraid he would start yelling at you at any moment, reprimand you for speaking to Naoya and not letting him handle the situation. Sukuna didn’t react to your question, instead picking up the hand that Naoya touched and wiping it off on his jacket.

“How are you?” He asked instead.

“I’m fine. I apologize for-”

“No. Stop.” Shaking his head, Sukuna bit back a sigh. “I am not mad at you. I am mad at myself for not expecting that a potential enemy to the kingdom would use this day as an opportunity to try and do something. I…I’m mad that I failed to protect you.” Sukuna shook his head again and looked down at the medals on his jacket. “I’m a godforsaken general afterall.”

After taking a moment to collect yourselves, you received the rest of your guests in quick succession. Seeing your friends helped push your shaken nerves away and so was seeing the rest of the ton. With the reception over, you moved into the main hall to continue the festivities.

“Excuse me.” Once inside, Sukuna made a beeline for a table occupied by a few of the royalty you had met with. They were sharing a few bottles of champagne and Sukuna popped one open and wasted no time drinking almost half of it.

As the wedding went on you were able to forget about Naoya and the seriousness of the situation. You danced with friends and family and even some members of the ton that had been jealous or disapproving of you getting to marry the prince. Everyone was in high spirits and it made you happy to be able to bring everyone together.

With the evening coming to a close, you realized you and Sukuna had hardly seen each other. You saw him dance with a few people, even the Queen, but for the most part he was drinking with his friends and playing yard games. Whenever you caught his eye he would wave, each time getting drunker and drunker.

“Your Highness, I know you’re to start your honeymoon right away as Prince Sukuna requested but he’s in no shape to travel tonight.” A footman gave you the information with a sorry look on his face and you understood why; Sukuna had drank so much he had to retreat from the party early to throw up. Emperor Gojo and King Getou were in no better shape passed out on the lawn and Archduke Nanami was nursing his last drink with a bright flush on his cheeks.

“I understand. Please, see to it that he cleans up and rests for tonight and I will see our guests off.” You pitied the valet’s that would have to wrestle Sukuna into a bathtub. Turning back to the party, it wouldn’t be so bad to finish it alone as a few guests had already taken their leave.

“A shame about your new husband, my dear.” The Queen came to stand at your side, making your back immediately straighten.

“Yes, it is.”

“He told me what happened. With the Tsar.” She spoke quietly, bringing her fan to the front of her face. “Tell me, what do you think of the whole matter?”

“I…” Truth be told, you tried not to think about it. “I do not think we should rush into responding to this…intrusion. I feel as though Naoya is just playing, he wanted to test the Prince's patience; see how far he could go.”

“I agree. The Zenin family has had a bloody climb to power but I know they wouldn’t be stupid enough to rush into any conflict just yet. Their country is on shaky ground as it is, Naoya must secure his right to the throne before he looks elsewhere.” The Queen's words were reassuring and enough to give you peace of mind. She always knew what to say, so confident in her words and actions; you hoped to emulate her one day when Sukuna took the throne.

“My diamond, let’s give your guests a proper farewell. Your honeymoon awaits you.” Putting her fan away, the Queen gently grabbed your hand and squeezed.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

#jujutsu kaisen #bridgerton au #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

180 notes · View notes

swallowedbyfandom · 6 months ago

Text

When Rae wakes her early that morning she wonders which gentleman has set the fire she will likely have to put out that day. Luckily Rae is an angel sent from heaven, so she brings tea with her tales. Dash it, Rae looks terribly amused which means it involves Bridgerton shenanigans. Of all the ridiculous noble families society has to offer, the Bridgertons remain the ones Rae finds most amusing.

The further she gets into reading the report from Whites the more she debates day drinking. Surely, her mama would understand her need for Ratafia with breakfast this day. She did not expect a Bridgerton in the wild last night. She really thought Ant and Ben would drink with Colin until they all passed out in the study. Yet somehow Benedict ended up starting a bar brawl with Debling over bird pornography? That cannot be right. She must have misread that bit.

Unfortunately she did not misread it. She Penelope Featherington is now a muse for terribly written poetry. She wonders if Alfred chose the bird imagery because her name is Featherington or because he called her his Dove. She also wonders what offended Ben more. That Debling wrote erotic poetry about her or that he wrote bad erotic poetry about her? It could go either way with Ben. She will have to get ready to receive a lot of callers. She can hear the rumors now, Penelope Featherington the face that launched a thousand bar brawls. She accidentally snorts into her teacup. No wonder Rae is so amused. Now to break the news to her mama.

She warns her mama to expect a large volume of callers . She does not warn her mama that half of them may look like they just arrived in from the front lines. She also doesn't warn her mama about the extravagance of Bridgerton apologies. The look on her mother's face when half the florist shop arrives on their door step is worth it. The flowers from Ant all hold a simple card.

I sincerely apologize for my brother's behavior.

I will ensure he acts with more care for your reputation going forward.

Fondly,

Viscount Bridgerton

The flowers from Ben are her favorite as they are as eclectic and artistic as he is. Also because his arrangements carry a card that reads,

Sorry my brother is a dim witted whore.

At least he is very rich and pretty?

Also the rest of us are fantastic.

Fondly,

B. Bridgerton

Oh dear, hedonist Ben calling someone a whore. She cannot breathe through the hilarity of it. She knows that message must have been drafted while he was still half drunk. Still Ben makes the best emotional support brother.

She spends her morning to her mother's sheer disbelief dazzling callers. She pretends she does not know why they are all calling. After all, a gentle lady like herself would have no knowledge of escapades taken in a gentleman's club. She thanks them for coming to check on her after the very public breakdown of her courtship. She is demure and sweet above all.

She plays nurturing and concerned to the injured lords who show up battered from last nights brawl. She is all mischievous deflections with the rakes. She is bold humor and silly tales with the genuinely charming. She is sharp intellect with the business and academic minded. With all her callers, she is guileless in the face of their probing questions. While she would normally never bother with this level of effort for the shallow sheep of the ton, if she is leaving after this season she might as well leave an impression.

Her conversation with Lord Fife is the most fun she has all morning. For it is the only time she unleashes the full bite of her wit. He tries so hard to charm her.

"Miss Featherington, may I say you look ravishing this morning. I see why Bridgerton has attempted to keep you to himself." Fife sips his tea regally.

She arches a brow and allows a giggle to escape, "I am impressed you noticed anything at all with how devoutly you have been eyeing my neckline."

She watches the way his eyes startle up to her face. She smiles at him with chaos dancing in her eyes.

"Contrary to the rumors, Mr. Bridgerton and I have always maintained a chaste relationship. If you were hoping to see how you compare to him perhaps one of the nice working girls you both enjoy visiting would be kind enough to measure for you."

As he chokes on his tea and begins to cough, she continues.

"I am not sure why gentlemen enjoy comparing foils, but everyone must have a hobby I suppose."

She hands him a handkerchief as he continues to cough.

"Leave me out of the games you play, My lord. I am not a light skirt and you are not a husband." She calls over a footman. "Lord Fife seems to be coming down with something, he appears quite flushed does he not? Please escort him out. I hope you recover soon, Lord Fife."

She stands to give a small curtsy. She watches Fife exit with a slightly enamored and dazed look upon his face.

Her mother arches her brows at her in concern. She shakes her head lightly in response. Fife is no threat, who would believe him? She has played the timid Lady for years. She has also maintained a touch of hesitation when interacting with her callers so each gentleman feels like they have accomplished a grand feat when they get her to relax. Each gentleman that has come to call today will swear on a stack of bible about her gentle and virtuous nature. While Fife has a reputation for inappropriate behavior.

When her mama finally puts an end to calling hours she nearly leaps with joy. She calls for a sandwich and cake lord knows she has earned it. She is going to escape for a long bath and nap after this. She needs time to decompress.

Her mama has a terrifying gleam in her eyes. Thankfully she hid everything god awful dress her mama ever picked out. They are boxed and wrapped up with Gen. She never imagined she would miss maternal neglect so much, but here she is. She lets out a sigh. Her mama will have her dancing with suitors all night at the ball she is sure.

"Penelope, where are Mr. Bridgerton and Lord Debling this fine Morning? Are you not concerned"

Of course her mama wants to ask about them as if there was not a house full of desperate men just here, panting after her like dogs in heat. She wrinkles her nose up at the image.

"Lord Debling is likely nursing his injured pride and his injured face. He was involved in a fight of some sort at White's last night. I would be surprised if he showed his face in society for a few days."

"The Bridgertons are all competitive they are not going to let Colin come to call until they are satisfied with his plans for courting. They will all be at the ball but he is likely too ashamed to approach me just yet. He will stand by the dessert table and stare at me all night. His brother's will likely dance with me to keep other suitors away. We will see mama."

#bridgerton #polin #bridgerton s3 #unhinged penelope featherington #portia featherington #unhinged colin bridgerton #penelope x colin

41 notes · View notes

jomiddlemarch · 6 months ago

Text

My vegetable love should grow

“But Miss Cressida, it ain’t done!” exclaimed the red-headed housemaid Sally, who had an uncanny resemblance to a fox but without any of a vixen’s daring or speed. Her dark eyes were wet with tears of consternation and darted about anxiously.

“It can be as long as I bring a maid with me. You went along with everything else, you cannot draw some arbitrary line at coming on a call with me during calling hours,” Cressida said, striving to keep her tone even, because she had a positive horror of ranting at the servants the way her father ranted at them and anyone else he deemed beneath him, which was everyone other than Queen Charlotte and possibly the Archbishop of Canterbury. Still, Sally was being difficult and Cressida didn’t have enough pin money left to bribe her into compliance.

“If this works out as I hope, I’ll take you with me,” she said to the maid.

“You already asked me to go with you,” Sally replied. “Did Cook addle your brains when she shouted?”

“I meant, if I am successful and secure the affections of Lord Debling, I should ask Mama to allow me to bring you with me as a maid,” Cressida explained. A more clever maid would have grasped her intention, but a more clever maid would have found a way to refuse Cressida’s undeniably outré scheme.

“A lady’s maid?” Sally breathed, as this was evidently what she considered the absolute pinnacle of existence. She couldn’t do Cressida’s hair worth a toss, however, and her mending was only passable.

“We’ll see,” Cressida said.

“D’you mean to go now, my lady?” Sally asked.

Cressida almost sighed in relief. She’d have boxed the girl’s ears if she had to, but dragging a weeping maid behind her to Lord Debling’s townhouse what not what she’d planned.

“Yes. Fetch my blue pelisse and then we’ll be off,” Cressida said.

“It’s three years old and covered in braid,” Sally said doubtfully. “You don’t want something more fashionable?”

“Fashion isn’t my primary concern,” Cressida said. She suspected Lord Debling would not notice if she wore her grandmother’s hooded wool cloak, other than for its marten fur trim. The blue went with her eyes and she remembered being hopeful when she first put it on; it had been the Season she thought she might make a match with Viscount Aldertwyne and his five thousand pounds per annum and her recollections were all colored with her earlier rosy optimism.

“If you say so, my lady,” Sally said.

It was not good Ton to snap at one’s servants’ vapidity or that of anyone who wasn’t a Cit, so Cressida held her tongue.

It was a significant effort.

Twenty minutes later, Lady Cressida Cowper and her maid stood at Lord Debling’s front door. It was quite tall, but in need of a fresh coat of paint, but the dwelling’s bones, as the saying went, were good and it overlooked a park, which she supposed was some relief to a man who preferred to be out in nature. The park provided plenty of greenery, even if none of it were wild. Cressida imagined the street thronged with carriages as the members of the Ton jockeyed and jostled to get into her latest squeeze, the rooms packed, the ratafia nearly running dry, Lord Debling sequestered in his study or Patagonia.

“Lady Cressida Cowper, to call on Lord Debling,” she announced to his butler. The man did not even blink and she considered that Debling’s unorthodox approach to society would stand her in good stead in her mission. She was ushed down a gracefully proportioned hall that was gloomy due to the paper an earlier Debling had selected. She nodded to herself. She’d avoid all paintings of the hunt and any still-life with a dead fowl, that would satisfy him well enough, and she preferred landscapes anyway.

“The drawing room, my lady,” the butler announced, which was helpful, because it looked little like any drawing room she’d seen. Eloise had dragged her to the British Museum on a rainy afternoon and that was what she felt she’d entered, as the room was full of natural curiosities, some in glass cloches or cases, some merely arrayed on shelves or set down on tables as ornaments. Everything that was not an artifact appeared to be sepia.

The spiky, spiny, curved shell with its pink flared lip seeming vaguely obscene must be a trial for a housemaid to dust.

Lord Debling set down the book he’d been perusing and removed the spectacles which Cressida would have thought would suit him ill yet somehow contrived to make him more attractive. She didn’t need him to be very attractive and hadn’t anticipated how to respond to his appealing countenance and very broad shoulders in well-fitted superfine. She offered a polite smile, allowing her lips to curve slightly and showing a glimpse of her teeth, while she waited for him to approach her with a greeting.

“Lady Cressida, good afternoon,” he said. “It is good of you to call. I trust I find you well.”

He said all the necessities but as if he were bored by them. His eyes drifted down to her hands and when they returned to her face, there was an expression of interest she’d rarely evoked in a prospective suitor.

“The weather is very pleasant,” she replied.

“I must admit—”

“I expect you—”

They both stopped after speaking at the same time, Lord Debling startled into a laugh that was not one Society would approve, too unstudied, too spontaneous.

Cressida approved of it quite heartily.

“I’ve brought you something I hoped you might enjoy, but I’m afraid my aspiration may have exceeded my execution,” she said.

“You would have me set my standards low,” he said.

“It’s a vegetable tart, made from a receipt of the French,” Cressida said, using one hand to uncover the pie from its cloth where it sat perched on her knee. Uncloaked, there was no hiding the fact that some of the unevenly sliced vegetables were burnt and the pastry was sadly pale in places. Possibly raw. She hadn’t dared to poke at those spots and risk the entire collapse of the tart. “I know you eschew meat in your repasts and I thought to convey my…appreciation with a dish designed to suit your tastes.”

“I’m sure your Cook has done an admirable job,” Lord Debling said.

“Oh, no, she had nothing to do with it! If she heard you say that, she’d surely give her notice, to think I allowed anyone to believe this a measure of her culinary skill. I made this myself,” Cressida said.

It was the coup de grâce, or what she believed a coup de grâce was, given the limitations of her last governess whose French was markedly poor, the final blow that would deliver Debling to her or send him fleeing.

“You can cook?” he asked.

“Not very well,” she said, without false humility. “I did not think it would prove that difficult, if it was something a servant could do, but I’ve discovered my talents don’t lie in the realm of cookery.”

Sally, who was amusing herself looking at some pressed leaves or somesuch, made a sound like an incredulous guffaw and Cressida could tell that Lord Debling heard and had schooled his face to remain unaffected.

“I did not think any ladies of the Ton would ever venture to cook or bake or do anything domestic other than prepare a cup of tea with milk and sugar,” he said.

“They don’t,” Cressida said. “I wanted you to understand, I’m not like the rest of them.”

“Do I need to eat the tart to grasp that fact conclusively?” he said.

“Not really,” she said.

“Good. Then I will eat my portion purely for the enjoyment of it,” he replied.

“That will be little enough,” Cressida said. There’d been a savory custard to be poured over the vegetables that had looked curdled but she’d persevered; now she realized she risked maiming or killing him if he consumed much of her possibly poison pie.

“Allow me to decide, Lady Cressida,” he said and she did not think she mistook his intention. “I think I shall like it very well indeed and will owe you a debt of gratitude. You will need to tell me how I may repay you for your thoughtfulness.”

“You might begin with a waltz at Lady Thimbleberry-Fenwick’s ball tomorrow night,” she said.

“And perhaps the supper dance as well,” he replied. “Though she will not present a tart anything like this one.”

“Thank the good Lord for that,” muttered Sally in a carrying whisper.

Cressida did something she hadn’t for over a decade. She blushed to the roots of her hair and all the way down her decolletage. She gave thanks for her lace fichu.

“No one has given me anything that has pleased me so well since I was just out of dresses,” he said.

“Truly?” Cressida said, knowing she sounded for all the world like a miss fresh out of the schoolroom.

“Truly,” Lord Debling said. “I don’t bother with lies. Waste of time.”

#bridgerton season 3 #bridgerton #cressida cowper #lord debling #cressida x debling #rarepair #lady cressida cowper #romance #regency romance tropes #humor #rebooting cressida #chasing lord debling #how to win a vegetarian's heart

18 notes · View notes

bohemian-nights · 2 years ago

Text

Lady Danbury: Chapter 2

Word count: ~3,539

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

Warnings⚠️: This chapter contains sexual assault and mentions of a miscarriage.

Description: The new Lady Agatha Danbury was decidedly not happy. Neither was Lord Ledger. Perhaps they might find a bit of happiness in each other.

AN: This is a Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury AU fic. Some plot lines from Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story have been axed🪓

Chapter 1, Chapter 3,

Agatha had never liked doctors. Death, sickness, misery. A bad omen they were. Riding up the drive in their black carriages, she had never seen them ride in anything else. Carrying with them a bag of pain and false hope. A sign of foul times ahead whenever one came around for no one ever called upon them when they were hail and hearty.

Nothing good came from them and their visits. With their poking and prodding. Many instruments in that bag of pain of torture at their disposal to aid in their torment. Much to Agatha’s dismay, the physician and his bag of horrors became an all too regular sight at the Danbury residence.

It was six months into her marriage when the doctor was first called for. A few days before her sixth and ten birthday. Her courses had been late. She had been feeling nauseous, and as if she could sleep the whole day away. Agatha could barely keep down her food yet she felt as if she could eat a horse, and then promptly expel said horse into her chamber pot if she had.

On her fourth day of expelling whatever she tried yet failed to keep down, her husband had sent for a physician. Dr. Simmons. He went to Eton with her husband, but the two were so dissimilar in nature. He was for all intents and purposes a cheerful older man with a jolly face.

One could liken him to a father really. He had a way of easing her nerves as he went about his inspection. He was direct and never ignored her or her questioning. “My youngest is your age, Agatha.” He never called her Mrs. Danbury. A slight to some perhaps, but she did not mind the informality.

He had a smile on his face when he pronounced his assessment. Giving her hand a fatherly pat in reassurance. She was with child. He had assured Mr. Danbury and herself that he’d be back in a fortnight to check on the babe's progress.

Agatha had never seen Mr. Danbury so happy. He could not stop grinning ear to ear. He did not stop to correct her. He had gone so far as to offer her anything she had wanted from her birthday. An offer which she gladly took. She requested a Ratafia cake instead of the Dundee cake that he had insisted upon.

She wanted apricots soaked in champagne, but given her condition, Ratafia cake would have to do. She looked forward to that sponge cake, but that happiness was short-lived. Dr. Simmons had been back before the week's end.

Agatha had woken up before the sun to cramps piercing through her abdomen on the eve of her birthday. A searing pain that nearly blinded her. It was not an unusual occurrence. Her courses brought about a similar pain every month. Spending the first few days of it lying in bed.

Ridden with nausea, a throbbing headache, and cramps that only relented for a moment or two before coming back with a vengeance, but this had not been that. This was a sharper ache than that. This should not be that. She was with child. She carried a child within her. This could not be that.

She had managed to crawl out from under her covers. Hobbling her way to her chamber pot behind her screen. She would not look back. She could not look back. Agatha recalled that she had closed her eyes to calm her breathing. Fearing that she would pass out from her nerves rather than whatever it was that ailed her.

It could have been hours or a few minutes, but she finally managed to calm her nerves to pull away from the pot. Bracing herself to face whatever awaited her at the bottom of that porcelain base.

A mass of deep crimson is what her eyes landed upon. A trail of crimson marked her descent. Blood. As far as she could see. Disappearing beyond the screen. If she were to peer out from where she stood she would see the end of that trail. Leading to her bed. To her linens and feather mattress. Soaked through with her babe's blood.

That was what remained of it. What remained of the thing growing inside her. Her child. It would have been her child, but now it was a thing. A clump of blood the color of jam. Blackberry jam. It looked like blackberry jam. Mr. Danbury’s favorite and it had come out of her. She screamed for Coral.

Agatha bleed for two weeks straight. Her cramps caused her to be bedridden for half the day, she absolutely refused to eat jam with her toast, but shame as she was to admit it, she did not feel sadness at its loss. That was what she had taken to calling her would be babe. It was a thing. Not a person. It certainly had not looked like a person and it would never grow into one.

Perhaps she should have felt shame, felt sadness, felt something, but the only thing that she felt, the only thing that she mourned, was the fact that their marital relations, which had been halted on account of her being with child, would resume in due course.

Mr. Danbury had been warned by Dr. Simmon that she had needed time to heal after the stress of their loss. Six weeks. True enough he had followed the doctor's orders. Kept to himself. He stayed in his own rooms. He did not disturb her. Let her recover. For a time at least, but all too soon that little window of respite had shut. He had not waited a moment more to resume his husbandly rights.

Wife. He would call out for her with a whine and she’d make her way to his bedroom, like a child being called for its supper. She never got used to the stretch. He always rammed his appendage, a short little stubby thing, with no preamble into her. Over and over.

He found her whimpers, which only came about because his thrusts would often cause her skull to crack against the headboard, to be an irritation. So he took to pushing her down onto the mattress when taking her from behind and pushing her head into her pillow when he was on top of her. She had learned to brace her head with her hands thrown before her. Agatha bit her lip to stop her whimpers and Mr. Danbury no longer pushed her head into her pillow.

Thankfully he never took to kissing her during the act. He rarely touched her. A withered hand on her hips or her breasts, but that was the extent of it. It was always silent, save for the bed creaking and his low grunts. An emotionless affair. Ended by “I believe that should be sufficient enough to put my son in you wife.” His son. His heir. The baby race Coral had taken to calling it. It had become his obsession. A race she was losing.

The doctors became a steady occurrence. An endless rotation for one was not good enough. Parading up and down the halls of her residence with their heavy boots, spectacles, and dark bags. They were usually called a week after her courses had ended.

Once they were called twice in a month. Her courses had come twice that month. She had screamed for Coral when she had seen the blood at the bottom of the pot once more. She had to be given a tonic for her nerves. She would not stop crying even after Dr. Simmons had promised her that it was indeed her moon tide that had made another appearance and not a babe lost. More doctors were sent for.

Hysteria one of them claimed. Everything was attributed to her hysteria or her melancholy. All according to Dr. Henrich Otto. A vile little German man. Agatha grew to loathe the sight of him the most out of the lot of them.

Besides the occasional odd comment, Henry has five sons and I have not one. His wife is ten years your senior wife, Mr. Danbury did not chastise her too much for inability, her one duty, to bear him a son and heir. Instead, he let Dr. Otto do that with his talk of hysterics.

He took great joy in her torment. In making her go mad. She was convinced he wanted to drive her mad. Never running out of ways in which to do so. Taking away what little pleasures she did have in this life as Mrs. Danbury.

She needed rest, the doctor said. Proper rest. She was far too active and those activities were putting a strain on her. They were leading her mind to wander without respite. That was the cause of her hysteria. Her empty womb.

Agatha needed someone so that she may focus her energies on conception. Coral, who should have been considered for the job, was deemed to be far too vapid to take up her duties. She would run their house into the ground.

That honor went to Rupert, their butler, a servile old man whom Agatha was half convinced that he had been around since the days of Moses. He was not truly a bad man, but whenever he was in the presence of one who he considered his superior, he bent to their Will so easily that one had to question if he had a spine, to begin with.

When he called upon their residence it was a day-long affair. He always began by making a show out of his inspection of her intimate place. He had said that she was too small to use his tools upon so he used his hands. His fingers were cold, unnaturally so. Far colder than her husbands, and yet those thin fingers that impaled her with great discomfort knew her more intimately in that place than he. Mr. Danbury never touched her there save for his member.

She snapped a month into her treatment when he had begun thrusting his fingers in and out of her in the same manner as her husband did with his appendage. “Why don’t you just impregnate me yourself, Doctor?”

It was inappropriate. If her former governess were to burst through her bedroom door, she would have taken her by the ears and made her wash her mouth with soap, but what he did was improper and Agatha could no longer bear it. He had enough shame to pull away. Her husband could not even look her in the eye. Merely clearing his throat as he fixed his dark gaze upon her mantlepiece.

After he was finished with his poking, the leeches came. To purify her of the toxins that festered. Preventing her husband's seed from taking root. He placed those creatures upon her inner thighs. Sucking the lifeblood out of her. Some days he’d take his knife and cut her himself. It was preferable to his other ministrations. The army of his foul tonics that burned her throat came last.

They tasted like rotten eggs and earth. Dr. Simmons' elixirs did not taste much better, but he always made her laugh at her. It was month after month of his treatments, but her womb never quickened. A most curious thing to Dr. Otto. For his methods were proven with great success.

Lemon tops. Dr. Otto accused her of inserting lemon tops into herself to prevent her husband's seed from taking. He accused Coral of helping her procure said lemon tops. Bringing them with her morning tea. She had implored Mr. Danbury to see reason. Forgoing the citrus fruit in her tea to convince him of her innocence.

Dr. Otto was a man who did not like to be bested. So he turned his ire onto Dr. Simmons. He knew how much ease she felt. How she trusted him. Her husband had wanted him to dismiss Dr. Simmons when he had found the German, but she had managed to keep the man in their employ.

Despite Mr. Danbury’s rough ways with her; he was not a cruel man at heart. He was not a sadist. He was just a man desperate for an heir. For recognition. For a legacy and oftentimes it led to her discomfort, but he did what most husbands would do in his position. She was sure of that.

A compromise was struck. She would see his doctor without complaint and subject herself to his treatments and her doctor would be kept. A compromise that Dr. Otto wanted rid of. For he found him to be a disturbance to his work of curing her.

Dr. Simmons had asked once to examine one of Dr. Otto’s tonics. A week after both doctors had gotten into a little tiff over her progress. Each accusing the other for the lack of it. One sniff of the vile concoction and the good doctor had promptly emptied the rest of the bottle into her wash basin. He wore a frown upon his gray brow as he advised her never to take it again for it would leave her worse than they had found.

He had given his own poultice and ordered the cook to prepare her a diet of beef broth and yams in substitute for the potatoes she ate with her roast. An African remedy for infertility. His mother swore by it. That had been the final straw for her husband's doctor.

Voodoo he called it. The great Dr. Simmons, so beloved by Agatha, undermined his methods, his treatments because he favored his African witchcraft. He put on a rather It had no place in society. He was no man of science. He was a charlatan.

For that too she had to beg Mr. Danbury not to send her doctor away. “Dr. Simmons was educated here. You went to school with her husband. He is English. He is only trying to help us. Dr. Otto is a foreigner from a German backwater. His methods are barbaric.”

It was this reminder of his Englishness and their own that stopped him from listening completely to his German doctor, but time and again the doctor tested the limits of Hermains tolerance. Succeeded at pushing the boundary to the very edge. However, even those with the most patience or those willing to overlook much impertinence have their limits. Dr. Otto had exceeded them.

He had cut her too deep during his bloodletting. She had unnerved that great man of science. His proud mask of self-assurance, his arrogance, had cracked with a few musings she hadn’t meant to leave from her lips but left nonetheless.

“You look down upon Dr. Simmons’ voodoo yet your remedies fail to heal my hysterics just the same as his doctor.” She had barely uttered the last word when the knife in his hand pierced past tissue. A gash marring her umber skin instead of a light graze. Finding an artery rather than a vein.

The blood flowed out from her while he watched on in a half daze. His face the color of her blood. Agatha would have slipped into an eternal sleep had it not been for Dr. Simmon's quick work as Dr. Otto repeated his only defense. She had distracted him with her chittering.

Her husband's patience had finally worn out. A wife who had difficulty conceiving was inconvenient, but a dead wife was more so. A woman cold in her grave could most certainly not produce heirs. Dr. Henrich Otto was at long last sent away and even Dr. Simmons' amusing visits were halted.

Mr. Danbury had resigned himself to the bitter truth that his young wife, the wife he had found a seed on the garden floor, that he had molded to be his Eve upon this earth may never quicken with his child again.

With this reluctant acceptance that she might be barren, her husband had sent for his brother's son and his mother to stay with them. He needed an heir and if he could not get one from Agatha his nephew would do.

Agatha had never particularly liked her sister-in-law. The woman was cool. Unaware or rather uncaring of others' feelings. They could be attacked by a gang of bandits and she would inquire about when the tea would be served when they arrived home.

She supposed her disposition was born out of necessity for she had become a widow at quite a young age. Still, she was not pleasant to be around. In her company, one felt like they were walking on eggshells. The ladies at tea dreaded seeing her emerge from the Danburys carriage with her black veil she insisted upon wearing long past her mourning period.

She made cook or one of the maids cry with her criticisms, and Agatha took to voluntarily locking herself in her room during her brief stay. Her husband easily grew tired of his late brother’s wife’s presence. Sending her back to her home in Bath with some expediency. A decision which relieved both parties for the widow found London to be “a circus” and Mr. Danbury found her to be the most opinionated woman he had the misfortune to be acquainted with.

Thankfully, Dominic Danbury had not inherited his mother’s frosty disposition. The boy was a sweet though shy child. He was away at school for most of the year. Or sequestered off to his own wing of the house with his nanny when at home. Mr. Danbury detested the noises of small children. Especially when they were at play. For all his talk of wanting an heir Agatha doubted that he spent more than a few minutes every few months in his chosen heirs company.

There was of course another matter which preoccupied her husband’s mind. The fact that Mr. Danbury was and remained Mr. Danbury rather than Lord Danbury.

It was little wonder why Miss Ingram had drilled in her head the names and titles of every landed gentleman in the country when Agatha had been but a little girl. She did not know which her husband obsessed over more. Her barren womb or his lack of a title. These wants plaguing him night and day. Kept him awake bemoaning to her on the nights when he visited her bed, clinging onto the hope that she may become with their child, or when she joined him for supper.

“My father was king.” Back home she’d add to herself. “Good friends with our king.” Business partners. Precious metals, gold, spices all in exchange for weapons. The one thing the English had plenty of. “I am the son of a king. What are these gentleman's blood to mine?” African blood. Not English. Not even European.

Mr. Hermain Danbury was the son of a great king. Of a rich kingdom. Riches beyond what this tiny dank island held. What they could dream of, yet Sierra Leone was still an African nation. Not English.

It was not just her husband who was fixated on his lack of recognition. They all were. The Kent’s, the Hastings’, the Smythe-Smiths. All the families on their side of the Ton. They felt and expressed their slight with great displeasure. The men and their wives alike. One way or another the conversation whenever they gathered would always turn back to their lack of a proper social standing within England society.

They were royalty back home or as good as it and here they were not given so much as the courtesy of a title. The men were denied membership at Whites, hunts with the king, land, and income from said land. The wives were kept from the best modistes, teas at the palace, and society balls. They had no place at court, but for all his moaning she supposed her husband had more access than most of the gentlemen on their side.

She herself had been to the palace twice. Her husband a dozen times that she could recollect. The old king was rather fond of Mr. Danbury, but the old king was dead and this one and his court were more elusive than his grandfather’s.

Their kind would never mix. It was their side and Agatha’s. Even the most rarefied among them, those who they had known since childhood, went to school with, and were their equals in every way were othered. They would never see them as English. That is why she had not believed Coral when she said that they had received an invitation from the palace. Not until she held the letter in her hand and read the contents thrice.

A wedding. They had been invited to the king's wedding. She could not, did not even fully believe it then. Not when they had arrived at Saint James. Not when Princess Augustus had declared them Lord and Lady Danbury. She had thought it was all some trick. A jape. A show even.

It was not until Agatha had seen a tawny face in a cream gown peering out with a look of determination and desperation from the archway overhead that she realized this was no mistake. Agatha held back a laugh at the sight of the missing piece. The picture becoming clear as crystal.

Ao3 Link:

Taglist: @dd122004dd @nametoshort @gracienna @woahwwes-blog @librarydamee

#lord ledger x lady danbury #lady danbury x lord ledger #lady danbury and lord ledger #young lady danbury #lady dandury #lord ledger #lady agatha danbury #agatha danbury x lord ledger #agatha danbury #queen charlotte a bridgerton story fanfic #bridgerton fanficiton #bridgerton fic #my bridgerton fic #bnbridgertonfics

55 notes · View notes