#benedict bridgerton one shot

[iwritefandomimagines]

NOT FOR HIM — BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

masterlist

pairing: benedict bridgerton x reader [plus platonic anthony x reader where he’s being a matchmaker/shitstirrer]

description: you may not have been the season’s diamond, but your debut had caused quite the stir in many a man’s heart — your childhood best friend benedict bridgerton included. however, given that the viscount had decided that he would marry this season, benedict cannot see why you would choose him over his brother.

warnings: kinda tiny bit of angst (if you squint) into tooth-rotting fluff !!! tiny bit of suggestive benedict at the very end but it’s not much !

author’s note: this is basically like a reverse to the anthony one i wrote because i have a big ol’ soft spot for benedict too after my latest rewatch. enjoy !!! [edited, but not thoroughly — will be returning to do so asap]

“You look astonishing, Y/N,” Benedict’s eyes were wide when he saw you, “Absolutely astonishing.”

You blushed crimson under the intensity of his gaze, “You don’t look too bad yourself this evening, Lord Bridgerton.”

You never called him that — you’d known him far too long to consistently comply with formalities — but considering that it was one of your very first balls of your very first season, you had to be the picture of manners.

“It is so strange to hear you call me Lord Bridgerton,” Benedict screwed his face up, “Even if it does give me some small hope that you might consider me too as one of your many suitors.”

You shook your head gently with a laugh, “Oh, Benedict, as if you would wish to court me.”

Before he had a chance to retaliate with stern disagreement at your idea that it was such a preposterous notion, your eyes snapped up to see his brother entering the ballroom.

“Ah,” you grinned, noticing that he had spotted you both immediately and was on his way over to you, “It appears your brother has finally arrived!”

You didn’t look at Benedict for long enough to see the frown on his face at your apparent excitement.

For years, everyone around you had speculated about the closeness of your relationship with Benedict.

Granted, you were close with the whole family, but the tenderness with which Benedict treated you had always teetered on blatant romance even if neither of you had seen it before.

Of course he was aware of it now — he’d realised he was in love with you long ago as silly young teenagers, and now that you were finally out in society (emphasis on finally, as you had delayed doing so as much as possible) he had hoped to make that clear.

But of course your eyes were fixed on his brother, the Viscount, who had finally decided he wished to marry and therefore seemingly snatched all of your attention away from him.

“Good evening, my lord,” you curtsied, and Anthony laughed, “Such formality! How are you enjoying your first ball, Y/N? I trust my brother has not let you leave his side?”

You giggled, and as much as Benedict adored the sound of your laughter he couldn’t help the clenching of his jaw at his brother’s remark and your evident amusement.

“He has taken great care of me, undoubtedly,” you smiled, hands resting on Benedict’s upper arm for a moment as you leaned into him, “How do you feel about your first ball on the hunt for a wife?”

Anthony scoffed, “Consumed with dread, as expected,” he joked, “Brother, would you mind if I stole Y/N away for one dance? Only so that I might enjoy one last moment of vague freedom before I endure the onslaught of mamas I see staring me down?”

Benedict swallowed thickly, because yes he very much did mind you being stolen away to dance with a man who could provide for you so much better than he could.

He had always been second best to his brother, but never with you.

And now he felt rather ridiculous as he nodded meekly and watched you saunter away at the side of his own brother, who would never love you like he did nor treat you as more than a friend and a commodity necessary to the life of an important man.

“Of course.”

You smiled shyly over at Benedict as you followed Anthony away, and made a mental note to confront him about the sad look gracing his features as you did so.

“My brother is staring daggers into my skull already,” Anthony chuckled as you took your positions to dance, “I rather wonder why he was not dancing with you if he is so bothered by my doing so.”

You bit your lip, “We have danced together twice already, Anthony. In fact, I’ve danced only with him so far tonight. I feel… safe with Benedict. This is all so terrifying.”

As Anthony beamed down at you knowingly, you realised quite what he had initially said, “Whatever do you mean by him staring daggers? Why would he be doing that?”

“Oh, my dear Y/N, you must see that my poor fool of a brother is overcome with jealousy at our interaction,” he laughed as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, “Particularly now that I plan to marry. He quite clearly thinks that it is you I wish to do so with.”

You looked down at your feet for a moment, suddenly feeling shy.

When you remembered that you were talking to a man you knew like he was part of your own family, however, your head snapped back up — a smirk gracing your face.

“Oh, am I not to become Viscountess? I so had my hopes up!” you feigned a gasp, “In all seriousness, Anthony, why on earth would Benedict think we might marry and more so why on earth would he care so much?”

Anthony heaved out a deep sigh at that as you danced, almost irritated by your blatant ignorance to what was so clear.

“I don’t believe I should tell you the answer to that if you are somehow quite unaware of it yourself,” he shook his head, briefly meeting the eyes of his brother as he spun you, and smiled almost teasingly at him, “I hope that after stealing you from him for this dance he might finally discuss it with you himself.”

You rolled your eyes, “You jest, Anthony, because if you are trying to imply that he has affections towards me I’m sure you are sorely mistaken.”

Anthony stopped abruptly, quirking his eyebrow at you, “You truly are oblivious?”

You looked at him curiously, doe eyed and inquisitive as you waited for him to continue — or to resume dancing so you didn’t continue to feel all eyes on your frozen frames.

“Right, very well. I am going to walk away now, all smiles,” he informed you, plastering a smile on his face and nodding at the onlookers as he kissed the back of your hand to show no ill-will had halted your dance, “I would suggest that you get some fresh air, perhaps? My brother might… Come to check on you.”

You forced a smile as he silently moved away from you and towards the buffet table at the other side of the hall.

With a sharp breath you took his advice, despite your confusion, and lifted your skirt a little to busy your hands as you traipsed out of the ballroom and onto the balcony.

Like clockwork, Benedict Bridgerton found himself at your side in mere moments.

“Are you waiting here for my brother?”

The tension in the air was palpable, his voice low as he failed to hide the disappointment at his suspicions.

“Not for him, no.”

“Then for another?”

“I suppose so.”

“Apologies, then. I’ll leave you to it.”

You spun on your heel now as he turned to leave, touching his shoulder, “No, Benedict, I was waiting— for you.”

“For me?”

The incredulous smile on his face made your heart swell with hope — perhaps Anthony was right.

Maybe what you had spent all these years perceiving as friendship truly was reciprocated love all this time.

“Anthony claimed he believed you jealous, and that you thought we were attached,” you giggled, and he swore his heart melted at the sound of your gentle laughter, “And I was utterly unsure as to why you would believe that, let alone be jealous of it. But then he told me to get some fresh air and that you might find me here and I became hopeful.”

“Hopeful?”

“Yes. Hopeful that perhaps the feelings that have steadily grown on my part throughout the time I have known you might be returned. That perhaps you were not joking when you said you hoped I might consider you a suitor this season,” you blushed crimson as you served him your honest feelings on a silver platter.

He cocked his head to the side curiously, not quite believing you entirely though you were evidently being sincere, “Do you not wish to marry my brother?”

You scoffed, quickly covering your mouth with your hand at the outburst, but then sighed as you looked deeply into his eyes, “Of course not, Benedict.”

“But he is a Viscount — he could offer you so much more than I, and he seemed taken with you.”

“He was taken with making you jealous enough to confront me, my dear Benedict. He spent our dance essentially telling me to wise up and talk to you,” you bit your lip nervously, “Because he knows that I have long loved you, and believes that you feel the same.”

The curious smile on his face grew now into a beaming grin, his hands flying to take yours within them and bring them to his lips for a gentle kiss.

“I—, Y/N, I cannot— I cannot even begin to express the joy that those words have brought me,” the words tumbled from his lips like he couldn’t think fast enough to convey his feelings, “I have been in love with you for as long as I can remember. I settled for cherishing mere friendship because I feared I would not be… I would not be the man for you beyond that.”

You shook your head, “Benedict, surely you know how dear you are to me? I— at the very least in my heart, you are the man for me. I’ve been certain of it for so long and that is why I feared entering society so much. I didn’t want to marry for the sake of marriage and have to have the man I truly love as a mere friend. You are more than enough for me, Benedict, I feel safe with you — you are home to me.”

“And you are home to me, Y/N,” he was trying so very hard not to kiss you, his words soft and delicate as his breath fanned over your face due to your newfound close proximity, “If you would allow me to… I would like to court you. In fact, I would propose to you now if I was to allow my selfishness to take control. But I want you to be sure it is me you want, even if it hurts to see you dance and converse with others.”

“You’re all I could ever want, Benedict,” you spoke like it was utterly obvious, “And when you do propose, you can be certain of my acceptance. For now I am happy to share every dance with you and pretend we need to get to know each other to form an engagement. We have all of the time in the world.”

“We do.”

You were both breathing heavily, eyes glossy with the sheer emotion of the confessions you had just shared.

“I wish so badly that I could kiss you right now, but I fear I may not be able to control myself in future once I do,” his voice was barely above a whisper as you licked your lips, swallowing thickly.

“I wish— I wish you might kiss me too,” your reply was hardly even coherent, too love drunk to properly formulate your words, “More than anything.”

He was still holding onto your hands, and so he brought them up to ghost another kiss over them again, settling for this as he fought his urge to press his lips to yours instead.

“As you said, my love, we have all the time in the world,” there was a subtle undertone of what you might describe as lust in his tone now, intertwined with the love struck lilt he had been speaking with.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his lips ghosted up your forearm briefly before he brought them back down to your hands.

“And I cannot wait.”

———

horny benedict at the end to satiate my own need for that despite the intention for this to just be fluffy hahaha. hope you enjoyed !!!

feel free to keep requesting — and in the mean time here is my masterlist.

[marie-swriting]

Choice - Benedict Bridgerton

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Summary : You are in love with Benedict but you have to marry another man.

Warning : angst, happy ending, feeling trapped, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see some or if I missed any warnings.

Word count : 4.3k

French version

Song inspiration : Speak Now (Taylor's Version) by Taylor Swift

Your wide open eyes on the ring in front of you, you’re speechless. You knew this day would come. This dreadful day where Duke William Edmonstone would put a knee down and would ask you the question that sounds like a death sentence. You raise your gaze and look around you in the ballroom. All the guests of the Duke’s family are waiting for your answer impatiently. It looks like everyone knew this ball was for this specific event.

Setting your eyes on your right, you find your mother. She nods with strength. You look down on the man in front of you and force a smile.

“I would be honoured to be your wife.”

At your sentence, everyone cheers. Glad, William stands up and puts the ring on your finger. He kisses your left hand, knowing it’s the only proper physical contact he can give you. 

Your fiancé abandons you to talk with his friends while you stay put, paralysed. You can’t believe you just pronounce your own condemn. You only want one thing : to run away from here as fast as possible. However, the arrival of young women of the ton prevents you from it. They start talking about weddings, decorations, vows and even babies ! You listen to them without giving your full attention and answer from time to time to be polite. The ring on your ring finger weighs more as the second goes by.

During the whole night, you stay in this numb feeling, not knowing how to act. You should be happy to have secured a match yet, you can’t help but feel sad. You wish  there had been another man at the end of the ring.

When you come home from the ball, you keep acting like a puppet until you get in your bedroom. As soon as your door is closed, you let go of a sigh. You get closer to your dressing table when your maid enters your room. She invites you to sit down in front of your mirror to undo your hair. She takes two pins off then your mother makes an apparition and she dismisses your maid. Your mom gets behind you and keeps undoing your hair. You don’t know the reason why she came to see you but you know she’s going to tell you in a few minutes. When your hair is finally loose, your mom puts her hands on your shoulders and looks at you through the mirror. 

“You do not seem happy, my child.”

“I am, mama. I just cannot believe I am finally getting married.” you say with a fake happy tone.

“You have doubts. No need to deny it. I used to be at your place before. Tell me what the matter is.” your mom tells you with a soft voice.

“I am not sure I am made for the Duke.” you admit, avoiding her gaze.

“What do you mean ? You have been raised all your life to marry a man of his rank.”

“Is his rank that important ?”

“Of course, it is !” your mom answers as if it was obvious, “You cannot marry a man whose rank is inferior to ours. The Duke is perfect. Furthermore, he is a nice man and he will give you a decent life.”

“But, I do not love him, mama.”

“Love !” she exclaims, rolling her eyes. “Love is not important when it comes to marriage. You must choose your survival before thinking of something as futile as love.”

“I wish I could have a marriage of love.” you insist, looking down.

Your mother puts a finger under your chin to make you raise your head to her.

“Do not worry about love, you will discover it when you will have children.”

“Do you not love papa ?”

“I care about your father dearly. And one day, so will you with the Duke. Y/N, finding love in a marriage is something rare. The small portion of people who do are lucky.”

“The Bridgertons seem like a lucky family then.” you mutter.

“All of these doubts are because of the second born Bridgerton, is it not ?” your mother questions, arching a brow. “No matter if they are a respectable family, he is a second son and even if he was the first born, he would only be a Viscount. You cannot keep having what you two share.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.” you deny, clearing your throat.

“My child, I see the glances you give to each other.”

“Mama, I promise you-”

“I know nothing happened.” she cuts you off with a smile. “I haven’t said anything because I trust you. I knew when the moment would come, you would make the right choice, in other words : marrying the Duke. However, you must stop talking to him.” she orders with a firm voice. “I noticed it quickly and you should be grateful I was the only one. If Lady Whistledown were to write about it, it could ruin your marriage. Have I made myself clear, Y/N ?”

“Yes, mama.” you sigh.

Satisfied by your reaction, your mom kisses your cheek and leaves the room. Your eyes fill with tears and you quickly make them disappear when your maid comes back to help you out of your ball dress. 

Since your proposal, you can’t sleep. Your nights are busy with your thoughts. Your fears are taking over, despites your mother’s attempts to reassure you. Like she confirmed to you several times, you did the right thing by accepting the betrothal, the Duke Edmonstone is a good catch and only three years older than you. He’s also a good looking man and cultured. You should feel fortunate. You could have found yourself with an old and disrespectful man. Yes, the Duke will give you a decent life. Notwithstanding, the Duke is not the only matter in your mind ; you don’t want your life to change. You don’t want to have to leave your childhood home for an unknown place with a man who doesn’t care for your mind. Above all, you don’t want to say goodbye to Benedict.

You two met a few months ago and you bonded instantly. You’ve never felt this before. You feel like someone finally understands you. Your passion for the art has helped your relationship a lot. It’s not rare for you two to sneak out to a more discreet location during social events. Nothing scandalous ever happened, like you promised your mother, unless falling in love is considered as such. Benedict didn't officially court you because your father is always saying his daughter will never marry a man who isn't, at least, an Earl, let alone if he’s not a first born. In other words, your relationship was doomed before it even started but it didn’t stop you from getting closer. Now that you have to marry, you have to leave Benedict behind. Your mom hasn’t stopped reminding you to do it several times. You thought about the way you’re going to tell him ; you ended up deciding it’s better to go straight to the point. You don’t want to make yourself suffer even more so it’s useless to make a tragic speech to bid farewell.

The next vernissage seems the perfect moment to do it. You’re sure he’ll be there. Generally, Benedict avoids balls. He, sometimes, makes an apparition only to see you in a beautiful dress and sneak out with you to discuss your ambitions in life. Consequently, the events regarding art are the only occasions where you know you’ll find him.

Once you’re at the gallery, you walk slowly, admiring the paintings carefully. Your mother is not really far away, even if she keeps a distance to allow Benedict to talk with you.

You enter the second room where there aren’t a lot of people. You stare at the painting depicting a forest during a summer day when Benedict appears next to you. Seeing him, you play with your gloves, needing a way to evacuate your stress. By your side, Benedict smiles as he looks at the tableau in front of him. You turn your head and from afar, your mother gives you a sign to hurry. You sigh before clearing your throat and avoid his gaze.

“Benedict, we should stop seeing each other.”

“Because of your wedding ?” Benedict asks after a long second of silence.

“I cannot risk a scandal now.”

“Of course. Congratulations on your engagements.” he states emotionlessly. 

Without holding forth, Benedict doesn’t glance at the other paintings and goes to another room. Your eyes sting however you pay no mind to it. You did the hardest part. You can’t cry now or people will wonder why you’re in such a state after exchanging a few words with Benedict. You quickly blink and when you’re sure you’re not going to cry, you go to your mom. She locks her arms in yours to comfort you.

Benedict is officially a part of your younger self's past. You, now, have to focus on your future newly-wed life.

The next month is rythmed by the wedding preparations. The Duke insisted on having a marriage quickly. You got asked for your opinion for the reception but you let your mother handle everything. You don’t want this wedding so what does it matter if you like it or not ?

You haven’t seen Benedict since then and this hasn't helped with your gloominess. You wish you could leave everything behind and go find him, unfortunately you can’t make this choice so you keep getting ready for your new life. All your life, you have been raised to be the perfect wife but now your mom is taking things to another level. Given that you’re a future Duchess, she wants to ensure you won’t make a single mistake. She wants you to be perfect. If she lets you have one flaw, she’s worried your future husband will decide to abandon you. Lately, the pressure is more suffocating than your corset. You can’t breathe anymore and you feel like you’ve passed out and no one is paying attention to you.

Your last day as a maiden goes by at the speed of light. In a blink, the night has fallen and you’re in your bed staring at your wedding dress. You glare at it, knowing everything it represents. It’s a prison embellished by a white fabric. Objectivally, the dress is beautiful, Madame Delacroix has outdone herself, but you hate it. You keep looking at the object of your fear until you hear something hitting your window. You frown yet don’t move. When you hear the same noise again, you leave your bed, glaring one last time at the dress and open your window. On the ground floor, in your garden, you find Benedict. His tie is untied, the first buttons of his shirt are undone and his hair is messy because of the numerous times he runs his hand through it.

“Benedict, what are you doing here ? You need to go.” you order, trying to not speak too loud.

“Please, I need to talk to you.”

“You cannot be seen here. If Lady Whistledown-”

“Give me five minutes.” he cuts you off with begging eyes.

You stare at him, weighing the pros and cons. You miss him, though talking to him would be a mistake. However, your feelings for Benedict are stronger than your morale.

“Don’t move.”

You close your window and take your dressing gown. Before leaving your bedroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. You put back in place some strands of your hair and open your door. You glance right and left before leaving the room, walking on tiptoe. The light of the moon gives you enough visibility to walk down the stairs without falling. 

Once you’re in your garden, you find Benedict pacing back and forth. When he sees you, he moves to hold you in his arms and right away, you take a step back. Noticing your movement, Benedict keeps his distance and his arms fall on his legs.

“You cannot stay here, Benedict. I am to be married tomorrow.” you remind him, crossing your arms on your chest.

“I know but tomorrow, I will not be there and I needed to see you.”

“Why are you not coming ? Your family has been invited.” you question, eyebrows furrowed.

“Your lovely mama paid me a visit and she got me to understand I was to stay away from you.”

Hearing your information, you wish you could feel anger for your mother however you’re grateful. You know if Benedict was here, you wouldn’t be able to marry the Duke. Notwithstanding, having Benedict in your garden the night before your wedding is surely no better.

“Nevertheless, I could not let you marry the Duke without talking to you one last time.” he adds.

“What do you wish to talk about ?”

“Y/N, do not marry him.” he announces point blank. “Tomorrow, do not say ‘yes’ or say a single vow. You deserve to marry another man than him.”

“How dare you say that ? The Duke is a gentleman. He will treat me right.” you get mad.

“But do you love him ?”

“I care about him.” you answer him after a silence.

“So you do not love him.” Benedict specifies, seeing right through you, “You cannot marry a man you do not love. You deserve to be with someone you love and who loves you back.”

“Love is not important. I need to think about what's best for me and the Duke is the best option.” you argue, your mother’s words resonating in your mind.

“The best option according to whom ?”

“I do not have another choice, Benedict. I cannot afford to be picky. I do not have the luxury to tell my mama I want to wait before getting married or to focus on my art. I cannot afford to make that choice, contrary to you.”

“It is not too late to make another one.”

“You are being insensitive right now. You cannot come here, the night before my wedding, and tell me to not marry the Duke.” you retort with teary eyes.

“If you loved him, I would not have uttered a word, but it is not the case.”

“And what do you propose instead ? Because if I leave the Duke at the altar, I will be without an option.”

“I will be here for you.” he promises as if it was a magic remedy.

“You cannot be serious.” you sigh, rolling your eyes. “Did you think about the scandal it would cause ? Your family’s reputation would be destroyed and your sisters need to marry as well.”

“It would be worth it. I love you, Y/N and I know you love me, too.”

“The fact is, it does not change anything about my situation. Tomorrow, I will be married and I will finally be what I have been raised for all my life : a faithful wife.”

“Faithful !” Benedict laughs humorlessly, “And you think your dear future husband had the same education as you ? The Duke might act as a gentleman but he keeps seeing other women and he will keep on doing so after you are married. He does not have any regard for you. He just wants a wife. He cannot give you what you truly want.”

“And you think I do not know that ? I am well aware of this fact. Except the world is like this and I cannot change it.” you affirm, desperately.

“Is there not a thing I could say to convince you ?”

“My destiny has been written for a long time. You need to leave me alone.”

“Very well, but before this,” he starts, getting closer to you and you let him do it, “would you allow me to kiss you ? I have wanted to do it since we first talked.” he adds putting his hand on your cheek, “And I wish to do it before you’re someone else’s.”

“Benedict, it is improper.” you object, without moving.

“If your future husband can currently be with another woman, I think you deserve to make the choice of kissing someone you really love before it is too late.” Benedict mutters but you stay sceptical. “No matter if you accept to give me this honour, just know you will not hear from me ever again, I promise you.”

You stare in Benedict’s blue eyes, trying to resist the temptation of tasting his lips. Your mother’s words and the fear of finding yourself on the first page of Lady Whistledown’t next issue are the only things holding you back. However, when Benedict's second hand touches yours, your mind doesn’t think of these things anymore so you hold your hand before whispering.

“You may kiss me.”

With a smile, Benedict leans in and softly presses his lips on yours. You kiss him back in an instant. You wish you could kiss him since the moment your eyes met his. Like you expected, his lips are soft and fit perfectly with yours. You kiss lovingly, enjoying this moment, this last choice you made.

Without adding something else, you leave Benedict alone and get back home while he leaves your grounds. 

The guilt isn’t eating you alive, only joy is exploding in yourself. You will always keep this moment in your mind and you know it will nourish a lot of your nights when you’ll be next to your husband. You don’t regret kissing Benedict because, for the first time in your life, you finally put yourself first. Arriving in your bedroom, your wedding dress seems to judge you but you pay it no mind and lay down on your bed. At the same time, the joy leaves your body, not for remorse, but for sadness ; you will never live this moment again. You will never feel this feeling again.

When the sun rises in the sky the next morning, your stomach twists. Meanwhile you’re getting ready, you live an out of body experience. Your body's here and dressed up however your mind is lost in the memory of the night before. This memory is nicer than your reality.

When you’re at the door of the chapel, you gain consciousness again. You know this is your last moment as Y/N Y/L/N. You take a deep breath whilst your father comes next to you. He gives you a comforting smile, seeing your state.

“Do not be afraid, my dearest. You are ready. Your whole life has been made for this moment.”

You cannot count how many times you've been hearing this since you're out in society. It's supposed to make you feel better and yet, it only makes you feel even more trapped. 

You don’t answer your father, fearing you might throw up on him due to the stress. Your father makes sure your veil is set correctly on your head then he locks his arms with yours and guides you through to the chapel. The music starts playing and for you, it doesn’t sound like a wedding song but more like a death march. You walk down the aisle, your heart beating loudly in your ears and your flowers are practically strangled by your grip. While walking, you take notice of the guests, wanting to avert your attention from your future husband. When you glance on the right side of the aisle, you find the Bridgerton family. Violet Bridgerton’s eyes are filled with softness that helps you to feel more at ease, despite the fact you’d still like to run away. Taking a closer look at the Bridgerton family, your eyes find Benedict. You do your best to not show your confusion. He wasn’t supposed to be here. You don’t understand what he’s doing here. He cannot be here. You have to go through with this wedding. Not wanting to be more disturbed, you finally dare to watch your future husband. He looks good in his suit yet, you can’t help but think Benedict is more handsome. 

When you’re at the altar, your father kisses your forehead before letting you go to the Duke. Once your father lets go of your arm, you want to catch him and beg him to not let you go. You don’t do it. Tightening your grip on your bouquet, you give a forced smile at the Duke. The music stops and the Archbishop announces to the guests they can sit down. When they did and the ceremony has finally started, tears form in your eyes.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony ” he states solemnly.

The word ‘matrimony’ echoes in your mind and you can’t listen to the Archbishop’s voice anymore. You can only watch the scene unfold in front of you until you willingly press a finger on a thorn from your bouquet to bring you back to reality. You can’t dwell in your own world anymore, you have to face your truth. In spite of yourself, you look furtively at Benedict before landing your gaze on the man in front of you again. At the same time you get back in the chapel, you hear the Archbishop exclaim : 

“If anyone thinks this man and this woman shall not be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

After the Archbishop's sentence, there is a silence for a second and you’re afraid your fast heartbeats can be heard. You wouldn’t be surprised to find your heart out of your chest.

As there is no protest, the Archbishop opens his mouth again to finish the wedding when your name echoes in the chapel. Every pair of eyes, yours included, land on the same spot, on Benedict, standing on his feet with a broken but determined gaze.

“Y/N, I know I told you I would leave you alone but I cannot.” he starts with trembling hands. “You need to hear me out, do not marry him ! You should not be obliged to marry a man you do not love… I love you too much to let you make this mistake.” he adds and at these words, Anthony tries to make him sit again in vain. “If you become his wife, you will not be happy, you will be miserable. We both know it. You should not be marrying the wrong man. You have always told me you wanted to marry a man you love dearly and who supports you in everything. And this man is not the Duke.” Benedict carries on and you feel the heat in your cheek. “I am not saying you should marry me, if this is not what you wish for, even if I would be honoured to be your husband. Just please, do not become his wife.”

Following his tirade, Benedict takes a deep breath. The room is filled with horrified looks, especially Anthony’s and your parents. No one knows how to react, not expecting this interruption. Benedict doesn’t pay attention to the others, he is only looking at you as if you were alone in the chapel. You can see all the tenderness and love he has for you.

As for you, your eyes are wide open in shock. Benedict’s intervention cut your growing anxiety off and you stay on your feet, not moving an inch. You don’t dare to say a word, not knowing what is going to happen next. The moment stays frozen in time for a whole minute before Anthony stands up and forces his brother to leave the chapel. Your eyes follow the two Bridgerton brothers until they’re out of sight.

Once everything is calm again, the Duke takes your hand to bring back your attention to him. He asks if they can resume and to answer him, you let your bouquet fall at your feet. You mutter a quick apology and walk up the aisle while your father is ordering you to come back.

As soon as you’re outside, you find Anthony reprimanding Benedict. Without paying a mind to it, you throw yourself at the man you love. Taken aback by your gesture, Anthony takes a step back. Understanding the situation, the Bridgerton first born knows he has to handle a delicate situation so he goes back to the chapel. You keep embracing Benedict in your arms for several seconds before putting your hands on his cheeks and kissing him with passion. Benedict stumbles, surprised by your action, before deepening the kiss. You keep kissing until you’re out of air. When you break the embrace, you keep your hands on both sides of his face, joyful tears in your eyes.

“You are right. I cannot marry him. I know what we have just done will have consequences but I do not care. I want to be with you. I want to be able to choose and I choose you. It is you I want by my side. I love you, Benedict.” you confess with a genuine smile, the first one in a month.

“I love you so much.” he answers, pecking your lips.

“I am so glad you were around when they said ‘speak now’. Had you not intervened, I never would have had the strength to run away.”

“I told you I would be here for you.” Benedict reminds you, stroking your cheeks. “We should leave while they are still in shock.”

You agree and Benedict takes your hand. You look at each other with love and without wasting another second, you run out of the place, you undo your veil and let it fall down on the ground. You know you’re in a complicated situation but it doesn't matter to you. You love each other and you will get married and even if it means going to another city and suffer the wrath of your parents once you’re back. You chose each other, it’s all that matters.

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

{This is my side blog so I'll be answering comments under the username @marie-sworld}

[distinguisheddingus]

Since I'm again in my Bridgerton Era and a proud swiftie I suddenly felt the need to write a one shot for each of the Bridgerton Brothers based on a Taylor Swift song, so I will post three polls: one for Anthony, one for Benedict and one for Colin.

[since Colin and Benedict's polls don't appear in the feed I'm gonna repost them separately]

[aylasrants]

decided to give writing on tumblr another go

send me some bridgerton requests here

be sure to check my rules beforehand

i’ll only accept requests for anthony, benedict, colin and phillip crane for now

[blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms]

Eavesdrop- Benedict Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton

Warnings: N/A

Request: Anon- The link to your rules isn't working for me(on mobile) so I hope this request follows your rules but a bridgerton Benedict x fem!reader where reader is a close friend of Daphne's so she's always out and about and has a crush on Benedict but she isn't sure if he likes her back until she overhears him practicing a courting proposal on Colin and he's like "(Name) will you marry me" etc but he keeps changing it because none of it seems right to him until the reader reveals herself and it's a classic Hallmark happy ending?

Word Count: 486

Author: Charlotte

“Y/N, would you allow me the honour of courting you?”

Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of Benedict’s voice. You had known Benedict since you were quite young due to you being close friends with his younger sister Daphne and spending most of your time at the Bridgerton home. You got along well with all of Daphne’s siblings, but you had always had a soft spot for the second oldest son.

In all the years that you had known Benedict, you had formed quite a crush, but you never believed that he would like you in return, so it was beyond a shock to hear him asking you to court him. It would have shocked you more if he had actually said it to your face, as currently you were walking through a hall in the Bridgerton home and accidentally overheard him asking the question from inside a room.

You paused at the door, hesitant to eavesdrop but also intrigued by why Benedict would be asking such a question.

“Would you like to court me?” He asked again.

You took a step closer to the door, almost pressing your ear up against the wood.

“Shall we start courting?” Benedict asked, this time seeming almost exasperated.

A chuckle came from the room but not from the man you had been listening to.

“I think the first was probably the better option,” a second man, you recognised the voice of being Colin, said.

“I don’t want a better option, I want a perfect option,” Benedict sighed. “I don’t want to mess this up. I care deeply for her, and I fear that she doesn’t feel the same.”

“Do not be a fool Benedict,” Colin chuckled. “She is completely infatuated with you; you could do nothing and just ask her the damn question and she would be happy to say yes.”

Your heart was in an uncontrollable flutter, and you became somewhat lightheaded just from the thought that the man you had cared for over so many years could care about you too. In the moment panic in your mind, you stumbled against the door, only now finding out that the door wasn’t fully closed, accidentally flinging it open. You managed to catch yourself against the open door but the two men in the room were now aware of you being there.

“H-how long have you been there?” Benedict panicked.

“Only a moment,” you squeaked, your cheeks becoming warm and your hands starting to sweat.

Colin gave his older brother a shove, making him stumble a couple of steps towards you. Benedict tried to clear his throat, peering back to his brother as if for encouragement.

“Y/N,” he croaked. “Would you… maybe you would like to… would you do me the honour of courting me?”

A smile stretched wide on your face, feeling as though you had just stepped into a dream.

“It would be my honour.”

[aylasrants]

they told him to act, he became benedict

literally can not comprehend how can someone add so much to a character

gestures, mimics, posture, look everything is so on point

i could write an essay on how much this character and his on screen adaptation has changed me and how it is perfection (i won’t tho cause i’m lazy but you get the idea)

luke, sir, you ate, respectfully

color palette meme | benedict bridgerton + carousel paint

[alloftheimaginesblog]

following in our footsteps {benedict bridgerton}

plot: as the wife of benedict bridgerton, you're always fixing his clothes and readjusting his collar and as your husband, he's always smoothing your dress down when you get out of the carriage... you don't realise but these traits get passed onto your children.

requested by anon

"Remember," you said as you took Benedict's hand as he helped you out of the carriage, "it's Colin's birthday, not yours, so please... let him enjoy his day without you and Anthony winding him up."

Benedict smiled at you widely, "Me? Annoy Colin? Well, I never." You rolled your eyes. Your husband, being the wonderfully kind man he was, then proceeded to circle you, smoothing your dress down if it had hitched up or gotten a little crumpled. Once finished, he stood in front of you and you straightened his lapel and his collar.

This had been a ritual for the two of you since your courting days. It started when Benedict had came to you with a bunch of flowers when he was calling on you one morning and you brushed off some petals from his shoulder and then in that same morning, he had wiped the tiniest speck of jam from your dress. Since then, the two of you had a routine in place of helping the other sort themselves out.

"Beautiful," Benedict smiled before placing a soft kiss on your knuckles where your wedding ring sat, "Right," he straightened and clapped, "come along children!"

One by one, your four children clamber out of the carriage. Charles comes first, holding his hand to help his sister Alexandra, then waits for William and lastly, the three help Violet as she was the youngest and also the clumsiest.

As the children are climbing out, you and Benedict find yourself in conversation about something else entirely and it is only when you hear the words, "Oh, honestly, Violet! You always seem to get yourself into such a muddle!" that you turn your attention to your children.

Your face stretches into a wide smile, "Ben, look."

William and Charles stood facing each other, straightening their collars, "Is that good?" They each nod before they look to Alexandra. Charles smooths down an unruly wisp of hair, tucking it behind her ear, while William smooths down the ruffles on her shoulder. Lastly, they all help their youngest sister, Violet. Charles wipes crumbs from her cheeks, Alexandra readjusts the hairband in her hair and William brushes her dress so it sits nicely.

They turn back to their parents who are... crying?

"Mama," Charles frowns, "are you well?"

You sniff, wiping your eyes with Benedict's handkerchief he handed you, "All is well, my love," you smiled, "It is just so nice to see you all looking out for each other."

"You fight like cat and dog but like your mother said, it is spectacular watching you look out for each other," Benedict smiles, clapping Charles on the shoulder.

The children don't understand the big deal, they glance at one another before Charles shrugs, "It is what we see you and Mama do each and every day. You make sure that you are both presentable and attractive, it is nice to look out for each other, is it not?"

You nod quickly, giving each of your children a kiss on the forehead, "Mama," William groans, "now we all have lipstick on our foreheads!" You laugh and hand Charles Benedict's handkerchief and one by one, they each wipe the lipstick off of each other's foreheads.

"Oh, we did good, did we not?" You ask quietly, melting into your husband's embrace.

"We certainly did." He presses a kiss to your forehead, "We really did."

[gracieheartspedro]

About You

how to help gaza

pairing: colin bridgerton x f!reader, brief benedict bridgerton x reader action

description: finally ready to get off the marriage mart, your family arranges a marriage to a bridgerton. but not the one you have always desired.

word count: 2.4k words

author’s note: hiiii folks. this is part one so more coming soon. I wrote it in an hour after I watched pt1 of season 3. I only edited it a couple times. plus there’s a lack of colin content on this website. so i’m here, filling the void ❤️

You had waited for this night your whole life. The night you would be proposed to. 

Your mother had ensured you wore your finest gown, a soft purple dress with beautiful sparkles and embellishments. She even gifted you a necklace your grandmother had worn the night of her engagement. 

It was a huge moment for everyone involved. But you could not help but feel a pit in your stomach. You wanted to call them nerves, but it was more so you knew you were making a mistake. 

When you arrive at Lady Danbury’s estate, you and your parents step out of a horse-drawn carriage and into a beautifully decorated ball. The candles lined the entrance, and red and white roses encapsulated the entire space. 

You did the typical introductions and curtsies. You thanked Lady Danbury for throwing such a captivating event for your special moment. She smiled and told you that it had to be mesmerizing for such anticipation. You felt light-headed thinking of all the eyes that would be on you tonight. 

You found your way to the ballroom, where ladies and gentlemen alike were already dancing. You find your way around the room, instantly finding a group of ladies you had made acquaintance with before. The four of you chat and they all share that they cannot wait to watch the Bridgerton boy propose to you in front of the masses. 

It makes you sick to your stomach. 

You excuse yourself to find some lemonade on one of the many tables. You would prefer some champagne, but alcohol does not make it right for you. It does not allow any clarity. So, you stand alone, trying to collect your thoughts and not freak out too much before anything happens. 

“There’s my gem.”

His voice is deeper when it’s right in one of your ringlet curls. It also doesn’t help that he’s saying it for your ears only, making the comment even more sensual. 

Colin Bridgerton was terrible at being just your friend. He was always too close to you, always searching you out in a crowd, and constantly waiting around for you at social events. 

He had been doing it for years before he disappeared on a world tour. You knew your time on the marriage mart was over when your mother and father, a Duke and Duchess, pulled aside Violet Bridgerton and begged her to pawn one of her sons off onto you. And while she would have easily convinced Colin, he was in Italy learning about The Pantheon and had stated he had no intentions marrying. 

So, Benedict would have to do.

You turn to face the taller gentleman, ensuring your posture was fixed to that of a Lady. 

“Mister Bridgerton, what do I owe the pleasure?” You falter to formalities, rather than your normal banter with him. You knew people would be watching you like a hawk, as tonight was the night Benedict was going to try to secure a proposal. 

“I have not seen you in a year and suddenly you speaking to me as if I am a stranger,” His voice is confident, but his eyes read the same insecure boy you remember. 

You let out a sly chuckle, “Well, we practically are at this point, are we not? You are the Ton’s most eligible bachelor as soon as you returned from your tour  and I feel like the man gracing me with his presence is not the man I once knew.”

He seems taken aback by your comments, his face dropping a bit. 

“I’ve been hearing whispers amongst the Ton that you’re getting a proposal,” He halts, taking a sip of the lemonade slid between his fingers, “From my brother?”

You hear the jealousy laced in his voice, but you try your best not to call him out on it. You turn around, still shoulder-to-shoulder with the man. “One can only hope, Mister Bridgerton. It would only be my pleasure to join the family.”

“As Benedict’s missus?”

You want to scream at him, but your trained politeness is engrained deep within every fiber of your being. 

“Well, I have you know, that it was arranged by your Mama and my parents. It is simply a way to join our families. You know my Mama and yours have always taken to one another. I did not know you would have such an issue with it.”

Before he can say more, you spot Benedict across the ballroom chatting with Eloise and Francesca. He meets your eyes and gives you a curt nod and smirk. You nod back, knowing that he would approach you once the conversation concludes. You had this whole act down to a science. 

Because that’s what it was for you. An act. A way to make your parents get off your back. It was no love match, it was only practical. Benedict was a gentleman, into the arts, comfortable with moving away from the city. He was everything you needed, just not what you wanted. 

“I leave for a bit of time and suddenly my own brother is courting my best friend,” Colin groans, shifting in his spot. You return your gaze back to him, trying to understand why tonight had to be the night that he fought for you. The term best friend had a bite to it, as well. While you were a lady, you had already shared a kiss with a few boys, including Colin. While you two were underage and not able to make such distinct decisions on marriage, you knew that the feelings you had for him were shared. 

What was so frustrating was that he could never actually confess such feelings. You could see it in his eyes when you glanced his way, but the words never slipped his lips. He only shot flirtations at you and then there was no action as a follow-up. It made your mind race and spin. You started to believe that it was not flirtations at all and it was all just teasing.

“I think you are missing out on the key point in your conjecture, Colin,” You lick your lips, moving only a bit closer to him so no one can hear your words, “You left me. I stayed here and pondered what another season would be like without you. And of course, at the very end of such an event, you decide to be cruel.”

“How am I being cruel, Miss? I am simply stating that you are choosing someone I care about for expedience and not for love.”

“You are being cruel by approaching me and acting like you are even half aware of the circumstances you are speaking of.”

He chuckles, trying not to entertain your comments. “I am well aware that you have always wanted a love match. You know that is not what you are getting with Benedict, Gem.”

Your throat tightens because you know he is right. You have dreamed of a love match since you were a precocious child, enduring all the teasing him and Eloise about it. 

And you knew deep down that the love match you wanted was with him. 

The damn nickname he gave you years ago continues to get a rise. You can feel your face get flushed, the heat rising all the way down your neck and chest. 

“Who said I needed a love match, Mister Bridgerton?!”

You never meant to be loud, but as soon as the words leave your mouth, you realize everyone staring your way. You had seriously messed up. 

Colin did not even look away from your completely shell-shocked expression. He was not focused on the glares and whispers, he only cared that the woman he was in love with was about to marry his brother. He could not let that happen. 

The feeling of embarrassment made every part of your body jittery. You decided that the exit seemed like the best option, so you made your way past everyone and ran to the back garden of the Danbury estate. The flowers that lined the railings made the tears in your vision sparkle like fireworks. 

You try your best to suppress the useless waterworks, but the emotions get the best of you. You felt humiliated that you had to explain your motives to a man who hardly knew you anymore. What does he know?

You find a corner to hide in, making sure your face is hidden away from the exit. When you hear footsteps approach, you pray it’s not a Bridgerton. Sadly, you’re disappointed. 

“What did Colin say to you?”

You remove your cream glove, ensuring no tear touches such an expensive fabric. You needed to collect yourself a bit before turning to face Benedict. So you dab your eyes with your fingertips and spin to face him. He looks concerned, his hand reaching for yours. 

“I am so sorry, Lord Bridgerton. He got the better of me and he still knows how best to irritate me,” your eyes well up again with tears, “I do apologize for not being more put together.”

He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “Do not apologize. I expected him to be a bit tormented by the whole situation.”

You furrow your brows, quizzically. “What ever do you mean?”

“Well, he told my Mama last season that he did not want to marry because you were courting Lord Jacques. That is why he left early for his travels.”

The revelation makes your heart skip a beat, “Why would him marrying have anything to do with me?”

You try to play dumb so maybe you could get more out of the man, but instead of answering you, he just shakes his head. His focus drops, and as soon as you lose fixation on his actions, you notice Colin loitering around the exit. You drop Benedict’s hand and sidestep to get the man in your line of vision. 

“You have never been good at hide and seek, Mister Bridgerton,” You say with spite, “Step into the light.”

His slow meander only makes you more angry. 

“Now, why is my brother alone with my best friend in the garden? Seems like a scandal waiting to happen.” 

Benedict snickers, “Seems like we were never alone, brother. You appear to be around every waiting corner.”

You cross your arms, annoyed with both men and sick of the mortification. You could not help but appreciate Benedict’s snarky nature, it has always thrown Colin off his game. You clear your throat, bringing their eyes to you. 

“I wish to understand why you lied to me about leaving early last season.” 

Colin’s disposition changes as soon as you say it. Last season, Colin left abruptly and wrote you saying it was because of a learning opportunity in Vienna. You took his word for it, but based on what Benedict had just told you, that was a lie. 

“Pardon m-”

“Colin, why did you lie about leaving the season early?”

“Gem, I really do not know where you got this information.”

“Oh, give me a break, Colin. You told me and Anthony that you did not wish to marry unless a girl like her came around. When you realized she was interested in another, you left.” 

Colin races forward, grabbing onto the man to your left. He tugs his vest coat and brings him inches from his own face. The action rattles you, but you remain composed. 

“I told you that in confidence!”

“And you are making her upset with your mind games! If you had just said what your heart’s truth was, you would be the one celebrated tonight. Instead, you stand by and fume over a woman you can no longer have.”

Colin clenches his teeth, “Who said I can no longer?”

Your stomach flips, unsure of how Colin could be so possessive of you. Benedict seems shocked as well because he nudges the man off of him and glances over at you. You realize that this is Colin’s way of confessing his intentions, but you cannot believe that he has to say it on the night of your engagement.

“You are brazen to concur such a thing.”

Colin finally looks at you, taking note of your shaky voice. “So, you are going to marry him?”

The unsettle in your heart has never gone away ever since you were told about the arrangement. You knew that your heart was telling you to run the other way, but you did not want to let down your family. You had taken kindly to Benedict, promenading almost every other day to get to know one another. 

“I have not been asked yet, so I am not quit-”

Colin steps forward taking your hand, “What if I asked you first? Would you accept me? My hand, I mean?”

Benedict steps forward, touching his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Gem, will you marry me?”

A tear slips past your lashes, your heart just about exploding within your chest. Colin’s eyes are desperate, pleading with you.  You are not sure what to say, every possible word escaping you. 

You realize you are panting, the breath leaving your lips labored in panic. You flick your sights over to Benedict, who is stunned but not trying to get Colin to retract his query. You revert your gaze back to Colin’s deep blue eyes.

“Why now?”

He takes a deep breath, “Because I am absolutely useless with my emotions and I have only humiliated myself when I express them. I did not think you would ever consider my hand and had I known that you thought kindly of me I would have told you the first moment you debuted. But I cowered in silence, hoping the emotions I have felt since I was a child would subside. But I have searched every corner of this world and I did not find one lady that made me feel the same emotions I feel when I even just look your way. I hate that it took me so long to realize that you are the only woman I will ever really… love.”

The confession is exactly what you need to change your mind. Because you felt the exact same way. All this time you have been running from the emotions you felt every moment Colin stared in your direction. You thought them immature and vain. But every time you watched him dance with another, the fire within you would burn. You were sick of loving him from far away. 

“The Ton believes me to be promised to Benedict. The embarrassment he will suffer if I accept your proposal could be deafening-”

“Do not worry about me, Miss,” Benedict says, pacing with his hands on his hips, “I could never fully live with myself coming between two lovers. I only waiting for him to realize what we have all been subjected to the last 3 years.”

Colin smirks at him, “And what’s that?”

“The torture of loving someone and not giving in to temptation.”

[writtenfangirl]

Madness

I wrote this so long ago and then abandoned it because I didn’t know if the ending was satisfactory or not. I thought it would have a greater plot as well but when I couldn’t find it, I was dissatisfied until I reread it and realized the prose was too good not to publish.

Fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint hard enough.

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful, if Benedict was being perfectly honest with himself. Not the kind of beauty that had him picking up a paint brush and painstakingly striking an easel with lovely swirls of color but the kind of beauty that distracted him, made him brood in a dim corner of the room, watching the little twists of her mouth and the subtle way she arched a brow. Beauty to the point of distraction, like spending hours watching shooting stars dash across the night sky, not realizing as dawn approached on the horizon.

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

How was he meant to live, to exist and breathe, to witness such great beauty and yet have none of the capacity, the right, to keep it?

Just a glance from her, a single curve of her lips, and Benedict could feel his faith in God strengthening as easily as he could deny the Lord’s existence. Only a benevolent God could create such ecstatic beauty and yet no benevolent God could exist in this world if Benedict had to bear the cruelty of Y/N’s indifference.

Maddening.

He sighed, the sound bereft as he continued to watch her charm the eligible men of the ton. She had a veritable cabal of men gathered around her and if any other debutant had been in her position, they surely would have been overwhelmed by now.

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

With her head held high and her smile demure, she directed the men as easily as if she was holding court. A slight clearing of the throat and already, someone had a glass of lemonade in their hand while a flap of her hand would have the men falling over themselves in an attempt to get her a chair.

A queen holding court, indeed.

Benedict rolled his eyes at the man to her right, who practically shoved at the man on his left in order to catch Y/N’s attention. Not that it really mattered though, especially not when Y/N’s attention was focused on Benedict.

Even from across the room, the tension between them felt palpable. Exhilarating. It always had been with Y/N. Thick and smooth, the connection between them as tangible as their own beating hearts. Just a shared look between them and the world fell silent, the edges of his vision practically darkening at the edges until he saw only her.

Beautiful. Even as her face contorted with hurt for the briefest of seconds, her eyes pulling away from him and returning to the crowd of men that surrounded her.

Benedict gritted his teeth, the only sign of annoyance he let himself show.

“I see you are not quite so enamored with our diamond.”

Benedict’s head whipped to the left, finding Lady Danbury watching him with those shrewd eyes of hers. The old crone had her cane gripped tightly in her hands and Benedict fought his grimace at the phantom pain that shot up from his ankles. The dowager countess had a terrible habit of whacking gentlemen she didn’t like with that sturdy cane of hers and Benedict had felt the brunt of that pain far too many times for his liking.

Still, as a gentleman, he couldn’t very well ignore the woman. It would have been terribly rude of him to and it went against every fiber of the etiquette that had been drilled to him as a child.

He spared Y/N another glance before he spoke. “You think all those men enamored with her?”

“I think they think themselves enamored by her,” Lady Danbury said. “She is quite a beauty and accomplished too, I hear. Are you acquainted with the young lady?”

He had been, when he was young. As recently as a few months ago, Benedict had counted Y/N as one of his dearest friends but with everything that transpired between them…

“We are familiar with one another.”

Lady Danbury arched a brow, directing her attention back to Y/N. She was animatedly speaking with Anthony and Colin, the only time the entire evening where her smile didn’t seem a little bit forced. “Your brothers seem friendly with her. Why aren’t you?”

Because he was a stupid, bloody, idiot who didn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut, that’s why.

But his pride would never let him say that, especially not in front of Lady Danbury. “We are familiar with each other.” He repeated, voice tight.

Lady Danbury’s eyes flickered. “I seem to recall your mother telling me about how you and the Lady Y/N were thick as thieves not so long ago.”

Bloody hell, the old crone was relentless. He didn’t want to talk about his and Y/N’s falling out, especially not with her.

He suddenly whirled, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, I believe I hear someone calling me.”

No one was calling him but not even his impeccable manners could make him stay.

Lady Danbury harrumphed. “I may be old, boy, but I am not deaf.”

“Definitely hear someone calling me.” Benedict even cupped a hand, placing it on the side of his mouth before he yelled a quick, “I’ll be right there!” He turned back to Lady Danbury, who was looking at him as if she knew his claims were a lie. “Lady Danbury, if you’ll excuse me.”

The dowager countess simply gave Benedict a knowing look yet let him go.

He ducked into the crowd towards… bloody hell he couldn’t find anyone he would rather talk to. His brothers were still off speaking with Y/N and he didn’t feel like speaking with his mother, who would likely hound him about his fight with Y/N. Which left the last person of their party, Eloise. A quick scan of the room revealed his sister in the other side of the room, conspiratorially whispering to her best friend, Penelope Featherington.

He zoomed towards them, turning his back on Y/N and Lady Danbury.

Eloise caught his eye as he approached and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Why do you look as if you’re expecting me to bail you out of a horrible situation.”

“Can’t I see my favorite sister with joy in my face without being suspected of ill intent?”Benedict said with a grin before bowing to Penelope, who returned the gesture with her own curtsy.

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

Eloise rolled her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

“To ask you why you’re sulking in a corner instead of dancing despite—“ he pulled at the dance card in her wrist, every single line filled with names that were unfamiliar to him. “Did you put fake names in your dance card?”

Eloise snatched her wrist back. “Yes. I thought that with Y/N grabbing the attention of so many of the gentlemen, I would be spared the embarrassment of having to entertain any gentlemen tonight. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

Benedict turned to Penelope. “How many approached her?”

“Six,” Penelope smirked, “and those six quickly turned right back around.”

“Well with a full dance card, I’m not at all surprised.”

Eloise rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Spare me the lecture, brother. I’m sure I’ll hear enough from mother tonight.”

“She caught you?”

“After Eloise turned down the sixth one, Lady Violet began to suspect,” Penelope explained.

Benedict grinned. “When have you known me to lecture you?”

She gave him a saccharine smile, the kind that Benedict always knew would end with her barbed words. “Aren’t you meant to be fawning over Y/N? You’d done it most of our life.”

He bristled at her words.

Penelope shot them a curious look. “You never told me you were acquainted with the lady?”

“Hadn’t I?” Eloise frowned. “Lady Y/L/N’s family and ours have been acquainted for ages. Of course, she rarely ever came to London and if it hadn’t been for her father’s recent passing she wouldn’t have had a season at all. Mama had held hope that perhaps one of my dear brothers would begin to take some responsibility and marry her.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper that was so loud, it still reached Benedict’s ears. “Personally, I always thought Benedict would offer. He and Y/N had a special bond growing up. Even Daphne thinks so.”

Benedict had never hit a woman before but perhaps, just this once, excuses could be made for one’s sisters.

“So, well acquainted then,” Penelope said with a slight smile.

“I do recall Benedict pining after Y/N for years,” Eloise mused, uncaring as Benedict’s mood soured. “You never did tell me why it is you suddenly became estranged”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” He grumbled.

Eloise batted eyes innocently. “Irritable today, aren’t you, brother? Could it possibly be because of the cadre of men that hound every one of Y/N’s footsteps?”

“I have changed my mind. Francesca is now my favorite sister.”

“I love you too, Benedict,” she all but grinned.

He turned his attention back to Y/N, who, to his surprise, had taken her leave.

“She’s in the garden, if you wish to speak to her,” Eloise said, noting his wandering eyes and nodding towards the open veranda at the side.

“What gave you the impression that I would like to speak to her?” He tried to do his best nonchalant impression but not even Benedict was convinced of his own performance.

Eloise simply rolled her eyes at him before tugging Penelope’s arm. “With Y/N taking her respite, I imagine there will be a sudden influx of gentlemen who would like to dance. Let us make ourselves scarce.” And she pulled Penelope along, the red head offering Benedict an apologetic look.

He glanced at the crowd once again before letting his feet carry him through the veranda and out towards the garden. There were still many people milling about outside that granted them protection from scandal but it was much more intimate than the loud din of the ballroom.

The night was cool, the spring air serene compared to the humidity of the ballroom.

He spied Y/N, her back turned against the door. Upon hearing his approach, she sighed. “Good sir, if you did not understand me, I wish to be al—“ she turned and her words died at her lips at the sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”

She looked even lovelier up close. She always did. Whether dressed in a simple frock with her long hair flowing down her back or dressed ornately with jewels adorning her, she always looked lovelier up close.

“What do you want, Benedict,” Y/N said, dropping that societal mask she employed inside.

“To apologize.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to apologize for. You asked for my hand under false pretenses, I rejected you. End of story.“

“Under false pretenses?” He echoed, his own tone turning sharp. “You think my proposal to be insincere? Is that why you rejected me?”

“I did not think it insincere, I knew it to be insincere. I heard you and the Lady Violet discussing me. I heard when you declared your intention to ask for my hand in marriage simply because she had asked you to.”

Oh.

Oh.

He remembered then, the conversation he had with his mother right before he proposed.

“Propose to her,” Violet had urged just as breakfast had been served, with only Benedict and Violet dining.

“I am not even courting her, mama,” he replied exasperatedly. It had been far too early in the morning to entertain his mother’s insistence on seeing him wed to Y/N. She’d pestered him about it in one form or another even before the Y/L/Ns had come to visit the Bridgertons and Benedict knew she would not stop until he and Y/N were formally engaged.

But Y/N had just ended her mourning period for her father. And though societal mandates dictated that it was perfectly reasonable for Benedict to ask for her hand in marriage, he knew how deeply she mourned the man, especially since his death had placed her in such a precarious position. The late patriarch of the Y/L/N family had been fond of his only child, even if she had been born a girl. And Y/N had loved him, even if his death left her and her mother saddled with financial debt despite coming from the longest line of barony in England.

“What does it matter that you are not courting?” Violet demanded. “You have known her since you were both children. You’ve been courting her all your life.”

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

“What is it that you do not like about her?” She insisted. “She is beautiful and accomplished and you have known each other your whole lives. Any young man would be fortunate to be bound to her in marriage.”

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

“Then why do you refuse to ask her for her hand in marriage? Doing so would spare her a season in London and limit their financial troubles.” And then she had gasped in indignation. “Or is their financial troubles the very reason why you refuse? I never raised you to be avaricious!”

Bloody hell. “I am not avaricious, mother. I do not care about her dowry or lack thereof!”

“Then what is it? Do not tell me it is because you do not love her. I have seen the way you look at her.”

Benedict had eyed his fork, had wondered if perhaps, it would be a better to shove it in his ears than listen to his mother’s hullabaloo.

Instead he took a scone, spreading a generous layer of clotted cream and jam so his hands had something to do rather than maim himself.

“And how is it I look at her, mother?” He drawled.

“The same way your father used to look at me.”

At that he had paused, scone half-raised to his mouth. He hadn’t known what to say anymore. Mentions of his own father had always been capable of silencing his mind.

Finally, he had decided on telling her the truth, that his mother may finally stop pestering him.

“Asking Y/N for her hand in marriage had always been the plan, mother,” Benedict relented. “I was simply waiting for the perfect moment.”

Violet smiled at her son kindly. “There are no such thing as perfect moments, dearest. Only moments that can be made perfect. And whether you ask her later or tomorrow or next week, that moment will be perfect by virtue of you asking.”

She was right, of course. Violet Bridgerton was so rarely incorrect especially in matters of the heart and love.

Benedict had given her a smile, and said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Well, since you so graciously asked me to, I shall propose to the Lady Y/N, if only to make you happy.”

That must have been what Y/N heard. Not the whole story but the end, when Benedict had teased his mother.

Now he was convinced that God existed and that he must be cruel. Only the machinations of a cruel God could have lined up the timing perfectly.

Y/N’s eyes flickered as she regarded him. “I do not wish to bind you in marriage with someone you do not hold any affection for. You have fulfilled your promise to your mother and have asked for my hand. I rejected you. We no longer have any obligations with one another. Good night.” She made a move to pass him, to walk back to the ballroom to her gaggle of men but Benedict’s hand shot up, gripping her arm and keeping her to him.

His hands were gloved and even Y/N’s arms were sheathed in silk. And though he had never felt gloves to be particularly offensive, he wished to burn the ones that covered their hands. If only so he could feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The heady scent of her perfume wafted through his senses. She smelled divine, like walking through a garden of roses under the cover of moonlight as the stars twinkled above his head. Utterly mouthwatering, and capable of driving even the sanest of men into insanity. The scent of distraction.

Always so distracting.

Benedict forced his mouth to speak before his brain could forget the words he needed to say. “Do you think so little of me? Capable of such cruelty especially when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s brows met, a flash of pain in her eyes and then it was gone. “It is the opposite, really. I think the world of you, Benedict. Only a gentleman would offer to marry a girl he has no obligations to simply because of her precarious position in life. You are an honorable man and any woman would be lucky to call you their husband. It is why I cannot accept your proposal, not when you do not love me. Not when there is no one on this world more deserving of love than you.”

Benedict frowned at her. “Why do you continue to insist that I do not love you?”

“Because you do not!” She pulled away from him, wrenching her hand from his grasp. Her eyes were pure anguish as she looked at him and the very sight of her pain had him staggering back. “If you truly held any affection for me, I would know. I have studied you all our lives, Benedict. And in all the time we shared together, you had never shown any affection for me beyond that of a friend. Your proposal hurt, Benedict. I have loved you in every way a man could be loved for so long and for you to ask for my hand in marriage out of pity—“ She choked, eyes widening as if she didn’t mean to say the things she’d said.

“You love me?” He echoed, heart beating quickly in his chest. He wondered, briefly, if his fast beating heart marks the day he really lived. If Y/N’s confession had been the reason he truly felt alive for the first time in his life.

Her face crumpled in pain as she stepped back. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said those things. Please take your leave, Benedict. That I may salvage whatever scraps of my dignity is left.”

But Benedict did no such thing.

Instead he took her hands and lowered himself into a kneel, setting his eyes upon her. The arching light of the manor spilled over the veranda casted her in a soft glow that took his very breath away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm and whatever pain she held there was washed away by her surprise. “Benedict, what are you doing?”

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

But he held firm, his determination cementing his knees to the ground. “Forgive me, Y/N, for my grave transgressions against you. That you had ever lived your life doubting my affections for you, or wondering if I cared for you as more than a friend are sins I will carry with me to my last breath. It will be my great shame that I had not made it abundantly clear that I love you. Because I do love you. Most ardently.”

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

“You are right. It is madness. The way I feel for you would drive the sanest of people into lunacy. But if loving you is madness then I don’t ever wish to be sane.”

Her eyes gleamed silver with unshed tears that threatened to fall from her pretty eyes. “B-But that morning, the day you proposed—“

“I did not propose to you out of pity for you, I did it out of pity for me. I needed to put myself out of my misery and finally marry the only girl I ever had the privilege of falling in love with rather than continue pining after you in secret.”

She let out a a laugh through her tears, the sound like bells chiming during a storm. Light and beautiful despite the pouring rain that threatened to drown it out. “Ask me again.”

His heart leapt to his throat, pounding so quickly he struggled to get the words out. But they came nonetheless, the words clear and betraying none of his anxiety. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

[acourtofsmutandfluff]

This was so damn cute. I watched this episode twice when it came out and Benedict being all high had me in fits. This was adorable. Keep up the fantastic work!

As a kite [B.B]

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A/n: This contains spoilers!! I thought the scenes with him in episode 3 were too funny to not write about

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x wife!reader

Words: 2.4k

Summary: A stressed artist and “travellers powder” - a quite amusing mix, but not during family dinner

Warnings: fluff and Benedict being high as a kite, also spoilers for season 2! Lmk if missed anything

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“What is the matter with him?” you whispered to Colin as your eyes landed on Benedict - who was rambling on about how he was touching the light - his hands outstretched as if caressing something in front of him, not even having noticed your entrance or conversation with his brother.

“I may have given him some travellers powder… and he may have finished my supply,” Colin replied bashfully, trying not to look at your flabbergasted face.

“Colin Bridgerton!” You scolded lowly, bumping his side with your elbow.

“What?!” he exclaimed, “he was so incredibly stressed, and I only wished to help him relax… I did not know he was going to drink the whole thing.”

Rubbing your temple, you murmured, “It is quite alright… but we shall need to handle this at dinner… Violet shall not know.”

You sighed, moving further toward your giddy husband until he finally took notice of you.

“My sweet!” He exclaimed, pulling you into a crushing embrace, inhaling your scent loudly.

“Benedict… ease up, please,” you grunted, your bones crushed in his arms.

“You smell divine… how do you manage to always smell as sweet as a flower? You are my flower,” Benedict rambled, an out of focus look in his eyes and a giddy grin on his lips, “Col, you must smell her… it is the most incredible scent.”

“Perhaps at another time, my love…- we must make haste, your mother has already called for us twice,” you smiled, stroking his cheek tenderly - a gesture that made him lean into your touch and tighten his embrace on you once more.

“I am starving! Come along now, my flower,” Benedict suddenly announced, grabbing your hand to pull you with him to the dining room, passing Colin, who only gave you a worried look.

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“This room is exceptionally well-lit. Have you noticed, Col? The twinkle of the candles, it is as if we sit among the stars. Do you not think, my flower?” Benedict rambled, drawing the whole table's attention as they all stared at him confused and yet amused by his mumbling words.

Eloise laughed lightly, looking between yourself and her brother, raising an eyebrow in question at you.

“What is wrong with you?”

“I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece,” Colin interjected, sparing you a glance as Benedict sunk further into his chair, looking giddy as ever.

“Are you enjoying your time here, Miss Edwina?” Daphne cut in, shifting the conversation from Benedict’s obscure behaviour.

You let out a relieved breath, placing your hand on top of Benedict’s as it found home on your thigh. You listened idly to the conversations around the table, feeling relieved that Benedict seemed to be behaving, only sitting back in his chair, seemingly not paying much attention to the murmur around him, much too lost in his own mind. You wondered what was going on in his mind, hoping he finally could get a short break from his non-stop thoughts about his art and the academy - his stressors that had weighed him down these past couple of days.

You snapped out of your thoughts as Benedict’s hand squeezed your thigh, moaning over the taste of the food, overshadowing Colin’s tale of his travels.

“It was a revelation. Made all the better by the knowledge that I may have been the only Briton to see it in decades!”

Just as you thought, Benedict’s moaning couldn’t get louder. He reached a clumsy hand out, accidentally knocking over his wine, causing everyone around the table to gasp. Benedict only giggled, covering his face with his hands, sinking back into his chair.

“Benedict, dear, you alarm our guests,” Violet scolded through a plastered smile, glancing at you.

“I do apologise… - my dear Benedict has been so occupied by his art that he seems to have forgotten to eat… a tiny dizzy spell, nothing more,” you explained, giving Violet and Kate an apologetic look. Your eyes fell on Eloise, her glass raised to her lips to cover the laugh that threatened to escape; you shook your head subtly, giving her a look to silence her giggles.

“It’s all right, Lady and Mrs Bridgerton,” Kate chuckled with a smile.

Benedict chuckled beside you, placing a hand on your thigh once again after a new glass of wine was placed in front of him. You looked to your side, meeting his loving gaze as he laid almost entirely limp on his chair, leaning his head to the side with a lopsided grin.

“Benedict, pay attention,” you whispered, gesturing your head toward Lady Danbury, who was speaking of a toast.

Only when Anthony stood announcing a toast did Benedict sit up, never removing his hand from your thigh, occasionally stroking higher than what was appropriate at a family dinner, but you knew his motives were innocent - uncalculated - by the way, he swayed slightly with his glass in hand.

“My sincere gratitude to the Sharmas for joining us. It has been splendid having you here to witness what is now my second annual loss at pall-mall,” Anthony began, pausing only to wait for people's laughter to finish, “not to be repeated, I assure you.”

Your back straightened just the smallest amount more, leaning more forward and closer to Benedict as Anthony turned to Edwina. Your own hands fell to Benedict’s thigh, luckily not noticed by Violet as she was too preoccupied looking at the situation at the other end of the table.

“- and my special gratitude to Miss Edwina. It has certainly been a privilege to truly make your acquaintance these past days. In fact, I believe there is a question I would like to ask you,” Anthony continued on.

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched in suspense, squeezing Benedict’s thigh in anticipation - if he hadn’t been high as a kite, he would have probably winced, but he only giggled, leaning into your side.

“It is happening, my flower,” he whispered with a slur to his voice, almost leaning his head against your shoulder.

You waited for Anthony to continue, but he choked - taking a long, overdrawn pause before he finally spoke.

“I shall like to… I should like to ask you to please refrain from telling anyone back in London about yesterday's loss. I fear the harm to my reputation would simply be too great,” he spoke.

The whole table chuckled awkwardly. You couldn’t help but spare Edwina a glance, noting the disappointed look that overtook her face.

Lastly, you all raised a glass, glancing around the room at the awkward smiles plastered on everyone’s face.

“Hear hear!” Benedict said before drinking down the contents of his glass and leaning against your shoulder once again, kissing lightly at the skin on your neck.

“Benedict Bridgerton, will you stop that this instant!” Violet hissed lowly, trying not to draw attention to Benedict’s inappropriate actions.

“Apologies, mother… my wife looks quite divine,” he smiled, giggling as you shoved his shoulder.

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You watched in fascination over your book as Benedict’s fingers slid along the canvas, a whole explosion of colours dancing in front of him as he worked with his tongue sticking out. Sometimes he would turn, raising an eyebrow as a silent question of your opinion.

“It looks absolutely phenomenal, my love,” you would answer each time, making Benedict smile shyly before turning to continue with his masterpiece.

A knock on the door forced your gaze from your book, looking instead at Colin as he entered.

“Are you two still up?” Colin asked in surprise before scrunching his nose, “you may wish to bathe before you see mother in the morning or even before getting into bed with your wife.”

You chuckled, “believe me, Colin… I have already told him.”

Completely ignoring your conversation, Benedict grabbed Colin, pulling him to look at the canvas, “It’s magical, brother! You were right,” Benedict grinned, leaving a kiss on Colin’s cheek.

“-I’ve allowed my doubts to plague me for too long. The Royal Academy Schools are not the arbiters of taste. The world is! Is that not right, flower?” Benedict exclaimed, hugging Colin close as you watched in amusement.

Colin only scoffed, “you are a fatwit,” he tried prying Benedict off, giving you a pleading look, but you only shrugged with a smile.

“Benedict, something has apparently arrived for you. A letter from London,” Eloise spoke, entering the room with said letter in her grasp.

Benedict quickly took the letter from her, fumbling with it as he glanced back rapidly at you. You stood from your place by the windowsill, coming to stand beside him as he quickly tore the letter from the envelope, reading it anxiously. You kept a hand on his back, rubbing gently as he murmured the words, finally looking up from the paper as he finished.

“I have a place. The Royal Schools have accepted me as a student,” Benedict started, happily, tears welling in his eyes, looking between his siblings and you.

“I GOT IN!!” He shouted, jumping in place, pulling you into his arms to jump with him.

“I thought they were not the arbiters of taste?” Colin joked, looking at your wide eyes as you stood entrapped in Benedict’s grasp.

“They must see great promise in my work! Oh my-!” Benedict scrambled, letting you go in favour of running to the window.

“YOU SHALL ALL BEAR WITNESS TO MY TALENTS!” He shouted as soon as he had pried the window open enough to practically hang out of it.

You and Colin rushed to him, pulling him back inside to sit on the seat.

“Benedict, it’s the middle of the night,” you laughed, trying to shush him as he settled into the seat with a goofy grin.

“My flower, sit with me,” Benedict laughed, not giving you much of a choice as he pulled you down between his open legs, hugging you tight against his chest as he peppered kisses along your face.

You were glad it was only Eloise and Colin present in the room because, in front of any other audience, this type of affection would be deemed highly inappropriate.

You giggled at his antics, taking his hand in yours and ignoring the conversation Eloise and Colin were having.

“I got in,” Benedict whispered, intertwining his fingers with yours, looking out of the window and resting his head on top of yours.

“I am so proud of you, my darling,” you whispered back, settling comfortably against him.

“I may finally be a real artist.”

“You already are a real artist… but now you have the privilege of painting in a classroom,” you laughed lightly, happy when you felt his own chest rumble beneath you with a chuckle.

“How shall I accept?” He mumbled to himself, “I am honoured to accept… your acceptance,” Benedict murmured, trying to sound important, waving his free hand in the air.

“You think it will last much longer?” Eloise spoke lowly to Colin, giving you a glance as you made eye contact.

“Well, devil if I know,” Colin replied.

“Colin Bridgerton! You better hope it won’t last till tomorrow!” You exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at him, your outburst completely ignored by Benedict, who only pulled you closer.

Colin only raised his hands in surrender, quickly bidding his goodnight before running from the room with Eloise in tow.

You rolled your eyes with a huff, settling back against Benedict.

“That brother of yours,” you murmured, shutting your eyes as Benedict slowly started caressing your arms.

“Are you comfortable, my flower? Not cold?” Benedict spoke softly, noting the goosebumps that rose on your arm - mistaking it to be from the cold rather than simply from his touch.

“Not at all… I am quite comfortable, my love.”

Benedict hummed in response, the fresh air from the open window helping in his path to sobering up.

“How are you feeling?” You asked softly, turning your head to the side, snuggling closer to him as the day's stresses finally slipped away from you.

“Happy,” he sighed, a giddy smile still on his lips, “I have been accepted to a real school of art… I have the most wonderful family… and the most perfect, adoring wife. How could I be anything but utterly happy and content.”

“I must ask Colin whatever was in that powder because it has made my husband soft,” you giggled.

“Ah, my flower, I believe we are both aware that I needn’t any tea or powder to make me soft,” Benedict murmured with a smirk, leaving a long kiss to your hairline, looking back out at the stars.

“I only tease… - I quite like your soft nature,” you sighed softly.

“And I quite like your teasing nature.”

You cracked your eyes back open, tilting your head up to look at his face. His eyes were focused on the twinkling night sky, a red flush tinted over his cheeks - he looked ethereal. You couldn’t help yourself leaning up to press a kiss to his jaw, crushing your body against his.

“Tell me of the stars, my love,” you murmured against his hot skin, “only if your head is clear enough for it?”

Small crinkles on his skin formed from his smile; you could feel them against your lips. Benedict’s hands moved from your arms to the front of your body, caging you against him as he drew gentle shapes on your stomach on top of your nightgown.

“I believe my head is clear enough to tell my star about the stars,” he grinned.

“I thought I was your flower?”

“My flower, my star… my angel… my sweet girl… - you are so many things to me. There is not enough time in the world for me to tell you precisely what you are… I can only offer you my heart in hopes it is enough.”

You turned, grasping at his face with gentle hands, turning his gaze on you. Your eyes were glassy with tears as you stared at him - completely speechless.

“It is more than enough,” you sniffled, stroking his warm cheek with the soft pad of your thumb, “you, Benedict Bridgerton, are my entire world, and I love you.”

Tears welled in his eyes as well, his eyes wide and shining. You realised you must have looked quite ridiculous - a husband and a wife crying on the windowsill over how deeply you loved one another - so you laughed lightly, a small tear trickling down your cheek.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he breathed, smiling as a tear ran down his cheek as well, leaning his forehead against yours.

You placed a kiss on his lips, scratching gently at the skin on the back of his neck, closing your eyes in contentment.

“I love you.. even when you drink Colin’s powder and act ridiculous in front of your mother.”

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A/n: to be notified of future work follow @saintlike78slibrary and turn on notifications

[storiesforallfandoms]

by the lake ~ benedict bridgerton;bridgerton

word count: 2675

request?: no

description: in which she flees from a pushy suitor, only to find a lovely alternative painting by the lake

pairing: benedict bridgerton x female!reader

warnings: period accurate stuff, use of y/n

masterlist (one, two, three)

Whenever perpetual bachelors would moan about the courting season, I couldn't help but laugh. Sure, eager mamas trying to force a connection with their daughters could be tiring, but as a man it was fine to turn down potential wives and live a life of bachelordom. For women, that wasn't an option. The moment we come of age we are expected to find a husband and bare children. If we don't, we are spinsters that essentially become outcasted from society.

Not to mention that some male suitors can be just as pushy as the eager mamas.

One example of this was Lord Windsor, a middle aged Lord who had gone a number of seasons without finding a wife and had gotten noticeably desperate. Lord Windsor was okay on the eyes, but not overly handsome. He came from a prominent family, but was the youngest of the three brothers. And, the worst of all, he had the personality of a wet napkin. He was awkward and bored anyone he spoke to to tears.

And I was his current victim.

I was attending an event in town with my family when Lord Windsor's attention fell on me. He began talking to me - or rather at me - not noticing how desperately I was trying to escape him. I kept trying to make eye contact with anyone who passed by to try and silently ask for help. Some gave me a sympathetic look as they passed by, while others merely snickered at my misery.

I was becoming overwhelmed with his persistence. I would do anything to get away from him.

In a moment of desperation, I said, "Can you get me a drink? I am parched."

He seemed almost perturbed by my request, but went off to get me a drink anyways. Once he had mostly disappeared into the crowd, I turned and ran off. I had no idea where I was going, but I needed to get away. Not only from Lord Windsor, but from any other desperate and pushy suitor who would try and approach me.

I found myself stumbling down a trail and coming out by a lake. It was peaceful - the water bright blue and calm, and the area was empty. Well, almost empty. There was a gentleman sat facing the water, with a canvas set up in front of him, painting a lovely portrait of the calming lake. I gasped as he turned and I recognized who it was: Benedict Bridgerton.

"I-I am so sorry," I said. "I did not realize - "

"No need to apologize," he said, smiling at me. Oh my, his smile was so handsome. "This is a public place. I lay no claim to it. And I will not complain about the company of a beautiful lady."

I felt my cheeks light on fire at his compliment.

He glanced behind me, as if expecting someone else to be there. I realized then that by fleeing Lord Windsor, I had also left behind my mother, who was supposed to be my chaperon to the event. Now I was here, alone with a man, far away from the event. It would be a scandal if anyone found out, and the Bridgerton family had had enough scandals in the last year or so.

"I should go," I said, turning to leave.

"I don't mind some company," he said. "And perhaps a lady should not wander on her own."

"I suppose not."

Benedict gestured to a nearby bench. I sat down and watched as he returned to his painting. It was a truly beautiful creation. Better than some of the portraits mama had on her wall. It was a perfect recreation of the scene in front of him.

I had heard about Benedict's artistic abilities. The whole Ton had. It was quite the surprise when Benedict Bridgerton, one of the most sought after bachelors in the Ton, had decided to pursue art instead of a wife. Many hopeful debutantes thought that he would only do it for a short period of time before finally taking a wife. I could still hear mama ranting about it after reading that morning's Whistledown. But watching him now, I could see his talent and passion for the art. I didn't blame him for not wanting to give this up just to get married when he clearly had no desire to take a wife.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?"

I jumped when his voice broke the silence. He turned to smirk at me and I felt my face light on fire, as if he had caught me doing something wrong.

"I was attending the event in town but...I needed some space," I explained.

"Ah, I understand. Those events can be tiresome. Many people either gossiping or trying too hard to remain in some arbitrary social circles."

"You are one to speak when your family is part of the most respected social circle."

"I did call it arbitrary, did I not?"

I chuckled and nodded. "Yes, I suppose you are right. My biggest plight are the suitors, though."

Benedict paused with his hand raised to his canvas. He lowered the brush back into the paint to look at me again. "You are unmarried?"

I nodded. "Not for the lack of trying on my mother's part. I just haven't met anyone that I click with yet. Unfortunately, the marriage pool is becoming very shallow. I was being pursued by Lord Windsor today."

Benedict cringed. "Oh, I definitely understand your need to get away then. Lord Windsor is...a man...to say the least."

"That is one way to describe him."

He smiled. I watched him run his brush through the cup of water before drying it in a cloth and standing. I watched as he began to pack away his painting supplies. "What are you doing?"

"I have a carriage waiting by the road. I am going to bring my art supplied back there, then I will walk with you around the lake before returning you to your family in the town." I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off by saying, "I was finished with my painting anyways, and I must make an appearance there, no matter how brief it is. I would not mind arriving with such a beautiful lady on my arm."

He knew exactly how to shut me up and he had only met me moments prior. My mouth shut instantly and, for a third time in such a short period of time, I felt like I was blushing. Benedict smiled at me again, almost triumphant, before going to his carriage with his art supplies. I remained seated on the bench until his returned, in which he extended his arm to me and I took it.

Our sides were pressed firmly together as we began to walk. My arm, hip, nearly my legs if it were not for my dress, were pressed against his. The parts that were touching started to feel warm and fuzzy. I wondered for a moment if there was something wrong with me, until I looked up at Benedict and his eyes met mine, and suddenly that warm and fuzzy feeling was running through my entire body.

Of course I always knew Benedict Bridgerton was attractive. I had eyes that could see his beauty, and I had ears that could hear all the gossip from other mamas and debutantes about him. But being here, with my arm laced through his and our bodies so close together, was much different than observing him from afar.

"How many seasons have you been through?" he asked, breaking me from my thoughts.

"This is my third," I responded. He gave me a look that made me giggle. "What?"

"You were not married in your first season?"

"I believe that is what I said, yes. Why is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, forgive me for sounding like a broken record, but you are incredibly beautiful. If I know anything from my years observing the marriage markets, it is that beautiful women usually have a very easy time finding a husband."

"I am flattered by your compliments, and you would be right that I had no shortage of suitors asking to court me, but the thing is is that I am looking for something that many seem to think is impossible: a love match."

Benedict scoffed. "Impossible? I have three siblings that would argue with you there."

"They are exceptions, not the rules. Of course there are people who marry for love, but there are still others who only believe in marrying for looks and for titles. And it seems there are very few suitors who are looking for a love match. Most of them just want a beautiful lady who they can take to bed and produce heirs with, and once that job is done they will return to the brothels."

"You would get along exceptionally with my sister, Eloise."

I smiled. I squeezed his arm a little as I asked, "Why have you not married then, Mr. Bridgerton?"

"Please, call me Benedict," he said. "Which reminds me, I have no caught your name yet."

"(Y/N)," I told him. "And do not avoid my question."

"I would never!" he said in mock offense. "My answer is just more selfish than yours."

"That does not make me want to hear it any less."

He chuckled. "I have just never had the desire to take a wife. My older brother, Anthony, is the Viscount, he was the one expected to find a wife and produce little Viscount heirs. Daphne was the first daughter to come of age to join the season, and her love match has made our mother much more intent on having similar experiences for my other sisters. Colin, Gregory, and I are not under the same pressure as our other siblings. Colin had his travels, Gregory is far too young to consider marriage as it is, and I have my art. I thought Colin and I were in agreement about our thoughts on marriage, but it seems he has changed his mind."

"Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Changed your mind?"

Benedict stopped walking a moment, pulling me to a halt next to him. He looked thoughtful for a moment before he said, "I have not decided."

We continued to walk in silence for a while. It was a beautiful day, and the lake was an ideal place to be. The water shimmered under the bright sun, still calm without a single ripple, and the sky was clear without a single cloud. It was a beautiful day, and I was walking with Benedict Bridgerton. It truly could not be a better day.

"Your painting was beautiful, by the way," I told him. "I understand why you would choose art. You have quite the talent for it."

"Thank you," he said. I could see a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. One that was genuine, maybe a bit flustered at the compliment.

"What do you do with your art? Do you sell it or hang it yourself?"

"Oh no, my mother usually takes whatever I paint and hangs it around the estate. I think most of the artwork in our house is all mine now. She loves to gush over what I have painted, almost embarrassingly so."

"Well, I would love to have one for my home, if you do not mind having another client."

He looked down at me. "Really?"

I nodded. "I believe your painting to be more beautiful than some of my own mama's choices of artwork. But keep that between us."

He smiled. "I will not tell a soul."

We began walking up a path that led back to the town, and suddenly I could heard the bustling of the event. The light and happy feeling I had since running into Benedict had slowly began to fade into dread as I realized what our arrival at the event meant. With any luck, my mother would want to leave the second she found me and I would not have to endure Lord Windsor for any longer.

I expected to be surrounded the second we came into view. I thought, for some reason, that mama would know of my disappearance and would be worried sick. I expected lots of questioning, and then for her to whisk me away quickly where she would likely continue to question me at home.

To my surprise, no one approached us at first. No one even noticed our arrival for a few moments, until one person glanced at Benedict and I as we walked past, and then did a double take to make sure they had seen correctly. Suddenly, there were dozens of prying eyes and hushed voices, with us at the centre of all their attention.

"I told you," Benedict whispered in my ear. "All gossiping."

"Seems we may find ourselves in the next issue of Whistledown," I said.

Benedict gave me a playful smile and said, "May as well make that count then."

He led me through the crowds of people, all whispering and watching us go. I was beginning to feel a little insecure under all their watchful eyes, until I noticed Lord Windsor as one of the many who was watching us. His face looked sullen as he watched us go by, holding two cups in his hand - he still had the drink I sent him to get. The thought of him standing around with it in his hand this whole time made me giggle to myself, and then I found myself standing up straighter and leaning into Benedict more. Lord Windsor seemed to have gotten the message loud and clear.

I found my mama with a group of other mothers, and when we began to approach they all fell silent. Mama looked at us and her eyes widened with shock.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she said, looking between myself and Benedict. "How lovely it is to see you."

"I hope you do not mind my borrowing of your daughter, my lady," Benedict said. "She was most excellent company for a walk around the lake nearby."

Mama looked to me like she was trying to figure out why I had left without telling her. I merely smiled at her, mentally willing her to leave that question until we returned home.

"Of course I do not mind at all, Mr. Bridgerton," mama said. "Although, next time I do hope there shall be a chaperone with you."

I opened my mouth to tell her there would be no next time, but Benedict cut me off by saying, "Of course. I was hoping to call on her tomorrow afternoon, if that is alright with you."

Mama seemed just as dazed as I was. She managed to stutter out an agreement, which amused Benedict to no end. She turned back to her friends as Benedict and I stepped away to speak once more.

"You are giving her some false hope," I told him.

"What do you mean?"

"You are making her believe that you are going to court me. She will be more heartbroken than I when she realizes that is not the case."

"Who said I do not intend to court you?"

It was my turn to be at a loss for words. I tried to form a coherent sentence, but I just stood there with my mouth open, no doubt looking tremendously stupid.

"You seem like a lovely lady, (Y/N)," Benedict said when I could not find the words to say. "I truly did enjoy our time together today. I would like to spend more time with you, if you would allow it. And I must bring that painting to you at some point, remember?"

I nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would very much like to spend more time with you as well."

His smile was bright and genuine once again. I couldn't help but smile back at him. "Perfect. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon then."

"Yes. I suppose you shall."

[marie-swriting]

Choix - Benedict Bridgerton

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

Résumé : Tu es amoureuse de Benedict, mais tu dois épouser un autre homme.

Warning : angst, fin heureuse, sentiment d'être emprisonnée, dites-moi si j'en ai loupés d'autres.

Nombre de mots : 4.5k

Version anglaise

Chanson qui m'a inspiré : Speak Now (Taylor's Version) par Taylor Swift

Tes yeux grands ouverts posés sur la bague face à toi, tu restes bouche bée. Tu savais que ce jour arriverait. Ce terrible jour où le Duc William Edmonstone mettrait un genou à terre et te poserait la question qui ressemble à une condamnation. Tu relèves les yeux et regardes autour de toi dans la salle de bal. Tous les invités de la famille du Duc attendent ta réponse avec impatience. Tu as l'impression que tout le monde savait que ce bal était spécifiquement pour cette occasion.

En posant tes yeux sur ta droite, tu vois ta mère. Elle hoche la tête avec vigueur. Tu baisses la tête à nouveau sur l’homme en face de toi avant de forcer un sourire.

-Je serais honorée d’être votre femme.

À ta phrase, tout le monde vous applaudit. Content, William se lève et te passe la bague au doigt. Il embrasse ta main gauche, sachant que c’est le seul contact approprié qu’il peut te donner. Ton fiancé t’abandonne pour aller parler avec ses amis pendant que tu restes sur place, paralysée. Tu n’arrives pas à croire que tu viens de prononcer ta propre sentence. Tu n’as qu’une envie : fuir les lieux le plus rapidement possible. Cependant, l’arrivée des jeunes femmes de la société t’en empêchent. Elles commencent à te parler de mariage, décoration, vœux de mariage et même bébés ! Tu les écoutes d’une oreille distraite et réponds une fois de temps en temps pour être polie. La bague sur ton annulaire pèse de plus en plus lourd au fil des secondes.

Tout le reste de la soirée, tu restes dans ce sentiment d’indifférence, ignorant comment réagir. Tu devrais être heureuse d’avoir enfin eu une demande en mariage, mais tu ne peux t’empêcher de ressentir de la tristesse. Tu aurais aimé qu’au bout de la bague, il y ait un autre homme.

En rentrant du bal, tu continues à agir comme une marionnette jusqu’à ce que tu arrives dans ta chambre. À peine ta porte fermée, tu lâches un soupir. Tu t’approches de ta coiffeuse quand ta servante entre dans ta chambre. Elle t’invite à t'asseoir en face de ton miroir pour commencer à défaire ta coiffure. Elle enlève les deux premières pinces quand ta mère fait son apparition. Elle invite ta servante à vous laisser seules. Ta mère prend place derrière toi et continue à défaire tes cheveux. Tu ignores la raison pour laquelle ta mère est venue te voir, mais tu sais qu’elle va te le faire savoir dans peu de temps. Quand tes cheveux sont enfin lâchés, ta mère met ses mains sur tes épaules et te regarde à travers le miroir.

-Tu n’as pas l’air ravie, mon enfant.

-Je le suis, mère. C’est juste que je n’arrive pas à croire que je vais enfin me marier, dis-tu sur un faux ton joyeux.

-Vous avez des doutes. Nul besoin de le nier. J’ai été à votre place autrefois. Dites-moi ce qui vous tracasse, t’invite ta mère d’une voix douce.

-Je ne suis pas sûre d’être faite pour le Duc, avoues-tu en évitant son regard.

-Que voulez-vous dire ? Vous avez été élévée toute votre vie pour épouser un homme de son rang.

-Son rang est-il si important ?

-Bien sûr que oui ! répond ta mère comme si c’était une évidence. Vous ne pouvez pas vous permettre d’épouser un homme dont le rang est inférieur au nôtre. Le Duc est parfait. De plus, il est un homme gentil et il saura vous donner une vie décente.

-Mais, je ne l’aime pas, mère.

-L’amour ! s’exclame-t-elle en levant les yeux au ciel. L’amour n’est pas important dans un mariage. Vous devez choisir votre survie avant de penser à quelque chose aussi futile que l’amour.

-J’aurais aimé avoir une union faite dans l’amour, insistes-tu en baissant le regard.

Ta mère pose un doigt sous ton menton et t’invite à relever la tête vers elle.

-Ne vous inquiétez pas pour l’amour, vous le découvrirez quand vous aurez vos enfants.

-N’aimez-vous donc pas père ?

-Je tiens beaucoup à votre père. Et vous tiendrez beaucoup au Duc un jour également. Y/N, trouver l’amour dans un mariage est quelque chose de rare. Le peu de personnes qui le trouvent sont chanceux.

-Les Bridgertons semblent être une famille très chanceuse alors, murmures-tu.

-Tous ces doutes sont à cause du second fils Bridgerton, n’est-ce pas ? questionne ta mère en arquant un sourcil. Peu importe s’il est d’une bonne famille, il est le second fils et même s’il était l’ainé, il ne serait qu’un Vicomte. Vous ne pouvez pas continuer ce qu’il y a entre vous deux.

-Je ne sais pas de quoi vous voulez parler, nies-tu en éclaircissant ta gorge.

-Mon enfant, je vois les regards que vous vous lancez.

-Mère, je vous promets que…

-Je sais que rien de grave ne s’est passé, t’interrompt-elle avec un sourire. Je n’ai rien dit, car j’ai confiance en vous. Je savais que le moment venu, vous feriez le bon choix, autrement dit : épouser le Duc. Cependant, vous devez cesser de lui parler, ordonne-t-elle d’une voix plus ferme. Je l’ai remarqué rapidement et vous devriez vous réjouir que j’ai été la seule à le voir. Si Lady Whistledown venait à en parler, cela pourrait ruiner votre mariage. Est-ce clair, Y/N ?

-Oui, mère, soupires-tu.

Satisfaite de ta réaction, ta mère embrasse ta joue et quitte la pièce. Tes yeux se remplissent de larmes que tu te dépêches de faire disparaître quand ta servante revient pour t’aider à enlever ta robe de bal.

Depuis la demande, tu n’arrives pas à dormir. Tes nuits sont occupées par tes pensées. Tes peurs sont en train de prendre le dessus, malgré les tentatives de ta mère pour te rassurer. Comme elle te l’a confirmé bon nombres de fois, tu as bien fait d’accepter la demande, le Duc Edmonstone est un bon parti et seulement trois ans plus âgé que toi. Il est également bel homme et cultivé. Tu devrais te sentir chanceuse. Tu aurais pu te retrouver avec un homme plus vieux et irrespectueux. Oui, le Duc saura te donner une vie décente. Cependant, le Duc n’est pas le seul souci en tête ; tu ne veux pas que ta vie change. Tu ne veux pas avoir à quitter ta maison d’enfance pour un lieu inconnu avec un homme qui ne s’intéresse pas à ton esprit. Enfin, tu ne veux pas avoir à dire adieu à Benedict.

Vous vous êtes rencontrés il y a quelques mois en arrière et vous avez tout de suite accrochés. Tu n’as jamais ressenti ça auparavant. Tu as l’impression que l’on te comprend enfin. Votre passion pour l’art a beaucoup aidé à développer votre relation. Il n’est pas rare qu’à quelque événement social, tu t’échappes pour le retrouver dans un lieu plus discret. Il ne s’est jamais rien passé de scandaleux, comme promis à ta mère, sauf si on considère tomber amoureux comme tel. Benedict ne t’a jamais fait la cour officiellement car ton père a toujours répété que sa fille n’épouserait jamais un homme qui n’est pas, au minimum, un Comte et encore moins si ce n’est pas un aîné. Autant dire que votre relation était condamnée avant de commencer, mais ça ne vous a pas empêché de vous rapprocher.

Maintenant que tu dois te marier, tu dois laisser Benedict derrière toi. Ta mère ne cesse de te rappeler que tu dois le faire le plus rapidement possible. Tu as beaucoup réfléchi à la façon dont tu allais lui dire. Tu as fini par décider que c’est mieux d’aller droit au but. Tu ne veux pas te faire plus souffrir alors c’est inutile de faire un discours tragique pour annoncer tes adieux.

Le prochain vernissage te semble être le moment parfait pour le faire. Tu es sûre qu’il sera là. Généralement, Benedict évite les bals. Il fait parfois une apparition, mais seulement pour pouvoir te voir dans une belle robe et sortir discrètement avec toi pour discuter de vos ambitions dans la vie. Par conséquent, les événements liés à l’art sont les seules occasions où tu es sûre de le retrouver.

Arrivée à la galerie, tu marches doucement, admirant les tableaux avec attention. Ta mère n’est pas très loin de toi, même si elle reste à une certaine distance pour permettre à Benedict de venir te parler.

Tu arrives dans la deuxième salle où peu de personnes se trouvent. Tu regardes la peinture représentant une forêt en pleine journée d’été quand Benedict apparaît à tes côtés. En le voyant, tu joues avec tes gants, ayant besoin d’évacuer ton stress. À tes côtés, Benedict a un sourire alors qu’il regarde l'œuvre d’art. Tu tournes la tête et au loin, ta mère te fait signe de te dépêcher. Tu soupires avant d’éclaircir ta gorge et d’éviter le regard de Benedict.

-Benedict, nous devons arrêter de nous voir.

-A cause de votre mariage ? demande Benedict après une longue seconde de silence.

-Je ne peux pas risquer qu’un scandale éclate maintenant.

-Bien sûr. Félicitations pour vos fiançailles, déclare-t-il sans émotion.

Sans épiloguer, Benedict ne jette un coup d'œil aux autres tableaux et part dans une autre salle. Tu sens tes yeux te piquent, mais tu n’y prêtes pas attention. Tu as fait le plus compliqué. Tu ne peux pas pleurer maintenant ou les gens se demanderont pourquoi tu es dans cet état après avoir échangé quelques mots avec Benedict. Tu clignes rapidement des yeux et quand tu es sûre que tu ne vas pas pleurer, tu vas retrouver ta mère. Elle passe son bras dans le tien pour te réconforter.

Benedict fait officiellement parti de ton passé de jeune fille. Tu dois, à présent, te concentrer sur ton futur de jeune mariée.

Les deux mois suivants sont rythmés par les préparatifs de ton mariage. Le Duc a insisté pour faire un mariage rapidement. On t’a souvent demandé ton avis pour la cérémonie, mais tu as fini par laisser ta mère s’occuper de tout. Tu ne veux pas de ce mariage alors quelle importance si la cérémonie est à ton goût ?

Tu n’as pas revu Benedict depuis et ceci n’aide pas ta morosité. Tu aimerais tout abandonner et le retrouver, mais tu ne peux pas faire ce choix alors tu continues à te préparer à ta nouvelle vie. Toute ta vie, on t’a préparé pour être l’épouse parfaite, mais maintenant, ta mère passe à la vitesse au-dessus. Etant donné que tu es une future Duchesse, elle s’assure que tu ne feras pas une erreur. Elle veut que tu sois parfaite. Si elle te laisse avoir un défaut, elle a peur que ton futur époux décide de t’abandonner. Ces derniers temps, la pression te sert plus que ton corset. Tu n’arrives plus à respirer et tu as l’impression de t’être évanouie depuis un moment, mais que personne ne fait attention.

Ton dernier jour en tant que fiancée passe à la vitesse de la lumière. En un clin d'œil, la nuit est tombée et tu es dans ton lit à fixer ta robe de mariée. Tu lui lances un regard noir, sachant tout ce qu’elle représente. C’est une prison décorée de tissu blanc. Objectivement, la robe est magnifique, Madame Delacroix s’est surpassée, mais tu la détestes.

Tu continues à fixer l’objet de ta peur quand tu entends quelque chose cogner contre ta fenêtre. Tu fronces les sourcils, mais ne te lèves pas. Quand le bruit recommence, tu quittes ton lit, lances un dernier regard noir à ta robe et tu ouvres ta fenêtre. En bas, dans ton jardin, tu découvres Benedict. Sa cravate est défaite, les premiers boutons de sa chemise sont ouverts et ses cheveux sont décoiffés à cause du nombre de fois où il a passé sa main dedans.

-Benedict, que fais-tu ici ? Tu dois partir, ordonnes-tu en tentant de ne pas parler trop fort.

-S’il te plaît, je dois te parler.

-On ne peut pas te voir ici. Si Lady Whistledown…

-Accorde-moi cinq minutes, te coupe-t-il avec un regard suppliant.

Tu le scrutes, pesant le pour et le contre. Il t’a énormément manqué, mais lui parler serait une erreur. Toutefois, tes sentiments pour Benedict sont plus forts que ta morale.

-Ne bouge pas.

Tu refermes la fenêtre et te saisis de ta robe de chambre. Avant de sortir de ta chambre, tu te regardes dans le miroir. Tu replaces quelques petites mèches de tes cheveux et ouvres ta porte. Tu regardes à droite et à gauche avant de quitter les lieux sur la pointe des pieds. La lumière de la lune te donne assez de visibilité pour descendre les escaliers sans tomber.

Tu arrives dans ton jardin où tu retrouves Benedict en train de faire les cent pas. Quand il te voit, il s’avance pour te prendre dans ses bras et tout de suite, tu fais un pas en arrière. En remarquant ton geste, Benedict garde ses distances et ses bras retombent le long de ses jambes.

-Tu ne peux pas rester ici, Benedict. Je me marie demain, rappelles-tu en croisant tes bras sur ta poitrine.

-Je sais, mais demain, je n’y serai pas et j’avais besoin de te voir.

-Pourquoi ne viens-tu pas ? Ta famille a été invitée, questionnes-tu, les sourcils froncés.

-Ta chère mère m’a rendu une petite visite de courtoisie et m’a fait comprendre que je devais rester loin de toi.

En entendant cette information, tu aimerais ressentir de la colère pour ta mère, mais tu es reconnaissante. Tu sais que si Benedict était là, tu ne serais pas capable d’épouser le Duc. Toutefois, avoir Benedict dans ton jardin la veille de ton mariage n’est sûrement pas mieux.

-Cependant, je ne pouvais pas te laisser épouser le Duc sans te parler une dernière fois, ajoute-t-il.

-De quoi veux-tu parler ?

-Y/N, ne l’épouse pas, annonce-t-il de but en blanc. Demain, ne dis pas “oui” et n’échange pas un vœu. Tu mérites d’épouser un autre homme que lui.

-De quel droit oses-tu dire ça ? Le Duc est un gentleman. Il saura me traiter comme il faut, te vexes-tu.

-Mais l’aimes-tu ?

-Je tiens à lui, réponds-tu après un silence.

-Donc, tu ne l’aimes pas, précise Benedict, connaissant la vérité. Tu ne peux pas épouser un homme que tu n’aimes pas. Tu mérites d’être avec quelqu’un que tu aimes et qui t’aime en retour.

-L’amour n’est pas important. Je dois penser à ce qui est le mieux pour moi et le Duc est la meilleure option, argumentes-tu, les mots de ta mère tournant dans ta tête.

-La meilleure option selon qui ?

-Je n’ai pas d’autre choix, Benedict. Je ne peux pas me permettre d’être compliquée. Je n’ai pas le luxe de dire à ma mère que je veux attendre avant de me marier ou de me concentrer sur mon art. Je ne peux pas me permettre de faire ce choix, contrairement à toi.

-Il n’est pas encore trop tard pour que tu en fasses un autre.

-Tu fais preuve d’aucun égard. Tu ne peux pas venir ici, la veille de mon mariage, et me dire de ne pas épouser le Duc, rétorques-tu les larmes aux yeux.

-Si tu l’aimais, je me serais tu, mais ce n’est pas le cas.

-Et que proposes-tu à la place ? Parce que si j’abandonne le Duc à l’autel, je me retrouve sans option.

-Je serai là pour toi, t’assure-t-il, comme si c’était une solution miracle.

-Cela ne changera rien. Mon père n’acceptera jamais qu’on se marie.

-On pourrait fuir ensemble ?

-Tu ne peux pas être sérieux, soupires-tu en levant les yeux au ciel. As-tu pensé au scandale que ça causerait ? La réputation de ta famille serait détruite et tes sœurs doivent se marier également.

-Cela en vaudrait la peine. Je t’aime, Y/N et je sais que tu m’aimes aussi.

-Ces faits ne changent rien à ma situation. Demain, je me marierai et je serai enfin ce pour quoi on m’a toujours élevé : une épouse fidèle.

-Fidèle ! rit jaune Benedict. Et tu crois que ton cher futur mari a eu la même éducation ? Le Duc semble être un gentleman, mais il continue à voir d’autres femmes et il continuera après votre mariage. Il n’a aucune considération pour toi. Il veut juste une épouse. Il ne peut pas te donner ce que tu souhaites réellement

-Et tu crois que je ne le sais pas ? Je suis au courant de ce fait sauf que le monde est ainsi et je ne peux rien y changer, affirmes-tu, désespérée.

-N’y a-t-il donc rien que je puisse dire pour te convaincre ?

-Mon destin est tracé depuis longtemps. Tu dois me laisser tranquille.

-Très bien, mais avant, commence-t-il en se rapprochant de toi et tu le laisses faire, est-ce que tu m’autoriserais à t’embrasser ? J’ai envie de le faire depuis notre première discussion, ajoute-t-il en posant sa main sur ta joue, et j’aimerais le faire avant que tu ne sois à un autre homme.

-Benedict, c’est inapproprié, objectes-tu sans bouger.

-Si ton futur mari a le droit d’être avec une autre femme actuellement, je pense que tu as le droit de faire le choix d’embrasser quelqu’un que tu aimes réellement avant que ça ne soit trop tard, murmure Benedict, mais tu restes sceptique. Peu importe si tu acceptes de me faire cet honneur, saches que tu n’entendras plus parler de moi après, je te le promets.

Tu regardes Benedict ses yeux bleus, essayant de resister à la tentation de goûter à ses lèvres. Les mots de ta mère et la peur de te retrouver en première page de la prochaine édition de Lady Whistledown sont les seules choses qui te retiennent. Toutefois, quand la deuxième main de Benedict touche la tienne, ton esprit ne pense plus qu’à une chose alors tu lui prends sa main avant de chuchoter :

-J’accepte.

Avec un sourire, Benedict se penche et pose ses lèvres délicatement sur les tiennes. Tu réponds instantanément à son baiser. Tu souhaites l’embrasser depuis le moment où tu as posé tes yeux sur lui. Comme tu t’y attendais, ses lèvres sont douces et se moulent parfaitement aux tiennes. Vous vous embrassez tendrement pendant quelques minutes. Quand tu brises le baiser, tu gardes tes yeux fermés pendant une seconde, appréciant ce moment, ce dernier choix que tu as fait.

Sans ajouter autre chose, tu abandonnes Benedict et retournes chez toi alors qu’il fait chemin inverse. La culpabilité devrait te ronger de l’intérieur, seule la joie explose dans ton ventre. Tu garderas toujours ce moment en tête et tu sais qu’il nourira beaucoup de tes nuits quand tu seras aux côtés de ton mari. Tu ne regrettes pas d’avoir embrassé Benedict, car, pour une fois dans ta vie, tu as pensé à toi. En arrivant dans ta chambre, ta robe de mariée semble te juger, mais tu ne la considères pas et t’allonges sur ton lit. Au même moment, la joie quitte ton corps, non pas pour des remords, mais pour de la tristesse ; tu ne revivras plus jamais ce moment. Tu ne ressentiras plus jamais ce sentiment.

Quand le soleil se lève le lendemain, ton ventre se tord en un instant. Pendant toute ta préparation, tu vis une expérience hors du corps. Ton corps est présent et pomponné, mais ton esprit est perdu dans le souvenir de la nuit d’avant. Ce souvenir est plus agréable que ta réalité.

Quand tu arrives face aux portes de la chapelle, tu retrouves enfin conscience. Tu sais que ce moment est ton dernier moment en tant que Y/N Y/L/N. Tu prends de profondes inspirations alors que ton père arrive à tes côtés. Il te fait un sourire réconfortant en voyant ton état.

-N’ayez pas peur, ma chère. Vous êtes prête. Toute votre vie a été faite pour ce moment.

Tu ne lui réponds pas, craignant de vomir à cause du stress. Tu ne comptes plus le nombre de fois où tu as attendu cette phrase depuis que tu fais partie de la société. C'est censé te faire te sentir mieux et pourtant, ça te donne plus l'impression d'être prise au piège.

Tu ne réponds pas à ton père, trop effrayée de lui vomir dessus à cause du stress. Ton père s'assure que ton voile soit mis correctement sur ta tête puis il prend ton bras et t’invite à entrer dans la chapelle. La musique commence et pour toi, elle ne sonne pas comme une chanson de mariage, mais comme une marche funèbre. Tu descends doucement l’allée, ton cœur battant fort dans tes oreilles et tes fleurs pratiquement étranglés par ton emprise. En marchant, tu regardes les invités, voulant à tout prix éviter de poser ton regard sur ton futur mari. En jetant un coup d'œil sur le côté droit de l’allée, tu découvres la famille Bridgerton. Le yeux remplis de tendresse de Violet Bridgerton t’aident à te sentir un peu plus sereine, même si tu préférais toujours fuir. En examinant avec plus d’attention la famille Bridgerton, tes yeux trouvent Benedict. Tu te retiens de montrer ton trouble en le voyant. Il n’était pas censé être là. Tu ne comprends pas ce qu’il fait ici. Il ne peut pas être là. Tu dois te marier. Ne voulant pas être plus perturbée, tu oses enfin regarder ton futur mari. Il est beau dans son costume, mais tu ne peux t’empêcher de penser que Benedict est plus élégant.

Quand tu arrives à l’autel, ton père t’embrasse le front avant de te laisser retrouver le Duc. Dès que ton père abandonne ton bras, tu veux le rattraper et le supplier de ne pas t’abandonner. Tu n’en fais rien. Resserant ton emprise sur ton bouquet, tu lances un sourire forcé au Duc. La musique s’arrête et l’archevêque annonce aux invités qu’ils peuvent s’asseoir. Quand ils sont enfin assis et que la cérémonie va enfin commencer, les larmes commencent doucement à te monter aux yeux.

-Mes biens chèrs frères, nous voici réunis aujourd’hui, devant Dieu et en présence de cette assemblée, pour unir cet homme et cette femme par les liens sacrés du mariage, déclare-t-il solennellement.

Le mot “mariage” résonne dans ta tête et tu n’arrives plus à écouter la voix de l’archevêque. Tu peux seulement regarder l’action se dérouler jusqu’à ce que tu presses un doigt contre une épine de ton bouquet pour te ramener à la réalité. Tu ne peux rester dans ton monde, tu dois faire face à ta réalité. Malgré toi, tu regardes furtivement Benedict avant de poser tes yeux sur l'homme en face de toi à nouveau. Au même moment où tu es de nouveau présente dans la chapelle, tu entends l’archevêque s'exclamer :

-Si quelqu’un veut s’opposer à cette union, qu’il parle maintenant ou se taise à jamais.

Après la phrase de l’archevêque, un silence prend place pendant une seconde et tu as peur qu’on puisse entendre les battements rapides de ton cœur. Tu ne serais pas surprise de le retrouver hors de ta poitrine.

Aucune protestation ne venant, l’archevêque ouvre la bouche pour reprendre la cérémonie quand ton prénom retentit dans la chapelle. Tous les regards perdus, le tien inclus, se posent au même endroit, sur Benedict, debout avec un regard brisé, mais déterminé.

-Y/N, je sais que je t’ai dit que je te laisserais tranquille, mais je ne peux pas, commence Benedict avec des mains tremblantes. Tu dois m’écouter, ne l’épouse pas ! Tu ne devrais pas te sentir obligée de te marier avec un homme que tu n’aimes pas… Je t’aime trop pour te laisser faire cette erreur, ajoute-t-il et à ces mots, Anthony tente de le faire rasseoir, en vain. Si tu deviens sa femme, tu ne seras pas heureuse, tu seras misérable. Nous le savons tous les deux. Tu ne devrais pas épouser le mauvais homme. Tu m’as toujours dit que tu voulais marier un homme que tu aimes sincèrement et qui te soutient dans tout ce que souhaite entreprendre. Et cet homme n’est pas le Duc, poursuit Benedict et tu sens tes joues chauffer. Je ne dis pas que tu devrais m’épouser, si ce n’est pas ce que tu souhaites, même si je serais honorée d’être ton mari. S’il te plaît, ne deviens pas sa femme.

Suite à sa tirade, Benedict prend une profonde inspiration. Tout le monde le regarde horrifié, surtout son frère Anthony et tes parents, sans réagir, personne ne s’attendant à cette interruption. Benedict ne prête pas attention aux yeux posés sur lui, son regard est seulement fixé sur toi comme si vous étiez seuls dans la chapelle. Tu peux voir toute la tendresse et l’amour qu’il a pour toi.

De ton côté, tu le regardes choquée. L’intervention de Benedict a coupé court à ton anxiété grandissante et tu restes droite, sans bouger ne serait-ce qu'un cil. Tu n’oses pas dire un mot, ignorant ce qu’il pourrait se passer. Le moment reste suspendu pendant une minute avant qu’Anthony se lève et sorte son frère de la chapelle. Tes yeux suivent les deux frères Bridgerton jusqu’à ce qu’ils soient hors de ta vue.

Quand le calme est revenu, le Duc te prend la main pour ramener ton attention sur lui. Il te demande s’ils peuvent reprendre et pour simple réponse, tu laisses tomber ton bouquet de fleurs à tes pieds. Tu murmures une excuse rapide et remontes l’allée alors que ton père t’ordonne de revenir.

Une fois dehors, tu retrouves Anthony réprimandant Benedict. Sans t’en préoccuper, tu sautes dans les bras de l’homme que tu aimes. Surpris du geste, Anthony recule d’un pas. En comprenant la situation, l’aîné Bridgerton sait qu’il doit gérer une affaire délicate alors il retourne dans la chapelle. Tu continues à serrer Benedict dans tes bras pendant quelques secondes avant de poser tes mains sur ses joues et de l’embrasser avec passion. Benedict fait un pas en arrière, ne s’attendant pas à ton action, avant d’approfondir le baiser. Vous vous embrassez jusqu’à manquer d’air. Quand vous vous séparez, tu gardes tes mains de part et d’autre de son visage, des larmes de joie aux yeux.

-Tu as raison. Je ne peux pas l'épouser. Je sais que ce que je viens de faire aura des répercursions, mais peu m’importe. Je veux être avec toi. Je veux pouvoir choisir et je te choisis, toi. C’est toi que je veux à mes côtés. Je t’aime, Benedict, confesses-tu avec un sourire sincère pour la première fois depuis deux mois.

-Je t’aime tellement, répond-il en embrassant chastement tes lèvres.

-Je suis si contente que tu aies été là quand ils ont dit de parler maintenant. Je n’aurais pas eu la force de partir si tu n’étais pas intervenu.

-Je te l’avais dit que je serais là pour toi, rappelle Benedict en caressant ta joue. On devrait partir pendant qu’ils sont encore sous le choc.

Tu acquieces et Benedict te prend la main. Vous vous regardez avec amour et sans attendre plus longtemps, vous courrez hors des lieux alors que tu défais ton voile, le laissant tomber au sol. Vous savez que vous êtes dans une situation compliquée, mais vous vous en fichez. Vous vous aimez et vous allez vous marier et ce même si vous allez devoir le faire en allant dans une autre ville et subir les foudres de tes parents à votre retour. Vous vous êtes choisi, c’est tout ce qui compte.

Masterlist

Speak Now TV Masterlist

{Ceci est mon blog secondaire donc je répondrai aux commentaires sous le pseudo @marie-sworld}

[iwritefandomimagines]

NO LONGER IN DENIAL

masterlist

pairing: anthony bridgerton x reader, bestfriend!benedict bridgerton x reader

description: anthony has made no secret of not wanting to marry, despite it being more than clear that he is head over heels in love with you, his “best friend”. benedict decides he is fed up of anthony’s denial, and takes matters into his own hands — by inciting jealousy from his older brother.

warnings: angst, jealous!anthony cos i’m a sucker for him hehe, benedict being a shit stirrer who i adore, fluffiness at the end <3

“Lady Y/N is joining us for dinner this evening, I believe,” Benedict hummed, a small smirk gracing his face as the eldest Bridgerton’s head snapped up, “Mother told me she hopes to, anyway.”

Anthony watched as his sisters fussed excitedly over seeing you, for it had been at least a week since you had graced Aubrey Hall with your presence and they missed you dearly.

Anthony had too, of course, though he’d never admit it was for any reason beyond how highly regarded you were in his family and how much he enjoyed your friendship.

“I very much look forward to seeing her,” Benedict continued, still smirking devilishly, “Though I did have the pleasure of bumping into her as she left Modiste yesterday.”

Anthony furrowed his eyebrows at his brother, “You didn’t tell me that, brother.”

“Must I share every occasion I see Lady Y/N with you, Anthony?” he quipped in reply, crossing his arms over his chest as Colin stifled a laugh, well aware of what was going on, “One might think you jealous.”

“Jealous? You jest, brother. She is my closest friend, I am simply surprised you would not mention even in passing that you saw her,” Anthony spoke through gritted teeth, “Regardless, I look forward to seeing her.”

“Ah, perfect timing!” Francesca grinned as Lady Y/N’s arrival was announced moments later, and in you walked with a gloriously bright smile on your face, though this faltered as you saw the bitter look on Anthony’s face.

“Is everything alright, my Lord?” you asked shyly, taking a few steps towards Anthony, whose expression softened at this, “Have we chosen a bad day to visit? If so I apologise—,”

Suddenly Benedict was at your side now, “It’s quite alright, my dear Lady Y/N. We are all pleased to see you. Might we take a turn about the room? We have some things to discuss!”

“No fair! You saw her yesterday, I want to show her my embroidery,” Hyacinth pouted, though Benedict raised his brow at her and flickered his eyes in Anthony’s direction as if to explain his actions.

Everyone in the family was well aware of the affection shared between you and Anthony, even if he dared not admit how he felt because of his apparent desire not to marry.

Benedict believed he just needed a push to see that you had myriad other options, and that he could only push away his feelings for so long.

“I’m sure Benedict has something important to share, my dear Hyacinth, but I would love to see your embroidery promptly after,” your voice was like honey to the eldest Bridgerton, who fought off the desire to make his own request for a moment of your time, “There is enough of me to go around! My brother will be arriving shortly, also.”

Benedict began whispering almost as soon as you had crossed the room, endeavouring to make you well aware of his plan so as not to cause any discomfort to you.

He didn’t wish for you to be confused by his sudden flirtation, so immediately indulged you with the details of his concocted plan to induce jealousy in his older brother that might finally allow him to be honest about his feelings.

With some hesitation, you accepted his plan.

Benedict was well aware of your feelings for his brother, and you knew this — after all, you had confessed it to him yourself because you trusted him dearly. Much to Anthony’s dismay, nowadays Benedict was your closest friend of all.

Anthony had once filled that role, but as each year passed and your youth slipped away, you had fallen far too in love with him to be so satisfied with a friendship as you were with Benedict.

Benedict was your best friend — Anthony was the love of your life.

Though he did not admit it, you were the love of his too. This is why Benedict’s interference was so necessary as far as the second Bridgerton son was concerned.

It was unfair for you to believe your love unrequited when it was merely his stubborn refusal to see beyond his ‘duty’ as Viscount and head of the household that prevented him from giving in to his feelings.

The plan seemed already to be working by the time you were seated for dinner, far closer to Benedict than to Anthony who sat at the other side of the table.

He scowled as he watched his brother gossiping with you, still irritated by both his earlier remark about seeing you yesterday and his persistence with being the only person in the room to maintain your attention.

“It is working, my dear friend,” Benedict beamed across at you, leaning forward to both better execute his plan and so that you could hear him better, “If looks could kill, my brother would have seen me long since dead and buried.”

You brought your hand to your mouth, hiding the giggle that escaped as you waited to calm before looking across at Anthony, “Benedict!”

You drew in a deep breath, composing yourself before glancing across at the Viscount and catching his eye immediately. His glare was suddenly no more, his lips curling up in a smile that sent your heart racing.

You mouthed a small “Hello,” to him, blushing crimson at the intensity of his stare. Despite the conversation going on around him, all he could do was look at you.

The staring contest you seemed to find yourself in was swiftly broken by Benedict’s voice calling your name again, returning you to conversation with him.

The rest of dinner passed much the same — small conversations here and there with the other Bridgertons, longing stares from an increasingly restless Anthony, and teasing comments from Benedict, who was certain that Anthony would be confronting you tonight.

“We should probably call for our carriage, I suppose,” you smiled sadly, disappointed with both how quickly the night had passed by and the fact you’d hardly spoken to Anthony throughout, “I’ve had such a lovely evening. I only wish I could stay longer!”

“You could!” Anthony exclaimed, an unusual outburst for the eldest sibling but one that made all at the table laugh as he rose to his feet, “We could have a room put up for you. It is late, and Wellsbury Hall is quite the distance.”

You bit your lip, smiling at him as he sat back down again, “Oh we couldn’t trouble you with that, my lord.”

“Perhaps my dear friend is right,” your brother disagreed, “It is getting late, and if it is no trouble we would be incredibly grateful. And I hope we might repay you with an invitation to Wellsbury in the near future? I hope to host a ball before the season ends so that my darling sister might finally find a husband.”

His eyes flickered between Benedict and Anthony for a moment and you realised that he must have been in on Benedict’s little plan.

You looked around the room cautiously at every smiling face, before settling your gaze on Anthony with a nod, “Very well then. I’d be delighted. The many childhoods spent staying here overnight are often much missed.”

Lady Bridgerton grinned, “Fantastic. Then it is settled,” she turned to the maids stood by the door, “Please prepare two rooms for our guests as quickly as possible. It is, after all, late, and I’m sure they will soon wish to rest.”

The way Anthony watched you for the rest of dinner made you impossibly nervous.

When the maids told you which rooms were readied, you stood to retire to bed, but not before Benedict offered to show you to the room as it was in his opinion the best decorated.

“Brother, I don’t believe it’s appropriate for you to show Lady Y/N to her room,” Anthony huffed, having had enough now of him being stuck to you like heavy-duty glue, “Perhaps you should allow one of our maids to kindly do so.”

“It is quite alright, Anthony. We are in the comfort of our own home, and I know Y/N quite well enough,” Benedict sing-songed, “Unless you would prefer to show her? The maids are quite busy clearing up.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched at his brother’s comment about knowing you ‘quite well enough’ and so he found himself at your side quickly.

“In fact yes, perhaps I should,” he agreed, a sternness in his tone you’d become used to again today. He was so much gentler with you, but today with you so seemingly far from him he has grown stoic again, “After all, I am the head of this household and you have not let me spend a minute with my closest friend, hm?”

Colin interjected now, aware of all eyes on the conversation, “Perhaps Lady Y/N can make the decision herself?”

“I—,”

“Fine, I concede,” Benedict raised his hands in surrender, “I suppose I’ve not let her leave my side this evening, though you cannot fault me for that. I will bid you goodnight, Y/N. Goodnight brothers.”

He took your hand in his, lifting it to his lips for just the gentlest of kisses to the back of it, before he bowed and quickly left the room.

With Anthony facing the other way, towards you, Benedict turned to shoot you a wink before leaving, and nerves bubbled in your gut at the unknown of what was to come.

The kiss to your hand was the final straw for Anthony, who linked his arm with yours and lead you out of the room without another word to anyone else.

You were silent for the walk, but once you stopped still outside of the room you were to sleep in Anthony turned to stand in front of you, his breathing jagged as his eyes searched your face for clues to why he was feeling so furious at your friendship with Benedict.

“Is my brother courting you?” he came right out and asked it, his chest heaving and yours doing so now too as you shook your head.

“Not at all, my lord,” you bit your lip again, before looking down at the ground to avoid his gaze.

He brought his index finger to your chin, lifting your face so that you were forced to look at him again, “And do you wish him to be?”

Again you shook your head, but his finger never left your skin for a moment.

“I was so sure—,”

“Forgive me, my lord, I have just been finding comfort in his friendship of late as I see him regularly about town,” you frowned, suddenly even more conscious of how little time you spent with Anthony in recent weeks.

He leaned ever so slightly closer, “Finding comfort in his friendship? And what of ours?”

“Our friendship, my lord? I—,”

“I apologise, Y/N, but I do not like to see you so close with my brother. Not least because of the fear of a scandal if others saw his behaviour,” he gritted his teeth, “He touches you too often. Leans too close to speak with you and it… it is misleading.”

You gulped, “Why would you be so infuriated by the notion of him courting me, my dear Anthony? He is your brother, and he cares for me. Even if it is not him I wish did so.”

He cocked his head in confusion now, before his eyes widened in realisation of his brother’s scheming. And in considering that, he realised that it had worked.

He’d never wanted to marry, and especially never for love.

But with you stood right there at his finger tips, smiling up at him nervously with a twinkle in your eyes, he threw caution to the wind and realised that you had changed that in him.

He could no longer deny his desire to hold you, to have you entirely as his, to make you his Viscountess.

“Who do you wish to treat you as such, my lady?”

“Surely you can see the answer for yourself, Anthony.”

“I simply wish to hear you say it. But if I must do so first, as a consequence of my foolishness in not seeing it sooner, then so be it. I dislike your closeness to my brother because I miss your attention being mine. I wish to have you at my side always, to laugh with you and dance with you and just talk with you all evening. I do not wish to see Benedict court you because I wish to do so myself.”

“Anthony—,”

“Please, my love, let me finish. I have most probably been in love with you for as long as I have known you, and yet chosen not to see it out of my own stubbornness. If not for my scheming devil of a brother, I might still be in denial. But I love you most ardently, Y/N. And if you feel at all the same then I should like to make you my wife. My viscountess.”

You were speechless, perhaps for one of the first times since meeting Anthony.

You had always told him everything, always saved your last dance for him at balls, always rooted for him in every game of Pall Mall even as his competitor.

And now here he was, the famously anti-marriage Viscount asking if you too wished to wed him.

“Anthony, I had hoped it was clear as day that I too have been unfathomably in love with you for longer than I can explain,” you blushed crimson again under his gaze as a smile spread across his face, “To marry you, well, would be the only way I might find joy in marriage. I know you’ve never sought a match, let alone a love match, but I love you most dearly, my dear Anthony.”

He captured your lips with his as soon as you stopped speaking, knowing that he shouldn’t do so but hoping nobody was around.

Besides, he would soon make you his wife, and he couldn’t contain the excitement.

“I know I’ve previously had my reservations but I am no longer in denial, and I’m sorry for taking my liberties with you by kissing you before we are wed but I could not help myself. And I wish to spend a lifetime kissing you, Y/N. Will you marry me?” he looked shy all of a sudden, which you had never seen before, and you grabbed both of his hands in yours to kiss them.

“Of course, my dear, there is nothing I would like more!”

His smile became impossibly wide, and once more he kissed you out of sheer excitement.

“I’m sorry that this was so abrupt, and I have yet no ring. But my mother will be ecstatic and I plan to give you her betrothal ring because— you are the only woman worthy. And I shall spend our whole life ensuring that I make up for taking so long to do this,” he was vulnerable now, still shy under your careful gaze,

“I had no desire to marry because I had no desire to put the woman I love through the pain of losing me like my mother did my father. She was distraught but— I see now that it is no good wasting time with this fear. However long I might live, I wish to spend those years loving you and making you happy, so that any pain might be worthwhile.”

You kissed him now, tearing your gloves from your hands and reaching up to cup his face and kiss him, “I love you, Anthony Bridgerton. Always. And I cannot wait to be your wife. It will be the greatest honour.”

You were both hot and flustered, and it was taking everything in him not to push open your bedroom door and sweep you off your feet.

But for you, he was a gentleman, and so he settled for one final kiss atop your head and a sweet goodnight.

“We shall tell the others as we break fast tomorrow, perhaps?” you could see the dizzy joy in Anthony’s eyes as he asked this of you, and you nodded profusely.

“I cannot wait, my dear.”

“Then I will bid you good night, my love. I will dream of you, and look forward to seeing you in the morning. Sleep well, my future viscountess.”

“Sleep well, my love.”

As you went to part, you heard a rustle a little way down the corridor, both looking up to see a smug Benedict smirking, leaning on the wall just down the hallway.

“Even I underestimated my own plan. Congratulations, brother. You finally saw sense.”

———

hello! i know this is completely random as i’ve been writing for djats lately but i has this idea and felt the neeeeed to write it. feel free to request more bridgerton fics, as i’m inspired at the moment and rewatching it.

in the meantime, here is my masterlist!

[aylasrants]

just wanted to say thank you to anyone who sent in requests (don’t think i’ve ever received that many haha), i’m currently working on them so i should probably start posting in a matter of days

feel free to send more requests here <3

[thecharacterchronicler]

Muse || Benedict Bridgerton x reader || Smut

GIF credits: @vengerb3rg

Outline: Your husband wants to paint your portrait but you feel a bit insecure about yourself.

Word count: 2’939

Warnings: parenthood with a newborn baby, insecurities/self deprecation about post-partum body, explicit smut.

Author’s note: this is prompt # 25 as requested. It gave me a whole new obsession for Benedict Bridgerton. Yikes.

You sat on the sofa, trying to focus on the book you were reading but couldn’t help but glance in Benedict’s direction instead. You were always eager to see what beautiful paintings he may be working on but tonight, it felt all the more special as his model was sound asleep in the crib next to him. A little over a year ago, when you had said your vows and became Mrs Bridgerton, you were absolutely certain that it wouldn’t be possible for you to love him more than you already did, you were head over heels for him, in admiration in front of his artistic talents, in adoration of his personality and unconditionally in love with every part of his soul… Yet, watching him so focused on his task, as he carefully observed his son before painting his traits on the canvas in front of him, eyes so full of tenderness for the sleeping infant and a smile that told the world how incredibly proud he felt to be a father was making your heart melt.

Even if you didn’t want to disturb him in his work, you couldn’t help but stand and saunter up behind him, to take a look at the progressing portrait. Your husband was blessed with a rare talent for art, his paintings always captured a beauty overlooked by most and displayed emotions in the most poetical ways, the first portrait of his son was no exception, already a masterpiece in your eyes.

“Perhaps it was preposterous of me to think myself capable of painting his portrait, I fear that, no matter how much time I spend on it, I’ll never do justice to how angelic our baby looks.” He said, as he added some pink hues to the image.

“I think you are doing well, it looks beautiful.” You reassured him, your arms coming around his shoulders to hug him from behind. He placed his palette on his lap to bring a hand up to touch yours, his thumb stroking your wrist as he leaned back against you.

“But look at him, no one could possibly paint such beauty accurately.”

You both turned to look at your baby, both of you sighing in admiration in unison as your son yawned in his sleep.

“It is true that he is particularly gorgeous.” You admitted, still having trouble to believe how blessed you had been to bring such a healthy and beautiful child into this world.

“It’s because he looks like you.” Benedict replied, without hesitation. “Ethereal beauty just like his mother.”

You blushed and hugged him a bit more tightly.

“He takes after you too.” You added, because it was the truth. If Benedict found your son beautiful because of the features you had passed on to him, you thought your baby was extremely handsome because of how much he resembled the love of your life too. “He has your eyes and your smile. The ton better be prepared for such a devastatingly handsome gentleman.”

Benedict huffed a laugh and planted a kiss on the back of your hand. He tilted his head up to look at you, with a familiar spark of mischief in his eyes.

“How about we bless the ton with a few more of our divine offsprings ?” He suggested, his fingers already trailing up your arm in a tantalizing caress. “Or perhaps I could paint another nude portrait of you tonight ?”

“Wouldn’t that lead to the same result ?” You playfully replied, which made him laugh loud enough to cause the baby to grimace and stir in his small crib. “I don’t think we need another portrait of me - especially naked - there are already too many in this house, and if anyone sees them I’ll be mortified.”

“Don’t worry about that, darling, the nude ones are for my personal enjoyement only.” He said, standing up from the stool and turning around to plant a feverish kiss on your lips.

You kissed him back, arms around his neck as he stepped forward with the intention of guiding you to the couch. But you stopped him with a hand on his chest, turning your head before he could press his mouth to yours again.

“He is sleeping like an angel, I do not want to wake him.” You told your husband, glancing in direction of the crib.

“You are right, we do not want him to wake up to the sound of his mother’s screams.” Benedict nodded, leaving you to go back to his son.

“Excuse me ? I do not scream.” You retorted, crossing your arms over your chest in an attempt to look vexed by his remark.

“Oh you do scream, my darling. I don’t think you realize but you are very loud when you’re enjoying yourself, it’s my favorite thing.” He confirmed, a laugh escaping his lips when he noticed how you blushed at his words. “So I’m going to bring little mister Bridgerton back to his room, where he hopefully won’t hear you and then I’ll make you shout louder than ever.”

You exchanged a smile with him, your heart melting once more as you watched him carefully and gently pick up the baby from the small crib, cradling him in his arms with tenderness. He walked in your direction so that you could place a kiss goodnight on your baby’s forehead before he left the living room with him, already humming a soft lullaby to keep him sound asleep.

Once he got back, he stopped on the threshold to speak to one of the employees of your estate, requesting to not be disturbed for the rest of the night. You felt yourself blushing yet again at how painfully obvious what he was up to might be for your staff.

He closed the living room doors behind him with a satisfied smile but it instantly disappeared as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened at the sight of you, waiting for him with your dress already off.

He sat back on the stool in front of his easel, carefully placing the portrait of your son next to him as he switched it for a blank canvas. He looked over at you with attention, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips and a slight blush coloring his cheeks.

You did your best to pose, not daring to do it as suggestively as you used to back when you were newlyweds. Benedict had painted some filthy scenes involving you, and sometimes him too, and kept those paintings locked up in his office upstairs, making it a gallery devoted to his passion for you.

However, despite him being very clear on how much he loved every part of you, you couldn’t help but feel self conscious since the birth of your child. Your body had changed in ways you weren’t prepared for and, if your husband had seen you without garments on since, he had not painted your portrait in a while. The way his eyes were scrutinizing you, tracing round curves and long lines on the canvas, made you feel increasingly uncomfortable.

“Could you rest your arm over the edge of the sofa ? And perhaps part your legs slightly ?” Your husband asked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

You positioned yourself as requested, unable to silence the trembling breath that escaped your lips.

“Is something wrong, darling ? You seem tense.” He remarked, letting go of his pencil to fully focus his attention on you.

“It’s nothing to worry about.” You assured him, forcing a smile but he looked at you as if he could see straight through you.

“Mrs Bridgerton,” his tone was playfully severe, but hearing him call you by your new last name - his last name - sent a wave of emotion through your body. “If something - or someone - is bothering you, I must know immediately. I will not tolerate for my wife to be upset about anything as I vowed to care for you, always.”

“And you do it perfectly.”

“Then tell me, so I can take care of this issue too, whatever it is.” He pleaded.

“It’s nothing, really. I just don’t feel comfortable with the way I look lately.”

“The way you look ?” He repeated, standing up to keep the canvas from stealing his attention away from you. “What do you mean ?”

“I mean this.” You placed your hand on your belly, the skin not as firm and elastic as it used to be. Then, you moved it to your chest to point at your breasts, swollen and hanging lower than they used to. “And this.”

“But these are some of the best things about your body!” He exclaimed, clearly shocked that you could be so rude to yourself.

He walked to you with determination, getting down on his knees next to the sofa to level his face with yours, looking at you with a concerned expression on his face and heartbreak in his eyes, as if he was hurt about your own feelings about yourself.

He brought his hand to your belly, gently caressing it like he used to do when it was round and stretched out by your baby’s kicks..

“You grew a healthy and particularly gorgeous son in here.” He told you, tenderly. Then he moved his hand upwards, until he could caress the tender flesh of your breast. “And these are even bigger and softer than before, there is really no reason to feel so bad about yourself, you are a goddess, darling, you created life within your body.”

“So you’re not disappointed that I don’t look like I used to anymore ?”

“Absolutely not, how could I be ? I adored your body then, I still adore it now. I could fill a museum with my paintings of you, you obsess my every thoughts, you’re the only one I want to worship, for the rest of my life.”

“Benedict…” You breathed, your heart swelling with the intensity of your love for him.

“If you don’t believe me, darling, then I can show you exactly what the sight of your perfect body does to mine.” He suggested, his familiar somewhat mischievous grin returning to his face. He approached the couch on which you were lying down and began undoing his trousers, an eager expression on his face.

“Did you not want to paint me ?” You playfully asked him, with a knowing smirk.

“Always, darling. You know there is nothing I enjoy more than to look at the alluring curves of your body for hours but right now, I believe I’ll do a better job if I get my muse to relax a bit first.”

He pushed his pants down, his erection gloriously swinging up in your direction, hard and ready. It always amazed you how, knowing some of the promiscuous things he did in the past, the mere sight of your bare skin could get him in such a state. Sometimes, it happened during dinner, when you’d lean over the table slightly too far and he’d catch a glimpse of your décolletage. Sometimes, it was more inconveniencing, like when you shared your carriage with someone and the simple proximity of your body pressed up against his caused the blood to flow down to his shaft, always so alert and ready to take you, no matter if alone or not.

You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he loved your body as it was now, his puppy eyes and his gentle smile told you everything you needed to know when it came to his sincerity. Yet, you still felt slightly uncomfortable.

“Maybe I’d feel better if you were naked too.” You suggested, and he didn’t hesitate an instant, popping the buttons of his shirt one by one and letting it fall down to the luxurious carpet that covered the living room floor.

He dropped back on his knees next to the couch, his hands careful and gentle as they caressed your thighs, very subtly positioning you so that he could have access to the most intimate part of you. When, finally, your last bit of restraint faded underneath the warm kisses he pressed against your thighs, you allowed him to spread your legs apart and bury his face between them.

You instantly felt his tongue swirling around your clit and hungrily sucking on it until a moan fell from your lips. The tip of his tongue then continued its downward slide between your folds, tasting your arousal and mixing it with his saliva. Once he was as far down as the couch allowed him to go, you felt his tongue tentatively exploring your entrance, as if he was waiting for another moan to confirm that he was on the right track.

He placed his hand over your center, pressing down on your lower abdomen and flicking your clit with his thumb as he pushed his tongue past your tight walls, gently penetrating you with delight. His other hand went up to your chest, finding hold of your boob and squeezing it between his fingers as he increased the speed of his movements to follow the rythym of your whimpers that now were filling the room and his ears.

When you looked down at him, your head swimming from the intense jolts of pleasure he kept provoking inside you, you saw his gaze fixed to you, attentive to your reactions and sounds to tailor his next actions. They were filled with lust and adoration, as if you, writhing in front of him while he relished in your taste, was the most beautiful image he had ever had the privilege to witness.

You couldn’t help but buck your hips up in tune with his tongue, trying to get him in deeper. Since it still wasn’t enough to give you some relief from the intense pressure building in your core, you reached down to him, your hands pushing his head against you, probably suffocating him but you couldn’t help it, you needed to feel the bliss only he knew how to give you immediately.

Your orgasm suddenly washed over you, your entire body becoming oversensitive to eveything as it trembled and tensed. You squeezed his head between your thighs to stop him from continuing, unable to take it anymore, your chest heaving and your sounds of contentment still resounding in the room.

“Look at you, my darling. You’re absolutely bewitching when your pleasure makes you blush and your eyes shine with grateful tears.” Your husband said, freeing himself from the snare of your thighs around him. “There’s only one thing missing.”

You opened your mouth to ask what but you still were panting too rapidly to say a word. He rose to his feet, stroking his impressive cock in his hands a few times and you noticed how the pink tip glistened with precum, his thumb gently spreading its wetness along his entire length.

Then, he pressed his tip at your entrance and thrusted his hips forward, making you gasp from the sudden sensation. He buried himself entirely inside you, effortlessly, thanks to how soaked he had made you.

His rythym started out slow and gentle, giving him the opportunity to lean down to lovingly kiss your lips. But his speed progressively increased. You were already close again, the sensitivity between your legs still persisting, intensifying every sensation.

When his thrusts grew deeper and brutal, you had to hold yourself to the couch, your finger digging into the expensive fabric for support as you cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure. His mouth was still on yours, tugging at your lower lip and swallowing your moans each time they uncontrollably dripped from your mouth.

His eyes were still on you, intense and focused, as if he was trying to memorize every single inch of you so that he could paint it later on his canvas. You reached another orgasm, mouth wide open as you gasped but no sound made it to his ears. You squeezed your eyes shut, trembling from the power of your climax, wondering if such extreme pleasure could kill you, because sometimes it sure felt like it.

“There it is, the way your mouth hangs open when you come for me, with your lips dark and swollen from how hard I kissed you… You are a masterpiece, my love.”

As soon as he said those words, he groaned and released himself deeply inside you, his body suddenly growing weak and numb.

With one more kiss to your lips, he pulled out of you with a satisfied sigh and a tender smile.

As if on cue, the cries of your newborn son suddenly pierced the brief moment of silence in the house.

“He probably misses us.” You said, and attempted to get up but Benedict stopped you, desperate.

“No, no, no! Don’t move, you’re perfect like this, that’s exactly what I want to immortalize on my canvas.” He pleaded, quickly putting his clothes back on. “I’ll go see him and make sure that he is okay. But please, stay exactly like this.”

He left the living room with his shirt roughly tucked in his pants and his hair disheveled, a sight making what you both had been up to pretty clear to all the employees he may meet on the way.

Eventually, the cries came to a stop, meaning that Benedict had probably reached your son and managed to soothe him back to sleep like only he knew how to. So you relaxed on the couch, still naked and ready to shamelessly pose for your adoring husband, already wondering if it would lead to another passionate moment of lovemaking later on.

♡ - (( Tip Jar )) - ♡

[morganxwritess]

‧₊˚❀༉‧ 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟.

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: your father has promised you to a much older man, but benedict refuses to let you go without a fight. He is determined to win your heart, even if it means making a fool of himself by boldly throwing rocks at your window warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, slight degradation (like barely any it could be so much worse), praise, dirty talk, fingering, p in v sex, fluffy smut note: this is my first post!!! i’m so very excited to share this with all of you. season 3 benedict had me weak in the knees, and when this idea came to me after he told john to go throw rocks at francesca's window, I knew I had to write it. lots of love!! let me know what you think!!! word count: 7.4k (not sure how that happened lmao)

As the second eldest Bridgerton child and next in line for the title of Viscount, any eligible woman with intelligence sought to secure Benedict Bridgerton as their match. Unfortunately for them, Mr. Bridgerton was not looking for a wife this season, nor the last, nor any season before that. It appeared that Benedict had no desire to marry, and it was doubtful that would ever change.

Yet, that did not stop the mamas of the ton from setting their daughters upon him as if they were nothing more than dogs and he was their meal. The thought was unsettling, making you nauseous, but you tried to ignore their classless attempts to negotiate a marriage with the Bridgerton boy. At this point, however, what the fathers were offering Benedict to take their daughters' hands in marriage was no longer negotiation. It was simply bribery. Lord Ellington had offered Benedict land in the country. Lord Wentworth did the same, but he included the staff to his land as if they were slaves he could barter and sell. Lord Haverford extended a tempting proposal that Benedict almost entertained, offering a one-of-a-kind masterpiece painted by Thomas Gainsborough. While Benedict considered it for a mere moment, he ultimately declined, asserting that no work of art, however exquisite, is worth the cost of compromising one's spirit for a union with which one cannot bear.

Everyone desired to be Benedict Bridgerton’s wife. Everyone thought they knew him and could force their way into his heart and capture his attention. But you knew him intimately, which is how you knew this would never occur. You knew precisely how he took his tea. You knew his favorite artist, and while he admired Thomas Gainsborough’s work, it was not he who held the place of honor. You knew his favorite sibling, even when he insisted he had none. You knew what ignited his passions and recognized the look on his face when he felt his creativity had been compromised. You knew everything about Benedict Bridgerton, which is why you knew he would never marry without love. And Benedict has never been one to fall in love with anything other than art.

While you admired the determination and resilience of the young debutantes vying for his attention, you also resented it, for their pursuit often kept him occupied during balls, leaving you at the mercy of your mother's desire to showcase you to any willing suitor. The social scene was unbearable to you. Men gawked and whispered about young women as though they were mere commodities. It was infuriating, but thankfully, you found solace in knowing you were not alone in this sentiment. Your closest friend Eloise shared and understood your frustrations more deeply than anyone else, and when Benedict was occupied, she did a decent enough job of sheltering you from your mama.

“Has your mother lost her head?” Eloise nearly shouted, earning glares from nearby onlookers as you stared at the floor, trying to keep the blush creeping up your cheeks at bay.

“I suppose it’s not too bad,” you mumbled, not believing your statement whatsoever.

“Not too bad?” Eloise asked as if speaking to a stranger and not you, her best friend whom she’d known since childhood. “You cannot marry him.”

“He hasn’t proposed yet. I believe it is just an option.”

“An option you're entertaining, tell me not.”

“Lord Kensington is not a cruel man, Eloise. He is very wealthy and will allow me to spend my days reading alone while he tends to his business. It seems like an appropriate match.”

Eloise scoffed and crossed her gloved hands over her chest. “Lord Kensington is nearly three and seventy. You are a child in comparison. This is the furthest thing from an appropriate match.”

“This is my third year on the marriage-mart. I’d rather be a widow than a spinster who’s a burden to her family.”

“Is that what you think of me? A burden?”

Your eyes widened. “Eloise, no I—”

“I’m going to seek some refreshments. Perhaps when I return you’ll no longer be behaving in such an unbearable manner.”

With that, Eloise stormed away, her dress flashing through the crowd like a river of blue. You took a deep breath, attempting to ground yourself and regain composure. It was not as if you were excited to potentially marry Lord Kensington. He was simply an option. One that disgusted you and made your skin crawl, but an option nonetheless. You were only confiding in a friend, but leave it to Eloise to blow things out of proportion and not give you the opportunity to explain.

“Is that a frown I see?” The blue-eyed devil whose company you were praying for teased as he stood to your right.

“Eloise is upset with me.”

Benedict smirked as if what you said was an insufficient reason to be emotional. “Eloise will be Eloise. What have you done that has destroyed her life, ruined her future, and perhaps changed the course of history itself?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in your throat. “Your sister is not that dramatic.”

“We are speaking of the same sister, correct?”

You rolled your eyes, and he moved to stand in front of you, capturing your complete attention. He looked exceptionally handsome tonight, his deep navy tailcoat contrasting elegantly with the crisp white linen shirt beneath. The maroon cravat, tied with exquisite precision, drew the gaze of any unfortunate soul who dared to look his way. His hair, styled almost artistically, gave him the appearance of a portrait subject moments before the painter's brush touched the canvas.

Other than the mass of invalids gathered at these balls, what you despised most was how impossibly handsome the man standing before you appeared when you finally got the chance to speak with him. He was, of course, handsome every day, but there was something incomparable about his appearance when meticulously dressed for the social event of the season.

“You truly are upset,” Benedict stated as he stared into your eyes, realizing the extent of your worry. “Tell me, what is it that you and my sister were arguing about?”

“I am to be engaged.”

Benedict’s eyes widened, and his large, goofy smile was replaced by a stern, thin-lined frown. You paused, staring at his hardening features. Why was he upset? He had not even heard the worst part yet.

Clearing his throat, Benedict tried to force a smile. “Congratulations. Who is the lucky husband-to-be?”

“Lord Kensington.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You must be mistaken. Are you speaking of Lord Kilmartin? I believe he fancies my sister Francesca, but I could be mistaken.”

You shook your head. “No, I am not mistaken. I am to be engaged to Lord Kensington. He and my father are speaking tonight, but he has already declared his intentions.”

Benedict's face contorted with many emotions, but only one seemed clear to you as you studied his burning blue eyes. Anger. Was he angry with you for finding a husband? While yes, Lord Kensington was many years older than you, this sort of thing happened all the time. Just last week, Miss Radcliffe, who is your age, married Lord Pennington, who is nearly eight and sixty.

"Lord Kensington is older than the combined ages of your parents," he argued. "By the time you marry him and bear him an heir, he will likely be dead. In fact, he may not even live to see the child born."

“Benedict—”

“This is unacceptable,” he exclaimed, looking around the room like a madman. “Where is your father? I will speak with him.”

“And do what, Benedict? This is my third year on the marriage-mart. The longer I wait to marry, the more undesirable I become.”

“You can wait one more season. There must be someone else—”

"There is no one else, Benedict!" you exclaimed, your voice echoing through the room and drawing the attention of onlookers. In this moment, it felt as though you were the only souls in existence. Nothing else mattered—not the curious gazes nor the threat to your reputation. With unwavering resolve, you met his gaze, channeling every ounce of strength within you. “And frankly, I am tired of waiting. This is a suitable match, and the union will be short enough.”

“I will find you someone else to marry,” he whispered under his breath to avoid the attention of the rest of the ton.

Firmly, you shook your head, not wanting to argue with him. “Mr. Bridgerton, I apologize for my outburst. I must be feeling unwell. I believe I will turn in early.”

You began to walk away to find your mother and father and convince them to take you home when he grabbed your gloved arm, forcing you to face him once more.

“Y/N, please—”

“There is nothing left to be done, Mr. Bridgerton. Now please remove your hands from me.”

Reluctantly, Benedict released you. “Then I suppose the next time I see you will be at your engagement celebration.”

Holding back tears, you nodded. “As always, I’m looking forward to it, Mr. Bridgerton.”

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That evening, upon returning to your residence in Mayfair, your lady's maid assisted you in preparing for bed before retiring for the night herself. Your father was absent, likely in discussion with Lord Kensington, finalizing the arrangements for your impending engagement, while your mother, deep in slumber, dreamt of the wedding preparations ahead. Meanwhile, you lay wide awake beneath the canopy of your chamber, clad in your nightgown, yearning to be anyone but yourself.

In that moment, the faintest tap at your window caught your attention. Initially, you dismissed it as a figment of your imagination—surely, no one would seek to contact you at such a late hour, especially considering your residence on the second floor. Yet, the sound persisted, growing more insistent with each repetition.

With cautious steps, you rose and approached the window, uncertainty weighing heavily upon you. Slowly, you drew aside the voluminous pink curtains that had obscured both moonlight and the view of the street below. There, you observed a small pebble making contact with the glass, producing a gentle, persistent knocking sound.

Who on earth was throwing rocks at your window? Especially at this hour?

Delicately, you released the latch securing the window and eased it open, peering down to the street below to discern the identity of the visitor. From your vantage point, you observed a figure below, stooping to retrieve more stones, his movements deliberate yet furtive. As he straightened, your gaze locked onto his face, and in that instant, you recognized the familiar features of the culprit.

“Benedict?” you whispered down at the man.

Upon hearing your voice, Benedict dropped the rocks in his hand, and a relieved sigh escaped him.

“Y/N, I must speak with you. I attempted to enter the house, but the door is locked.”

“Because it is exceptionally late. Benedict, you cannot be here. This is rather improper.”

“I will not leave until I get a word with you, and I will only get louder as you make me wait.”

You could not let him in. You were dressed in your nightgown. Your hair was not done nor your makeup. Not to mention, if anyone were to see him come inside, your family would be cast out of society. While you all were wealthy, respected, and had titles, you were no Bridgerton. You could not get away with such a feat.

“Why are you here, Ben?” you asked, your voice full of defeat.

You observed a softening of his features from hearing the nickname you had given him all those years ago. Despite wearing the same attire from the ball, his hair was now disheveled, evidence of repeated runs of his hand through it—a nervous habit of his. He gestured with open arms, as if inviting you to leap into them—an implausible notion, surely.

“I am here to be bold and declare myself,” he declared, ever so confidently.

“You are not being bold,” you whispered, looking up and down the street for any passersby. “You are making a fool out of yourself and my family.”

“I am calling upon you—” he began to shout before you quickly shushed him and caved to his demands.

“Fine! Fine! I will be down in a moment,” you hissed, shutting the window in your wake.

You hastily raked your fingers through your tousled hair, attempting in vain to tame the unruly strands that betrayed a night of restless tossing and turning in bed. Eventually conceding defeat, you reached for your baby blue robe hanging on the door and descended the stairs with purposeful strides. Benedict Bridgerton's unexpected appearance bewildered you—had he lost his senses? His unannounced visit threatened to disrupt everything.

You grasped the gilded handle of your front door, turning it with utmost care to avoid arousing anyone's attention to Benedict's presence. The door swung open slowly, revealing Benedict poised outside, patiently awaiting your invitation inside that would not be coming.

“What are you doing here, Benedict? If anyone were to see you—”

“I have found you another option,” he stated breathlessly.

You frowned, confused by his words. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you must marry Lord Kensington because there is no other option. I have found you another one.”

You could not help but roll your eyes at his audacious statement. “And who might that be? My father has looked for other men for me to marry, and his search has been fruitless. I doubt yours would be much different.”

“You will marry me.”

A ringing sensation echoed in your ears, accompanied by a wave of nausea that threatened to overwhelm you. Surely, he could not mean what he was saying. Perhaps confusion had clouded his judgment. As you gathered your thoughts, uncertainty gripped you tightly.

“Are you drunk?” you asked hoarsely. Your eyes widened momentarily, realizing the potential rudeness of your question. “I apologize. I meant—No, I meant what I said. Are you drunk?”

The same goofy smile you had come to love appeared on Benedict’s face. “Believe it or not, I have never been more sober.”

You shook your head, alarmed by this whole situation. “Well then, are you mad? That’s the only excuse for you to come here at this hour asking for my hand in marriage.”

“You are one of my dearest friends. I will not let you marry a man on his deathbed,” he stated firmly, reaching for your hands and holding them in his.

Still unconvinced, you scoffed, “What about Eloise? Surely your sister would not be fond of you marrying one of her closest friends.”

“It was actually her idea,” he stated, creating only more confusion for you. “We were on the swings discussing how unfond we were of your fiancé when she said that she wished I were marrying you instead.”

Realizing the gravity of this conversation, you ripped your hands from his. “You do not even wish to be married, and I will not let you marry me out of pity.”

As you reached for the door to slam it in his face, he asserted himself, pushing it open and pressing you gently until your back met the doorframe. Your chest rose and fell with heightened emotion as you gazed up at him, but before you could react, he captured your lips with his own. A rush of warmth enveloped your entire being, causing you to pause, unsure of your next move. The sensation was entirely new to you; while you had read about such moments in the pages of Jane Austen’s novels, experiencing them firsthand was another matter altogether. Benedict's kiss felt unlike anything you had ever known—a gesture filled with a fervor that seemed to imply he needed your very breath to survive.

As you drew back from him, a swell of emotion threatened to bring tears to your eyes. Leaving his embrace was painful; you longed to linger, yet the reality of the situation weighed heavily upon you. With the door ajar, vulnerable to prying eyes, the impropriety of the moment loomed large in your mind. It felt unjust and heart-wrenching—to share such a tender kiss with the man you loved, only to face an impending marriage to another that you could not stand.

“This is cruel, Benedict,” you whispered, your voice trembling and your lips quivering. “I did not take you to be a cruel man.”

“I am not marrying you out of pity,” he declared firmly, his gaze intense as he wiped away the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “Or obligation,” he added, his touch gentle yet resolute. “Or convenience.”

“Then why would you do this?” you asked, fighting to maintain composure before him. “Why come here, demanding to marry me when you know I have loved you for years?”

He hesitated briefly, taken aback by your words, before gently cupping your cheeks with both hands. “Because I will not let the woman I love marry a man who is not me.”

You gasped involuntarily as his words replayed in your mind. Benedict's face broke into a triumphant smile, akin to winning a hard-fought duel. The revelation felt almost surreal. Benedict Bridgerton loves you? It seemed impossible to comprehend. You'd known him since childhood, and despite the few years' difference in age, you would have expected him to declare his feelings long before the eve of your arranged engagement.

“Do not lie to me, Benedict, or so help me God—”

“I have never lied to you, my love,” he interjected, pressing a tender kiss to your right temple as he continued to cradle your face. “And I never will.”

Overwhelmed by your emotions, you pulled away, your voice rising in frustration. “Why did you not say something sooner?” you demanded, no longer caring about your mother asleep upstairs or the servants resting elsewhere in the house. “Why tell me now?”

“Because, I—” he began, his frustration evident as he ran a hand through his hair. “I thought I had more time. I convinced myself that if you chose to marry another man, someone of substance, I would step aside. But this…I cannot let you marry Lord Kensington. It would be a fate worse than I could endure.”

“You wanted more time?” you asked, exasperated. “More time for what? To visit brothels? To sleep with whores? To continue being a rake? You wanted more time to be selfish before you had to force yourself to settle down?”

He scoffed. “Do you even know the meaning of the words you say? Or are they just judgmental statements you’ve heard your father make about me to your mother?”

“I love you, Benedict. I always have, but I will not be second to the life you want for yourself. I will not become a regret of yours when you are my entire world. It would break me, so I would rather become the wife of a man who disgusts me than marry you and have you disdain me.”

Forcefully, he seized your bicep, pulling you close until your chest pressed firmly against his with every breath. Benedict had always been so kind, so gentle, so transparent, but as you gazed into his eyes now, you saw a different man entirely—a beast poised to devour its prey.

“Do not presume to know my desires or what I will regret,” he declared, his voice a low growl as he towered over you. “You may love me, but you do not know me better than I know myself. What I know is that I want you, in every sense of the word. I want you to be my wife, my partner, the woman with whom I share my life. I want to wake up each morning with you in my arms. I want to possess you, and I want the world to know that you belong to me.”

Your eyes blinked heavily as you stared up at him, tears beginning to fill them. "I want nothing more, Benedict, but my father has most certainly already promised me to Lord Kensington. You’re too late."

Benedict shook his head, refusing to accept your words. "You will come with me now to Bridgerton House—"

"I cannot leave the house at this hour in this attire with you!" you gasped, horrified by the idea. "I’ll become the biggest scandal in Lady Whistledown’s next issue."

"You will not interrupt me," he stated firmly. "Do you not trust me?"

You sighed, "I trust you. I’m just questioning your judgment. Have you truly thought this through?"

"Listen to me, Y/N. You are coming with me to Bridgerton House now. We will not keep this quiet. The more people who see us, the better. Tomorrow morning, I will go to your father and declare my intent to marry you. Perhaps we may even obtain a special license to wed quickly, avoiding further scrutiny."

"That will not change the fact that my father has promised me to Lord Kensington."

"What changes is that if Lord Kensington discovers you stayed the night unchaperoned with me, he will not want to marry you."

Pausing, you realized the sense in his logic, though you were still confused. "But why not?"

“Because he will think I have bedded you, and he will not marry a woman whose purity he believes is not intact,” Benedict explained.

“Oh... So, you’re not planning to bed me? We're tricking him?” you asked, sounding more disappointed than you intended.

A broad smile spread across Benedict's face, lighting up the foyer where you stood. “Do you want me to bed you, my love?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you tried to look down, but he gently lifted your chin, compelling you to meet his gaze.

“I just assumed that you would eventually. It is my marital duty, after all,” you mumbled.

Benedict shook his head. “In our marriage, the only duty will be to love each other with every ounce of our being until our dying breath. I will not make love to you unless you ask me to.”

“But when my mother explained the marital duty, she said—”

“Your mother is wrong,” he interrupted firmly, his grip on your chin steady. “You will be my wife, and as your husband, I promise that I will never force you into intimacy. You will come to me willingly, as I will to you, or not at all. I will not coerce you.”

With a gentle embrace, you wrapped your arms around his neck and rose onto your tiptoes to meet his gaze. “I’m not wearing shoes, my handsome fiancé. How will you manage to get me to your bed?”

He tapped his chin playfully, a mischievous smile lighting up his face. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed teasingly, eliciting a laugh from you. Without warning, he swept you into his arms bridal-style, prompting a squeal of delight as he started towards his home.

“Benedict, we must close the door,” you laughed.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his stride toward his house unwavering. “Your father can handle it when he returns from his meeting with your now ex-fiancé.”

“He was never my fiancé. He was almost my fiancé.”

“And who do we have to thank for that?”

“How would you like me to thank you, Ben?”

"I have many ideas in mind, my love, but I'm curious to see what you're thinking," he smirked devilishly.

Now it was your turn to foolishly tap your finger against your chin as he had done before. "I've got it!" you exclaimed, teasing him, which prompted him to tickle your underarm with the hand that rested on your back. Your laughter filled the air, and Benedict couldn't help but note that he had never heard a more liberating sound.

"You're not getting your reward anymore!" You gasped, squirming playfully in his arms.

“Oh no!” He pouted, placing his head in the crook of your neck, and you couldn’t help but feel the movement of his soft smirking lips, “How may I get it back? Tell me, my love. I promise to be on my best behavior.”

“I believe I rather prefer you on your worst behavior, Mr. Bridgerton.” You teased.

Benedict’s head snapped up to meet your gaze, his pupils dilated with lust and desire, “Is that so?”

“You are ever so enticing when you wear that dopey mischievous smirk that you are sporting this instant.”

“And you are ever so desirable when you look at me like you wish for me to fuck you, my dear.”

A surprised gasp escaped you, but before you could finish it, Benedict captured your mouth in another kiss. The kiss started out soft and lazy as his steps began to falter, it is then when he maneuvered you so your front is facing him and he is carrying you by your thighs. Unintentionally, you began to grind your body against his length with each step he took as you sat beautifully atop of his clothed member. His grip tightened over your nightgown, and your hands pulled at his hair as he continued to devour you.

“Ben.” You moaned, pulling him closer if there were even such a possibility.

“What is it, beautiful?”

“I need more. I need you.”

Benedict smirked, his lips never leaving your neck, “I see. I never dreamed of you being this desperate for me especially in such a public place. If I were not as desperate as you, I would see it as pathetic.”

“Be nice.” You pouted, throwing your head back as he ravished you.

“Of course, my dearest. I know you want nothing more than to behave as an absolute angel, and I must act in a manner that is befitting to accompany you. God forbid, I scare my good girl off before I have the opportunity to ruin her.”

“Yes!” You moaned, almost bouncing in his arms having no earthly idea why the feeling of him against you was as ethereal as it is. “Ruin me, Ben. I’m all yours.”

If it were up to Benedict, he’d lie you against the dirty ground beneath him and fuck you until you were both unmoving and drenched in sweat. And while he supposed he could make that decision for the two of you and lie you down right now, he did not want your first time to be where anyone could see. When he took you intimately for the first time, he wanted to cherish you, and he wanted to be the only one who knew the look that appeared on your face when you discovered just how beautiful making love could be. When you realized that the action should never be a duty, but a gift.

“My love, if you do not behave, I will not be able to compose myself.” He stated, as he grinded his teeth together, attempting to hide just how far gone he was.

Before you even had the opportunity to whine or protest, Benedict threw you over his shoulder like a rag doll. You were instantly met with disappointment at the loss of contact, and you were about to argue with him when his hand playfully smacked your bottom.

“Benedict!” You shouted as his walking began to speed up, and you could sense from your surroundings that you were almost to Bridgerton House.

“I apologize, dearest, but I cannot wait a second longer to claim you, and this is the fastest way to get us to our destination.”

“By treating me as a child?” You argued. He slapped your bottom again, and once again, you shouted after him, “Benedict Bridgerton.”

“If you are going to behave like an ill-disciplined child, I will treat you as such. Now, keep your voice down. This isn’t a secret, but we do not need the entire ton to know I have stolen you away.”

Your ribs bounced against his shoulder as he took you up the steps into Bridgerton House, and you couldn’t help but smirk as you whispered, “You only want me to be quiet, so I do not wake your mother. You could not care less about the rest of the ton.”

Not answering you like the stubborn mule he was, he slapped your ass once more, and not willing to admit that you enjoyed the sting of his affection, you slapped his back in return.

You felt his stifled laugh before you heard it as he swiftly maneuvered you into one of the few rooms of Bridgerton House that you have never seen: his bedroom. You weren’t given the chance to look at your surroundings and see the room where the man you would be marrying laid his head each night. As soon as you saw the door swing closed behind him, your vision shifted to his ceiling. With a swift motion, he threw you onto his mattress, your back bouncing against the soft surface.

Before you could tease him for his impatience, he was already on top of you, his lips on your neck with a hunger akin to Dracula's. How had you resisted his charms for so long? Why had you denied yourself the fulfillment of tasting his lips? What had you done to deserve the intense pleasure he now bestowed upon you? Amidst all these unanswered questions, one thing became clear: there was no going back to a life where Benedict didn't kiss you so sweetly and speak to you with such desire.

He nibbled at the smallest bit of skin below your ear, eliciting a moan from you that he now has deemed the sound of the Lord calling him home. Surely, there was nothing more heavenly than the sound your body made when it called for him.

“Ben, please—” You begged.

He moved from your neck to your swollen lips, pecking them ever so gently, “You are alright, my love.” He said in between kisses, “Do you wish for me to continue?” 

Nodding your head rapidly, Benedict couldn’t help but smile down at the sight, “Are you certain, dearest? There will be no turning back.”

You placed one hand on his shoulder and the other behind his head as you pulled him down to meet you, “Don’t ever stop.”

With your consent, Benedict removed your baby blue robe and began to bring the bottom of the skirt of your simple white nightgown up to rest at your hips, leaving your bottom half exposed. You moved to close your legs, feeling slightly insecure from the display, but Benedict stopped you placing his hands on your thighs.

“Do not hide from me, my love.” He stated, tenderly as he gently squeezed your thigh.

Your eyes widened and with them your legs, accepting his strong manly presence. 

“Have you touched yourself here?” He asked, ghosting his hand between your legs, almost making contact, but immediately pulling back before you could feel him.

You shook your head no, “Why would I?”

Mumbling against your hip bone, he replied,“Because it brings you pleasure.” 

“Just as you are doing now?” You gasped as his fingers finally made contact.

He chuckled almost sinisterly as he planted delicate kisses across your hips and lower stomach while rocking his fingers back and forth across the button between your legs, “Exactly as I’m doing now.” He murmured, “In fact, when you try it, I want you to think of this moment. Do you understand?”

You nodded your head desperately, and he lowered himself further into the valley that was your thighs, “Are you certain you understand?” He asked, dastardly kissing your cunt for the first time while his fingers continued their calculated movements. 

Throwing your head back in desperation, you shouted, “Yes! Yes! I will think of you Benedict!”

“And only me?” He asked with the fakest pout, jutting his lip out like a fool. You were too busy enjoying his fingers and tongue to entertain his teasing.

“Of course you! Only you! God, Benedict. Do not stop!”

“Does it feel good, my darling?” He asked rhetorically, inserting one finger, to carefully begin stretching you out for his cock

A peculiar warmth enveloped your abdomen, radiating to that intimate place between your legs. This sensation first stirred upon seeing him for the first time tonight and has only grown the longer you lie here in his bed. Your thighs felt sticky and moist, your breasts tingled and rose with each heavy breath, and your mind became blissfully empty. It was an unusual feeling, yet undeniably welcome.

The stretch of the single digit inside you stung at first, but that pain quickly morphed into pleasure as he moved it in and out, sliding it against your walls, eliciting a feeling you had never felt before.

Benedict groaned merely at the sight of you beginning to come undone around his finger. He inserted a second and you reached for his hand, gasping, not necessarily in protest just in desperate need for a pause.

With one hand still inside you, he planted the other beside your head and slowly climbed up your body, kissing every inch until he reached your jaw. He gently sucked on the edge of your neck while you reached for his hair, causing him to smile against your skin. A slight tug unintentionally escaped you from the overwhelming sensation of him between your legs, eliciting a growl from him into your throat, pushing you further over the edge.

He suddenly pulled away from you and tugged at the cravat around his neck, tossing it to the floor. You moaned at the loss of his fingers, but it was then when you realized he was still fully clothed and you were almost completely naked. He continued pulling at his clothing, throwing his shirt and tailcoat to the floor before reaching for his belt. Realizing where this was heading, you pulled the remainder of your nightgown over your head, leaving your entire body on display for him before you placed it gently in your lap unsure of what to do next.

Sensing your uncertainty, he took your nightgown from you and tossed it to the floor, taking charge. He climbed on top of your body while he pushed his pants down his legs and planted himself on your chest. His lips enveloped your right nipple while his large hand twisted and grabbed at your left breast. Benedict had seen the tops of them over the years in the countless corsets you had worn, but seeing them bare as they are now, he felt like the luckiest man in London.

As he kissed your chest, it only created a desperate need to be inside you. He was dying to watch your breasts bounce as he pumped in and out of you, fucking you like he had always dreamed of. Your body was a dream in its entirety. How Benedict got so lucky to claim it was beyond him, but he knew better than to question God’s gifts.

“You are breathtaking, my love.” He moaned, rutting against you as he switched directions and kissed up your neck, “You are a goddess, and I am only a lucky mortal who gets to bear witness to your beauty.”

“Benedict—” You begged, cutting yourself off as you reached for him, “I miss your fingers. Put them back inside me.”

You were addicting and those words only ensured your future husband that he would never let you leave him. He would never be able to survive another day without seeing the glow that your face currently held. He buried his head into the side of your neck and reached for his cock knowing you were ready from the wetness that soaked in between your legs.

“I am going to give you something better than my fingers.” He stated, hungrily. Your brain is too foggy to comprehend what he means by this statement. What could be better than his fingers? “I am going to give you my cock, and it is going to hurt for a moment at first, but I promise you it will feel better after a while.”

“It will hurt?” You asked, sounding frightened. 

“It is nothing you can not handle, my dear.” He smiled, kissing your temple not wanting your nervousness to interfere with your pleasure, “I love you, and I guarantee this will bring you pleasure. It just takes a moment to get used to the size, but you are wet enough that it should not hurt exceptionally bad.”

You grabbed at his biceps anxiously, stopping him for a moment, “My mother said that the marital duty—“ You interrupted yourself as his eyebrows narrowed at you, and you knew the reason for his confusion was that with him, there would be no marital duty. You had a feeling that your marriage would be entirely different from your parents because unlike your parents you and Benedict were a match made of love, “She said that making love was painful and unpleasant for the first time. One of the worst pains imaginable.” A tear pricked at the corner of your eyes, “I am frightened.”

“Oh, my love,” He cooed, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear, “You may not need to be frightened with me. Yes, sex can hurt if you are not properly prepared, but I have ensured that you are ready for this experience. The more you think about it, the worse you will build it up in your head. Just relax, dearest. The more you relax the better it will be.”

You nodded your head, but you did not remove your hands from Benedict’s large biceps, you closed your eyes almost as if you were bracing yourself for him. Wanting to bring you as much ease as possible, Benedict leaned down to kiss your temple before moving to your lips. Your hands moved from his arms to his face, and while you were occupied with the feeling of your lips on his, he grabbed his cock in his hand, stroking it twice before pushing only the head inside,allowing you time to adjust.

A quick gasp escaped you and in an instant your hands were back on his biceps. It took every ounce of strength that possessed Benedict to not push into you further, but he wanted this to be a good experience for you, and he refused to put you in more pain than he had to.

“You just tell me when you are ready for me to move, and I will, dearest. This is all up to you.”

“Ok,” You murmured breathlessly, nodding your head. The sting inside you had dulled to an aching need for him to move, “You may move.”

At that, Benedict pushed further in, slowly seating himself completely in your heat. The pain worsened slightly, but with the way he whispered sweet nothings to you and kissed you so softly, you were too overcome with emotions to comprehend the pain. He sat inside you for a moment, not wanting to rush this time with you and not wanting it to be over so soon. You were so tight and squeezing him like a vice that he needed a minute or else it would all be over before it began. 

Once you both had adjusted to the feeling of eachother’s warmth, Benedict began moving. He slowly started pulling his length out until he pushed back in before he could slip out of you, continuing pumping in and out as you got used to the feeling. It was almost enough, but you knew you needed more. 

“More, Ben,” You moaned, breathily, “Faster.”

A lazy smirk fell on Benedict's lips as he placed his forehead against yours, “Look at my needy girl. She’s begging for it like some common street whore. It's ok, my love. I will take care of you.”

Your eyes widened at his statement, and you wished you could say that his words had no effect on your body, but with the way your head unintentionally fell back and your lips gasped for more of him, you knew it would be nothing but a lie.

Benedict ravaged your body like you were his for the taking, which you were, and it made you realize that you could not have lived another second without having Benedict this intimately. You were not meant to be any man’s wife but his. You were not meant to bear any child that lacked the last name Bridgerton. As your childhood best friend gave you everything you had always wanted, you knew that he was your destiny in every life, and you couldn’t fathom how you almost let him go.

As Benedict kissed your lips, your neck, your cheeks, and every inch of your face while he pounded in you, he placed one hand on the bottom of left thigh and lifted your leg over his shoulder, resting it there as he picked up his pace. The feeling instantly left butterflies in your stomach, and a loud moan escaped you as you relished the feeling of this new angle.

“Oh, Benedict! You must not stop. I have a feeling I cannot name—” You shouted and he placed his large hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

With sweat dripping off both of your bodies, Benedict leaned down placing his mouth by your ear without slowing his pace in the slightest.

“That is called an orgasm, my love, and I want it to rip through you like a flood. Just tell me when you are there, and I will finish with you.”

You nodded your hands gripping his biceps as he pummeled into you until you simply could not hold it any longer. Sensing your closeness to the edge, Benedict somehow managed to speed up as he stared at your breasts, watching as they bounced every time he thrusted into you. His hips became sloppy as he felt how close he was as well.

“Ben—” You gasped, unable to even finish a sentence.

“I know. I know. I’m right there with you.”

In that moment, it felt as though fireworks exploded between you, your body convulsing in bliss and your mouth parting with cries of ecstasy. Benedict, equally overwhelmed, carefully lowered your leg before collapsing onto you, mindful not to crush you. The sensation was indescribable. Although Benedict had been with other women before, he knew he could never return to those empty encounters, for nothing compared to being with the one he truly loved.

As the euphoria gradually subsided, you both lay there, tangled in each other’s embrace, feeling the warmth of your shared connection. Benedict gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender and affectionate. His eyes, filled with a mix of satisfaction and devotion, met yours.

"You are heavenly," he whispered, his voice husky and sincere.

You smiled, feeling a surge of happiness and contentment. "So are you," you replied softly, your fingers tracing patterns on his back.

For a while, neither of you spoke, savoring the intimate silence and the steady rhythm of your breathing. It was in these quiet moments that you felt the depth of your bond, stronger and more profound than ever before.

Eventually, Benedict propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze never leaving your face. "I love you," he said, the words carrying the weight of his heart, “I will never leave you, and if I have to duel Lord Kensington or your father to have you as my wife, I will do so happily.

"I love you too," you replied, your heart swelling with emotion.

You both knew that this was just the beginning of something extraordinary, a journey of love and passion that you would navigate together, no matter what challenges lay ahead. No matter what the morning brought, no matter what your father said, whether he cast you out or forbade you from marrying Benedict, it didn't matter. You knew in your heart that you were meant to be Benedict Bridgerton's wife. It was always you. This new and sacred union would withstand the scrutiny of the ton and any obstacles thrown your way. Your love was destined, and nothing could change that. As long as you had each other, you could face anything the world decided to challenge you with.