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fayes-fics · 2 days ago

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The Wonderful Unexpected: Chapter 3

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Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (future chapters), Modern AU

Chapter Summary: Boxing Day with the Bridgertons.

Warnings: not much, really… brief mentions of parental deaths.

Word Count: 3.0k

Author’s Note: The Bridgertons rope reader into their Boxing Day plans. For those wondering, Benedict turns up next chapter :) Please see the masterpost for a synopsis. Thank you to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

As you go to leave Anthony’s hospital room, his family are all arriving again.

“Y/n! Hi! We didn't know you were here,” Violet bustles up to you and gives you a quick hug, already treating you like one of the family. “Were you here all night?” She doesn't wait for your answer, instead tugging you back into the room. “So, how's my darling son?”

“Oh, well, he's got more colour.” you attempt a platitude, eyeing up the doorway wistfully.

Your plan to escape - to be an apocryphal family tale - is not exactly going as you planned.

“Oh yes!” she agrees happily, brushing his cheek affectionately with the back of her hand and then fussing with a lock of his hair—the very picture of a doting mother.

“I have to go, but it was lovely seeing you again,” you excuse, edging away.

“Tell her…” Marcus elbows Violet gently. “Go on.”

“So…” Violet begins, looking a little sheepish. “We didn't get to celebrate Christmas yesterday as planned, so we thought, now we know Anthony’s prognosis looks good, we would do so tonight. A day late, but still. And we thought… well, it would be nice if you could join us,” she rushes out, grabbing both of your hands. “ You are to be family soon after all!”

You stumble a few umms and ahs before Hyacinth pipes up: “Benedict is going to be there!”

“Oh, yes! That's right!” Violet brightens immediately. “You haven't met him yet?”

“Nope…” you confirm, having absolutely no clue who that could be. Seriously, could this family be any bigger?

“Oh, he'll be so happy to meet you!” Violet grins, and something about that makes you feel an odd flutter in your chest. “So you'll come? Tonight?” She looks so hopeful you feel bad saying no.

“I have to work until 7pm...”

“Come afterwards,” she insists. “We won't be eating until late. Give Hyacinth your mobile number. And I will call until you say yes….” She smiles, and you are uncertain how much of that is a jest.

Still, you feel unable to give them the wrong number. So, with a sigh, you take Hyacinth's proffered iPhone, the latest model you notice, and reluctantly punch it in.

Well, how the fuck am I going to get out of this one?!

—

You are waiting for the lift to take you down to the street when an orderly flags you down, holding out a large plastic bag for you to take.

“What? What is this?” you query, confused and tired, just wanting to get home and grab two hours of sleep before you have to go to work.

“These are your husband's things, Mrs Bridgerton.”

Something drops hard in your stomach at the word husband. You are glad you have finally learned his last name even as you grouse in frustration: “He's not my husband!”

“I'm sorry. Your fiancee,” the orderly corrects, shoving the bag into your hand and walking away as the lift sweeps open next to you.

“Uh, you're Anthony's fiancee?” The query comes from a tall man in a suit.

“Okay. Yep. Fine,” you shrug, defeated.

“Fife. Alastair Fife. Colleague of Anthony's,” he introduces, with the air of a man expecting you to be impressed somehow.

“l have to go…” You attempt to get into the lift he just exited, but he blocks you.

“Can't believe this has happened. Ant’s had a shit year. What with the accident in September….”

“Accident?” you frown.

“Well, of course, it was an accident!” He blusters, then seems to get agitated. “Wait… Did he tell you it was my fault?! The fucking cheek…”

He pauses to run a harried hand through his hair, then launches into a diatribe before you can even protest.

“Look, here’s the real story…. we're playing doubles down in Roehampton. l had an Apple pencil in my back pocket, but I swear I didn't know it was there. I’m always losing those blasted things. Anyway, I crouch, and Ant jumps high to hit a crosscourt smash….”

You sigh, watching the lift doors sweep shut, resigning yourself to a story you know you are going to have to endure from this rather twitchy man.

Great, juuuuust great.

—

Two hours of sleep is definitely not enough to face the insanity of Boxing Day crowds piling into London to shop the sales. And then, of course, demanding coffee from you. Everyone is back on shift today but still, fully staffed; you can barely keep up with the queue, which is out of the door at times.

“I need a new place,” Prue laments at some point during the afternoon. “Me and Phillipa simply CANNOT live with Mum anymore. It's just too much….”

“The flat above mine is free,” you report as your phone pings yet again. “I mean, it's in the attic, so it's a bit small, and the landlord is… a character, but I think it's a two bed….”

“OMG, give me the details!” she demands as Gen wanders over.

You check the message, and it's Hyacinth. This time, with a pin drop to their house and a bunch of champagne and fire emojis.

“Ladies, this isn’t the time to be slacking,” Gen chastises gently, nodding to the queue.

Prue pouts but goes back to the till as Gen hovers while you wash out the smoothie maker.

“So…. your phone is blowing up. How goes it?” She wheedles, asking for even more information than you have already given her over text and during your shift today.

You groan and drop the scrubber. “I’m fucked. They think I'm their future daughter-in-law!”

She chuckles heartily, and you throw her a side stink eye.

“The grandad? He's got this heart thing. If l tell the truth, he will die. I'm not a murderer, Gen!”

“Well, then, go along with it,” she suggests, her schadenfreude almost gleeful. “Look, when he wakes up, they’ll be so happy they won't care you told some porkies. They'll probably even thank you for it, mate.”

You scoff at that. “And what if he doesn't come out of it?”

“Morbid,” she contends, then just shrugs. “Could be worse. When Henry’s mum found out I was pregnant? Her fucking intestines exploded.”

Edie whips around from manning the espresso machine and narrows her eyes at Gen. “I thought you said she shat herself?”

“Meh… po-tay-to, po-tahh-oh”: Gen fires back.

You sigh. “You fuckers are no help….”

—

You check your phone five times, looking down at the screen and then back up, certain that despite your little blue dot hovering over the pin Hyacinth sent, it can't be the right place.

This cannot be their home. That would be ridiculous.

It's a mansion in Mayfair. It looks more like a fancy consulate building than a residence.

Just as you go to text Hyacinth a ‘Haha, very funny’, Agatha materialises at your side for a second time.

“Y/n, you made it!” She greets with a knowing smile.

“Agatha! Hello! So I am in the right place?!”

“Indeed,” she confirms, tapping open an old-fashioned cigarette case as you stare up again at the handsome building, belatedly realising you haven't done your usual Googling of someone as soon as you learn their name. But then, it's not exactly been a typical 36 hours.

“So the family owns this? All of it?” You ask, secretly hoping that maybe they just have a flat inside or something.

She laughs. “Yes, dear. The Bridgertons are… not exactly wanting for money,” she attests in what is clearly a classic understatement.

“But they seem so nice, normal,” you mutter rhetorically, a knot forming in your stomach, suddenly feeling way out of your depth.

Agatha just chuckles again, and flicks open a lighter. “Keep me company for a while? l don't like to smoke in their house.”

She signals to a seat inside the gates, and you follow her after she punches in a code to gain access.

“I’m trying to quit,” she breezes, offering you one silently from her case, but you shake your head. “Did you know that I was Anthony's godmother?” she queries, exhaling a swirl of smoke.

“I did not,” you concede. “It must be nice to be around family at this time of year…” Your mien is likely wistful, for she twists to look at you with piqued curiosity.

“You have no family?”

“I'm an only child, just like my parents. I don't remember my Mum; she died when I was just three,” you shrug matter-of-factly. “It was just me and Dad. Then, four years ago, he got ill. Eventually, he sold the house in Bath and moved in with me in London to be closer to Guys Hospital for treatment. I had to give up working my old job to look after him in the end. But about a year ago, he went too.” You conclude—an economical but truthful potted history of your life.

There are a few moments of silence, just the constant swish and drone of London traffic, as Agatha shoots you a look of sympathy, tapping to discard some ash.

“My husband died when I was relatively young,” she volunteers. “But Violet was, and always has been, my rock.”

“You are friends from long ago?”

“Oh yes. We go back a long way, my dear. Longer than she even knows….” she pauses to take another drag, then fixes you with a pointed, almost intimidating look. “Y/n, the Bridgertons, you should know I consider them my family. I'd never let anyone hurt them.”

It sounds like a warning, but for some reason also an invitation.

“Neither would l,” you confess honestly, a gust of light wind catching your hair that you have to tuck behind your ear.

Agatha observes you pointedly for a beat, then seems satisfied with whatever she finds.

“l believe you wouldn't,” she opines, stubbing out her cigarette.

—

When the door to Bridgerton House sweeps open, your jaw drops. Somehow, even magnificent seems somewhat inadequate as a descriptor. The grand hallway is bedecked in heavy garlands festooned with lights, a Christmas tree almost as tall as the building you live in taking pride of place. Everywhere you look is tasteful Christmas decor, and among it antique furniture, glittering chandeliers and oil paintings of what looks to be the family antecedents.

The poinsettia from M&S you clutch seems entirely pointless now, and part of you wants just to hide it, but you don't have time. While a friendly-looking man takes your coat, the gaggle of Bridgertons descend upon you. Violet takes the plant from you with profuse thanks as they all crowd around, talking over each other excitedly in the manner you are almost used to now. All dressed up in novelty jumpers, which is a relief. A setting this grand seems more black-tie, but that would leave you woefully undressed in the simple skirt and jumper you wear.

Before you quite know what has happened, you are swept into a dining room, where a glass of bubbly is pushed into your hand.

“That’s so you don't have to take any of my dear father's mulled wine,” Violet murmurs before sweeping away.

“It can cause temporary blindness,” Agatha adds under her breath, nodding sagely in a way that suggests there could be some truth behind what you hope is a jest.

You tilt your glass in a gesture of thanks for the forewarning and take a seat in front of the place setting with your name upon it, trying not to feel overwhelmed. You thought this might be a little gathering around a kitchen table in a modest family home; this is a long way from that.

Staff from a catering company bustle in, placing platters down the middle of the long table as Violet taps a fork against her glass and stands up, a rare hush falling over the table.

“I am glad we get to celebrate today as a family. Our thoughts are, of course, with darling Anthony for his hopefully speedy recovery, but I am so happy the soon-to-be-newest member of our family can be here." You feel all eyes turn to you, smiling, a lump in your throat as she continues. “It's so wonderful you came to join us, y/n; the first of many celebrations we shall be happy to have you at!”

“Here, here!” Marcus cheers, tilting his glass in your direction.

“So here is to family, new and old, blood and found,” she smiles at Agatha and Marcus. “Happy Christmas!”

Everyone clinks glasses, and there is a round of festive greetings before people start getting stuck in—platters being passed around the table as pockets of conversation break out. However, you can't help but notice significant gaps between the chairs and spares pushed against the walls off to the side of the room. Violet, ever watchful, notices and leans over.

“I'm afraid we are rather reduced in number today. You will likely only encounter less than half of my errant offspring. In fact, just three of the eight.”

“Eight?” your eyes go wide, almost spitting out the bite of warm bread roll you had just popped in your mouth.

“Anthony did not tell you?” She looks momentarily confused. Luckily, you don't have to provide cover as she soon continues: “Well, they are scattered around the globe, and I did not want to ruin their Christmas by telling them about Anthony. I don’t want them flying back, especially now we know he should be okay. My son Colin is off travelling in the Costa Rican jungle, and my daughter Eloise decided to tag along. I think mostly to annoy him, to be honest. My musical daughter Fran is at Julliard in New York City. My eldest daughter Daphne is in Dubai…”

“I thought they were in Singapore?” Hyacinth pipes up.

“I thought Tokyo?” Gregory counters with a knitted brow.

“My son-in-law Simon, her husband, has many business interests; they do tend to zip around the globe a great deal,” Violet discloses.

“So Gregory and & Hyacinth are here…” you nod to them as they grin back. “Who’s the third you’re expecting?”

“Benedict. My second eldest.” You recall the name from earlier and Violet seems to light up in a way that suggests she might have a favourite, even if she may never admit it out loud. “Although he texted his train from Edinburgh was cancelled, so unfortunately, I don't think he’ll be here in time for dinner. But he will be later. You can meet him in the morning, if not before.” She smiles.

“In the morning? I-I-I was not expecting to stay…”

While you had left out enough food to last Chairman Meow a day, you are certain he won’t appreciate another night left all alone.

“Oh, of course you shall!” Violet contests congenially. “And if you have any of the mulled wine, you likely won’t have a choice,” she chortles, and again, you feel yourself ill-equipped to disappoint this lovely woman.

And so the meal progresses with lively conversation, stories of old being regaled to you as you relax a notch. Even though they are obviously very wealthy, there is something so warm and genuine about the Bridgertons, and you can't help but feel a glow that isn’t entirely attributable to your second glass of fizz.

After dinner, with a brief stop by the hallway tree where you are reluctantly pulled into a family group photo, you all decamp to a large living room. A fireplace is roaring, and Christmas music is playing softly from hidden speakers as you gather on a clutch of comfortable sofas, forming a U-shape. Everyone is still wearing their novelty paper crowns from the crackers you all pulled at dessert. Well, with the exception of Victor, who wears two, claiming it is his right as the oldest.

“It's presents time!” Hyacinth trills, excitedly diving into the pile under yet another beautiful tree.

You are happy just to sit back and observe, so you are surprised when she and Gregory smirk as they drop one in your lap.

“To y/n, with love from Santa,” they wink.

Your mouth goes dry, and you don't know what to say.

“Don't worry, dear. We don't buy fancy gifts,” Violet pipes up. “It's just for fun,” she reassures as Victor rips open his gift: novelty socks that start playing an obnoxious tune and flashing gaudily.

“Oh ho ho, I’ll have fun wearing these to church on Sunday,” he guffaws.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Agatha chides affectionately.

As Gregory and Hyacinth pull focus with their gifts, you open yours quietly. An odd wave of emotion at a lovely picture frame containing what is obviously a photo of a teenage Anthony smiling handsomely, holding what looks like a sporting trophy of some kind. You look up to see Violet smiling benevolently at you as Marcus pulls her in for a temple kiss for the embossed golf tees she has given him.

“That’s Anthony’s favourite photo of himself,” Violet explains. “I thought you would enjoy having a copy for your home together.”

Maybe the third (fourth?) glass of champagne isn't helping, but there’s a bittersweet pang in your chest. Feeling awful the longer the misunderstanding continues, especially with how lovely this all is. Still, you just don't have it in you to admit the truth right now and ruin their Boxing Day after their Christmas was so royally fucked. There is something so irresistible about this lovely, chaotic family and how they have welcomed you with such open arms. It's like a festive hug you don't want to leave.

And that’s without you even noticing that hung at the end of the mantle, next to Anthony’s, is a simple red stocking with your name emblazoned upon it. Good thing, too. You’d probably ugly cry into your Moet, and that would be a real waste.

—

Unbeknownst to you all, right at that very moment, half-buried on a rubbish tip somewhere on the outskirts of London, a mobile phone screen lights up with a notification:

Merry belated, etc. LA is absolutely fab, but cutting my trip short. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking… and, okay, sure, why the fuck not? Bridgerton, you are on. l WILL marry you. Sxx

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

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thekatebridgerton · 3 days ago

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Bringing back this post too

But does Benedict actually gives up anything? He married the "Earl's ward, daughters of a cousin of his" I yet to finish the books, but he meant to give up, but the writing let it clear they made Sophie "acceptable" before the wedding, so what did he gave up?

Okay Anon I'm going to Spell it out for you because JQ sugarcoats it for the gentle readers. As do all romance writers who use the boss/servant trope as their poison of choice

Benedict the brother of a Viscount married the bastard daughter of an Earl. Ward or whatever name they put on it. He married way beneath his social sphere. In the eyes of the ton Sophie married up, he married down.

Since connections in court had a big influence on the quality of life a man was likely to lead and the comfort of their family in the future. Men and women of the era had to marry other men and women who had both money and connections to keep up the lifestyle they were accustomed to.

Sophie came into her marriage with neither. Associating with Benedict therefore would yield no future benefit beyond a nice friendship, because he married someone who was neither connected or rich or popular among the ton. Marrying a illegitimate woman or servant carried the implication that if Benedict were to ever fall on hard times, he'd have to work to support himself and his family or rely on well meaning family and friends. As opposed to simply living off her dowry or the profits of his estate.

Which means that his friends would have dropped him like a hot potato. He would no longer be welcomed into any house of the ton, not because he was being shunned but rather simply because association with him would bring no future benefit, not in social status, not in monetary gain or political.

THIS is what Benedict gave up.

He gave up life in the city, gentleman clubs, recreational activities of the upper class, his friends, bachelor lodgings in London where he was no longer well received.

It doesn't look like he gave up much, because Benedict by himself IS well connected enough not to look like he's being shunned, his brother is a Viscount, his sisters are a Duchess, a Scottish Countess and a the wife of a Baronet respectively. His brother is a published writer and one of his sister in law used to be the Ton's ringleader gossip columnist.

In addition to that, his small country estate is profitable enough for him and Sophie not to need much. For themselves and for their children. And his wife doesn't mind not having much luxuries in life.

By the time his children are grown, Hyacinth is also married to someone who will inherit a tile and Gregory to the daughter of an Earl.

This makes seven influential households who welcome Benedict and Sophie and their children in upperclass society, who constantly invite them to their homes, their balls and their company. And seven influential households the ton doesn't want to earn the wrath of by shunning their least well connected sibling.

Let me spell it out, when Benedict married Sophie he was likely being shunned by everybody in society EXEPT his 3 married siblings. The Viscount, The Duchess and The Scottish Countess. All who had a vested interest in forcing the ton to accept Benedict's wife into the fold as soon as possible

Because she's Sophie and they love her.

But make no mistake, Benedict likely still has a very very hard time with the looks the ton gives him and the people who refuse to see him.

We just don't talk about it. But yeah Benedict gave up a lot to be with Sophie that he wouldn't have had to give up if he just kept her as his mistress.

The whole point of their love story in An offer from a Gentleman is that Benedict is too attached to his lifestyle to sacrifice it all for Sophie. But in the end chooses to do it voluntarily because he'd rather have her, and live in a world without his privileged life than live a privileged life without her in it.

That's what makes his story so meaningful in the end.

And that's the tea

#bridgerton #benophie #sophie baek #benedict bridgerton #Bridgerton season 4

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