#benedict bridgerton x oc

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

completed

series masterlist:

prologue

i. one

ii. two

iii. three

iv. four

v. five

n. interlude

vi. six

vii. seven

n. interlude

viii. eight

ix. nine

x. ten

n. interlude

xi. eleven

xii. twelve

epilogue

author's note

i have no inkling as to what i am doing. i want to write. i want benedict. why ever not combine both?

highly encouraged to drop insights, questions, or even propose scenes. i will surely fit them in. also, i have no self-control. so, when i finish writing, i simply press select all, copy, then paste. i, myself, am annoyed with grammatical errors at times because they ruin the feel of the story. if you ever find one that you cannot just read through, do alert me. thank you.

lastly, benedict is a fox of romance—the slyest of them all.

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 1

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: This starts at the beginning of season 3, but some timeline things are a bit different here than in the series. Also I'm changing history--it's fine, it's basically in an alternate universe anyway.

A new season had begun, and it was with an all too familiar sense of annoyance that Benedict Bridgerton found himself arriving once again at the Danbury ball. If not for his mother's insistence and his desire to support Francesca in her first season out, he may not have come at all.

Benedict certainly had no desire to join the mart, and he found society and it's rules disingenuous at best, insufferable at worst. It was another season. Another ball. Another night of counting down the minutes while avoiding the attentions of the more emboldened debutantes and their scheming mamas.

Then again, what else had he to do? With his exit from the academy and Anthony's return, he felt rather unmoored. Adrift with no real purpose or goal. A second son with no role to fill or any steadfast ambitions. Even his younger brother Colin seemed to have truly found himself in his time abroad.

What would it take for Benedict to feel so secure?

The ball had barely begun, yet already Benedict found himself hounded by the attentions of the young ladies of the marriage mart. He suspected this was due, in no small part, to the transformation of his younger brother. Colin seemed to rather enjoy the attention, but Benedict found he did not feel the same. At the first opportunity, he made a quick exit, escaping to the safety of the garden. He stood alone, close enough to hear the music inside but far enough to feel the weight of expectation lift. He took in a deep breath of the crisp night air, and sighed in relief.

As he enjoyed his moment of peace, he heard a commotion from inside. Given the excitement, he could only imagine that the queen was finally in attendance. Always the most anticipated guest, yet always the last to arrive. He thought to avoid the fanfare, sipping the lemonade in his hand as he enjoyed the night's sky.

Benedict spend some time just appreciating the silence, but knew he would have to return soon. With things inside having quieted somewhat, he supposed it was as good of a time as any. He was also aware that certain members of his family would likely be cross with him if he disappeared for too long. He sighed, downing the last of his drink before turning to enter the fray once more.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table as he ventured through the crowd. He looked across the room, making eye contact with both Anthony and his mother. At the very least they would know he hadn't fled the grounds altogether.

He scanned the crowd, thinking he ought to at least check in on his three remaining siblings. Instead, his eyes landed on a young woman.

She was lovely.

Her golden hair was tied up simply, with a few stray curls falling to frame a heart shaped face. Brown eyes sat below worried, upturned brows as her full, rosy lips held a nervous smile.

She stood in a crowd of young men, the lot gathering around her like circling wolves as they vied for the attentions of their pray. The young woman looked anxious as she attempted to hold fast to decorum, her smile wavered but never completely disappeared. Benedict thought perhaps he should rescue the poor girl, but as more stragglers joined the crowd, he wondered if he even could.

Before making up his mind, he saw her address the crowd with a quick word, before turning and, as swiftly as was proper, escaping into a group of debutantes. The men seem to argue with each other as they each tried to follow. But by the time they turned to do so, they had already lost sight of her.

But Benedict hadn't, his gaze following her as she weaved her way through the crowds.

She smoothly slipped between different clusters of people, clearly trying to avoid anyone's notice. Many did catch sight of her, but she quickly moved on before they could entrap her in a conversation. Soon she made it to the wall, which she followed until she had disappeared into the same door Benedict had only just entered from. It seemed he wasn't the only one who desired the calm of the garden.

He debated for a moment if he should follow. She was clearly overwhelmed, and likely didn't want another man pestering her--not to mention unchaperoned. He came up with a few shaky reasons that were in favor of it, but he knew they weren't honest ones. In truth, it was simply that his curiosity had been peaked, and he was attempting to rationalize why it was that he should follow.

Curiosity won out in the end, and Benedict once again made his way back out into the night.

He saw her sitting on a stone bench near the door, her lilac dress flowing out around her. It wasn't one that ladies would consider currently in fashion; having an hourglass shape and a full skirt rather than the more simple, straight shape of the dresses most of the ladies inside were wearing. Still, he thought it quite suited her.

She looked as if she had lept from the frame of a painting. Her face draped in moonlight as she stared up at the sky. A tear slid down her cheek, sparkling in the pale light, and Benedict suddenly felt quite ashamed of himself. He realized he had been selfish, planning to disturb the time she clearly needed to herself. He turned, intent to leave her to her thoughts. However, the scuff of his shoes was enough to get her attention and she turned suddenly. Her eyes caught his, and for a moment he stood frozen in her gaze.

Finally, he came to his senses and addressed her, his tone apologetic.

"Forgive me, miss. I did not mean to disturb you," he said quickly. She looked confused, but soon composed herself as she turned to wipe the tears from her face.

"No need to apologize sir," she began, turning to face him with a small, reassuring smile, "I was just getting some air."

Benedict took a few, small steps forward. He waited for her to object, but when she said nothing he took a few steps more. They were shoulder to shoulder, though he left a healthy amount of space between them.

"It's all rather stifling, isn't it?" he asked. He returned her smile, and she quickly turned her gaze down, running a gloved finger over the embroidered vines that decorated the bottom of her dress.

"Certainly more so than I had expected."

"Am I correct in thinking this is your first year? I don’t recall seeing you at one of these," he gestured vaguely at the manor, "before."

She looked back up at him, searching his face for a moment. Whatever she was looking for, she apparently found it. She smiled with a degree more enthusiasm.

"That's quite a skill, recalling the face of every young lady to grace such a grand event," she joked.

"I could say it was well practiced, but the truth is I would simply be unable to forget a face as lovely as yours," he replied. He could see her cheeks flush through the cool moonlight illuminating her face.

"You give compliments with such ease. Is that skill also well practiced?" she asked as she began to regain her composure.

"I may be prone to the occasional bit of flattery, but in this case I am quite sincere." She looked away in clear embarrassment, and Benedict had to look down briefly to hide the grin forming on his face. "But I have made you uncomfortable, forgive me; I shall say no more about it." Her eyes moved back to him, "I certainly wouldn't blame you for being apprehensive under such circumstances--given what I saw in the ballroom, I imagine you've had quite enough of men and their compliments."

She looked back up at him, "You mean those gentlemen who were speaking to me earlier?"

"The same. They all seemed rather...frenzied to gain your favor."

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, looking forlorn, "though I believe their intentions were quite different than yours."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" He thought a moment, "If it was not your looks that drew them, was it perhaps the allure of a large dowry? Or possibly some grand title to be inherited?" She actually laughed at that, albeit more to herself than as a sign of amusement.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she agreed, "though they may be disappointed; they would certainly be settling for second best. It is my elder sister's family who will inevitably inherit my father's title, and sadly for those gentlemen she has already married."

Benedict was quiet for a moment, looking over her self-effacing expression with understanding and, in spite of himself, a measured degree of affection.

He smirked, "I thought there must be some reason we get on so well; I myself happen to be a second son. Maddening, isn't it? Always feeling like the spare?"

She looked at him in surprise, before relaxing into a grateful smile.

"It certainly can be," she agreed. She hesitated a moment, before deciding to continue, "I often feel as if I don't know what to do with myself. I have always existed to be my sister's replacement, should the worst happen. Now that she is married and with child, a replacement is no longer needed. So what am I, now that I'm no longer what I was born to be?"

Benedict had to think on that for a moment. He was hardly one to advise someone in the exact predicament he found himself in. Still, he hoped he could give her some degree of comfort.

"You're free," he finally answered. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment until at last she looked away.

"If only that were true," she said softly to herself.

At that moment, the sounds from inside grew louder. The young woman looked back into the light of the ballroom. She sighed, then looked at him with a soft smile.

"I suppose I should return; I'm sure at this point I'm quite missed," she stood, smoothing out the silken fabric of her dress. "It was a pleasure to meet you, mister…?"

"Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton," he said, bowing gracefully.

"Mister Bridgerton," she repeated, "Well Mister Bridgerton, I do look forward to speaking with you again sometime."

With that she made her way towards the door. Just as she reached the threshold, she stopped. She quickly turned back to him, "Oh, and perhaps you should wait before returning indoors--it would be unfortunate if anyone came to the wrong conclusion."

She was certainly right about that. As she turned back, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Wait a moment--" Benedict called out suddenly, his hand raised to stop her. But it was too late, she had already disappeared into the warm light of the ballroom. "--what's your name?" He asked to no one, sighing as he turned.

He wandered over and sat on the bench she had been on only moments before. Resting his palms on the cool stone and leaning back on his arms, he couldn't help but grin. He turned his face up to the moon, hoping to meet the curious young woman again soon.

---

Benedict eventually made his way inside, thinking more than enough time had past. As he walk through the ballroom, he searched the crowd. With her nowhere in sight, he accepted that she had already gone. With nothing else to keep his interest, he eventually wandered over to where his mother, Anthony, and Kate stood.

"And just where were you?" Violet asked, annoyance clear in her voice.

"We were quite sure you had run off," Anthony added, smirking. Benedict smiled, turning his face out to the dance floor.

"Not at all brother--I was simply enjoying the ball," he replied. Anthony and his mother shared a perplexed look, but Benedict didn't notice. His thoughts were otherwise occupied.

---

The young woman took the gloved hand that was offered as she carefully stepped into the opulent, golden carriage. She delicately adjusted her skirts as the queen looked her over.

"So Beatrice, tell me--did you enjoy the ball? Was it everything you had imagined?" The queen asked, amused.

"It was certainly different than what I had expected--but I did enjoy it very much," the young woman smiled, looking back at the queen, "Thank you for agreeing to bring me along, grandmama."

[redheadspark]

hi there! for the September prompt session may I request a Benedict Bridgerton with #8 please? thank you!! <3

A/N - I love this, thanks for the request, anon!

Sliver of Light

Summary - Sharing your feelings with someone else would be daunting, but not with your soulmate

Warnings - Angst and fluff mixed together.

Emotions are such a funny thing, especially when your emotions are linked to your soulmate.

It was something your mother and father warned you about: two Soulmates knowing and feeling the emotions of one another.  It was a fascinating trait, seen as a valuable trait when it came to couples and families.  Your parents were great examples of it, picking up each other’s signals throughout the day when one was in distress or angry.  You found it to be wonderful that your parents relied on one another in more ways than one, using more than one way of communication.

You found yourself doing the very same thing with your now husband, Benedict Bridgerton.

Of course, you were taught about it in your younger years by not just your mother but also by your Aunt.  Only your mother and Aunt had soulmates, which were very rare to come by and seen as a sign of good luck and grace amongst society and prosperous families.  To have family members who were soulmates meant you were very blessed and highly favorable, especially with the Queen herself.  Your family already was well-known thanks to your parent's soulmate match and the family's massive deeds in charities and benefit balls.  But now that you were married to another well-known family that had a handful of soulmates within the family tree, your status skyrocketed.

Not that you cared, you only cared about your husband and your marriage to him.

Benedict, like his siblings, seemed to have a massive heart and thirst for mischief and amusement.  Being the artist of a massive family, not to mention more aloof than his brother, you were surprised to be soulmates with him.  Compared to Benedict, you were quieter and meek so to speak, not one to raise your voice or make your presence known in the room.

He never minded that one bit when you two were introduced back in Art School.  You were one of the few females allowed in the classroom, mostly because of your family name and the amount of money your father donated to the school to keep running.  Yet you were still a bright student, not wishing to coast by and get what you wanted because of who your family was.  The classes were tough and brutal, and your skill was placed to the test at every session and seminar.  Benedict saw that about you, reaching out to shake your hand in his after the first day of class, wishing to introduce himself to you.  

Once you two shook hands, you were soulmates.

Having a link to Benedict’s emotions almost seemed like a breath of fresh air, opening a window that brought in the fresh air from outside after being cooped up for too long. It felt that way, being a lady who was meant to wear many hats and not be raw and entirely yourself.  Feeling Benedict’s joys, pure happiness, frustrations, and anger, you were spellbound.  

It was the same with him feeling your feelings, you seeing him watch you for a pinch longer when you two were courting together very early on, right after you realized you were soulmates.  You were still supposed to court one another, just like any other relationship, yet there were still a few steps that needed to be taken.  Registering as a soulmate couple when married, taking a few classes in Soulmate Eddiquet,  Not that you two were worried about those extra steps and hoops you had to jump through.  

Seeing Benedict watch you, for the first time as you two were sitting across from one another enjoying a quiet moment with tea, made your heart flutter.  He was already handsome to you, bright eyes with dark brown hair, features of youth yet it was laced with wisdom, dressed in shades of blue, you shifted a bit nervously in your seat.

“Is there something on my dress?” You asked sheepishly, looking down at the dress that you were wearing.  Benedict only laughed, your eyes shooting up at him as he faced you in his chair.  His smile entranced you, and the sound of his laughter sounded like bells that seemed to be from a dream.  He shook his head and folded his hands in his lap.

“Your thoughts,” he replied, your eyes going a bit wide as he went on, “I think your thoughts are very lovely, profoundly lovely,”

Perhaps being soulmates with a Bridgerton would not be so bad.

Your first year of marriage was hard work, but it was wonderful as well.  Both you and Benedict fell in love with each other over time, before and after you said your vows.  Enjoying time together throughout the day, going to balls and events linked in arms and amusement on both your lips, it seemed so natural to have this life shared with another.  Even with the small spats and arguments, you both knew when to bring the other out of the darkness.

You remembered times when he was frustrated, whether it was with his art and starting a career as well known artist or with the constant drama in his family.  You knew that he was never one to feel negative sensations, it was not like him at all.  Easing him out of those moments included cups of tea, long walks in the countryside outside your apartment home, and simply holding his hand.  You felt those thoughts scatter away like slips of flower petals in the wind, and the smile was back on his face within moments.

With you, you had a harsher time when it came to continuing your feelings.  Your grandmother sadly passed one summer evening, suddenly and in her sleep.  It pained you since you were close to her growing up and leaned on her for wisdom and love.  That feeling of pain was engulfing you for days after her burial, thinking it would take some time to feel happy and cheerful.

No doubt Benedict felt it, and he immediately came to your aid.  He took a step back from working on his pieces and attending family events to be at your side, reading next to you in your personal study when he sensed you felt alone.  He would ever prepare your tea just the way you liked it, not too hot with the perfect flavor, with fresh flowers in your vase in your study when you were working on letters.

But most of all, he held you.

He was an affectionate lover and relied upon physical touch more than you ever would, and his hugs brought you peace.  In the morning when you had fresh tears, in the garden when you were lost in your mind, after dinner when he could tell you were tired and weary. 

“I’ve got you right here, my darling,” he cooed in your ear one evening when you were crying in his hold, both of you in bed as the rain pounded on the window.  His fingers were running in your hair and his chin was on top of your head, you heard his heartbeat against your ear as you wiped the tears away softly, “Loss is hard to live through, I felt it when I lost my father.  But you’re not alone, I won’t let you be alone.  Not ever, my love,”

Since then he never once made you feel less then.  Things were getting brighter for you both in the following months.  It seemed even in those dark days you were finding a small sliver of light, thanks to your soulmate and the true love of your life.  

And having two children within a few years, a boy named Edward and a girl named Adeline, you grew that light would only shine brighter.

The End

September Prompt Session

[thecrayonindisguise]

Chapter 1: The Arrival || Bonds and Barriers

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || next >>

Summary: Caterina Medici and her twin sister Teresa arrive in London from Italy to find suitable husbands. At their first ball, both of the sisters are named the “diamonds of the season,” catching the eye of the entire ton and more...

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: no particular warnings, maybe a little bit of swearing

Authors Note: Hey People! This is the first fanfiction I ever wrote so please be merciful… Disclaimer: English is not my first language, so forgive me for any mistakes. The events of this story take place after the first season and before the second season. Enjoy!

Dearest gentle readers,

As the season prepares to unfold in all its splendor, the ton eagerly anticipates the grandest of spectacles, new debutantes, and the elusive bachelors who remain unattached. The ballrooms will be adorned with the finest silks, sparkling jewels, and, naturally, whispers of gossip that travel faster than a fan flutter.

But beware, for not every diamond that sparkles in the light retains its brilliance. There are always those who shine a little too brightly at first glance, only to tarnish under the weight of society’s unforgiving gaze. And what of those who choose to remain in the shadows? Some say the most tantalizing secrets are often found in the quiet corners of the most bustling rooms.

This season promises to be one for the books, as hearts will be stolen, reputations tested, and perhaps even a scandal or two will emerge. Rest assured, I shall be there, quill in hand, to document every misstep, every whispered word, and every flutter of affection that is bound to raise an eyebrow or two.

Remember, dear readers, the ton is not always as it seems. The dance may begin with grace, but how it ends is entirely up to those bold enough to step onto the floor.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown.

─────────

“I hope this city will be as Aunt Langstone wrote us… for now, it seems too much…” Caterina looked outside, moving slightly aside from the tiny tent of the carriage, seeing a city full of carriages, dirt, and other things that she has never seen from her beautiful and green dukedom “Polluted,” she finished, making a displeased face.

She is talking to her mother sitting in front of her and to her twin sister, Teresa, who is beside her, curiously looking from the window too, “It’s like it’s all gray, don’t you notice mama?” said Teresa looking her mother “I may believe that the cause of this is are the industries, is one of the many things that aunt wrote us during our journey to London” the mother said, now looking from the window too; “the industries…what a thing” whispered Caterina rolling her eyes and leaning boringly on the seat.

The Medici carriage pulled up in front of the grand Langstone villa in Mayfair, its wheels crunching over the gravel driveway as the horses slowed to a halt. The stately manor rose proudly before them, its stone façade softened by ivy climbing up the walls, giving it an air of distinguished charm. Inside, soft candlelight flickered from the windows, and the doors were flung open in anticipation of the long-awaited guests.

Inside the carriage, Duchess Marie Medici, formerly Marie Aguillon, sat primly, adjusting the lace cuffs of her traveling dress. Her daughters, Caterina and Teresa, glanced out of the window, while Teresa fidgeted with her gloves in excitement, Caterina, however, remained quiet, her skepticism toward the entire endeavor of this London season cloaked in her usual reserve.

The prospect of finding a husband seemed more like a necessity than a romantic adventure. This was her first true taste of London society, but for their mother, this visit held much deeper significance.

"We're here, ladies," Duchess Marie said softly, her voice thick with emotion.

The footmen rushed to the carriage, assisting the ladies as they stepped down. As they did, the grand doors of the villa swung open and out came Rose-Marie Bechard, now Langstone, her arms wide open in welcome. The years had been kind to her, though a touch of gray streaked her hair. Her face lit up with joy as she caught sight of her cousin.

“Marie!” Rose-Marie’s voice was warm, trembling with excitement. “I can hardly believe it! After all these years!”

Marie barely had time to respond before Rose-Marie enveloped her in a tight embrace. "Oh, Rose-Marie, it’s been far too long," Marie said, her voice wavering. The two women clung to each other as though trying to bridge the years of distance in that one embrace.

When they finally stepped back, both had tears in their eyes. “Look at you,” Rose-Marie said, her hands resting on Marie’s arms, “just as beautiful as ever. And these are your daughters, oh, how I’ve waited to meet them.”

“Teresa, Caterina,” Marie gestured to her daughters, who stepped forward gracefully, each giving a polite curtsy. “This is my cousin, Rose-Marie Langstone, whom I’ve spoken of many times.”

Caterina, always the more reserved of the two, smiled demurely, while Teresa’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Lady Langstone,” Teresa said.

“We have heard so many lovely things about you,” added Caterina, her tone warm and engaging.

Rose-Marie laughed softly, her heart full of affection for the girls. "Please, call me Rose-Marie, and you two are even more beautiful than I imagined. My goodness, you must be the talk of the town already. How exciting.”

Just then, Rose-Marie’s husband, Earl Richard Langstone, appeared in the doorway, flanked by their son, David, and daughters Olympia and Cyntia. Richard was a tall, solid man with kind eyes, while David had the sharp, poised look of a man already prepared to take on the responsibilities of his future title. Olympia, a year older than the Medici twins, looked elegant and self-assured, while Cyntia, debuting this season, was bubbling with anticipation.

“Welcome, Duchess,” Richard said with a bow. “It’s a pleasure to finally host you and your lovely daughters.”

“The pleasure is all ours, my lord,” Marie replied graciously. “Your home is as beautiful as the family you’ve raised.”

“Oh, don’t flatter him too much, Marie,” Rose-Marie teased, looping her arm through her cousin. “Come, let’s get you all settled inside.”

As they entered the grand hallway, decorated with portraits and fine furnishings, the Medici women were warmly introduced to the Langstone children. Cyntia was particularly eager, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she greeted the twins. “I cannot wait to spend time with you both this season,” she said, practically bouncing on her toes. “It will be such fun!”

“I’m sure it will,” Caterina said with a polite smile, while Teresa, always a bit more adventurous, leaned in with a mischievous grin. “I think we shall be quite the trio, Cyntia.”

The teasing remark made Cyntia giggle, and even Olympia, who had initially seemed more reserved, cracked a smile. “Yes, indeed,” she said.

Once they were settled into their guest rooms, the Medici women were invited to join the Langstones for a splendid dinner in the grand dining room. The table was laden with the finest dishes, prepared in honor of their arrival. The soft glow of chandeliers bathed the room in a warm, inviting light as everyone took their seats.

Throughout the dinner, the conversation flowed easily between the families. Talk of the upcoming season dominated the discussion, with the Langstone daughters expressing their excitement for the events ahead.

“Cyntia is quite eager for her debut,” Rose-Marie said, smiling fondly at her youngest daughter. “And Olympia will be your guide, I’m sure. She’s already made quite a name for herself.”

Olympia smiled modestly. “I shall do my best, Mother.”

Teresa and Caterina exchanged glances, each thinking of the season ahead, and all the possibilities it held. “I imagine the season will be… quite eventful,” Teresa said, choosing her words carefully. “London society seems very different from what we are used to.”

“Oh, it is,” Olympia assured them, “but you’ll find your footing quickly. The key is to keep your head up and stay true to yourself.”

Caterina raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “And what of the gentlemen, Olympia? Is there any advice you can offer on that matter?”

Olympia hesitated, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade as she met Caterina's piercing gaze. She fiddled with the lace trim of her sleeve before finally speaking, her voice a touch quieter than usual.

“Well,” Olympia began, glancing around to make sure no one else was listening, “the gentlemen here are… a mix. Some are quite charming, but many are far more interested in appearances than in substance. The key is to smile and nod, but never reveal too much of yourself too soon.”

She paused, then added, “But if you’re looking for a match that’s more than just surface, someone who truly sees you, well… that can be harder to find. You might have to look beyond the usual balls and tea parties.”

Caterina narrowed her eyes slightly, intrigued. “And how does one find such a gentleman?”

Olympia’s blush deepened, her fingers still nervously fidgeting with her gown. “I suppose… you look for the ones who aren’t always in the spotlight, who seem more interested in conversation than in dancing. They exist, but they don’t always make themselves known right away. Sometimes, it’s the quiet ones who surprise you.”

Her words lingered in the air, and Caterina nodded thoughtfully, though her skepticism remained. "Interesting… though I’m not sure I believe in surprises anymore," Caterina mused softly.

Olympia, sensing her cousin's reluctance, simply smiled. “Perhaps you’ll find one when you least expect it.”

As the evening drew to a close, the Medici women retired to their rooms, their hearts and minds buzzing with the excitement of the days to come.

─────────

The Medici family carriage rattled through the quiet streets of Mayfair, the early morning sun casting a soft glow on the rows of elegant townhouses. Inside, Caterina and Teresa sat, their faces painted with varying degrees of displeasure. Teresa, who could barely hide her thoughts, sighed dramatically, her voice full of complaint.

“I don’t understand, Mama,” Teresa began, glancing at her mother with wide, incredulous eyes. “Why are we here for more dresses when we already brought thousands from home? Three bags each, at least!”

Caterina, sitting beside her sister, nodded in agreement. “I must side with Tess on this, Mama. It’s the dawn, and I doubt the shop is even open. It looks like London doesn’t rise as early as we do.” Her voice was cool, matching the disinterest she felt for yet another gown-fitting. She had grown accustomed to luxury and yet, despite the endless opulence, it left her unsatisfied.

Lady Medici, regal as ever, led the way, her stride purposeful as she addressed her daughters without looking back. “Ladies, I don’t want to hear any more complaints. We must acquire new dresses not only for your first ball but for all the others in the season.” She turned slightly, lowering her voice as they passed a mother and daughter walking arm-in-arm. “We need to adjust to British designs, even if they are…out of touch.”

Teresa giggled behind her gloved hand, and even Caterina couldn’t suppress a small smirk at their mother’s biting remark. Lady Medici was always sharp in her observations of fashion and propriety. But before either of the twins could speak again, Lady Medici stopped just outside the shop, turning to face them, her expression stern.

“What have I always said about mornings?” she asked.

The twins, familiar with this routine, rolled their eyes and recited in unison, “ La mattinata fa la giornata .” [The morning makes the day] Their voices carried the rhythm of their native Italian. Lady Medici nodded approvingly. “Good,” she said, a small, triumphant smile on her lips as she ushered them inside.

The shop was quiet, too quiet. When they stepped inside, the bell at the door barely made a sound, and the absence of bustling attendants suggested they were indeed the day’s first customers. The mannequins stood draped in gowns of fine silk and satin, the air thick with the scent of fabric and perfume.

“Hello?” Lady Medici called out, her voice echoing slightly in the stillness. A few moments passed before the sound of hurried footsteps could be heard from upstairs, followed by the rustle of skirts. After what felt like an eternity to the impatient twins, a woman appeared, her hair slightly disheveled, her makeup incomplete, but her dress impeccably styled.

“Good morning, ladies,” the woman greeted, her thick French accent unmistakable. She flashed a broad smile, though the surprise in her eyes was evident. “I didn’t expect any clients this early.” Her gaze flickered over the unfamiliar faces. “What can I do for you?”

“We’re here for a consultation,” Lady Medici began, her voice authoritative but polite. “Madame…?”

“Delacroix,” the woman introduced herself, inclining her head slightly.

“Madame Delacroix,” Lady Medici repeated, her French flawless. “We’ve traveled a long way—”

“Italie,” Delacroix interrupted with a smile, her eyes glittering as she assessed the elaborate gowns the twins wore. “I can recognize the work of your homeland, such a unique hand”.

Lady Medici’s chest swelled with pride. “Indeed. And these are my daughters, Teresa and Caterina Medici. They are to debut this season, and we require someone familiar with British designs for their gowns.”

“Je suis honorée, madame,” Delacroix said, bowing lightly before gesturing toward Teresa. “Shall we begin with measurements?”

As Teresa stepped forward, eager for her turn, Caterina lingered behind, her gaze wandering across the shop. The textures and fabrics displayed failed to impress her, especially in comparison to the luxurious Italian silks she was accustomed to.

“I don’t see any Italian fabrics,” Caterina noted, her voice laced with mild annoyance as she ran her gloved hand over a particularly underwhelming bolt of cloth. “Why is that?”

Delacroix’s smile faltered slightly, a hint of discomfort appearing in her expression. “Mademoiselle, I am afraid Italian fabrics are very difficile to acquire at the moment. They are highly sought after, and the price has increased dramatically.”

“I see,” Caterina responded, her tone cold, as though the modiste’s explanation wasn’t satisfactory. She turned away, moving deeper into the shop, still lost in her assessment of the uninspiring fabrics. Her curiosity led her to a quieter corner of the store, away from the others.

As she absentmindedly ran her hand over a silk cloth, she removed her glove, needing to feel the texture properly. But just as she was about to return to the front of the shop, she turned abruptly straight into someone. The collision was sudden, sending a mess of clothes and her glove tumbling to the floor.

Caterina gasped, the sudden impact knocking her slightly off balance. When she looked up, her breath caught in her throat. Standing before her, clearly flustered, was a man holding an armful of clothes.

Benedict Bridgerton.

The disheveled artist and second son of the Bridgerton family stood frozen in place, his arms full of half-dressed garments, his usual charm nowhere to be found. He had promised himself, the night before, for the umpteenth time, that he would return home before dawn, to avoid misunderstandings that could have caused some scandal but neither this time had he succeeded. So he reduced himself to sneaking up from Madame Delacroix’s shop in broad daylight… with customers!

For a moment, neither of them moved. Caterina’s eyes swept over him, taking in his rumpled appearance, while Benedict found himself mesmerized by the woman before him. Her beauty, her poise, she was unlike any lady he had ever seen, and certainly not someone he expected to bump into at this hour.

“Caterina? Where are you, my dear?” a voice called from the front of the shop, breaking the tense silence.

Caterina glanced toward the source of the voice and then back at Benedict. Without a word, she bent down and swiftly snatched her glove from the pile of fallen clothes, her fingers brushing against Benedict’s hand for the briefest of moments. The touch sent a jolt through him, and he froze again, his heart skipping a beat.

“You should go,” she said firmly, her voice quiet but commanding. Her eyes locked with his, a hint of amusement flickering in them as she tilted her head toward the door.

Benedict, still struggling to regain his composure, nodded quickly. He bowed slightly, his face flushing with embarrassment, before hurrying toward the door, his exit as clumsy as their collision had been.

As the door closed behind him, Caterina straightened her gown and returned her attention to the fabrics. She found herself wondering why it had taken him so long to leave, perhaps he was slow, or simply clumsy, but whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. She had more important things to focus on, like the unimpressive selection of materials in front of her.

─────────

2 days later

The excitement buzzed around the room as the Langstone sisters continued their chatter about the upcoming ball. Cynthia, the youngest, was particularly animated, her face glowing with enthusiasm as she spoke. “Believe me, you will surely enjoy the ball tonight. Lady Danbury is known to host the most splendid and fabulous event of the entire season!”

Teresa, already caught up in the atmosphere, could hardly contain her own excitement. “I heard the Queen will be attending. Is that true?” she asked eagerly while one of the maids carefully adjusted her gown.

Cynthia nodded with a wide grin. “It is indeed! But what makes it even more thrilling is that the Queen hasn’t chosen the Diamond of the Season yet!”

The twins exchanged a confused glance, both frowning slightly at this unfamiliar term. Teresa tilted her head. “The diamond? You mean the mineral?”

Olympia, the older and more experienced sister, let out a soft laugh. “Oh no, not a literal diamond! Every season, the Queen selects one favored young lady, granting her the title of ‘Diamond of the Season.’ It’s the highest honor, essentially making her the most eligible lady of the marriage market.”

Caterina, sitting a bit farther away, scoffed under her breath. “Marriage market, what a concept.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm as her maid twisted the last curl into place. The idea of being paraded around and chosen like some prized possession made her skin crawl. She had no desire to become the center of attention.

Cynthia continued, oblivious to Caterina’s inner disdain. “From that moment on, every gentleman seeking a wife will be vying for her attention. Imagine being the queen’s chosen!”

Teresa, unable to resist teasing her sister, glanced at Caterina with a mischievous smile. “That sounds exactly like something Kitty would love!” she mocked lightly, knowing all too well how uncomfortable her sister would feel being thrust into the spotlight.

Caterina rolled her eyes but couldn’t help smiling at the playful jibe. The other girls giggled, their laughter filling the room with warmth as they continued preparing for the evening.

As the Langstone sisters began to recount the scandals of last season, particularly the juiciest gossip, the stories were abruptly cut off by a knock at the door. A maid entered, curtseying before announcing, “Your mothers are ready, my ladies. The carriages await.”

The girls quickly gathered their things, a flurry of excitement filling the air once more. Outside, two elegant carriages awaited them, their lacquered surfaces gleaming in the fading light of the afternoon. The Medici ladies would ride in one, while Lady Langstone and her daughters took the other.

─────────

As they settled into their seats, Teresa leaned toward her mother, bubbling with the gossip she had just heard. “Mama, did you know about the diamond title and the Queen’s blessing?” she asked, her voice filled with awe as she recounted all that Cynthia and Olympia had shared.

Lady Medici smiled, her eyes bright with amusement and something else, pride. “Ah, I had nearly forgotten to mention it. There’s a reason why our arrival has caused such a stir,” she said, tapping her hands lightly on her lap. “Word about us has spread quicker than I expected. The Queen is quite curious to meet you both. Upon our arrival, they will announce us formally.” Her voice was filled with excitement, and she looked at her daughters, her smile widening.

Teresa’s eyes widened with wonder. “The Queen herself wants to greet us? Is that… a good thing, Mama?” she asked, unsure whether to feel excited or nervous.

Lady Medici beamed. “Of course, my darling, it’s a wonderful thing! The Queen doesn’t take notice of just anyone. Our family’s reputation precedes us, and this will ensure your introduction to society is nothing short of spectacular. You must understand, that being acknowledged by the Queen places you in a very advantageous position.”

As Lady Medici spoke, Caterina continued staring out the window, her fingers absently playing with the fur draped over her shoulders. Despite the assurances from her mother, Caterina felt uneasy. The thought of being presented to the Queen, of having all eyes on her, only heightened her anxiety. She longed for the warmth of Italy, for the familiarity of home, far away from the chilly, polished world of the British aristocracy.

─────────

The carriage rocked gently as they rode through the bustling streets of Mayfair. She watched the cobbled streets pass by, her mind filled with uncertainty. What if all this attention, this grand entrance into London’s elite, only led her further away from the security she sought? After all, she was here to find stability, not to make herself the talk of the ton.

Teresa’s voice broke through her thoughts as she whispered excitedly to Caterina, “Imagine, Kitty. The Queen, the diamonds, the gentlemen. All of it is just beginning!”

Caterina sighed, offering her sister a faint smile. “Yes, it’s all beginning,” she echoed, but her tone was far more cautious. For Caterina, this debut season was less about the glittering possibilities of romance and more about survival. She had come to London with a purpose, and she couldn’t allow herself to be swept away by fantasies of courtship or the title of “Diamond of the Season.” Too much was at stake.

Still, as they neared the grand estate where Lady Danbury’s ball would take place, Caterina couldn’t shake the gnawing sense that tonight would be different.

As the Medici family carriage came to a halt, Lady Medici, signaled a footman to announce their arrival. Before stepping down, she paused, gathering her daughters’ hands in her own. Her gaze softened as she looked warmly into their eyes, speaking with the gravitas of a mother whose daughters stood on the precipice of something great.

"I don’t need to tell you what to say or what to do tonight," Lady Medici began, her voice steady, "you already know everything." Her expression brightened, eyes glistening. "I am so happy and proud of you both. Our life is about to start a new chapter tonight." Her voice trembled ever so slightly with emotion before she pulled them into a tender embrace.

With a deep breath and a poised smile, she turned to face the grand doors of the ball.

Indeed, as she had just said, a new chapter was about to begin for Caterina and Teresa Medici, and perhaps for the entire ton.

The grand double doors swung open, and the entrance hall echoed with the ceremonial thump of footmen’s sticks hitting the marble floor, a sound that commanded instant attention.

Conversation dwindled to murmurs, all eyes turning to the entrance as an announcement rang out, authoritative and grand:

"Please welcome the Dowager Duchess of Lucca, Marie Medici, and her daughters, Miss Teresa Medici and Miss Caterina Medici."

The trio entered with grace, their figures bathed in the soft glow of the ballroom’s chandeliers. They moved almost in slow motion, their elaborate gowns shimmering under the light as they made their way toward the Queen. All eyes were fixed on them, but that did not stop the whispers from starting, subtle yet sharp.

"Duchess of where?"

"Lucca? Italy, I heard."

"They came all the way from Italy for what, exactly?"

"Look at the number of jewels they’re wearing."

"Surely those must be worth more than the Queen’s crown jewels!"

"And what is that on their shoulders—fur?"

"Fur? How audacious…"

As the chatter filled the room, the three women reached the Queen and dropped into a deep, practiced bow. When they rose, they spoke in unison, their voices blending as they greeted the monarch.

"Your Majesty."

The Queen’s eyes gleamed with genuine curiosity, a rare reaction in the face of so many debutantes. "Duchess," she began, her tone intrigued, "what an unexpected honor to have you here in my court. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Lady Medici smiled graciously, standing tall and regal. "Your Majesty, I have come from Italy with the intent of finding suitable husbands for my daughters."

The Queen’s eyebrow arched with interest. "Husbands? And were there no suitable bachelors in Italy?"

"Indeed there were," Lady Medici replied with a flattering smile, "but word of your lavish season has reached even our shores. We’ve always admired it and desired to experience this remarkable opportunity."

The Queen seemed to weigh her response before stepping down from her throne, her regal demeanor softening slightly as she studied the Medici sisters more closely. "Well," she declared with a hint of approval, "in that regard, I am thrilled to welcome your daughters into this season. They are exquisitely pretty, Duchess."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Lady Medici beamed, her hand resting on Caterina and Teresa’s shoulders. "They are my greatest joy, my twin daughters."

The Queen’s eyes widened with new fascination. "Twins, you say?" she repeated, her curiosity deepening. "That certainly enhances their… rarity."

Caterina’s brow furrowed slightly, a faint unease prickling at her instincts. She could sense that the Queen’s compliment carried layers of expectation.

Raising her voice to command the attention of the room, the Queen addressed the ton. "It is now my honor," she said, her tone carrying a note of grandeur, "to present to you this season’s Diamond, or should I say Diamonds. Miss Teresa Medici and Miss Caterina Medici!"

A wave of applause erupted through the ballroom, the rare occurrence of two Diamonds causing a stir of excitement. The clapping from the Langstone family, who had been eagerly awaiting this moment, was the loudest of all, brimming with pride.

But amid the sea of applause, Caterina’s mind spun, the weight of the Queen’s pronouncement settling over her. Her smile stiffened as a single thought echoed in her mind: Oh, fuck.

─────────

As the applause filled the room, Benedict Bridgerton's mind was elsewhere.

The name that had just been announced “Caterina Medici, daughter of a duchess from Italy” rang in his ears. That was the identity of the mysterious woman he had seen two days earlier when he had sneaked out of the Modiste.

The same woman who had unknowingly captured his attention and thoughts…

His heart raced as he stared at her from across the ballroom. The elegant figure in the sparkling gown, her hair gleaming under the chandeliers, was none other than the stranger he’d spent days thinking about. But now she wasn’t just a fleeting encounter. She was real, she had a name, and she was standing in front of him in all her beauty.

"Your mouth is leaking, brother," Colin teased, breaking Benedict from his reverie. His younger brother stood beside him, arms crossed, a mischievous grin on his face.

"Wha-what?" Benedict stammered, finally tearing his gaze away from Caterina to glance at Colin, who was now laughing openly.

"I said, your mouth is leaking," Colin repeated, his voice full of amusement. "You’ve been staring at her for quite some time."

Benedict blinked, attempting to regain his composure. "I-I saw her at the Modiste," he said, a little too quickly, as though that explained everything.

"The Modiste?" Colin raised an eyebrow, clearly exasperated. "Again, brother? You’re really becoming predictable."

"Nothing relevant happened," Benedict muttered, but his eyes drifted back to Caterina, who was now engaged in conversation with the Queen. She seemed even more captivating tonight than he remembered, her beauty enhanced by the graceful way she held herself.

"God, she’s even more beautiful tonight," Benedict whispered to himself, unable to suppress the longing in his voice.

Colin’s smirk widened. "Are you already falling for her, brother?" he asked, leaning closer, his tone laced with teasing.

"I don’t know, Colin," Benedict replied, still mesmerized. "But she is the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. I need to talk to her."

Colin chuckled, shaking his head. "Be careful, brother. You sound like a lovesick fool."

At that moment, the applause grew louder as the Queen made her pronouncement, officially introducing the Medici sisters as the Diamonds of the season. The room hummed with excitement, and Colin moved even closer to Benedict.

"You’re going to have a lot of contenders to deal with, brother," He whispered in his ear, his eyes gleaming with amusement, and then clapped Benedict on the shoulder. "Good luck, Ben. You’ll need it."

─────────

“oh that was unexpected…” sighed Lady Medici regarding the diamond announcement.

“what is this thing?” asked annoyed Caterina not even listening to her mother but just looking at her dance card hanging from her wrist.

After the announcement some valets just gave them and the ball continued to go… this was just a short moment before the assail of the ladies by the men of the ton.

“They call it ‘dance card’, is where the gentlemen write their names to reserve you a dance with you or something similar, Cynthia told me, she showed me hers this morning from a previous ball” explained Teresa next to the sister who made a disgusted sound “what an absurdity,” she said before taking it off and throw it in the fireplace next to them.

“Caterina!” recalled her mother “What did you just do! I hope that you were not seen” Lady Medici continued saying, looking around but she just interrupted herself because she saw a multitude of bachelors moving towards them, she widened her eyes scared.

“I throw it in the fire Mother, I am perfectly capable of remembering every man’s name who will dance with me tonight and I don’t need to be reserved, as an object of -” Caterina clarified more than annoyed but she didn’t have the time to finished because her sister took her hand and squeezing fiercely, that acts made her look up to the crowd that was approaching them “oh mamma mia” Caterina whispered before she and her sister were surrounded by all those men, asking them eagerly a dance.

─────────

The ball had reached its crescendo, the music was lively, the laughter contagious, and the whispers were flying faster than the swirling couples on the dance floor. But for Caterina Medici, the night was proving to be a delicate balancing act. Ever since the Queen had declared her and her sister, the diamonds of the season, she had barely had a moment to breathe. Gentleman after gentleman had approached her, each vying for her hand in the next dance, each seemingly more pompous or desperate than the last.

Caterina was no stranger to attention, but this… this was overwhelming. A cascade of flattery, offers of refreshments, compliments on her gown, all of it seemingly designed to entrap her in endless conversations. It didn’t help that Teresa, ever the calm and composed one, handled the pressure with that grace, making Caterina feel just a bit more like an imposter.

So, in a moment of impulsive decision, she had decided to slip away for a breath of air, weaving through the bustling crowd in search of solitude.

So she tried to find a retreat, away from all those pompous people, and a drink…especially a drink. what a species the British, she thought while trying to avoid everyone while walking very close to the wall.

Finally, she spotted a small, tucked-away area near the refreshment tables. It was nearly hidden from view, a small respite from the chaos of the ballroom. Her eyes were drawn to a petite woman in an eye-catching bright yellow dress with striking red hair standing by the food. Caterina let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and whispered to herself, "A time of peace."

She reached for a small, almond-shaped treat that looked like an amaretto, one of her favorite Italian delicacies. But the moment she bit into it, her face contorted in disgust. It was far too sweet and lacked the rich, familiar taste of home. With a grimace, she quickly took it out of her mouth and discreetly tossed it behind her, trying to recover her composure.

Suddenly, the woman in the bright yellow dress spoke, causing Caterina to jump. “Oh! Lady Medici, what a pleasure! I didn’t see you here.”

Startled, Caterina gasped and turned quickly, trying to mask her embarrassment. “Oh, please, don’t,” she said with a gracious smile, gesturing for the woman not to bow. “There is no need for such formalities, Miss…?”

“Featherington, my lady. Penelope Featherington,” the young woman answered shyly, her cheeks tinged pink.

Caterina’s smile widened. “Penelope, what a beautiful name! A pleasure indeed.”

Penelope blushed deeper, looking down at her hands as she fidgeted with the hem of her dress. “Oh, thank you, though I’ve never been particularly fond of it,” she admitted softly.

Caterina frowned slightly, genuinely puzzled. “Why not? Penelope is a wonderful name, the same as Odysseus' wife and Queen of Ithaca. You should be proud of it.”

Penelope looked up, her blush deepening at the unexpected compliment. The weight of her insecurities felt lighter under Caterina's warm encouragement. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond, so Caterina, sensing the young lady’s shyness, shifted the conversation.

“May I ask you something, Miss Featherington?” Caterina began, her tone was casual but curious.

“Of course,” Penelope replied, eager to continue the conversation.

“The courtship here,” Caterina said, gesturing vaguely to the ballroom filled with dancing couples, “is it truly like this?”

Penelope looked confused for a moment. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Caterina sighed softly and elaborated. “I mean, is the entire season going to be filled with endless dancing and conversations with gentlemen until I finally find one ‘suitable’? Is that how it works?”

Penelope couldn’t help but chuckle. “Well, not necessarily. You don’t have to dance with everyone if you’ve already found ‘the one.’”

Caterina snorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “The one. Yes, of course,” she said, almost irritated by the idea.

Penelope, sensing Caterina's disillusionment, hesitated before asking, “Have you met anyone pleasing so far?”

Caterina chuckled dryly. “Next question?”

Penelope let out a small, nervous laugh, but before she could say anything else, Caterina continued, “No, I’m afraid not. The gentlemen I’ve danced with tonight have been mind-numbingly dull.”

Penelope’s lips twitched into a small smile. “I can believe that. Some of them can be quite uninteresting. But I imagine in Italy the men must be quite different, or am I wrong?”

Caterina laughed genuinely this time. “Regrettably, no. Men are the same no matter where you go. The only difference is how the courtship is handled.”

Penelope tilted her head, curiosity piqued. “Really? How so?”

“In Italy, it’s usually the parents who arrange the matches, often years before you even meet the person,” Caterina explained. “It’s all for political or financial interests, of course. Rarely does one find their partner at a ball like this.”

“And did you have such a pairing, Lady Medici?” Penelope asked, her voice soft with curiosity.

Caterina chuckled again, shifting her gaze to the dance floor. “Not exactly. All my cousins were already betrothed. That’s part of the reason my sister and I came here.” She paused for a moment, noticing the shock on Penelope's face. “I’m joking, Miss Featherington,” she reassured her with a smile. “we came here because wanted to change air, if we want to put it this way. almost forced I might add.”

Penelope, intrigued by this candid new diamond, was about to ask more when Caterina suddenly turned toward a footman carrying a tray of champagne. “Excuse me!” she called out, waving her hand dramatically. “ Grazie a Dio! ” [thank God]

The footman approached, and before Penelope could register what was happening, Caterina began downing glass after glass of champagne in rapid succession. Penelope and the footman exchanged wide-eyed looks of disbelief.

“You are my salvation,” Caterina said to the footman after finishing the last glass, waving him off dismissively.

“My lady,” Penelope said, half-chuckling as she regained her composure. “Are you sure that much champagne won’t make you ill?”

Caterina waved her off with a laugh. “Don’t be troubled. I am Italian. I’ve been drinking since the age of five.”

Despite her shock, Penelope couldn't help but laugh, charmed by Caterina’s nonchalance. The two continued their conversation easily, with Caterina asking Penelope about English customs, the intricacies of the season, and the latest gossip. Penelope, flattered by the attention and delighted to have someone to speak with so openly, felt a kinship forming. Caterina, in turn, found herself genuinely enjoying Penelope’s company.

Their laughter filled the small corner of the room until Penelope suddenly spotted someone rushing toward them, her dear friend Eloise Bridgerton.

“Oh, Pen, there you are!” Eloise exclaimed, nearly breathless as she reached them, clearly oblivious to Caterina’s presence at first. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! Why don’t we sneak away before our mamas—”

Eloise froze mid-sentence when she finally noticed the regal woman standing beside Penelope, a glass of champagne in hand. She laughed awkwardly, smoothing her dress. “Oh.”

“Miss Medici,” whispered Penelope softly, nudging Eloise.

Eloise’s eyes widened in realization. “Miss Medici,” she stammered, offering a polite but slightly awkward bow.

Caterina chuckled, amused by Eloise’s discomfort. “Miss Bridgerton, the pleasure is mine,” she said, returning the bow. She then turned to Eloise with a knowing smile. “I must say, I completely agree with your idea to leave this ball early. It’s becoming quite unbearable.”

Eloise laughed awkwardly again, still slightly taken aback by Caterina’s frankness.

“But,” Caterina added, glancing toward the dance floor, “I believe I should go find my sister… or perhaps rescue her, considering what Miss Featherington just told me about the gentleman she’s dancing with.”

With a gracious smile, Caterina nodded to both women. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Featherington. Miss Bridgerton.” Then, with a graceful turn, she made her way back toward the crowd, leaving Eloise and Penelope standing in stunned silence.

─────────

But she hadn’t gotten very far.

As she tried to make her way to the far side of the ballroom, a voice interrupted her rescue.

"Running away already, Miss Medici?" The voice was low, teasing, and unmistakably British.

Caterina turned, her heart skipping a beat as she found herself face-to-face with the very man she had spotted at the Modiste’s a few days prior, the man she had wondered about since then.

Benedict Bridgerton.

For a moment, Caterina was speechless. He was striking, standing tall with a confident, yet mischievous look in his eyes that only seemed to grow sharper when he saw her surprise. His dark hair, his sharp jawline, it was all exactly as she remembered. And now here he was, teasing her as if they were already acquainted.

"You," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Are you always this persistent or am I simply a special case? Mr.?” “Benedict Bridgerton,” he said bowing in front of her, still with his mischievous grin, and then he chuckled, clearly amused by her quick wit. "I would argue that I’m only persistent when I see a lady in need of rescue. And judging by how many gentlemen were chasing after you, I think it's safe to say you were in need of one."

Caterina tilted her head slightly, studying him with a raised brow. "Ah, so you’re rescuing me now? How noble of you."

"I do try," he said with a wink. "Though truth be told, I’m also saving myself from my mother’s scorn if I don’t dance at least once tonight. And who better to dance with than the diamond of the season?"

Caterina couldn’t help but laugh, a real one, unrestrained and bright, and it drew a few glances from the nearby guests. "So it’s your mother who forced you into this? I see I’m just an escape for you as well then."

Benedict feigned shock, placing a hand over his chest. "You wound me, Miss Medici. I assure you, no force was involved. Just a very strong suggestion."

The banter between them was easy, and Caterina was intrigued. He wasn’t like the other gentlemen who had approached her tonight, there was no overly polite stiffness, no rehearsed lines about her beauty or her grace. Instead, there was humor, lightness, and a glint of something in his eyes that made her feel as if he was speaking to her, not her title or her reputation.

"And what makes you think I’ll accept your offer?" Caterina teased, though the smile playing on her lips betrayed her amusement.

"Because," Benedict said, stepping closer, his voice dropping slightly, "you’re curious about me. Just as I am about you."

Her heart skipped a beat again. He wasn’t wrong. There was something about him that made her curious. The way he carried himself with ease, the way he spoke to her as though they were equals. And of course, she couldn’t ignore that he had seen her at the Modiste—a moment she had hoped no one would notice. But clearly, he had.

"Very well, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, offering her hand with a smirk. "You’ve earned yourself a dance. Let’s see if you can keep up."

He grinned, taking her hand in his, and led her to the center of the ballroom. The orchestra began a new piece, a waltz, delicate and sweeping, and as they took their positions, Benedict leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear.

"I must admit," he said, "when I saw you at the Modiste’s, I wasn’t expecting to meet you like this."

Caterina raised an eyebrow, amused. "And what were you expecting? A quieter introduction, perhaps? Less of an audience?"

"Maybe," he said with a grin. "Or perhaps a little less running away on your part."

She laughed again, unable to resist the humor in his voice. "Well, you caught me. But now you’re stuck with me for the rest of the dance. I hope you don’t regret your decision."

"Never," he said, and they began to move, effortlessly gliding across the floor in perfect time to the music.

For a few moments, they danced in silence, but it wasn’t the awkward kind of quiet that often accompanied first dances. It was…comfortable as if the rhythm of the waltz spoke for them. Caterina could feel the strength in Benedict’s hold, the way he confidently guided her through each step, his eyes never leaving hers.

"You dance well, Mr. Bridgerton," Caterina remarked, her tone playful but genuine.

"I should hope so," he replied. "Though I must admit, I’m finding it difficult to focus."

"Oh? And why is that?"

Benedict met her gaze, his expression softening. "Because you, Miss Medici, are quite… distracting."

Caterina felt a warmth rise in her cheeks, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, a teasing smile on her lips. "Is that so? I’m not sure whether to take that as a compliment or an excuse."

"Both," Benedict said, his voice low, making her heart skip once more. "But in all seriousness, I’m glad I found you tonight."

"You say that now," Caterina replied, her tone light, though she couldn’t deny the flutter of excitement his words stirred within her. "Let’s see if you still feel that way by the end of the season."

He laughed softly. "I have a feeling I will."

They continued to move together, their steps in sync, but the connection between them went beyond the dance. For Caterina, it was strange how easy it felt to talk to him, to joke with him. She was always on her guard with the men of the ton, always aware of what they might want from her, always careful not to let her walls down. But with Benedict, there was something different.

As the music drew to a close, Benedict twirled her one final time before they came to a stop, their hands still clasped. The applause from the crowd barely registered in Caterina’s mind as she looked up at him, slightly breathless.

"Thank you for the dance," she said softly, her eyes locking with his.

"The pleasure was all mine," Benedict replied, his voice just as quiet, but his gaze held something deeper, something that made Caterina wonder what might happen next.

For the first time that night, she wasn’t thinking about escaping the attention of the gentlemen or the pressures of the season. For the first time, she was simply enjoying the moment. And though she didn’t yet know what it meant, she couldn’t deny that Benedict Bridgerton had made quite the impression on her.

As they parted, Benedict offered her a slight bow, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Until next time, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, and then he watched her walk away.

─────────

As the waltz came to an end, Caterina felt a sense of relief, but also a certain thrill she hadn’t expected. Dancing with Benedict Bridgerton had been more enjoyable than she anticipated. His humor and ease had made her forget if only for a moment, the heavy weight of being named a diamond of the season. As they bowed and parted ways, her eyes naturally drifted toward her sister Teresa, who was currently locked in conversation with yet another hopeful gentleman. And then she remembered her previous mission so a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Let me save her," she muttered to herself, weaving through the crowd toward Teresa.

When she reached her sister, Caterina gently placed a hand on her arm. "Forgive me, but I must steal my sister away for just a moment," she said with an apologetic smile to the gentleman, who quickly bowed and backed away, sensing the dismissal.

"Thank you," Teresa whispered, her voice tinged with gratitude. "I thought he’d never stop talking."

Caterina grinned. "If you want, I can rescue you again later. But for now, I think we’ve earned a break."

They barely had time to exchange more than a glance before their mother, Lady Medici, appeared beside them, her usual regal air intact. But she wasn’t alone. Standing proudly next to her was a woman the twins had only heard about through whispers and fleeting mentions, Lady Danbury.

"Ladies," Lady Medici said, her tone both formal and excited, "I would like to introduce you to Lady Danbury. She was curious to meet the season’s diamonds. After all, she’s the one who hosted this splendid ball."

Both Caterina and Teresa quickly straightened their posture, casting each other a brief glance before bowing deeply in unison. "Lady Danbury," they greeted her together, their voices respectful, though their eyes flickered with curiosity.

Lady Danbury, dressed in her signature bold attire, eyed the twins with an intensity that immediately made Caterina feel as though she were being sized up, measured, and calculated all at once. The older woman’s expression was inscrutable, but there was a certain sharpness in her gaze that Caterina felt that Lady Danbury was not someone to be taken lightly.

"What a marvelous ball you’ve hosted, my lady," Caterina said, breaking the silence and speaking in her most formal tone, trying to suppress the nerves bubbling in her chest.

"Yes, Lady Danbury," Teresa chimed in. "I can barely stop myself from dancing. The company you've invited is exceptional."

Lady Danbury chuckled, a dry but amused sound, and took a step closer to the twins. Her sharp eyes moved between them, assessing their every detail, their gowns, their posture, their expressions. Caterina and Teresa exchanged a quick glance, both feeling the weight of the woman’s scrutiny.

"So," Lady Danbury began, her voice low but clear, "here are the unknown ladies who have so suddenly become the diamonds of the season… I assure you, from tonight onward, you will have the entire ton buzzing around you like bees to honey. Be very aware of what you say and do from now on."

Caterina’s heart quickened at the words, though her face remained poised. The implications of being diamonds were not lost on her, but hearing it from Lady Danbury only reinforced the pressure. She resisted the urge to glance at Teresa, knowing her sister was likely feeling the same unease.

Lady Medici chuckled softly, though Caterina detected a hint of awkwardness in her mother’s laughter. "My daughters are well aware of the responsibilities they have just been given, Lady Danbury," Lady Medici said, her voice a touch firmer than usual.

Lady Danbury’s sharp gaze flickered toward Lady Medici, her lips curling into a smirk. "I have no doubt they are. But awareness is only the first step, Duchess. Execution, now that… that will be the true test."

Caterina resisted the urge to swallow nervously as Lady Danbury’s words hung in the air, their weight undeniable. It was as though she was already being judged, long before she had the chance to prove herself.

Suddenly, Lady Danbury’s tone shifted, and she looked back at the twins with a casual, almost dismissive air. "You are both invited for tea tomorrow afternoon at my house. I would like to speak with you about a few things, check up on others."

Caterina and Teresa’s eyes widened in surprise at the sudden invitation. It was not common for Lady Danbury to extend such personal offers, especially not to newcomers like them. A flicker of uncertainty passed between the twins, but Lady Medici was quick to respond, her voice filled with practiced politeness.

"Of course, Lady Danbury," Lady Medici said smoothly. "It would be our utmost pleasure to join you."

Lady Danbury hummed in response, her sharp gaze sweeping over the twins once more before she stepped back. "I’ll see you both tomorrow then. Be prompt."

With that, Lady Danbury turned on her heel and began to make her way through the ballroom, her cane clicking against the polished floor. The Medici women watched her leave, all three of them exhaling in unison once she was out of earshot.

Caterina let out a soft, nervous laugh. "Well, that was… intense."

Teresa nodded, her brow furrowed. "I can’t tell if we made a good impression or not."

Lady Medici smiled, though her expression was thoughtful. "Lady Danbury is not easily impressed, but the fact that she invited you for tea is a good sign. It means she’s interested. And when Lady Danbury is interested, the rest of the ton will follow."

Caterina sighed, feeling the weight of the evening settling on her shoulders. "Well, I suppose we’ll find out tomorrow what she really thinks."

Lady Medici gave her daughters a reassuring smile, though even she couldn’t mask her concern. "Indeed. But for tonight, remember to hold your heads high. You’ve been named the diamonds of the season. That is no small feat, and you deserve every bit of the attention you’re receiving."

Teresa gave a small smile, but Caterina couldn’t help the flicker of doubt that crept into her mind. She wasn’t sure if she wanted all of this attention, the expectations, the pressure, the constant eyes watching her every move. But for now, there was nothing to do but smile, nod, and play the part.

As the music began to swell once more and the night continued around them, Caterina cast a glance across the room. The faces of the ton blurred together, each one filled with curiosity and expectation. Her gaze drifted toward the spot where Benedict Bridgerton had been, but he was gone now, swallowed up by the crowd.

Tomorrow, tea with Lady Danbury. Tonight, the eyes of London’s elite. And in between all of it, the weight of her future hung precariously in the balance.

Caterina straightened her shoulders, giving her mother and sister a final nod of reassurance.

─────────

Lady Danbury, always keen to understand the nuances of courtly decisions, seized the opportunity to inquire further. Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial, as she turned to the Queen with a curious glint in her eye. “Your Majesty, if I may ask, what prompted you to choose these particular young ladies as diamonds of the season?”

The Queen, who was observing the Medici sisters with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction, glanced at Lady Danbury with a twinkle in her eye. “Ah, Lady Danbury, you have a keen interest in my choices,” she remarked, her tone both teasing and indulgent.

The Queen’s gaze returned to Caterina and Teresa, who were now laughing lightly with a pair of gentlemen. The sight seemed to please the Queen immensely.

“Because, Lady Danbury,” the Queen began, her voice rich with a sense of revelry, “I am rather bored of choosing always from the same pool of candidates, our own soil if you will. The season tends to become predictable, doesn’t it? And I daresay it’s time for a bit of variety.”

Lady Danbury raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Are you saying that their foreign origin played a part in your decision?”

The Queen’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Indeed. Two splendid diamonds from overseas. When do I get a chance like that again?” She gestured toward the sisters, who were now the center of attention.

“Their presence introduces a fresh breath of air to our otherwise familiar circle. And who knows? They might even stir things up a bit, adding some excitement to our usual proceedings.”

Lady Danbury nodded thoughtfully, understanding the Queen’s perspective. “I see. You’ve always had a penchant for making the season memorable.”

“Precisely,” the Queen agreed, her gaze following Caterina and Teresa as they moved gracefully through the crowd. “The ton will speak of these two for weeks to come, if not longer. It’s not just about their beauty, though they are certainly striking. It’s about the intrigue and the newness they bring.”

Lady Danbury chuckled softly, a smile playing on her lips. “Well, Your Majesty, I must say you have certainly succeeded in capturing the season’s attention. I’m curious to see how they will handle the scrutiny.”

The Queen’s eyes twinkled with amusement as she turned her attention back to Lady Danbury. “And I am curious to see if they can live up to the reputation I’ve bestowed upon them. After all, the real test lies in how they navigate the intricacies of our society.”

As the two women continued their conversation, the Queen’s gaze lingered on the Medici sisters, her mind already contemplating the potential twists and turns their presence might bring to the season. Meanwhile, Lady Danbury, with her sharp observational skills, made a mental note of the new arrivals, eager to see how they would fare under the watchful eyes of London’s elite.

The evening was still young, and the ballroom was filled with a palpable sense of anticipation. The Queen’s decision to elevate the Medici sisters to diamonds of the season had certainly set the stage for a season unlike any other.

[imgondeletedis]

hey guys so

who would be interested if i wrote a mini-series Benedict bridgerton x reader, like a dark multi-shot, might or might not be inspired by fortnight by Taylor Swift because in my opinion one of the complex songs on this album, you've got to trust the process, I MIGHT GET A LOT OF BLACK LASH BUT ALRIGHT I am kinda proud of it, gonna include a slight cheating warning. So who wants to be on the taglist?

Gif not mine obviously.

Will also post on ao3 if someone's actually interested hehehe

[redpool]

What I'd give for a Bridgerton fic where the OC wasn't a innocent barely old enough girl who knows nothing of the world.

[barbiewritesstuff]

Love is Patience, love is kind

---

AN: I'm back! And this time it's a Benedict Bridgerton fic! Don't know if it's good or how long it'll be but I'm hoping it's a slow burn. As always, this isn't proofread.

Also this is soooo long, I'm not sorry :)

The title is still a work in progress.

TW. None I don't think but shoot me a message if you think one applies.

--

The servants quarters at the Bridgerton house are never quiet in the morning. It’s a miracle it doesn’t wake the household, Kit thinks, serving tea to everyone crowded at the kitchen table.

Because there are so many servants and maids, they usually do the morning food service in two goes. The Lower servants get first service, because they’re up earlier than the rest, and an hour later, the upper servants come down for their breakfast. Dinner is the opposite, with the upper servants eating first, and the lower servants eating afterwards. It’s only at lunch that everyone eats together while the Bridgertons luncheon upstairs. It’s short and rushed, especially for the Footmen who have to eat between food courses but cook is practised at her art and makes meals the boys can scoff down as they run plates upstairs. Mr Graves, the steward, doesn’t mind, so long as the boys aren’t still chewing on their food when they’re within eyesight of the family.

It’s rare that the staff finds a moment to converse around the kitchen table as a group outside of their respective mealtimes, but everyone tries for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and, like today, for employment anniversaries.

Despite being the one rushing around, serving tea, it’s Kit’s employment anniversary. She’s been employed by the Bridgertons for seven years today, and it’s gone by in a blur. She started off as a scullery maid and two years ago, moved to kitchen maid. She’ll likely stay there until Cook retires, which might be some years yet. Cook’s no spring chicken, but behind her facade of cute little old lady hides a strength and energy she only allows to be seen when something isn’t to her liking in her kitchen. The kitchen is Cook’s domain. Her kingdom. And she rules it with an iron fist and all the mercy of a dictator.

That being said, Cook really is a kind and caring woman. Which is why, unbeknownst to Kit, she’s been up for hours preparing a treat. She’s had to clear it with Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, weeks in advance and then hide it before Kit could discover her surprise, but as she finishes pouring tea and passing around the milk, Cook pulls out the plate of hot scones, cream and raspberry jam. It’s still steaming when she sets it out on the table with a satisfied grin at Kit’s surprised face.

The staff cheers but waits patiently for Kit to have the first one, watching with hungry eyes as she smears the jam on first and then drops a measured dollop of clotted cream to finish it off. They even hold off long enough for her to take a bite. As if waiting for her approval, as soon as she smiles, they all throw themselves on the plate to grab their own scone. In the hubbub, the jam spoon flies off, hitting a wall by the staircase that leads upstairs but no one notices.

Then, in less than five minutes, everything has been eaten, and the lower servants down their boiling hot teas as fast as they can before the shift starts. Soon, the merry conversations of the kitchen tables turn into orders and task lists and only the upper servants remain seated. Next to Kit, Cook pulls out her notebook and begins planning the day, and meals.

“Isn’t the new scullery maid supposed to start today,” Mrs Wilson remarks, tapping Mr Graves’ arm in order to get his attention.

He looks at his watch, a present from Edmund Bridgerton some years before, “She should be here in time for the Lunch service,” he replies, turning back to his tea, drinking the last mouthful and then shaking his cup at Kit to signal for a refill.

“Patience, you’ll be showing her the ropes,” he tells Kit, who he simply refuses to call by her nickname, stating that “Your parents put such thought in your first name, I will not show such disrespect as you call you by anything else,” and ignoring her when she tries to tell him that even her parents call her Kit. Only her brother Michael calls her Patience, or Patsy, when he’s cross with her.

Kit nods, until two years ago she’d been a scullery maid herself, and since her promotion, she had been juggling both jobs herself. It was a relief that Mr Graves had finally hired someone else, she’d be able to sleep more, and it would give her skin and lungs some needed reprieve. The cleaning chemicals she used to scrub everything clean were effective, but they were quite harsh on her. Graves’ reluctance to fill the scullery position was a mystery to everyone else too, the Bridgertons’ were more than rich enough to pay another member of staff, and even Mrs Wilson, who usually followed Mr. Graves’ instruction to the letter, had been on his case about hiring someone else.

“You should have --” Mrs Wilson starts

“I will not hear of it,” Mr Graves says, cutting her off, “I have now, there’s no need to harp on about it.”

The housekeeper throws him a look. If Kit didn’t know them as well as she did, she might be tempted to say the two were secretly courting, but as it stood, Mrs Wilson made her opinion of Graves perfectly clear. He was her superior and therefore worthy of respect and blind obedience, but privately, she thought him a self-important little man.

Before Graves could reprimand the housekeeper for the glare, the bells began ringing. Lady’s maids and valet stand up from their chairs, climbing up the stairs to the main house to assist their family member, then, the footmen stand up, finishing their tea to set the table and bring breakfast. Eventually, Humboldt and Mrs Wilson leave their place at the tables too.

After another cup of tea and a specially made jam on toast, Mr Graves bids Cook and Kit goodbye and retreats to his office, a small room to the side of the kitchen.

“I do not wish to spoil the fun of your special day, Kit dear, but we must get on,” Cook says. Springing to action, she tidies the kitchen table, neatly stacking plates, cups and cutlery by the kitchen sink and then, almost automatically, peeling vegetables.

For lunch, the Bridgertons will have asparagus soup, cold meat, cake and fruit. The soup is a special request of Violet Bridgerton herself and Cook wishes to make the Viscountess' soup of her own hands, while she busies herself with that, Kit moves on to the rest.

Then, as they finish up, the new scullery maid is announced by one of the Grooms as he walks in, traipsing mud and horse manure all over Kit’s perfectly polished floor.

Amused by the death glare she throws his way, the Groom introduces the girl, “This is Elaine,” he says, “And this is Cook,” he tells the girl, “And the Kitchen Maid,” he adds, winking at Kit, “Her name is Patience, everyone calls her Kit,” he adds.

“Except you,” Cook says, trying not to giggle

“That’s right,” The Groom smiles broadly, “My name is also Kit, short for Christopher,” he explains, “So to keep things clear, I call her ‘the lesser Kit’. So there’s no confusion,” he adds, winking at the girl. She giggles.

“I suggest you do not try to call me that,” Kit warns the girl.

“I’ll leave you lovely ladies to your work then,” Christopher says, “Happy anniversary. It’s been a pleasure to tease you for so long,” he adds over his shoulder as he walks out. Despite her best efforts, it does force a smile out of Kit.

“I’ll leave you to clean. I must go to market, and Mrs Wilson has asked me to inventory the pantry,” Cook says, taking off her apron and hanging it by the back door, she picks up her basket and then shakes the tea tin she keeps by her prized cookery books over the table and picks up the few coins that fell out. With a wave, she exits the kitchen, leaving the scullery maid and Kit by themselves.

Knowing that the dinner service needs to be prepared in less than two hours, and that the staff will descend upon the kitchen in roundabout an hour, Kit wastes no time showing Elaine where the cleaning supplies are kept and what must be done, how and when. The girl takes it in, asking any question she can think of as soon as she can. By the time Cook is back, Kit is suitably impressed by the girl.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Elaine watching all she does very closely.

“I’ll do the end of day cleaning with you for a week,” Kit says, “And then you’re on your own. You managed the cleaning fine after lunch, so I don’t think you’ll need me much,” she sighs, “Right, let’s get on with it. We start with the counters, obviously, then dusting and we finish with the floor,” Kit says, handing Elaine a brush, nodding towards the chopping block where Cook butchered the pheasant the Bridgertons ate for dinner. As the scullery maid got to scrubbing, Kit worked at the other end of the kitchen, cleaning the remnants of the staff lunch. She then moved on to the fireplace, picking up the sand they had spread to catch the grease and spills of whatever Cook had boiling in her cauldron, and then spreading new sand.

Elaine worked valiantly at the stove, braving the leftover heat of the coals to get everything clean without a word of complaint. And then, right as Kit started the yawn, the two girls set about cleaning the floor. It was the least pleasant job, in Kit’s opinion, worse than cleaning bloody chopping blocks, or sticking your arm in the warm stove. Cook despised mops and insisted that a scrubbing cloth be worked around the floor with bare feet, and that the water must be ice cold, as she thought any temperature above simply wasn’t as effective. By the end of it, Kit and Elaine’s toes were numb, but the floor sparkled, and painful feet were worth avoiding Cook’s wrath.

“Tea before bed?” Kit offers. Elaine happily agreed, taking a seat at the table while Kit pulled out a teapot and two cups.

“If your name is Patience, why are you called Kit?” Elaine asks, halfway through her cup, “If it’s alright to ask.”

Kit grinned, “My mother named me Patience Katherine Byrd,” she says, “I don’t like being called Patsy, so Kit was the next best thing.”

Elaine nods. She’s about to say something else when the door opens and someone starts down the stairs. Kit expects it to be Hyacinth on her weekly trip to the kitchen to wrestle some leftover cake out of Kit with puppy eyes and pretty pleases, but the footsteps seem too heavy.

The person stumbles, missing a step, and catches themselves on the railing with a groan and a mumbled swear. A few steps later, shoes and trousers come into view.

It’s a man. It cannot be Colin Bridgerton, for he is out of town, and it cannot be the Viscount, as he left for his own bachelor house earlier in the evening, taking his valet with him. Sure enough, Benedict Bridgerton soon steps into view. He’s white as a sheet, and barely able to walk.

“I was hoping someone would still be awake,” he says, swaying as he stands two steps away from the bottom of the stairs. Kit and Elaine stand up, remembering themselves.

“Would it be possible to have some warm milk?” He asks.

Kit always liked Benedict best of all the male Bridgerton’s. They’ve crossed paths twice in seven years but he’s always been polite to her, despite her status and in spite of his.

“Please,” he adds

“Perhaps you would like to sit,” Kit offers, pulling out the chair closest to where he’s standing. He nods, holding his hand against the wall for dear life as he walks down the last two steps. He stumbled down onto the chair, crash landing haphazardly onto the seat with a pained moan.

“You can go,” Kit tells Elaine, “Go to bed, we wake at dawn tomorrow.”

She then turns towards the stove, lighting it under Benedict Bridgerton’s watchful gaze. She warms up a pitcher of milk and pours it into a cup for him. Unsure of what to do with herself, she stands by as he sips it.

Kit’s never heard the kitchen so quiet. She could hear a pin drop from miles away but despite the awkwardness, she struggles to keep a yawn from surfacing.

“I’m sorry,” Benedict eventually says, “I am keeping you up.”

“It’s alright, sir,”

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sure you have plenty of work to be done tomorrow and I am keeping you from sleeping. I’m sorry I’ll be the cause of your tiredness,” he says, looking genuinely sorry, “I couldn’t sleep,” he eventually adds after finishing his milk, “I have such a headache, and Andrew couldn’t find the laudanum. I thought I would be okay but it’s too much.”

“If you wait here, I shall fetch you some of mine,” Kit offers, unsure of what the alternative could be. She knows just how painful headaches can get, and because she has no choice but to work through them, she keeps her side of the wardrobe well stocked with homemade laudanum.

Kit opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can so as not to wake Dorothy, one of the lower housemaids, with whom she shares the room. She steps around the bed and opens the wardrobe door, fumbling the keys and almost dropping it. She feels around for a glass flask until her fingers close around its neck. Once the medicine is in her possession, she leaves the room again. Walking to the opposite side of the corridor, passing through the door announcing the male servant’s rooms, Kit makes her way towards Andrew’s quarters. His room is all the way towards the end, as close to the main house as it can get, in case his gentleman were to have an emergency. Kit’s been here before, but never unchaperoned, and the distance between Andrew’s room and the safety of the communal corridor is a curse.

Eventually, she knocks on his door but he doesn’t respond. The Valets have been asleep for hours now, and she imagines Andrew is much the same. Wishing she didn’t have to, she pushes the door open and steps in. She walks closer to the bed, putting a hand on Andrew’s sleeping shoulder and gently shakes him. He wakes with a start.

“Say, Kit, I’ve always wanted you in my bed,” he mumbles groggily, grinning at her, “But I wasn’t expecting it to happen today.”

“Very funny, you incorrigible rake,” Kit grins back, “Your gentlemen is looking white as a sheet in my kitchen, you might want to come with in case we need to fetch a doctor,” she explains. Andrew sighs, picking his trousers off the end of his bed.

“I cannot be seen in my sleepwear, you go first, I’ll join you in a moment,” he adds, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

Benedict Bridgerton seems to only have gotten worse by the time she is back. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his palour has turned to colouring his face a strange shade of green. Seeing this, and perhaps selfishly afraid for her clean floors, Kit hurriedly pours the second eldest Bridgerton a bit of laudanum. He downs it in one go and coughs.

“Christ, that’s strong!” he says, looking surprised.

“Well, it’s homemade,” Kit explains, “It’s alcohol and opium. The doses might be different to what you’re used to but I promise it will work.”

“Yes,” he coughs, “I daresay I needn’t more than a few sips for this to knock me right out.”

“Well, you did say you had trouble sleeping,” Kit mumbles to herself, not expecting Benedict to hear her but a laugh soon bubbles up from his mouth. It’s delightful but short lived, for merely a second later he coughs again, bends over, and spills the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor.

Kit’s fury is immediate, and Benedict knows it. He stands here, green and ill, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“I did not -- I’m awfully sorry --” he sputters.

Her anger doesn’t last, there’s something about Benedict that softens Kit’s heart, much to her dismay, and as much as she would have liked to send him away with a scolding and a glare -- as she would have done with anyone else -- she steps forward instead, placing a hand over his shoulder to place his back against the chair. As she would with her own brothers, she then places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“You have a temperature,” she states, just in time for Andrew to swing the door open, dressed but dishevelled, a cowlick lifting all but one tuft of hair on the left side of his head.

“I see I’m too late,” he comments, ignoring how close his gentleman and Kit are, “I’ll take you back up to bed, sir, and I’ll ask one of the footmen to fetch a doctor.”

“I’m awfully sorry for your floor,” Benedict apologises again, looking greener than ever and as though he might be sick again.

“It’s nothing Kit’s not seen before,” Andrew says, placing one of Benedict’s over his shoulders and lifting him up to a standing position. Gingerly, Andrew walks Benedict back up the stairs and into the main house, leaving Kit to clean the floor all over again.

By the time she’s finished, the sun is shining low on the horizon, the roosters in the courtyard are crowing and Cook opens the door to start her day. She stands on the threshold, surprised.

“Don’t ask,” Kit says, throwing her cloth in the kitchen’s laundry basket, “It’s been a night.”

“I can see that,” Cook says, “Has it been a fun night?” She asks, mischievously.

Aside from cooking, Cook’s only interests are gossip and matchmaking. She has been on Kit’s case about finding her a nice young man since the second month of her employment.

“Andrew’s been up all night too,” she adds with a wink, “He’s a handsome lad.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” Kit groans, “Master Benedict came down for hot milk last night. He was taken ill. I had to fetch Andrew.”

Cook sighs, disappointed, “Well, I was certainly hoping for something else.”

“That makes both of us,” Kit sighed

“Oh does it now?” Cook grins, turning Kit as red as her hair, unaware of how her words could have sounded.

---

Everyone else is already fast asleep by the time Elaine and Kit finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down for their last cup of tea. Swearing her young scullery maid to secrecy, Kit shaves off two thin slices of cake to have next to their drink. They eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful, but much like the day before, right as they finish, the door to the main house opens, and footsteps descend the stairs.

They’re steady today, and confident, but Kit recognises Benedict’s shoes before much of him comes into view.

“Pardon my interruption,” he says, “I merely wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”

Kit can feel Elaine looking to her for an answer. She throws her a look promising explanations later. As a maid, an apology like that can have a range of reasons, from the innocent to the rakish. With the reputation the Bridgerton boys have, it isn’t hard to imagine that Elaine is thinking more on the scandalous side of things.

“I hope you feel better,” Kit says, avoiding any words of forgiveness towards her soiled floor -- after all, she hasn’t forgiven him. She’s been up since the day before at dawn and the sheer exhaustion she has felt all day is nothing she has ever experienced -- and it seems Benedict has noticed. He grins at her.

The three of them stay quiet for a moment until the silence becomes more than Kit can bear, “Well, if it’s all, sir, I think we’ll go to bed.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at the floor, “Of course… Yes. Good night, Miss. Goodnight Kit,” he says.

“Miss Byrd,” Kit corrects him before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. While calling her by her first name is a disrespect, correcting her employer so rudely is a greater offence than anything he could have done. If word of this reacher Mr Graves, Kit is in for a telling off she has never experienced before.

“Pardon me, Miss Byrd. I meant no offence,” he says, “I seem to forget my manners.”

“Well, goodnight,” she says, hoping it will make him leave. Surprisingly, Benedict seems rather unwilling to leave her kitchen despite the awkwardness making her want to run away.

He takes the hint and with a nod in either direction, walks back up the stairs.

Kit stands there, unsure of what to say for a moment, “He vomited on our floor last night. I’m rather surprised he was brave enough to face me, I thought my glare had scared him off,” she eventually says.

Elaine stays quiet.

“You don’t believe me?” Kit sighs

“No, I do,” she eventually says, “It’s just…” Elaine hesitates, “You ought to be careful.”

“How so?” Kit asks, feeling herself blush at the situation. A sixteen year old scullery maid giving her lessons, Kit should like the floor to swallow her whole.

“I have heard things about the masters. Other maids think they’re rakes,” she says, then, casting her eyes on the floor, she adds, “At my last household, one of the Masters charmed a maid. He got her in the family way and it left her ruined.”

Kit remains there speechless.

“I don’t know what I have done to give you such a poor opinion of me, Elaine, but rest assured that I am not that kind of girl. I have no desire to run around with a master of the house and ruin myself,” Kit says, furious, “I think it’s best you go to bed. I’ll finish up here.”

“I did not mean --” she sputters, “It’s just --”

“Leave.”

Elaine nods, leaving her cup on the table. She vanishes through the service door seconds later.

Kit sits there for a while, stewing in her own anger. Partly at Elaine, and partly at Benedict. If anything were to come of this, be it rumour or inappropriate behaviour, she would be ruined and destitute. No household in London would ever employ her, and she could kiss the position of Cook, and its high salary, goodbye.

Still fuming, Kit stands up, washes the teapot and cups and climbs up to bed.

“You’re angry,” Dorothy says, sleepily, “You always stomp around when you’re angry.”

“I can’t believe the little --” Kit starts, “First that spoiled ass sicks up all over my pristine floor, then the new maid suggests he might try to ruin me!”

“Seems like a jump,”

“He came back to apologise,”

“Right,” Dorothy says, “She’s just looking out for you, I’m sure.”

“She’s sixteen!” Kit whispers back, “She’s a child!”

Dorothy sighs.

“Do you know what would happen to me if Graves hears what she said?”

“Kit, that’s enough,” Dorothy says firmly, “Nothing will happen because nothing untowards has happened. Now go to bed, I don’t want to deal with your moods in the morning.”

Kit glares at her.

“You can look at me like that all you want. It won’t change anything,” Dorothy says, tucking herself back into her duvet, “Sleep tight.”

Kit climbs into bed, huffing and puffing.

“I’ll vouch for you if Graves asks,” Dorothy eventually says, on the verge of sleep.

“Good night,” Kit replies, falling asleep as soon as her eyes close.

It seems like only a second has passed before the bell rings in the corridor and Kit must rise again. She shaked Dorothy awake and gets dressed, quickly brushing her hair and pinning it up in a tight bun. Downstairs, Cook had boiled water and made tea. She serves Kit a cup, and then Elaine when she appears a moment later. Wanting to avoid Elaine as much as she can, Kit throws herself in the day’s work, speaking as little as possible.

“Out with it,” Cook orders as soon as they step out to the courtyard after the lunch service. The scullery maid is inside, cleaning up.

“Something’s bothering you,” she adds, “I could taste it in your soup.”

“What?!” Kit asks, confused and wondering what kind of cookery witchcraft Cook knows of.

“You salt too much when you’re cross,” Cook shrugs.

“Oh,” Kit sighs, “It’s nothing. Elaine gave me advice yesterday, I didn’t appreciate it.”

Cook laughs but says nothing.

“Do you think Benedict Bridgerton is a rake?” Kit asks.

“I think he likes ladies, yes,” she responds, “I don’t think he likes maids.”

Kit sighs in relief, “Elaine seems to think --”

“Elaine was previously employed by Lord Berbrooke,” Cook cuts her off, “Give her some leeway, she’s only working off of her own experiences. The Bridgertons are different, they’re a good family with kind hearts. The Viscountess and her late husband raised them right.”

“They seem nice,” Kit replies, “I didn’t like that she was implying that I would be such a… Well, you know. That I would go above my station.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was implying, Kit dear,” Cook says, patting her arm. They stay quiet for a moment while Kit ruminates on what she said.

She’s not completely naive. She knows about these things. Maybe not everything, but she’s been working a while, and before the Bridgertons she worked with another family. She saw things she hadn’t been prepared for, then. But since working for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t thought back on it. She hadn’t felt unsafe, worried or scared that a moment alone or spent with a man might result in something she could never erase from her mind.

She’d taken Elaine’s advice so personally, like an attack on her own character. She hadn’t even thought it might have been a reflection of her own experiences. She hadn’t even thought it might be a warning on Benedict’s character. And strangely, she hadn’t thought, although it felt a little true, that the attack felt so offensive because Benedict had an effect on her Kit didn’t want him to have.

Benedict Bridgerton is undoubtedly a handsome man, but more than that, it was the boyish grin and big blue eyes that charmed her. She wasn’t in love, obviously, but he did have a certain effect on her.

“I think it’s time we go back,” Cook says, grabbing Kit by the arm and gently leading her back in to see Elaine finishing up the kitchen. Just as she throws the cloth into the laundry, they start messing up the kitchen, pulling out flour, vegetables, to start on dinner. As the sauces simmer and vegetables cook, Mr Kingman walks into the kitchen holding a couple of partridges and a hare.

“For dinner tonight,” he says, smacking the birds down on the table so violently it scares Elaine, who looks on dejected at the mess they so quickly created, “And for the family, I have a nice deer coming in. The boys are a little slow with it though,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Three voices argue loudly behind him, trying to wade through the muddy courtyard. Kit leans to see what the commotion is behind him. Carrying the biggest deer she has ever laid eyes upon, she can just about see Edmund, Francis and Frederic, the three gardener’s assistants Mr Kingman has borrowed to bring his prize.

Somehow, they negotiate the doorway and manage to fit the deer inside the kitchen. Elaine and Kit spring into action, removing chairs from the kitchen table so the boys can put it down.

Cook looks on, satisfied, “That’ll do nicely, I daresay,” she says. Then, she picks up one of her best knives and hands it to Kit, “We’ll need the bones for stock, and I’ll make a nice stew out of the organs, so be gentle with it.”

“If you keep the pelt in one piece, I’ll make a nice coat out of it,” Mr Kingman says.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kit braced herself. She’d only done this a handful of times, but it never got any more pleasant. Still, under the watchful eyes of the game warden, the three boys, Elaine and Cook, Kit begins to skin and quarter the animal.

Glancing back at her audience, she saw she had gathered a few more spectators. Mr Graves looked on from his office window, arms crossed over his chest with all the concentration of a man trying to keep his lunch inside while being entirely unable to look away.

Turning back to her work, she continues her cuts. She keeps going, asking the boys to roll the animal halfway through so she could replicate her butchering. Then, once she had finished cutting off the skin and quartering the animal, she and Cook moved all the meat to the cold room for safekeeping.

As much as Kit would have liked to take a shower to wash off the grime and blood, there was no time to waste. The leg would take a while to roast, even over the fire, and the kitchen needed to be cleaned, a job which, in light of the deer, Elaine could not complete by herself.

By the time it was time to return to her quarters, Kit could only think of a nice long bath. She drew the water and brought it upstairs, careful not to spill any on the stairs. Then, she undressed and gingerly lowered herself in the copper tub.

Kit closed her eyes, letting herself relax. She breathed deeply in and out a few times, then slipped under the water. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes. From underneath the water she could see almost nothing, just the flickering light of the candle at the side of the tub. She exhaled gently, watching the bubbles rise til they hit the surface, and then pop.

She resurfaced again a moment later, wiping her hair from her face. Water in her eyes having temporarily blinded her, Kit felt around the side of the tub for the little table she had put the soap and cloth on. After a minute, she felt the soft bar underneath her fingers.

One of the perks of working for the Bridgertons was without a doubt the soap. While other households often stocked soap for their servants, it was rarely of a good enough quality that it was worth using, but the Bridgertons’ or Mrs Wilson, anyway, regarded the staff’s overall appearance as highly important and hygiene most of all. They had therefore stocked each room with decent, scented soap. A treat Kit appreciated greatly.

She rubbed the soap over the cloth to make it bubble and then washed herself with it, breathing in the smell of jasmine on her skin. Then, with the same soapy cloth, Kit washed the top of her head til it bubbled up enough to clean the rest of her long hair. Once rinsed and ready, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself off and blew the candle out. Feeling more human than she had in days, she made her way back to her room.

To her surprise, Dorothy was still up, reading a long letter by candle light.

“From your Pa?” Kit asked, eliciting a humm of agreement from her friend, “How is the family?”

“My sister’s getting married in the spring,” she replied, “She’s marrying our vicar’s son. Ma says it’s a nice match but I get the feeling Pa’s not so happy about it. I don’t see why not though,” she says, “It’s not like she can do any better. He seems nice, and he’ll provide for her.”

“That’s nice!” Kit says, excited. She’s always loved weddings, and while she’s never hoped for a love match herself, finding someone willing to provide and care for her has always seemed just as good. In her books, Dotty’s sister isn’t doing half bad.

“Do you think if I ask Graves he’ll let me go for the wedding?” Dotty asks

“I don’t see why not,” Kit replies, “He’s a pain but not a monster, you know.”

“That’s only because he likes you, Patience,” she replies, emphasising her legal name.

Kit laughs, “Say, have you ever noticed how funny his name actually is?”

Dotty shakes her head.

“His name is Robert Graves. Rob Graves.”

Dorothy grins, “Leave it to you to find that out,” then, she sighs and without a word, goes back to reading. Suddenly exhausted, Kit climbs into bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

She wakes up late for the first time in seven years. By the time she makes it downstairs, Cook is already starting with breakfast. Without a word, but with a disapproving look, she hands Kit a bag of flour, some yeast and a little water.

---

Kit’s outside for a tea break when Michael, her ten year old brother, walks into the courtyard, newspaper in hand. 

“Any good news?” Kit asks, pressing a coin in his hand.

Michael shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t read it, I just sell it.”

Kit grins. She takes off Michael’s cap and ruffles the hair underneath it. It’s almost as red as hers, only much shorter and curlier. It suits him, she thinks, and paired with the freckles covering his face, it makes him look younger than he is.

He leans against her in a not-quite-hug. Michael likes to pretend to be older than he is, and very much resists any of his sister’s babying, but occasionally, especially when he’s tired, he’ll still hug her. She holds him there for a moment, savouring it. 

“Have you eaten anything?” She asks him

Michael shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say anything, Kit already knows. Their father’s out of work again, and despite all of the children working, money is stretched thin. Kit hates to speak badly of her father, but she hates that he’ll let his children go hungry if it means he never has to go thirsty. For every shilling that goes into food, three go into alcohol.

“Stay there,” Kit tells him. Michael watches her disappear inside, and then reappear a moment later, holding an apple and some bread. She watches him eat it all, and then fetches him some milk to wash it all down. Once she’s satisfied that he won’t drop from hunger, she lets him finish his route.

Once she steps back inside, it’s back to work. The staff having soup for dinner and the family is divided with the eldest going to a ball, and the younger ones staying behind. 

Seeing as it’s only the children having dinner, Cook has been bribed by Hyacinth to make tea sandwiches and cakes, and so, Kit spends the better part of her afternoon making cakes and breads. 

After dinner, it’s time to clean. The end of her evening clean with Elaine is upon them and after tonight Kit will be able to retire to bed alongside Dorothy. She’s been looking forward to it, she’s even asked Andrew to borrow a book from upstairs for her. 

There’s been very little chatting since Elaine gave her advice, and as much as Kit wants to apologise for her reaction, she can’t really seem to find the right words, and by the time she thinks she might be brave enough to try, the cleaning is done and it’s time to go home. 

Tonight, though, Kit is determined to do it. She’s been talking herself into it since she woke up this morning and her chance finally appears as they remove their shoes to work the scrubbing cloth around the floor.

“I wanted to apologise,” she says, staring firmly at the floor, “I misunderstood your intentions earlier in the week and I was awfully rude.”

Elaine seems surprised, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”

“You were looking out for me,” Kit says, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” she smiles at the scullery maid, “I’ll be careful.”

Elaine smiles at her, moving as fast as she can on the cloth before her feet become numb. They’ve done most of it now and the end can’t come soon enough. 

“Tea?” Elaine asks, already reaching for the teapot and mugs. Kit smiles and nods, turning around to rummage through the cupboards for jam and a few slices of fresh bread. 

She spreads jam on the slices as Elaine pours the tea. They eat in comfortable silence, all awkwardness dissipated by their apologies. Right as they bite into their bread, the front door of the main house opens upstairs announcing the elder Bridgertons’ return home from the ball. They hear them climb up the main stairs, and minutes later, the bells ring for the valets and lady’s maids. 

Quick as a flash, Kit hides the teapot, cups, bread and jam on one of the empty chairs. She shoves whatever toast she still had in her hand into her mouth, making sure Elaine does the same, before the upper servants enter the kitchen and file up the stairs to the main house. 

As soon as they’re gone, the contraband is placed back up on the table and their chatting continues. By the time the upper servants come back down, the tea is finished, the food is eaten and Kit has washed away any evidence of their midnight snack. Elaine soon bids her goodnight and climbs up to her quarters while Kit stays to chat and gossip with the Lady’s maids. 

“I say Master Colin will wed by the end of next season,” Rose says, “And I wager a shilling, he will marry Miss Featherington.”

Kit laughs, “I wager he will not. I hear Miss Featherington’s dowry has already been gambled away by her father. I doubt Master Colin would marry without a dowry.”

“Kit, you sadden me,” Andrew says, “True love will vanquish all. I say he will marry her regardless of the dowry,” he adds, earning oohs and aahs from an appreciative Rose, “But,” he says, raising his index finger in warning, “I say it takes him two more seasons.”

“And when do you plan to wed, Andrew?” Bernard, Colin’s Valet, asks with a grin

“As soon as Kit gives me the time of day,” Andrew replies, shooting her a wink. It earns him a laugh from Bernard and Nicholas, Anthony’s Valet, as they clap him on the back.

“A bachelor forever, then!” Nicholas guffaws 

“I’m going back to bed,” Andrew announced, faking grumpiness, “Goodnight!”

Soon after his departure, the rest of them climb up, leaving Kit alone in a quiet kitchen. She’s about to go up when the door above the kitchen opens once more. 

Hyacinth chats loudly as she comes down, leaving no wonder as to who is disturbing Kit now, but she’s not alone. Trailing not far behind is Benedict Bridgerton, wearing only sleepwear.

“Hello Miss Byrd,” he says, sheepishly smiling, “We were rather hoping --”

“Is there any cake left?” Hyacinth cuts him off.

Kit rolls her eyes at the girl, earning herself a toothy smile, “I made you three different cakes for dinner and you still haven’t had enough?”

“Please?” Hyacinth begs, putting on her best puppy eyes, knowing very well it’s Kit’s one weakness.

But she holds strong, largely because Benedict is standing right behind, and she feels that if she does not stay stern, he’d get ideas. 

“Please Miss Byrd,” he eventually says, “We’re awfully hungry,” he adds, joining in on the relentless beating down. 

Kit lasts only a minute longer before giving in with a sigh. 

“This cannot happen again,” she says, as sternly as she can. Benedict smiles at her and much to her surprise, Kit’s knees go weak. She lets go of the plate she was holding, and it shatters all over the floor, sending bits of ceramic flying everywhere. 

She immediately bends down, grabbing all the pieces she can see. Shuffling around on her knees, she doesn’t see where she’s going. Soon enough, she bumps her head against something hard and yelps in pain. Expecting to see a table leg, she raises her head only to come inches away from Benedict Bridgerton. She stands up as fast as she can, taking as many steps back as she can as he does the same. They look at each other across the room, both trying to catch their breath. 

Trying to get a grip on herself, Kit slices two bits of cake and places them on two new plates. She hands them to each Bridgerton, expecting them to take it up to their rooms, but only Hyacinth does. As soon as the kitchen door closes, Benedict puts his plate down and reaches for the broom Kit had left leaning on the door.

Half expecting him to hand it to her, Kit is surprised when he starts sweeping.

“Oh you don’t -- I’ll --”

“Am I not doing it right?” he asks

“No, it’s -- Sir, I’ll take care of it,” she eventually says, “You may go up, you must be tired.”

“I am awake enough to sweep, Miss Byrd,” he smiles

“Perhaps, but you really oughtn’t,” she replies, gently taking the broom from his hands, “Go up, go to sleep. If Andrew finds out you missed out on sleep because of me, he’ll have my head.”

“Goodnight,” he says eventually, seeming unsure of what to do, before turning around and following his sister. His slice of cake forgotten.

“Goodnight, sir,” Kit replies.

---

The morning has been everything but calm from the moment Kit steps out of bed. All the late nights she’s been doing have started to take their toll and she’s starting to make mistakes, from burning the toast to cutting herself chopping vegetables, Kit is visibly perturbed, but Cook doesn’t ask and doesn’t comment. The servants live in close enough quarters that soon enough, she’ll know without needing to pry.

Kit doesn’t appreciate the looks though, and she’s grateful when tea break comes around. Cook’s made it for her, a rare treat, as she’s usually in charge of it. It’s piping hot and very sweet, the kind of cup of tea that fixes everything. They take it out in the courtyard, on a little rickety wooden table soaked through by the previous night’s rain, instead of standing by the back door like they usually do.

Cook takes out her pipe and lights it, alternating blowing big puffs of smoke and sipping her tea. The women stay silent, looking around at the Bridgerton’s garden through a small gap in the gate while a duck and two chickens circle them for crumbs.

Mr Colpher and his boys have done a wonderful job. The grass, the trees, the flowers all look as beautiful as they could be in the autumn colours.

Kit cranes her neck to see more, attracted by voices out in the garden. It’s the Viscount and Daphne, running around with their younger siblings, playing a game Kit doesn’t know. She looks on for a few more minutes until she’s rudely interrupted by the duck. Kit catches him, beak in her pocket, pulling out her handkerchief which she had wrapped around a leftover piece of bread.

“Oh go on, leave me be!” She tells him, “I'll turn you into a roast if you don’t mind your manners!”

Cook chuckles but Kit, unamused, bends down to pick her handkerchief out of a muddy puddle. She picks up the bread too, but throws it away as far as she can to spite the duck.

A few minutes later, Cook stands up, signalling that the break is over and they must return to work. Kit follows suit, energised by the tea and sugar.

When they walk in, Andrew is waiting for them.

“Ladies,” he says, with a dashing smile, sitting back on a chair, his boots on the dinner table, “Looking wonderful, as always.”

“Are you pestering the scullery maid, Mr Fitzwilliam?” Kit asks with a grin, “Feet off, I don’t want to eat whatever you traipsed on here.”

Andrew puts on a look of shock, ignoring her remark about his boots but sitting properly all the same, “Now Kit darling, you know my heart only beats for you,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “Say, Cook, mind if I borrow your kitchen maid for just a flash?”

“Only for a flash, Andrew,” Cook says, sternly shaking a finger at him. Andrew stands, knowing that Cook’s soft spot for him means he’ll face absolutely no repercussions for not keeping his word.

Andrew leads Kit back outside and leans against the wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his coat jacket. He lights one, then offers it to Kit, who refuses.

“Bridgerton asked about you,” he says, meaning Benedict, “Asked if I knew you. If you had a special someone,” he continues with a grin, “If you were always so stern.”

“And what did you say?” Kit asks, stomach in a knot for reasons she can’t quite place a finger on.

“I said you had a fiancé,” Andrew shrugs.

“Whyever would you say that?”

“What? Wanted me to tell him you were single?” Andrew laughs, “I thought you’d appreciate me shutting the questioning down.”

Kit sighs, “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Kit,” Andrew says, pushing himself off the wall, “He’s charming and he’s nice, I’ll give you that. But he’s looking to marry well so he can sustain the art career he desperately wants. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, putting both hands on her shoulders, “Besides, if Graves finds out, he’ll let you go and I don’t need to warn you of the trouble you’ll have finding somewhere else to work.”

Kit shakes him off, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it on the floor. She stomps on it with her foot until it’s thoroughly covered in mud and animal waste.

Andrew grins, “I don’t want to lose my best girl,” he says, “No one makes a cake quite like she does.”

Kit smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it get me a date?”

“Sure,” Kit grinned, “Why not, since you asked so sweetly. Where are you taking me?”

Andrew stands there, dumbfounded for a moment, “I thought you would refuse me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

She laughs, and he smiles, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “You better take me somewhere nice, Mr Fitzwilliam. After all, you are competing with a Bridgerton. Apparently…”

[noeverse]

࿐ 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑮𝑬𝑵𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹,

the year of 1816 may bring more surprises than one may think, for after being depraved of their sight for two and ten years of any sighting, lady marie beauchamp and her cousin, miss esme holstershire are making their debut this year at rather advanced ages of nine and ten and twenty no less.

the reason why such a thing has come to pass is a mystery to This Author, although their demanding boarding girls' school is not a possibility one may discard yet. famed beauties, it is said that at Her Majesty's homeland, they impressed their tutors and the ton there.

and while they are certainly talented, This Author can't help but wonder: is all that glitters worthy of being a diamond? or will the Ton crack them under pressure?

to answer said questions, one may be wise to ask the Bridgerton siblings, whom two of them have been found starstruck by each cousin.

and This Author is more than thrilled to see where said sentiments may lead.

[fanaticalfantasist]

The Duchess - Proglogue

A/N: So a while ago I wrote a story called 'The Duchess' but took it down becuase I wasn't happy with it. So I'm trying again! I hope you like it, please let me know. Any feed back is very welcome.

If the society in London was built upon one foundation it would be gossip. It thrived on any drop of a silacious tale that it could seek out and before long it would flood throughout the ton. This was espcially true when it come to the aristocracy, their friendships, romances, meetings, really any and every part of their lives could fuel the ton for a moth, anything to enrich their otherwise mundane lives.

The obession which had topped all else, well before the arrival of Lady Whistledown, was the lives of the Wyndham family, the single most powerful and oldest family in England, the holders of the Dukedoms of Norfolk. A title the family had held since the reign of William I, and such was their influence they had ben involved in almost all important events of the countries history, and in fact had more right to the throne of England than the curret royal family did. This fact alone made them even more intriguing to the public at large. This was particulary true of the latest generation of the family.

Edward Francis Henry William Wyndham, the 14th Duke of Norfolk, had inherited his title at the age of 12 and had been from that moment on the perfect model of a Duke. He'd was nothing less than kindness to his tenants, caring for their needs and ensuring they had what they needed to live, from building walls on farms to funding the education of local children. It all amounted to the impression that he was the model gentlemen. But when it came to his marriage, this was where the scandel lay.

Edward had been engaged to a detestable woman named Lady Dorothea Griffiths, she was the daughter of a wealthy landowner in Wales. Anyone who had met her came to the same conclusion that she was one of the most selfish women they'd ever met, only caring about her appearance and the prospect of being extremely wealthy. When the engagement became know it raised a lot of eyebrows, no one could understand why the Duke had chosen this particular young lady as his bride. In fact, the marriage had been proposed while the Duke had been under the guardianship of his late grandmother, a cautious woman who cared little for her grandson but cared deeply about the continued legacy of her family name. Within a year of his grandmother's death the Duke called off the wedding, leading to Lady Griffith's father to publically state he'd ben jilted by the Duke. However as there was no legal agreement made the Duke came away from it free from a potetially horrific marirage. This alone was scandalous enough, but it wasn't until three years later that the true scandal broke when the Duke married Miss Louisa Beaumont.

Miss Beaumont was the daughter of a local farmer, and had grown up with very little. However she was beautiful, kind, funny and very intelligent, though many disagreed with the marriage due to their class differences the whole of the ton agreed she was the perfect Duchess. The happiness that the couple felt outweighed the scandal or any looks given to them by on lookers. In fact they gave up their home in London permanently in favour of their home in the countryside, a few miles from where Miss Beaumont had grown up.

The couple turned their Jacobean home into their own paradise, only allowing those in who they trusted the most. Their happiness was only added too by the birth of their daughter, and only child, two years into their marriage. Lady Juliet Charlotte Henrietta Sophia Wynham, was deemed by all who met the child to be the perfect mix of her parents. Even though in the years that followed the couple were not blessed with anymore children, they where still pleased with their daughter. The little girl was set to be the holder of the most powerful title in England, the first woman who would every hodl the title. Unfortanetly this title would be hers sooner than anyone would have liked.

The tradgedies of the Wyndham family was yet another topic that was beloved amongst the gossip lovers of the ton, because for a family that was so full of love and power they had suffered much. The series of unfortunate events began when Juliet was three years old.

It was a beautiful summer that year, with large blue skies and beautiful green gardens to play in. The Wyndham's had invited some of their closest friends to come and spend the summer with them, and as they sat by the spralling lake enjoying the beautiful day it would've been inconceviable to them that any tragedy was looming over them waiting to pounce.

One of those in attendence was the Bridgerton family, the Viscount Edmund Bridgerton and the Duke had been school friends and remained close well into their respective adulthoods and marriages. The bond between them only intesified as they became fathers, wising their children would remain close friends, which had become true. So that day there was nothing unsusual about the Anthony, Benedict and Juliet playing together. As they went on the children got closer to the lake, watching from a dock as the fish and ducks ate the food they threw. Honestly no one was sure of what exactly happened that day that led the young Juliet to fall into the deep depths of the lake, but she did.

Her father being a strong athletic man, rushed forwared and dived in, searching for his precsious daughter. After pulling her free from the dark depths of water and into the arms of his friend the duke was suddenly pulled under again. His foot being caught and before Edmund could reach him the Duke had drowned.

Quickly gossip made its way from Norfolk to London, people speculating the Duke had been murdered or killed himself. No one was sure what had happened, except the people in attendance who did not talk of it. But the most interesting element of the whole affair to the ton was the late Duke's will. He'd spent months ensuring it was loop hole free, and it caused a lot of raised eyebrows when its contents was made known. Upon the Duke's death his daughter would become the Duchess of Norfolk and inherity her full fortune without any delay, but she'd also have dull control over her destiny and that of her lands. She'd have two guardians to guide her through this process Viscount Edmund Bridgerton and Lady Danbury. She was also, and the will was very clear on this, to be educated to the same level of as man in her position and most importantly, or at least to the ton, she'd be fully in control of her future marriage. The will stated that she and only she coudl choose who she married, ensuring that she'd marry for love just like her parets had. It also added that her future husband wouldn't not have a right to her title, fortune or lands. It rocked society, with people trying to claim the Duke was mad or had been manipulated into making such a unique will. But having been represented by Sir Richard Grenville, the most respected lawyer in England it was clear that this was not the case.

Once the funeral was over and the house fell into perpetual morning, under the direction of the Dowager Duchess, it seemed that the Wyndham family would be at peace for a while. However this was to be proved wrong.

When the Duchess was seven years old she awoke and made her way to her mother's room, as she did every day. They'd sit together and read before they rose to have breakfast. Her mother would tell stories of the late Duke and the little girl loved it. But that morning she was prevented from entering her mothrs room by the family butler Mr Browning. See that morning when the Dowager Duchess's ladies maid had enterted to wake her she'd found her mistressres dead. At some point in the night, grief still consuming her, the Dowager had taken her life.

The young Duchess was seen for the last time by the public as she stood by her parents grave. Dressed in black from head to toe, her face covered by a veil as she wept. At her shoulders stood Viscount Bridgerton and Lady Danbury, both devistated for the young girl and concered for her future. The Duchess made a choice that day, after hearing gossip during the funeral, that she would have nothing to do with London society until she was ready to conquer it.

As such she retired to her home, Felbrigg Hall, only excepting guests who had been close to her parents. She was the most powerful woman in England, and she knew from a young age she needed to learn all she could. Hours were spent in the library with the finest tutors in Europe, she could do anything a male heir would be able. Lady Danbury ensured her charage was kept as accomplished as possible, with dancing, ettiquette and music lessons being drilled into the young Duchess. And it was through Lady Danbury that the young Duchess made her one and only true friend Simon Basset.

And thus life was good, but in her mind she knew she’d have to enter society one day. And on that day she's conquer it.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she love her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

prologue

she stirred awake with a grumble, as she does most days—which is immediately replaced with a grin after ten minutes of simply opening her eyes and staring at the ceiling. another day, another number of various things she can do. and so, she wasted no time to freshen herself up.

as she stepped out on the streets of grosvenor square, her immediate touch brought radiance to the place. no, she was not a smiling fool nor was she greeting everyone. it was not that type of radiance. she hated that. yet, one can argue the opposite when she finally arrived at the bridgerton's house.

"'tis a fine day, is it not?"

"raine!"

the girl jumped up, her book forgotten as she put it on the couch and hugged the girl who's standing with open arms under the arch to their drawing room.

"oh, how i have missed you, eloise!"

"why do you both act like you were not together the entirety of yesterday?" colin voiced out as he read the newspaper, not bothering with any greetings. they have all long passed that. eloise sent a glare to her brother just as their mother arrived.

"loraine, darling!" she took the young lady's cheeks in delight, "how are you and your father?"

she smiled warmly at that. violet took it to herself to act as her mother-figure, given that their families were closely tied, "never been better, lady bridgerton."

the older woman gave her a look at the use of her title before leading her to a couch near the fireplace.

"are you well-prepared for tomorrow's start of the season?"

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

"are you well-prepared for tomorrow's start of the season?

violet smiled as she asked her second-eldest daughter. eloise is well-prepared, she knew, in terms of physical and material aspects. internally, however, her daughter was having a fit, both of nervousness and fury.

"mama, i am very much prepared, but you should know that i am calling for all miracles right now so that i cannot attend tomorrow."

raine laughed, saying it's a good thing she's much prepared at the very least. her friend turned to her with a look of betrayal.

"you will be this next year, and i thought we're gonna be spinsters together!"

"no, that was penelope." she said as she stood up and dusted her dress, "when my season comes, i would very much like to marry, especially to that man dabbling on his pad."

she gestured with a head tilt to the man sitting near colin. they all need not turn to know who she was referring to as eloise rolled her eyes. raine chuckled at her reaction before another voice graced the room. well, not exactly grace.

"ugh, it's too early to deal with you."

violet turned to her eldest and immediately closed her eyes with a sigh before giving him a pointed look.

"anthony, it's already nine, and don't be rude."

the young lady turned to the source of the voice and grinned in an instant, clasping both her hands together in chest level sweetly, "i have missed you so much, anthony!"

"i don't share the sentiment." he replied with nonchalance as he took a biscuit and sat by his younger brothers.

"anthony will be marrying this season."

she paused for a moment, as if processing, before she broke out with laughter as she heard the words marry and anthony in the same sentence, but noticing the silence around her, she turned back to violet, "no... seriously?"

"why does it come as a surprise to everyone?" the man in question grumbled. raine finds herself nearing the eldest.

"but why the sudden change?"

anthony sighed as he swallowed the biscuit on his hand, "it probably has not come to your little mind that this family needs a viscountess. a viscountess is a lady that—"

"shush," he's lucky that's the only thing he got from her, given that she is to become a viscountess herself next year and he was mansplaining. she looked up in glee and clasped her hands again with true joy this time, "oh, i'm going to have so much fun this season!"

violet thinks that anthony and raine is a great pair and she would have been pushing for it already, had raine not been in love with benedict.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

"as much as i love you, lady bridgerton, i do not want to talk about anything with relation to my societal season and marriages."

kate and anthony entered the room, just in time for the debutante's antics. the matriarch sighed at the apparent lack of interest from the girl, while the latter broke into the widest grin.

"i would, however, welcome the conversation if i'm paired with benedict."

she turned to her other side where lies the subject, both of the topic and her affections, "speaking of which, will you marry me now, ben?"

the second-eldest son did not open his eyes from the sleepless nap he was having as a boyish smile made its way to his lips, "not a chance."

"ah, what a shame." she smiled at the sight of him before turning back to his mother with a clap, "well, there's always tomorrow."

[loversatthegreatdivide]

A Benedict Bridgerton Story

When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC

Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty

Warnings: death

Current Word Count: 19k

» Chapter 1

» Chapter 2

» Chapter 3

» Chapter 4

» Chapter 5

» Chapter 6

» Chapter 7

» Chapter 8

» Chapter 9 - Coming Soon

[redheadspark]

Hawuu

I'm not sure if I could request again but is it alright to request 22. Different soulmates with either Druig or Benedict, you can choose cause I'm just mostly in it for the angst >:) Thank you.

A/N - HAWU! This is interesting, I loved writing it! Thanks for the request!

Break

Summary - Benedict had a destiny, you just weren't part of it

Warning - Angsta and Fluff mixed together

“This is a scandal, A SHEER SCANDAL IN THE MAKING!”

“I understand this will cause a scene—“

“A SCENE?!  THIS IS AN UPROAR AND THE TOPIC OF THE ENTIRE SEASON!”

You cringed from the shriek of your mother’s tone as she was screaming at your future mother-in-law, who was trying to diffuse the situation.  Thankfully you were sitting in the parlor, one room away from the argument that was overflowing in the Bridgerton household.  Clutching the tea cup in your hand, you were staring at the floor trying not to cry from the drama unfolding within seconds. 

All because of your fiancé, Benedict Bridgerton, not being your soulmate.

It’s never happened: matches who aren’t soulmates.  Such news to break into society would be catastrophic.  You’ve only heard such stories that were mostly seen as cautionary tales: it would be a sign of a bad marriage for two souls that are not “meant” to be together.  The last thing any noble family needed was a scandal on their hands.

Now you were the one bringing the scandal to your own family, both yourself and Benedict.

Neither one of you thought it would be a massive deal when you both fell in love with one another, meeting through a mutual friend at a charity auction.  Benedict saw you from across the hall, seeing you in your red dress and your hair up in curls with the lights dancing along your jewelry.  In his words, you took his breath away from the moment he saw you caught under the candlelight and danced with a friend of yours.  Seeing his bright eyes lock with your own as he bowed to you and said his name, you were entranced with him as well.  It was a mutual drawn feeling to one another that night.

Yet there was one snag: Benedict already had a soulmate.

He had never meant her, yet it was known that he was soulmates with another woman from a prestigious family.  Because they never crossed paths, he never thought about it.  There were tales in the past of soulmates never meeting one another and yet going on their lives unphased.  There would be no ahem if soulmates never got together or interacted, though that was barely spoken about in high society.  

Benedict’s soulmate has yet to reach out to him since he found out he was a soulmate to another.  Once the discovery was made, soulmates had to register through the government to have on profile.  When Benedict registered when he was merely 16, he never knew much of his other half except for her name and the family she hailed from.  Though not familiar with the name itself, he was notified that his soulmate never registered.

She never registered at all.

The door into the parlor opened, making your gaze go from your teacup to the door to see none other than your fiancé poke his head in.  His eyes were filled to the brim with concern seeing you sitting rigidly in your chair, holding your teacup in such a breath grip it was about to crack from the pressure.  Benedict was about to say something else when another outburst came through from your mother.

“I CAN NOT HAVE MY DAUGHTER MARRY SOMEONE WHO IS ALREADY PROMISED—“ 

Benedict closed the door rather quickly before you could hear anything else, you feeling a few tears about to push through.  He glided over to you, taking the teacup from your hands and placing it on the coffee table to lace your hands together as you were trying so hard not to cry.  This was what you both wanted when you were breaking the news of your engagement., something you both spoke about for hours on end in how you were going to tell your families.  Benedict’s mother, Violet, was a bit taken aback by the news but was nonetheless supportive.  Though her son already had a soulmate, there was no rule against a match happening outside of a soulmate mate.  She liked you already when you were introduced, seeing the light in her son’s eyes and how he grinned when you were at his side.  

Violet only wanted the best for her son, so she was thrilled you both were engaged.  Not your mother though.

“This won’t work,” You mumbled, hiding your tears from Benedict as he shook his head and you inhaled sharply, “I thought my mother would be at least tolerable to the notion of us being together—“

“She doesn’t want a scandal is all,” Benedict reassured you, kissing the back of your hand as he went on, “There have been instances in the past of couples who are not soulmates being perfectly happy in their marriages!”

“But I don’t want this to ruin our marriage already, and for you to make this choice when you already have someone for you out there,” you blubbered, Benedict looking at you with wide eyes and a look of shock.  Gently he placed his fingers under your chin to have you look in his direction.  His bright green eyes right on yours, his hands soothing along your skin, he kept his gaze on you unphased and unmoved.  

“You’re my someone, my dear,” he vowed to you as you searched his eyes.  You saw truthfulness in his orbs, something you loved about him as he scooted a bit closer to you and spoke again, “I don’t anyone else in my life but you.  I can’t picture my life without you, not for one moment,”

“But your soulmate..” You were about to argue, already thinking that this was a bad idea.  Your mother was riled up, by the notion of the rest of the families talking behind your backs, Benedict’s soulmate finding out and causing chaos.  

“I’ve yet to meet her and I can make the choice to never meet her from here on out,” he explained inappropriately shrug, “It’s been on record that I can revoke my name on the soulmate register so that I won’t be contacted by my soulmate at any time”

You are floored by what he is proposing, making you stand up from the chair and Benedict looking at you with his gaze.  The notion of Benedict making himself unavailable for his soulmate to find and connect with at any time.  It seemed like such a massive step for him to take, to alter his life forever.  Yet he made it sound so simple, like any other choice he would make in the day. 

“You’re willing to do that?” You asked sheepishly and on the brink of astonishment, “To take away your chance at your soulmate…..for me?”

He sighed, getting up from the chair to frame your face in his hands and kiss you soothingly.  Your eyes slipped closed, the simple kiss alone was making your mind go blank and the worry evaporate.  The Butterly sensation in your stomach was back because of him, because of the love he had for you that he would show from sun up to sun down.  Falling in love with him was easy and organic, and for him to fall you just as fiercely was like a gift.  

He pulled away from the kiss, nuzzling your nose with his own as he scanned your eyes, “I would do anything to have you in my life.  In my mind, you are my soulmate, and I won’t let our happiness and love for one another be tainted by something frivolous.”

You felt your heart break and burst simultaneously, the warmth spreading underneath your skin throughout your body.  Benedict was willing to take that step for you, to cut off someone he’d never met when he was destined to be with him.  It would have been suicidal for anyone else to do, tainting the family name and never to be seen in society and out in public again.  

Yet there he was, making that choice just to be with you.

“I love you and only you,” He vowed, “I will take anything that comes our way just to keep you in my life,” He reassured you calmly as he pressed a soothing kiss on your forehead, “How about you and I speak to your mother, together.  Deal?”

You smiled and nodded your head, “Deal,” 

Your wedding was one the most popular, spoken of far and wide.  Benedict took his name off the soulmate registry, and his soulmate never contacted him.

The End.

[thecrayonindisguise]

Chapter 2: An Unexpected Connection|| Bonds and Barriers

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 12.5k

Warnings: no particular warnings

Summary: After their very first ball, Caterina and Teresa Medici make quite of an entrance at Lady Danbury’s ball, turning heads with their charm and captivating the attention of London's elite. Teresa effortlessly draws Lord Ducker into her orbit, while Caterina, determined to avoid emotional entanglements, catches the eye of Benedict Bridgerton. Their witty and fiery exchanges spark both curiosity and leave the ton abuzz with whispers about the enigmatic Medici sisters. As the days unfold, the tension between Caterina and Benedict becomes undeniable, hinting at a deeper connection that neither is prepared to face.

Authors Note: Heyy! How are you? I’m back with the second chapter, I hope you like it! I know...I wrote way too much but I wanted to introduce you better to the characters :) As always I apologize if you find any mistakes but English is not my first language

Dearest gentle readers,

As the glittering halls of Lady Danbury's annual ball came to life, it was clear that the season had officially begun, and with it, the customary swirl of gossip, intrigue, and, of course, scandal. The evening was a spectacle to behold, but rest assured, it is the guests rather than the décor that provided the most entertainment.

Fresh off the boat from Italy, two radiant gems have graced our shores and stirred the waters of the ton. Allow me to introduce the Medici sisters. The elder, Lady Caterina Medici, has taken to London society with an air of cool indifference that is certain to attract every gentleman's attention, and perhaps drive them mad with her elusiveness. Her wit is as sharp as her beauty, and I dare say, there was not a dull moment in her company. Though she spent much of the evening avoiding the dance floor, her conversations were anything but dull. One might wonder whether Miss Caterina is here for sport or something more substantial. If her interactions with the eligible bachelors of our society are any indication, we may find that her icy demeanor will melt only for the right match, or perhaps for no one at all.

And then there is the younger, Miss Teresa Medici, whose sweetness is as charming as her sister’s sharpness. She, too, seems well on her way to captivating hearts, but do not be deceived by her innocent smile. It seems the Medici twins are not just diamonds in the rough, but polished gems with a sharpness that can outwit even the most astute gentlemen. It appears also that Lord Edward Ducker, cousin to the esteemed Bridgertons, was seen twice on the dance floor with the enchanting Miss Teresa Medici. Could there be an alliance between the Scottish nobility and the Italian beauties of the season?

Speaking of which, one cannot ignore the Bridgertons, whose reputation for creating drama seems to persist. One cannot help but notice the sudden and fervent interest of none other than Benedict Bridgerton, the second son, known more for his artistic pursuits than for indulging in the formalities of our society, it is highly unusual to see Mr. Bridgerton so enamored by the charms of the ballroom. Could it be that the Medici allure has cast a spell on him as well? His eyes followed Caterina Medici throughout the evening, and one cannot help but wonder if a new romance is on the horizon.

As for the Queen’s search for this season’s diamond, the royal eyes have yet to make their decision. But make no mistake, dear readers, the Medici sisters have undoubtedly caught the attention of many, and it would surprise no one if one of them found herself the subject of such a coveted title.

In a season already filled with anticipation, one thing is certain: the Medici sisters have arrived, and London society may never be the same again.

Yours truly, Lady Whistledown

─────────

The early morning light crept into Caterina’s room as her maid, Vanessa, gently tried to rouse her from her slumber. "My lady?" Vanessa called softly.

"Mmmh?" Caterina groaned, her voice muffled by the plush pillows as she buried herself deeper under the covers.

"Your sister is ready, my lady. Your mother could come in any minute," Vanessa continued, moving gracefully across the room to draw open the curtains.

Caterina squinted against the light now pouring into the room. "But what day is it today? Is it a special day? Why do I have to wake up so early?" she moaned, pulling the blankets over her head.

"No, miss, it's not a special day," Vanessa chuckled, her tone lighthearted as she opened the first curtain. Caterina let out a noise of displeasure, squeezing her eyes shut against the invasion of daylight. "I shouldn’t have drunk so much last night," Caterina mumbled as she sat up groggily, her hair tousled from sleep. "Can you repeat to me the reason for this sudden awakening?" she asked, still half asleep, watching Vanessa move briskly around the room, opening the last curtain and then the window to let in fresh air.

"Your mother ordered me to wake you up early, miss," Vanessa explained. "It is possible that some gentlemen from last night’s ball may visit this morning, and you must prepare. Come on now, miss, we don't want to keep them waiting," she urged, gently pulling back the covers.

Caterina groaned in protest. "But I wanted to visit London today," she muttered, her voice full of disappointment.

"You can always do that with one of the gentlemen, my lady," Vanessa teased with a smirk as she began pulling out a fresh gown from the wardrobe. Caterina rolled her eyes while her fingers ran through her tousled hair as she let out a long sigh.

Vanessa bustled around the room, laying out a soft lavender morning gown on the settee. As Caterina slowly stood up, she cast a glance toward her maid, noticing the curious gleam in Vanessa’s eye.

“You look like you have something on your mind, Vanessa. Out with it,” Caterina said, her voice still groggy but edged with a faint smile.

Vanessa, clearly delighted at the invitation, couldn’t suppress her question any longer. “Well, my lady, how was it? Your first ball, I mean. It must have been grand! So many lords and ladies, so many suitors all vying for your attention.”

Caterina snorted, shaking her head as she padded barefoot across the room toward the vanity. “Oh, please. It was as grand as it was exhausting. There were far too many people pretending to be interested in me, and even more pretending not to be bored.”

Vanessa laughed softly, handing Caterina a silver brush to tame her wild locks. “I thought you might enjoy the excitement. Surely the dances were fun, no?”

Caterina rolled her eyes in the mirror as she brushed her hair, the sarcasm evident in her voice. “Yes, if by ‘fun’ you mean being twirled around by men who have absolutely no idea how to lead without stepping on your feet. Honestly, Vanessa, I had more fun watching the footmen trying to juggle trays of champagne than I did dancing with half of those gentlemen.”

Vanessa grinned, clearly amused by her mistress’s sharp tongue. “But there must have been at least one gentleman who caught your eye, no?”

Caterina raised a brow, pausing mid-brush. “If by ‘caught my eye,’ you mean nearly putting me to sleep with endless talk of their ‘family estates’ and ‘social connections,’ then yes, plenty of them caught my eye.”

She sighed dramatically, setting the brush down and standing. “One of them droned on about his collection of rare hunting dogs. Dogs, Vanessa! For nearly fifteen minutes. I think he expected me to be impressed by his…hound expertise,” Caterina continued with a smirk. “I swear, if I have to endure one more gentleman boasting about the length of his ancestral lineage, I’ll start taking naps during waltzes.”

Vanessa chuckled, shaking her head as she helped Caterina into her morning gown. “You’re always so sharp, my lady. But I’m sure there were some interesting moments at least? Or something exciting that happened?”

Caterina shrugged nonchalantly, fastening the delicate buttons at her wrists. “Oh, of course. There was a riveting debate over whether pheasant or venison made for a better roast. I was on the edge of my seat.”

The sarcasm was heavy in her voice, and Vanessa burst into laughter, unable to contain herself. “Pheasant or venison? I can’t imagine that conversation holding anyone’s attention for very long.”

“Exactly my point,” Caterina said with a wry smile. “And you should have seen the way they tried to impress me with their wit. One gentleman thought it clever to comment on the ‘exoticness’ of Italy as if I were some rare artifact on display.”

Vanessa’s eyes widened. “Oh no, he didn’t!”

Caterina waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, he did. And not only that, he mispronounced half the Italian words he tried to use to impress me. Terrible effort.”

The maid shook her head in disbelief. “I’m surprised you didn’t put him in his place, my lady.”

“Oh, I did,” Caterina said with a sly grin. “I smiled sweetly and thanked him for his ‘astounding knowledge’ of Italy, and then proceeded to ask if he could name one city other than Rome or Florence”

Vanessa stifled a laugh behind her hand. “And?”

“Let’s just say, his face turned as red as the drink he spilled on himself shortly after,” Caterina replied with a chuckle.

Vanessa finished lacing up the gown, her eyes still bright with amusement. “It sounds like you survived your first ball well enough. And surely, there are more to come.”

“Survived is the key word,” Caterina muttered, smoothing down the skirt of her gown. “At this rate, I’ll need an entire vineyard to get through the next one.”

Vanessa handed her the silver brush again, this time with a knowing smile. “Still, my lady, it seems you made quite the impression. I overheard some of the servants this morning, everyone’s talking about the Medici sisters.”

“Let them talk,” Caterina said with a sigh, turning back toward the vanity. “I have more pressing matters to worry about than who noticed me at a ball. Like figuring out how to avoid these tedious suitors for the rest of the season.”

Vanessa grinned as she stepped back, watching her mistress from the corner of the room. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find a way, my lady. You always do.”

Caterina smirked, glancing at herself in the mirror one last time. “That, Vanessa, is the only thing I can guarantee.”

─────────

The morning sun bathed the Bridgerton dining room in a soft golden hue, casting long shadows across the polished mahogany table. Breakfast was in full swing, with the usual hustle and bustle of a large family settling into their seats, but it wasn’t the food that occupied everyone’s attention this morning.

Violet Bridgerton, seated at the head of the table, looked out over her brood with her usual mix of fondness and light exasperation. Next to her, Anthony sat with his arms crossed, eyes sharp as he observed the lively conversation between his siblings. Francesca was engaged in a quiet discussion with Colin, while Eloise, true to form, had a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other, occasionally glancing up to join in on the conversation.

At the center of it all, however, was Lord Edward Ducker, who, like Benedict, sat with an easy, languid grace. His dark hair, slightly tousled from the morning, caught the sunlight as he glanced over the freshly printed copy of Lady Whistledown’s, which had just been delivered moments before. He flicked through it casually, but when he spotted something interesting, he cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention.

"Ah," Edward began, his voice dripping with playful mockery, "I see that Whistledown has deemed me worthy of mention."

Benedict, lounging opposite him with a bemused smile, raised an eyebrow. "And what scandal have you stirred up now, cousin?"

"Well," Edward replied with mock gravity, holding up the paper as though about to recite an epic verse, "It appears I have committed the grievous sin of dancing twice with Miss Teresa Medici."

A collective murmur rippled across the table. Eloise looked up from her book, Francesca’s eyes widened with interest, and even Anthony, ever the vigilant head of the family, seemed to lean in slightly.

Benedict chuckled. "Twice in one evening? Clearly, you’re more dedicated to causing a stir than I gave you credit for."

Edward grinned as he began to read from the paper, affecting a haughty tone: "Lord Edward Ducker, cousin to the esteemed Bridgertons, was seen twice on the dance floor with the enchanting Miss Teresa Medici. Could there be an alliance between the Scottish nobility and the Italian beauties of the season?"

Violet set down her teacup, a wry smile playing on her lips. "I must say, Edward, Whistledown doesn’t waste any time, does she?"

Edward feigned a pained expression. "It seems I am to be thrust into matrimony before I’ve even had my second cup of tea."

Benedict leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming. "You always did have a way with the ladies, Edward. Though I must say, two dances with Miss Medici? You might as well have proposed on the spot, by Whistledown’s standards."

Edward shot Benedict a sideways glance, his smirk deepening. "Well, not all of us can hide in the shadows, avoiding the spotlight."

"Hide?" Benedict echoed, amusement lacing his voice. "I’ll have you know, I am a master of subtly avoiding entrapment by the likes of Whistledown."

"Oh really?" Edward teased, his eyes dancing with mischief as he turned back to the paper. "Because it seems you’ve managed to make an appearance here as well, my dear cousin."

Benedict’s smirk faltered, just slightly. "Me? Nonsense. I’m perfectly innocent."

Edward scanned the paper before reciting aloud with relish: "One cannot help but notice the sudden and fervent interest of none other than Benedict Bridgerton, the second son, known more for his artistic pursuits than for indulging in the formalities of our society, it is highly unusual to see Mr. Bridgerton so enamored by the charms of the ballroom. Could it be that the Medici allure has cast a spell on him as well? His eyes followed Caterina Medici throughout the evening, and one cannot help but wonder if a new romance is on the horizon.”

Benedict groaned lightly, shaking his head as a few chuckles echoed around the table. Francesca raised an eyebrow and glanced at her brother. "Two Medici sisters? How very intriguing."

Eloise piped up, clearly enjoying the attention being thrown in Benedict’s direction. "How scandalous, Benedict. Perhaps you’ve found your muse?"

"I assure you, it was nothing of the sort," Benedict said, waving off the playful jabs. "Miss Medici is… interesting, yes. But I’d hardly say Whistledown has reason to believe I’m courting her."

Eloise leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table with a grin. "You forget, Benedict, that the ton doesn’t need much reason to believe anything. A look, a dance, even a mere conversation, suddenly, you're halfway down the aisle."

"And with a Medici no less," Colin chimed in, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You certainly don’t do things halfway, do you, Benedict?"

Benedict rolled his eyes, though his lips curled into a smile. "The last thing I need is Whistledown playing matchmaker on my behalf."

"Indeed," Edward added with mock seriousness. "Especially when it seems I am already being prepared for my own romantic destiny."

Eloise exchanged a glance at that "I wasn’t aware that dancing twice meant an engagement was imminent," she said her eyes sparkling with humor.

"Ah, Eloise" Edward replied, turning his gaze to her with a playful smile. "In the eyes of Lady Whistledown, two dances might as well be a declaration of undying love."

Violet, who had been watching the banter with amusement, finally spoke up. "It seems that this season will be full of surprises, especially if Lady Whistledown continues to take such an interest in our family affairs."

Edward looked at Benedict. "Then we’ll just have to give her something worth writing about, won’t we?"

Benedict lifted his cup in a mock toast. "To surviving Lady Whistledown’s gaze. And to ensure that whatever scandal she writes, we at least look good doing it."

The table erupted in laughter as the cousins clinked their cups together, both fully aware that the games of the ton had only just begun.

─────────

The morning light filtered through the tall, elegant windows of the Langstone dining room, casting a warm, golden glow on the pristine white tablecloth and delicate china that adorned the long table. The Medici and Langstone families, now gathered together for breakfast a quiet conversation was filling the room.

Caterina sat at the table, her hair elegantly tied back, though her posture betrayed a slight weariness from the previous night’s ball. Across from her, Teresa was nearly vibrating with excitement, her eyes alight as she eagerly helped herself to a scone. Their mother, Lady Medici, sat beside Teresa, conversing lightly with Lady Langstone, who sat at the head of the table, while Olympia and Cynthia Langstone, the daughters of the house, chatted excitedly about the night’s events.

But the real excitement had only just arrived with the morning delivery of Lady Whistledown, which sat untouched at the center of the table, waiting, like a mischievous spirit, to stir up trouble.

Cynthia, ever eager, was the first to reach for the paper. “Oh, I cannot wait to see what she’s written about last night!” she exclaimed, her voice bright with anticipation. “You know she never misses anything.”

“I wonder who has made her infamous pages this time,” Olympia added with a sly smile, leaning forward to peer at the column as her sister unfolded the crisp paper.

Caterina leaned in, her curiosity piqued. “Is that the famous Lady Whistledown everyone has been speaking of?” she asked, eyeing the paper with mild interest. “I’ve heard her name whispered in nearly every corner of the ballroom last night.”

Teresa, equally intrigued, glanced at the Langstone sisters. “Yes, what is the fascination with her? I’ve never heard of such a thing in Italy.”

Cynthia, her eyes alight with enthusiasm, eagerly took the opportunity to explain. “Oh, Lady Whistledown is the most infamous writer in all of London! She writes about the ton, the scandals, the romances, the gossip, and no one is safe from her sharp wit.”

Olympia nodded, adding, “She seems to know everything before anyone else does. If you’re mentioned in her paper, it can either be a blessing or a curse, depending on what she writes about you.”

The Medici sisters exchanged intrigued glances, clearly fascinated by the idea of a secret chronicler wielding such power over the social scene.

Caterina raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a slight smile. “So she has the power to make, or break, someone’s reputation with a single word?”

“Precisely,” Cynthia said with a nod. “And no one knows who she is. Her identity is the greatest mystery in London. Everyone speculates, but no one has any idea.”

Teresa’s eyes widened with excitement. “How thrilling! It’s like something out of a novel.”

Olympia chuckled softly. “It’s far more real than any novel. Last season, she practically ruined a debutante with a single article. She has the ability to shape the entire season. Some people are terrified of her.”

Caterina, ever the skeptic, leaned back in her chair and sipped her tea. “Fascinating. And yet, it seems so… impersonal. To be judged by someone who remains hidden. It’s almost cowardly, don’t you think?”

Olympia shrugged with a grin. “Perhaps. But that’s what makes her so powerful. She’s everywhere and nowhere at once.” Teresa was enthralled, her curiosity growing with each word. “And you’ve been mentioned before?”

Cynthia beamed proudly. “Oh yes, several times. Usually about our gowns or our partners at various balls. But nothing too scandalous, thankfully.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Once, she commented on how Olympia’s gown nearly outshone a duchess’s.”

Olympia laughed, waving off her sister’s comment. “That was ages ago. But the point is, you never know what she’ll say, or when she’ll say it.” Lady Medici, who had been listening quietly, looked at her daughters with a mix of amusement and caution. “Well, let us hope our first mention is a favorable one.”

Before Teresa could respond, Cynthia gasped dramatically, her eyes wide as she scanned the paper. “Oh my! Here it is!”

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to her. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud, her voice bright with excitement.

“And then there is the younger, Miss Teresa Medici, whose sweetness is as charming as her sister’s sharpness. She, too, seems well on her way to captivating hearts, but do not be deceived by her innocent smile. It seems the Medici twins are not just diamonds in the rough, but polished gems with a sharpness that can outwit even the most astute gentlemen. It appears that Lord Edward Ducker, cousin to the esteemed Bridgertons, was seen twice on the dance floor with the enchanting Miss Teresa Medici. Could there be an alliance between the Scottish nobility and the Italian beauties of the season?”

Teresa’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, but her smile was radiant. “Oh! That’s wonderful! I can’t believe I’m mentioned!”

“Twice, no less,” Olympia added with a wink. “It seems Lady Whistledown has a soft spot for romances.”

Before Teresa could respond, Cynthia’s eyes darted back to the paper, a mischievous smile curling on her lips. “Oh, but that’s not all…”

She glanced meaningfully at Caterina before continuing. “One cannot help but notice the sudden and fervent interest of none other than Benedict Bridgerton, the second son, known more for his artistic pursuits than for indulging in the formalities of our society, it is highly unusual to see Mr. Bridgerton so enamored by the charms of the ballroom. Could it be that the Medici allure has cast a spell on him as well? His eyes followed Caterina Medici throughout the evening, and one cannot help but wonder if a new romance is on the horizon.”

Caterina’s expression didn’t waver as she took another sip of her tea, though her eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. “a spell?” she repeated dryly, placing her cup back on its saucer. “That’s a generous interpretation. I’d say it was more like a man desperately trying to survive an evening of unbearable conversation.”

The table erupted in soft laughter, though Teresa shot her sister a playful look. “Come now, Kitty, it wasn’t that bad. He seemed quite taken with you.”

Caterina leaned back in her chair, smirking slightly. “Taken with me, or taken with the idea of escaping all the simpering debutantes that were flocking around him? Either way, I’m flattered that I provided a distraction.”

“Oh, please,” Olympia teased. “You looked perfectly happy out there. And if Mr. Bridgerton is as charming as they say, I doubt you were bored.”

“Charming is one word for it,” Caterina mused, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Though I will admit, his attempts at humor were… admirable. For a man who escapes such formalities, he certainly talks a lot.” Teresa rolled her eyes affectionately but couldn’t hide her excitement as she reached for the paper herself. “Regardless, it’s thrilling to see both of our names in Lady Whistledown.”

Caterina smiled warmly at her sister, her teasing tone softening. “Yes, well, just don’t let it go to your head, Tess. You still have a whole season ahead of you. And who knows what else this Whistledown will have to say?”

Teresa, undeterred, beamed. “I can’t wait.”

Lady Medici, watching her daughters with a fond smile, raised her teacup. “To a successful season, then. And may we continue to make the pages of Lady Whistledow, for all the right reasons.”

─────────

As the morning bathed the Langstone estate. The Medici family, ever poised, were expecting a full day of visits from eligible gentlemen who had attended the ball the previous evening. Caterina, however, appeared completely unbothered by the prospect, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

“Caterina, darling, please do remember that we are expecting quite a few visitors today,” Lady Medici reminded her daughter from across the room, adjusting her posture as she awaited the arrival of the day’s first guests. “You mustn’t be so cold to them, darling. This is a serious matter.”

Caterina sighed, swirling the tea in her cup lazily. “I’ll be perfectly polite, Mother, but I’m afraid I can’t promise much beyond that. I would rather do other things today than sit, listen, and smile.” Her voice carried a note of amusement that her mother did not appreciate.

"You have to take this seriously, Caterina. You cannot afford to offend every man who dares approach you."

Before another word could be exchanged, the first knock echoed through the grand estate. A parade of gentlemen had begun, much to Caterina’s restrained dismay. She straightened her shoulders, bracing herself for what would undoubtedly be a long day.

The butler, ever efficient, opened the door, revealing Lord Barrington, a tall man with an awkward gait but a kind smile. He approached Caterina with flowers in hand, bowing deeply.

“Miss Medici, it is a pleasure to see you again. I brought these from my family’s garden. The ones I told you last night during our wonderful dance” he offered, handing her the bouquet of roses.

Caterina’s polite smile barely concealed her disinterest. “Thank you, Lord Barrington. Roses, how charming.” She took the bouquet and set it on the table without a second glance. “What brings you here this fine morning?”

Lord Barrington seemed slightly flustered but continued. “I hoped to invite you for a stroll through the gardens. The weather is delightful, and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to converse in a more intimate setting.”

“A walk?” Caterina tilted her head, her gaze flicking briefly out the window where the sun shone brightly. She seemed to weigh the offer for a moment before her smile grew just a bit sharper. “I’m afraid I’ve had enough of the gardens for one day, Lord Barrington. But do enjoy them on my behalf.”

Lord Barrington blinked, clearly taken aback, but managed a polite bow before excusing himself. As soon as he left, Teresa leaned over to her twin, giggling softly.

“Oh, Kitty, you really are impossible.”

“I never promised to entertain every dullard who knocked at our door,” Caterina replied with a smirk, eyes sparkling mischievously.

Not long after Lord Barrington’s departure, another knock came at the door. This time, it was Lord Fairfax, a dashing gentleman with a quick wit and easy charm. He greeted Caterina with confidence.

“Miss Medici, a pleasure as always. I was hoping we could share a ride through the countryside, it's the perfect day for it.”

Caterina looked him up and down, clearly sizing him up. “You are quite bold, Lord Fairfax, to assume I would agree so easily.” She stood, walking to the window as though contemplating. After a moment of silence, she turned, her eyes narrowed slightly in amusement. “I am not so easily won, my lord. But do continue your efforts. They are…entertaining.”

Lord Fairfax raised a brow, sensing the challenge in her words. “Then, Miss Medici, consider me up for the challenge. I shall win you over yet.” He bowed deeply and left, a confident smirk playing on his lips.

The hours passed, and the gentlemen came and went like clockwork. Some brought gifts, others tried to charm her with witty conversation. One by one, Caterina dismissed them with the same composed elegance she had mastered over the years.

The drawing room was now filled with the scent of the floral bouquet presented to her by Lord Wilkins, a gentleman more nervous than the others. He stammered through his conversation, constantly glancing at Teresa as though hoping for help.

“I—Miss Medici—I’ve brought you lilies…from my estate,” he said, his voice shaky.

Caterina raised a brow, glancing at the flowers. “Lovely. I imagine they must be quite beautiful at your estate,” she commented, her tone neutral.

Lord Wilkins took that as encouragement, nervously continuing. “They are. You should come to see them sometime, I mean… if you would… if you’d like to.”

Caterina leaned back in her chair, folding her hands in her lap as she studied the flustered gentleman. “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “Although I’ve never been particularly fond of lilies.”

Wilkins paled, his earlier bravado quickly evaporating. “Oh, well, I could…bring something else next time?”

“There’s no need,” Caterina said, her voice kind but final. “You’ve done enough for today.”

When he left, Lady Medici let out an exasperated sigh. “Caterina, how will you ever secure a match if you continue to send them all away?”

“Mother,” Caterina began, now completely weary of the parade of suitors, “I have no intention of securing a match simply to satisfy social expectations. The gentlemen who have visited today have been…fine, but none of them stir anything in me. Do you really expect me to spend a lifetime with someone who does not?”

Lady Medici's brows furrowed in frustration. “You cannot wait forever, my dear.”

Caterina turned her gaze towards the window, watching the sunlight flicker across the gardens outside. “Perhaps I can. But I have enough for today. Vanessa!” she exclaimed, calling her maid “It’s time!” she added.

So then she made her way to the grand staircase, pausing at the top to compose herself. With a deep sigh, she forced a bright smile and addressed Vanessa, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "Ah, what a wonderful day for a promenade, don’t you think, Vanessa?"

As she descended the stairs, she was immediately greeted by a line of more and more eager suitors who were still waiting, each clamoring to gain her attention. "Oh, Miss Medici, allow me to escort you through the streets of London!" one gentleman offered, his voice filled with enthusiasm.

"Miss Medici, you must let me go first! Some streets are dangerous, and I would be honored to protect you!" said another, pushing forward slightly.

Their voices overlapped, each trying to outdo the other with offers of assistance. But Caterina, her eyes sparkling with mischief, ignored their advances, descending the staircase with a slow, graceful stride and a sly smile playing on her lips.

When she reached the bottom, she turned to face the group, her tone polite but firm. "Please, any of you who have come here today to court me may as well leave now. I’m not in the mood anymore to be adored. But you can still try your luck with my sister or one of the Langstone ladies. They would be more than pleased to entertain you all."

The room fell into a brief, stunned silence. Several of the men shuffled uncomfortably, their expressions turning sour at her bluntness, some even letting out quiet huffs of frustration.

But before Caterina could leave, her path was blocked by none other than Benedict Bridgerton and his cousin, Lord Ducker. Benedict, standing in front, held a modest bouquet of wildflowers in his hand, his crooked smile making Caterina pause.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she greeted him, her voice laced with playful mockery. "So eager to see me again?"

Benedict bowed, offering her the flowers with a charming smile. "Miss Medici, might I have the honor of escorting you through London today?" His tone was teasing, though there was a sincerity in his gaze that caught her attention.

Caterina tilted her head, pretending to consider his offer with exaggerated thoughtfulness. "Do you really wish that, Mr. Bridgerton?"

He blinked in surprise, clearly expecting a different response. "If you wish it, Miss Medici."

With a smirk, she shook her head. "No… not really." Her words caught him off guard, and he stared at her, momentarily at a loss for words.

Before he could respond, she turned to his cousin with a polite smile. "Have a nice day, Mr. Bridgerton. Lord Ducker."

And with that, Caterina gracefully brushed past them, leaving Benedict standing at the bottom of the stairs, bouquet still in hand, watching her with a mixture of amusement and intrigue. As she exited the house, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.

─────────

The sunlight streamed through the tall windows of Lady Danbury’s house, casting a soft glow across the drawing room where Lady Medici and her daughters sat, engaged in polite conversation with Lady Danbury. The aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the scent of roses that adorned the table, creating an atmosphere of refined elegance.

Lady Danbury, with her ever-watchful eyes, leaned in slightly, her voice dripping with curiosity. “So did you already find a particular interest in someone at my ball, ladies?” she asked, her gaze flickering between the ladies.

Teresa, ever the more sociable of the two, immediately responded with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Undoubtedly, there were some notable gentlemen, Lady Danbury. I even made the acquaintance of a few this morning," she said, her voice light and melodic.

Lady Danbury, intrigued, raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And do you recall any of their names, my dear?”

Teresa chuckled softly as if amused by the question. “There was Lord Dumbling, Lord Harrington, and also Lord Melrose, who brought me the most beautiful peonies from his family’s garden this morning. But if I am to be completely sincere, most of the other gentlemen were quite captivated by my twin sister Caterina, were they not?” she teased, her gaze sliding over to her sister, who sat quietly, sipping her tea as though she were miles away.

Caterina finally glanced up, her expression impassive but her tone laced with cool detachment. "Well, those were the ones who were able to enter the room. I had afterward ejected many others." Her words hung in the air, sharp and unexpected.

"Caterina," Lady Medici said, her voice filled with maternal scolding as she shot her daughter a look of disapproval. But Caterina merely shrugged, unbothered by the reaction she had caused.

Lady Danbury, ever the sharp-witted observer, chuckled softly at the display. “And may I ask why, Miss Caterina? I thought the whole reason you embarked on such a journey to London was to find a husband, was it not?”

Caterina didn’t falter. "It most certainly is," she replied calmly, though her mother gave her a reproachful glance, silently urging her to act with more grace. Still, Caterina remained unflustered, sipping her tea with steady composure.

“The gentlemen who arrived this morning were quite enthusiastic,” she began in a measured tone, “but I wasn’t feeling particularly disposed to entertain them. The dance you hosted, Lady Danbury, was so splendid and engaging that I found myself needing some rest afterward.” Her voice was smooth, her words carefully chosen. “Besides, I had a great desire to explore the streets of London. It’s a beautiful city, especially on such a lovely sunny day. I hear there aren’t many like it in England.”

Lady Danbury leaned forward, her curiosity piqued. “So, if I may be so bold, what exactly are your expectations for this… husband you seek, Miss Medici?”

Without missing a beat, Caterina replied with perfect poise, but her words caused a visible shift in the room. “Well, I am certainly looking for someone with significant financial wealth,” she stated flatly, as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Teresa’s eyes widened, and she cast a glance at her mother, who was already sighing in resigned exasperation. Lady Medici’s lips thinned, though she refrained from any verbal reprimand, clearly accustomed to Caterina’s candid nature.

Lady Danbury, always one for a bit of scandalous conversation, gave a bemused smile. “Wealth, you say? My dear, there is much more to marriage than wealth.”

Caterina’s gaze did not waver. “Of course there is,” she replied evenly. “But security is paramount. A man of wealth can offer a comfortable life, and that is something I will not compromise on.”

Lady Medici shifted uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes briefly closing in silent frustration at her daughter’s bluntness. Teresa, in an attempt to lighten the mood, chimed in.

“But surely, love must play some part in your decision, sister?”

Caterina tilted her head, considering her words carefully before answering. “Love is a luxury, sister. It is not essential for a match.” Her voice was devoid of emotion, her gaze steady as she addressed the room.

Teresa exchanged a quick glance with their mother, both of them understanding the deeper meaning behind Caterina’s words. Lady Medici sighed, looking at Lady Danbury with an apologetic smile. "You'll have to excuse Caterina's… practical nature."

But Lady Danbury, ever perceptive, smiled knowingly, her eyes lingering on Caterina. "Practicality has its merits, but sometimes, dear, the heart has its own plans, plans that may surprise even the most pragmatic among us."

Caterina, for once, seemed to pause, her fingers tightening ever so slightly around the teacup. But she quickly masked her reaction, offering a polite smile. "Perhaps, Lady Danbury. But I prefer not to rely on surprises."

─────────

The evening of the second ball arrived, casting a soft glow over London as carriages rolled up to the grand entrance of the lavish estate where the event was being held. The Medici sisters, Teresa and Caterina, had planned for this night with the utmost precision. Their gowns had been crafted in Italy, a design that, in their homeland, might have been considered daring but elegant. In London, however, it would be nothing short of scandalous.

As their carriage drew closer to the estate, Teresa fidgeted with her gloves, casting a glance at her sister. "Are you sure about this, Kitty?"

Caterina’s lips curled into a knowing smile, her eyes gleaming under the soft lamplight that filtered through the window. "We knew exactly what we were doing when we had these dresses made, Tess. Trust me, we’ll make an impression. Isn't that the point?"

Teresa bit her lip but nodded. "I suppose so. But I can already hear what Lady Whistledown will write about us tomorrow."

"Let her write," Caterina said with a flick of her wrist. "We’ll be the talk of the ton. That's what matters."

─────────

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the footman opened the door, offering them his hand. Caterina exited first, her gown a stunning light gold, catching the light as she descended the steps with graceful confidence. The dress clung to her figure in all the right places, the fabric shimmering with every movement. But what truly caught attention was the back of the gown, or rather, the lack thereof. From the nape of her neck down to the small of her back, her skin was left exposed in an elegant swoop of fabric, the boldness of the design sending ripples of shock through those who saw it.

Teresa followed her gown a softer, more muted pink. It shimmered with a subtle glow under the candlelight, highlighting her delicate features. Though softer than Caterina’s, her dress was no less daring, with a similar open back that revealed much more skin than any proper English lady would dare show.

As the twins stood side by side at the entrance of the ballroom, their presence commanded attention. The grand hall had been abuzz with conversation, laughter, and the murmur of gossip, but as the Medici sisters made their entrance, almost complete silence fell over the room.

Caterina held her chin high, fully aware of the eyes upon them. Her smile was serene, calculated, as if she relished in the shocked gasps and murmured whispers that followed their every step. Teresa, though slightly more reserved, matched her sister’s poise, her head held high as they glided into the room.

The fabric of their gowns caught the light, drawing attention to the elegant curve of their exposed backs and the finely embroidered details along the edges of the material. Every step they took seemed to be designed to command attention, the soft rustling of their dresses the only sound in the otherwise hushed room.

The looks on the faces of the ton were a mix of disbelief and judgment. Elderly matrons clutched their fans in shock, and young debutantes exchanged scandalized glances. Lord Ducker, standing near the entrance, nearly choked on his drink when he saw Teresa. His eyes widened as he tried, and failed, to look anywhere but the bare expanse of her back.

"Good heavens," a lady murmured from across the room, her eyes narrowing as she turned to her companion. "Did you see what those ladies are wearing?"

"Wearing? More like not wearing," another woman replied, her tone scandalized.

As the sisters walked further into the ballroom, Lady Ducker, standing near Lord Ducker, arched an eyebrow and let out a quiet hum of disapproval. "It seems the Medici sisters have decided to bring their fashion to England," she said, her eyes lingering on Teresa. Her tone was pointed, but beneath her words, there was an edge of amusement as if she knew exactly the effect their entrance would have.

Caterina caught sight of Benedict across the room, his eyes already fixed on her. She met his gaze, her lips curving into a subtle, knowing smile. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of surprise, admiration, and perhaps something else, a flicker of something more primal beneath his well-mannered exterior. But he didn’t look away.

Teresa, on the other hand, had her attention drawn to Lord Ducker, who was now standing frozen near the refreshment table, unable to tear his gaze away from her. He looked positively bewitched. She glanced at Caterina, who nudged her lightly. "See? We have their attention."

"Too much of it," Teresa whispered, though there was a faint blush on her cheeks, not entirely out of embarrassment.

They stopped near the edge of the dance floor, their presence undeniable as the ballroom began to hum with activity once more. The music resumed, but the gossip spread like wildfire, whispers following the Medici sisters wherever they moved.

A nearby group of young women exchanged judgmental glances, their voices low but not low enough for Caterina to miss. "It’s indecent, really," one of them said, her voice filled with disdain. "They might as well have come in their undergarments."

Caterina turned her head ever so slightly, catching the eye of the girl who had spoken. With a calm, confident smile, she lifted her chin and gave a subtle nod, as if acknowledging their words but dismissing them with a quiet power. They may talk, she thought, but it was she who had the attention of the room.

"I told you," Caterina murmured to Teresa, her voice low but filled with satisfaction. "We’ve already won."

Teresa sighed, though her lips twitched with a smile. "I just hope we survive the night."

Caterina chuckled, her eyes scanning the room once more. "Oh, we will. But I suspect after tonight, the ton will never forget us."

─────────

The ballroom was alive with music, light, and laughter, but all Benedict could focus on was the woman standing across from him. Miss Caterina Medici. As soon as he caught sight of her at the entrance of the ballroom, everything around him seemed to be still. For a moment, he was utterly captivated. His breath hitched, barely perceptibly, as his eyes raked over her, trying to fully comprehend what he was seeing.

She was breathtaking.

The gown was scandalous, yes, but more than that, it was a work of art on her body, every curve and line of the fabric designed to seduce. His gaze traveled from the delicate curve of her exposed shoulders down to the elegant dip of her bare back, the smooth skin gleaming in the soft glow of the chandeliers. The deep gold of the dress seemed to make her skin glow, every inch of her a tantalizing combination of elegance and temptation. Her hair was pinned elegantly, though a few rebellious strands framed her face, giving her an air of effortless beauty.

Benedict’s grip tightened around the glass of champagne in his hand. Damn her. It wasn’t the first time Caterina had rendered him speechless, but tonight… tonight it was different. Something raw, something primal unfurled inside him, tugging at his restraint, pushing against his usual composure. There was an air of defiance in her tonight, a woman who knew exactly what she was doing and was reveling in the chaos she caused. And God help him, he couldn’t look away.

His mind raced with thoughts he shouldn’t be having. The delicate slope of her back, the smooth line from her neck to her spine, made him ache to touch her. His imagination filled in what his hands wanted to do, run over that exposed skin, feel the warmth of her under his fingers, claim her in a way that wasn’t even appropriate to think about in a crowded ballroom.

She was temptation personified, and it was driving him mad. She knew the effect she was having on him; he was sure of it. The way her lips curled into that infuriatingly serene smile when their eyes met across the room told him everything. She was aware, and she enjoyed it.

Benedict swallowed, shifting in his stance as he tried to regain some semblance of control. But as she moved deeper into the room, her eyes locking with his for a brief moment, the sharpness of his desire returned, making his blood run hot beneath his skin.

I should not be thinking about her this way, he chided himself, but the thought only served to make his craving for her more intense.

He wanted her, and not just in a simple, gentlemanly fashion. There was something far more primal in the way his body reacted to the sight of her tonight. Something that went beyond flirtation, beyond the witty exchanges they’d shared. It was possessive, all-consuming, and utterly undeniable.

As she made her way through the room, collecting whispers and shocked gasps like jewels in a crown, Benedict’s decision crystallized.

He needed to have her attention, to remind her that no matter what game she was playing tonight, he was part of it, and he intended to win.

He set his glass down on a nearby table with purpose, his gaze never leaving her as he crossed the ballroom. His steps were confident, and deliberate, the buzz of the crowd dimming in his mind as he approached her. There was a flicker of something in her eyes when she noticed him approaching, anticipation, perhaps? Or was it the same desire that roared in his chest?

“Miss Medici,” Benedict’s voice was low, dripping with a mix of amusement and challenge. He bowed slightly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I believe you owe me a dance.”

Caterina’s lips curved into that familiar, teasing smile. “Do I?” Her voice was like silk, her brow arching as if to mock his request. She lifted her chin, clearly prepared to banter, but Benedict was having none of it tonight.

He stepped closer, his presence dominating, his tone dropping to a near growl. “Oh, you do. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” His eyes flickered down to the exposed skin of her back, then back to her eyes, his voice taking on a sharper edge. “You come dressed like this, catching everyone’s attention, and expect me not to claim my due?”

Caterina blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the intensity in his voice, but she quickly regained her composure. “I didn’t realize you had anything due to you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He smirked, a wicked glint in his eyes as he extended his hand toward her, waiting for her to take it. “Oh, I think you owe me more than just a dance.” His voice softened, turning into a low murmur meant only for her. “After all, if anyone’s going to be stealing glances at you tonight, it’ll be me.”

Caterina stared at him for a beat, her lips parting as if to retort, but the intensity of his gaze, the way he held himself with such confidence, silenced her. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she placed her hand in his. A spark shot up his arm the moment her gloved hand touched his.

“Shall we?” Benedict’s smile was almost predatory as he led her onto the dance floor, aware of the eyes following them.

The moment they were in position, and the music began, Benedict took her in his arms, their bodies closer than they had been in days. The tension between them simmered just beneath the surface, and he could feel the heat of her through the thin fabric of her gown.

"After the event at your house, I was expecting a bit more resistance to my invitation, Miss Medici," Benedict said, his voice low as he twirled her around, bringing her back in front of him with a graceful spin.

Caterina’s lips curled into a smirk as she came back into his arms, the spin bringing a fresh wave of her intoxicating perfume with it. "An invitation from an attractive man is always accepted, Mr. Bridgerton," she replied smoothly, her tone light but edged with a certain seductive confidence.

Benedict’s eyebrows shot up at her remark. "Attractive?" His voice dipped playfully. "So, you find me appealing, Miss Medici?"

She met his gaze, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Certainly I do," she said, her voice almost a purr. "I’m a woman, Mr. Bridgerton, and I have eyes too. I can hardly deny such a thing."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, there was a spark of something dangerous in her gaze, something that made Benedict’s pulse quicken. He tightened his hold on her waist just slightly, guiding her effortlessly through the steps of the dance.

Benedict let out a low chuckle, caught off guard by her directness. He couldn’t recall the last time a woman had spoken to him with such brazen honesty, especially not while looking at him like that.

"Additionally," Caterina continued, her smile widening, "I heard you don’t attend many balls…" She arched an eyebrow, her tone playfully inquisitive.

Benedict snorted, shaking his head slightly. "You’ve been reading Lady Whistledown, haven’t you?" There was a trace of irritation in his voice, though not entirely directed at her.

Caterina chuckled softly, clearly noticing his reaction. "I must somehow integrate into the English ton, Mr. Bridgerton," she said, her voice dropping into a sultry, teasing tone. She raised her chin ever so slightly, making her intentions clear, and yet keeping everything veiled in playful banter.

Benedict’s expression tightened for a brief moment. "Aren’t you bothered by what was written about you?" His eyes flicked down briefly to her dress undoubtedly one of the subjects of tomorrow’s paper and then back up to her face. He was testing her, probing to see if her confident demeanor was as untouchable as it appeared.

Caterina’s laugh was soft but full of amusement, her eyes sparkling as she met his challenge head-on. "Why would I be? Those are just words, Mr. Bridgerton. Gossip. Nobody really knows me." Her tone was dismissive as if she found the entire concept of caring about public opinion amusing.

Benedict’s eyes narrowed slightly, intrigued by her indifference. Most women in the ton would be mortified by such scandalous attention from Lady Whistledown, but Caterina seemed completely unphased. There was something deeply alluring about a woman who refused to be swayed by the whispers of society.

"I see you’re not one to let words affect you, then," Benedict remarked, spinning her once more, his grip firm on her waist as she twirled effortlessly back into his arms.

"Not at all," she replied with a light shrug. "In Italy, we care about gossip but here, it seems like it’s the lifeblood of society." Her lips twitched into a smirk. "A curious difference, wouldn’t you agree?"

"Curious, indeed," Benedict said, still studying her closely. "But not everyone is as impervious as you, Miss Medici."

She laughed again, a soft, musical sound that sent a strange thrill through him. "Perhaps they should be. After all, Mr. Bridgerton, isn’t it far better to live by one’s own truth than to be shackled by the opinions of others?"

Benedict was silent for a moment, turning her words over in his mind. He wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from this dance, maybe more of the flirtatious banter they’d been engaging in, but Caterina’s insight caught him off guard. "And what is your truth, Miss Medici?"

Caterina’s smile grew, her eyes flashing with something unreadable. "That, Mr. Bridgerton, is something you’ll have to discover for yourself." She leaned in just slightly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you’re brave enough."

The challenge was clear, and it sent a spark of excitement through him. "I think I’m up for the task," he said, his voice steady but charged with a new energy.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the bustling ballroom seemed to fade into the background.

They moved in perfect harmony, the music guiding their steps but their attention solely on each other. Caterina’s gaze flicked to his lips for the briefest of moments before she pulled away, the distance between them lengthening as the dance continued.

Benedict couldn’t help but smile. He had expected many things from this night, but meeting someone like her, a woman so unafraid to be herself, so unapologetically bold, had certainly not been one of them.

As the music began to wind down, Caterina gave him a sly, knowing look and with a graceful curtsy, Caterina stepped back, her gaze lingering on his for just a second longer than necessary. "Thank you for the dance," she said, her voice soft and yet filled with promise.

Benedict bowed, watching her as she turned and walked away, her scandalous dress drawing even more attention as she rejoined her sister and the other guests.

He exhaled, realizing he had been holding his breath.

As she disappeared into the crowd, Benedict couldn’t help but think that Caterina Medici was far more than she seemed, and perhaps, that was exactly what intrigued him most.

─────────

Dearest readers,

The ball of last night was nothing short of a spectacle, but it wasn't the glittering chandeliers or the flowing champagne that stole the evening's attention. Oh no, it was the attire of the notorious Medici sisters that set tongues wagging! Miss Caterina and Miss Teresa Medici shocked the ton by arriving in daring gowns with their backs scandalously exposed. How very… audacious of them!

It would appear the Medici sisters have introduced a new fashion to our ever-watchful London season, a daring display of Italian boldness, with backs bared more than one might deem appropriate for a respectable young lady’s wardrobe.

But that, dear readers, was merely the beginning. Lady Ducker's keen eye seems to have settled on a match for her son, Lord Edward Ducker, and it would appear Miss Teresa Medici is the favored candidate. A match to unite two prominent families? We shall see.

Yet, nothing has caught my quill quite like the simmering tension between Miss Caterina Medici and one certain Mr. Benedict Bridgerton. I saw everything, dear reader, stolen glances, whispered words, and a dance that left the room breathless. One wonders: what exactly is brewing between those two?

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

The morning air of the day after was cool, and a gentle breeze whispered through the bustling streets of London. The Medici sisters were walking gracefully along the streets of London, their dresses fluttering slightly in the breeze as their heels clicked against the cobblestones. The light murmur of their conversation was drowned out by the hum of activity around them, carriages rattling by, the calls of vendors, and the occasional laughter of passersby. However, all of that seemed secondary to the glances and murmurs from the other women, heads turning as they recognized the sisters, especially now after the most recent publication of Lady Whistledown.

Caterina held her parasol delicately, tilting it just to keep the sun from her face, while Teresa moved with an air of quiet reflection. The previous night’s ball, with all its gossip, danced uncomfortably in both their minds. Caterina, of course, was more amused than anything else. Teresa, however, was still processing what had been written in Lady Whistledown's Paper.

As they strolled, Caterina smirked and unfolded the paper she had been holding since breakfast, giving it another glance. "Well, Tess, if we weren't known before, we certainly are now."

Teresa sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging slightly. "Do we have to talk about it, Kitty? You know how Whistledown exaggerates."

Caterina’s eyes twinkled as she read aloud, her voice filled with mock drama. "it would appear the Medici sisters have introduced a new fashion to our ever-watchful London season, a daring display of Italian boldness, with backs bared more than one might deem appropriate for a respectable young lady’s wardrobe."

She laughed and looked sideways at Teresa. "Respectable? I believe Lady Whistledown may have finally run out of more scandalous things to write."

Teresa flushed, though a small smile crept onto her lips. "I didn’t think the gown was that scandalous. It was elegant. Tasteful, even."

"Tasteful, yes. But perhaps London society is not yet ready for this kind of taste," Caterina teased, folding the paper and tucking it into her reticule. "Still, we managed to turn quite a few heads. I think it’s a triumph."

"Mother will faint as soon as she will read the paper," Teresa said, shaking her head with a soft laugh. "I’m certain she would write to our aunt in Naples, asking for advice on how to handle such improper daughters."

Caterina grinned, clearly enjoying herself. "Oh, but we haven’t even gotten to the best part yet." She glanced at Teresa, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Lord Ducker."

Teresa’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink. "Kitty, stop."

"I will not stop. Lady Whistledown practically devoted an entire paragraph to how Lord Edward’s attentions were fixed solely on you throughout the evening. And let’s not forget Lady Ducker’s strategic glances in your direction. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s plotting a match."

"You're reading too much into it," Teresa said, though she couldn’t entirely hide the smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Lord Ducker was simply being polite. His mother… well, she’s just observant."

"Observant, yes," Caterina teased. "Observant of her son’s growing interest in you, perhaps? Tess, the man couldn’t take his eyes off you during your second ball. He’s clearly smitten."

Teresa let out a long-suffering sigh. "You're impossible."

"I’m only impossible because it’s true," Caterina grinned, nudging her sister lightly. "Don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy his attentions."

"I… well, he is charming," Teresa admitted, her tone soft. "But there’s no need to get carried away."

Caterina smirked but decided to let her sister off the hook. For now. She was about to change the subject when something caught her eye. "Ah! The market’s ahead. Let’s go see if those accessories Olympia recommended are still there. I’m certain I saw a table with the exact stones I need for my gown tonight at the theater."

With a shared glance, the sisters altered their course, heading toward the market square. The air grew thicker with the smell of fresh-baked bread, sizzling meats, and the fragrant waft of flowers being sold from nearby carts. A cacophony of voices called out, from vendors selling their wares to buyers haggling over prices.

The market itself was a vivid tapestry of colors and sounds. Caterina led the way with the same determination she brought to every task, her eyes scanning the trinkets and jewelry laid out on various stalls.

She paused at one table, admiring a set of glimmering stones that matched her dress. "These are perfect," she murmured, picking up a delicate emerald-colored gem. "Olympia always has the best taste."

Teresa, standing at her side, admired the piece. "They’re beautiful, Kitty. Are you planning on wearing them tonight?"

Caterina nodded, distracted as her eyes flicked across the market. But then something unexpected caught her gaze, a small, unassuming stall near the end of the row, one that wasn’t adorned with the usual finery but rather had brushes and bottles of paint stacked neatly.

For a moment, Caterina stood still, the noise of the market fading around her. Her chest tightened as her eyes rested on the small collection of oil paints and canvases. Brushes of different sizes were laid out, the sight of them immediately conjuring a flood of memories. She remembered the days spent at home, under the dappled sunlight, painting�� The world had felt so open, so full of possibility back then. Her hands, now adorned with jewelry, used to be stained with paint, marks of freedom and expression.

Her breath hitched slightly. It had been years since she had touched a brush, and yet here they were, simple and unassuming, waiting for someone to use them.

"Kitty?" Teresa’s voice was gentle, pulling her back to reality. "What is it?"

Caterina’s fingers hovered over the brushes, a strange mix of longing and sadness swelling within her. "Nothing" she whispered, barely loud enough for her sister to hear.

Teresa smiled softly in her direction. "You were brilliant at it."

"I…" Caterina said, her voice thick with emotion. Her fingertips brushed against the handle of one of the brushes, and the familiar texture sent a shiver down her spine. Could she still paint? Did that part of her still exist?

"You should get them," Teresa suggested quietly. "It might be nice to start again. You always seemed so at peace when you painted."

Caterina hesitated, biting her lip. The thought of starting again, of rediscovering that part of herself, felt daunting. Yet at the same time, something inside her yearned for it. She missed the feeling of losing herself in the strokes of a brush, the way the world melted away when she was creating something entirely her own.

"I… maybe," Caterina said, her voice barely above a whisper, but the thought lingered with her as they continued through the market. The paint, the brushes, and the memories clung to her as she walked alongside her sister, feeling as if she had uncovered a piece of herself that she had almost forgotten existed.

─────────

As the opera house buzzed with the excitement of London’s elite, Lady Marie Medici and her daughters, Caterina and Teresa, settled into their private box. The family had garnered quite the attention since arriving from Italy, especially at recent social events. Tonight, however, the opera promised to be a relaxing reprieve, or so they thought. Just as they were adjusting to the view of the grand stage, a soft tap of a cane and the distinct presence of Lady Danbury signaled a different direction for their evening.

"Lady Medici," Lady Danbury greeted with her sharp eyes gleaming, her voice cutting through the hum of the room. She leaned slightly on her cane, casting a knowing glance over at Caterina and Teresa, who smiled politely.

"Lady Danbury, always a pleasure," replied Lady Marie Medici, nodding respectfully.

“And of course, your charming daughters,” Lady Danbury added with a sly smile, her gaze lingering on Caterina, who raised an eyebrow but returned the smile, knowing better than to take Lady Danbury’s compliments at face value.

“Lady Medici, come with me. There’s someone you must meet,” she insisted, gesturing for Lady Medici to follow.

Caterina and Teresa exchanged a curious glance with her mother as she stepped across the box seats to the hallway to the others' adjoining boxes. There, Lady Bridgerton was engaged in conversation with some ladies.

“Lady Bridgerton, may I present Lady Medici?” Lady Danbury introduced.

“Lady Medici,” Violet greeted with a warm smile, her kind eyes settling on the Medici lady. “I’m delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”

“The honor is mine, Lady Bridgerton,” replied Marie Medici with a graceful nod. “I’ve heard much about your family in London.”

Violet chuckled lightly. “I do hope it’s nothing too scandalous! My family has had its share of adventures.”

“Oh, I assure you, we are no strangers to excitement ourselves,” Lady Medici responded with a smile.

“Your daughters have caused quite the stir in society, I must say,” Violet replied, casting an affectionate glance toward Marie.

Just then, Lady Danbury interjected, “And I must add, they have brought such a refreshing energy to the season. It’s a breath of fresh air.”

Violet nodded in agreement. “Indeed!”

Lady Medici chuckled, her gaze drifting toward the stage. “Well, we certainly encourage a bit of mischief. Life is too short to be dull, wouldn’t you agree?”

Violet leaned in conspiratorially, her smile was calm but meaningful. “Absolutely! And speaking of, I must confess that I’ve noticed that my nephew Lord Edward Ducker, seems to have taken a liking to your younger daughter, Lady Teresa.” She leaned in slightly, her tone a bit more personal. “I believe they make quite a charming pair.”

Lady Danbury cut in with a playful grin. “Indeed. It appears young Edward can hardly keep his eyes off her.”

Violet nodded thoughtfully. “In light of that, I would like to extend an invitation, Lady Medici, to you and your daughters. Please join us for a small, dinner tomorrow evening at Bridgerton House. I would very much like to get to know you all better.”

Lady Marie exchanged a brief look before smiling at Violet. “That would be lovely, Lady Bridgerton. We would be honored to attend.”

As they exchanged a few more pleasantries, Lady Danbury’s knowing smile never wavered, her sharp eyes flicking back and forth between the families as if plotting her next move. Soon, the lights dimmed, and the opera was about to begin, forcing the conversation to a close.

Later, as the performance was about to begin, Lady Medici announced the exciting news to her daughters.

“There’s news,” Marie began, folding her hands neatly in her lap as she looked at her daughters. “We have been invited to dinner at Bridgerton House tomorrow evening.”

Teresa’s face lit up instantly. “Dinner with the Bridgertons!” she exclaimed. “Mama, what a wonderful thing!”

In the semi-darkness of the opera house, Teresa leaned over to Caterina, her voice barely a whisper. “Dinner at Bridgerton House! Can you believe it? Mama seemed so calm about it.”

Lady Marie smiled warmly at her daughter. “Indeed, my dear. Lady Bridgerton extended the invitation herself, and it’s clear there’s some interest on behalf of their family.”

Caterina, however, leaned back against the chair, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Interest, or matchmaking?”

“Both, perhaps,” Lady Marie said thoughtfully. “Lord Ducker has certainly taken a liking to you, my lovely.”

Caterina smiled faintly, though her mind was elsewhere. “She’s probably more interested in the alliance this could create.”

She gave her sister a sideways glance. “Lord Ducker, hmm?”

Teresa flushed but remained composed. “He’s…” Teresa’s face turned bright pink, and she nervously smoothed out the folds of her gown. “He’s very polite, kind, and attentive. That’s all.”

“Mmhmm,” Caterina teased, though her voice lacked its usual edge. Her mind was drifting.

Teresa pouted. “Kitty, stop it.”

“Enough, ladies,” Lady Marie interrupted with a gentle laugh. “It’s a good match. But we mustn’t get ahead of ourselves. Tomorrow is about making a good impression, not encouraging gossip.”

Caterina’s teasing faded, and she glanced in front of her, to the opposite box.

As the opera began, Caterina found her eyes drifting once more across the room, landing on Benedict Bridgerton, who sat attentively watching the stage, into the opposite box.

The dim light softened his sharp features, his focused expression surprisingly at odds with the lively, almost mischievous energy he exuded during their conversations.

There was something different about the way she felt when she was looking at him tonight, a strange, quiet ache in her chest, as though something within her was shifting.

The sharp retorts she always prepared for him felt less necessary, and instead, she found herself wondering about the dinner.

Would they speak? Would she see him across the table, his eyes searching for hers?

The thought caused an uncharacteristic flutter of nervousness in her stomach, and she quickly tore her gaze away, focusing back on the stage. What was this feeling? Anxiety? Excitement?

She exhaled softly, willing herself to stay composed, though her mind wandered. Tomorrow would be something, a test of her ability to maintain her composure, to keep Benedict Bridgerton at a distance. Yet, deep down, she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to.

Across the way, in the Bridgerton box, Benedict Bridgerton was trying to concentrate on the performance too. Yet, his eyes were drawn across the room to Caterina.

“Are you going to stare at her all night, or do you plan to watch the play?” Anthony teased, smirking.

Benedict shook his head, chuckling lightly. “I was admiring the view, brother.”

“Right. Admiring. Just make sure you don’t miss the second act,” Colin added, grinning.

─────────

The soft glow of twilight filtered through the curtains as Caterina sat at her vanity, brushing out her curls in front of the mirror.

Teresa stood near the window, adjusting the necklace that sparkled against her neckline. They were both preparing for the much-awaited evening's dinner at The Bridgertons, a dinner that would place them directly in the company of the all family.

“Kitty,” Teresa began, her voice lilting with a teasing tone as she admired herself in the reflection of the glass. “You can’t deny it. He’s interested in you.”

Caterina, her hands still in her hair, met her sister’s eyes through the mirror, a wry smile forming on her lips. “Every gentleman of the ton is interested in me, sister,” she responded dryly, her voice edged with sarcasm. “It’s hardly news.”

Teresa laughed, shaking her head. “No, Kitty, I’m serious this time. Mr. Bridgerton. He’s really interested, and tonight, I’ll prove it to you.” She stepped away, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Caterina’s expression tightened as she whipped around to face her sister, her eyes widening in alarm. “No, you will not,” she said firmly, her tone bordering on panic. “Tess, don’t you dare say anything compromising tonight. Please.”

Teresa merely smirked, her eyes still fixed on her reflection as her maid fixed her hair. “Why not? You two have been practically eyeing each other every chance you get. And I’m sure the entire ballroom noticed last time.”

“Teresa Medici!” Caterina hissed, her voice rising in exasperation. She rose from the vanity and turned to face her sister fully. “I mean it. Don’t say anything compromising.”

Teresa just chuckled, her smug grin never fading. “Oh, Kitty. You know I won’t embarrass you… much.”

Caterina huffed, knowing her sister well enough to realize that once she had a plan, there was little hope of stopping her.

She turned back to the mirror, carefully smoothing down her gown and trying to push aside her growing apprehension. “Tess, please,” she said in a softer tone, hoping her sincerity would make an impact. “I don’t want to make a fool of myself tonight.”

Teresa stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her sister’s shoulder. “You won’t. Trust me. But it wouldn’t hurt for him to know you’re interested too, you know.”

Caterina let out a frustrated sigh, unable to suppress the nervous flutter in her chest at the mention of Benedict. “It’s not that simple,” she muttered, more to herself than to Teresa.

“Of course, it is,” Teresa replied lightly, giving her sister a quick kiss on the cheek. “You’ll see tonight.”

─────────

The dining room of Bridgerton’s house was alive with laughter and conversation, the room filled with the glow of candlelight as the Bridgertons and the Medici ladies gathered around the grand table. The warmth of the evening seemed to mirror the ease of the company, though Caterina couldn’t help the twinge of unease in her chest every time her eyes met Benedict’s from across the table.

She sat next to her sister, who was seated across from Benedict. The conversation flowed easily between the families, with Lady Bridgerton, Lady Ducker, and their mother sharing pleasantries about the evening's festivities.

The discussion naturally shifted as Lord Ducker leaned in and said to Teresa “…but he is not nearly as talented as my cousin Benedict. He truly excels in drawing and painting. A natural artist, you could say.”

Teresa’s eyes gleamed, and Caterina immediately tensed, sensing what was about to come. “You do, Mr. Bridgerton?” Teresa asked, her tone dripping with curiosity.

Benedict smiled humbly, casting a quick glance toward Caterina before replying. “I dabble, but it’s nothing serious. Just a recreation, really.”

Caterina froze, her fingers tightening around her fork. She hoped Teresa would drop it, but her sister wasn’t one to let an opportunity slip by.

“You know,” Teresa continued, grinning broadly, “My sister also draws. In fact, she’s rather good, isn’t that right, Kitty?”

Caterina’s head snapped up, her face flushing at the mention of her art. She could feel Benedict’s gaze on her, amused and curious. She swallowed hard, wishing for a moment that the ground would open up beneath her. Under the table, she shot a discreet but firm kick to Teresa’s shin, but her sister simply smiled.

“You do, Miss Medici?” Benedict asked, his voice rich with interest. His eyes never left hers, and the slight curve of his lips told her he was enjoying her discomfort.

Caterina forced a small smile. “Not anymore,” she said quickly, trying to downplay it. “It was just a childhood pastime. Times have changed… and so have I.”

“That’s not true,” Teresa interjected, clearly ignoring the daggers Caterina was glaring at her. “My sister is incredibly talented. You should see her work back in Italy, it’s stunning.”

“Teresa, that’s enough,” Caterina snapped, her voice cutting through the lively hum of the table. Everyone paused mid-conversation, their attention now turned toward her. The sudden silence was palpable, even the children stopped their chatter to stare.

Lady Medici, ever composed, sent both her daughters a reproachful glance. “Ladies,” she said firmly, though her tone remained quiet. “This is neither the time nor the place for bickering.”

Caterina swallowed her embarrassment and mumbled an apology. “Sorry, Mother,” she said, glancing down at her plate, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze on her.

Teresa chimed in, still looking amused, though slightly chastened. “Sorry, Mother,” she echoed, her voice light and carefree, though she shot a playful look at Caterina.

The rest of the dinner passed in relative calm, though Caterina couldn’t shake the lingering embarrassment. She could feel Benedict’s gaze flick toward her several times throughout the evening, and each time, her heart raced. But no more was said about art or her talent.

─────────

Later, after returning home, Caterina stormed into her bedroom, her cheeks still flushed with irritation. Teresa followed closely behind, closing the door behind her.

“Why did you bring that up at dinner?” Caterina demanded, whirling around to face her sister. Her voice was sharp, and she glared at Teresa with all the frustration she had been holding in throughout the evening.

Teresa shrugged, entirely unbothered by her sister’s anger. “I didn’t do anything wrong! It was Lord Ducker who mentioned Mr. Bridgerton’s art, and I just thought it was the perfect opportunity for you two to connect.”

Caterina let out a frustrated groan, pacing back and forth. “I told you I didn’t want to be involved in that conversation. It was irritating!”

“Irritating?” Teresa raised an eyebrow, her tone softening. “Kitty, it wasn’t irritating at all. Mr Bridgerton was clearly interested. He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”

Caterina scoffed, shaking her head. “That’s not the point, Tess. I didn’t want my art to be a subject of discussion, especially not in front of him.”

Teresa stepped forward, her expression softening as she placed a hand on Caterina’s hand. “I’m sorry, Kitty, truly. But I just want you to see how interested he is. You’re so closed off sometimes… Let him in.”

Caterina’s anger wavered slightly at her sister’s words, but she remained resolute. “Goodnight, Tess.” Her voice was final as she opened her bedroom door, signaling the end of the conversation.

Teresa sighed, knowing better than to push her sister further. “Goodnight, Kitty,” she whispered before stepping out into the hallway.

As the door closed behind her, Caterina leaned against it, her mind still swirling with thoughts of Benedict’s lingering gaze.

[imgondeletedis]

~𝒊 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝒊𝒕’𝒔 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆.~ || 𝚊 𝙱𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒-𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. || 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚢 𝚃𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚏𝚝 𝚏𝚝. 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙼𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎

pairing: Benedict Bridgerton X fem!reader

a/n: that's a snack before the meal hehehe, this prologue is from the reader's pov,, the next chapters will all be from third person's pov haha,, also pleaseeeee benophie fans don't hate me, I'm not gonna hurt ur girl sophie dww hehehe. this is obviously inspired by the first verse of the song. I hope this mini-series lives up to y'all's expectations ahaha

Word count: 358 (it is js the beginning trust me)

Warnings: umm I don't really think there's anything to warn the reader is slightly insane (ig?) that's all but like aren't we all lmfaoa

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𝟎𝟎-𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞:

“ 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐓𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞.”

asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum asylum.

That's probably where I should be right now. Instead I am here, in the Canary Islands, in Spain.

so far away from London, from home, from him. The gossip flowing around is true. He's the torment, bless, curse, and love of my life. He's none other than the artistic

Benedict Bridgerton.

It's the year 1819.

Benedict Bridgerton got married 2 years ago. From what I've heard, he married that beautiful woman called Sophie, 2 years ago, he had a son last year, another this year, Which is funny.

Benedict and I always used to talk about how we'd both love and would be great parents to a girl. Together.

Now he's all married off, to another woman, and has 2 boys, funny isn't it?

Life may lack a lot of things, one thing it surely can and would never lack is the element of surprise, the dynamatic plot-twists,and turns.

4 years ago , I would've sworn to you that he was the one for me, honestly I still do think so, no matter how insane that sounds, I mean I know I can't say the same thing about me to him, because apparently he's content with his current life, but I am not with mine.

I can't exactly say I am happy for him but I do hope he's okay. Even if he's the literal reason for why I turned out in such a way.

You see you can't live without having a story to tell, an explanation to explain, so let me tell you ours, mine. And you be the judge of that…

taglist🏷️💓🫶:

@skyrigel @avngrssckr @preetrambles @ephemeral-oasis @basekpagalsiladki @ihateitheretaylor @littlebitb

another a/n hehehe: did you notice that i made her residing in the canary islands which was THE FLORIDA of their time??? (according to my research ofc) this is just a reminder that NOTHING IS A COINCIDENCE WITH ME. and ive learnt it from the best (catlady taytay)🤭🤭

[00bamc]

magnificently cursed

summary: lost lovers reunited. you love him, he loves you but your hand has been promised to another.

“Oh, goddamn! my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand, taking mine but it's been promised to another. Oh, I can't stop you putting roots in my dreamland. My house of stone, your ivy grows, and now I'm covered in you.”

pairing: benedict bridgerton x reader

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You were ill of pretenses. 

“You should smile more.”

And you were sick of James Brooke's sanctimonious behavior. 

“Perhaps, you should keep your unwanted judgment to yourself.”

You saw the glint of amusement in his forest eyes at the malice in your tone. The grip of his fingers on your waist tightens as he spins you around, the luxurious collar diamond around your neck sparkling under the warm undertones of the candlelight - an embodiment of Lord Brook's filial loyalty. The warmth of his broad chest against your back feels suffocating, like a hand gripping your throat, impeding you from freely breathing.

“Smile,” his hot breath tickles your neck, and with every ticking beat the urge to get out of his grip and run away becomes more wanton, regardless, the urgency in his tone keeps you in place. The corner of your lips raises in a practiced charming smile, eyes glinting with false happiness. Somehow there is a sort of trust and loyalty between you. 

Two halves of the same farce.

A perfect scheme orchestrated for the woman with the penetrating stare standing in one corner of the grand ballroom.

Lady Laurence has always been a woman of strong character, a widower who gained her reputation and wealth with blood, tears, and sweat.

A childless woman who put all her hopes on you.

Her gaze doesn't waver for you, even when she takes her time to bow to Lady Cowper and other irritating ladies of the Ton - a complete sense of ridiculousness in her behavior.  A genuine chuckle escapes your lips. Of course, would Lady Laurence relish in the begrudged stares in a proud stance of chin raised, frail shoulders leaned back, and a pleasing yet mocking smile curving in her thin lips.

A clear portrait of victory. 

“Isn't Lady Laurence a force to be reckoned with?” James' deep voice takes you out of your observations, and at the compass of the waltz, you turn around, faces close to each other.

You have to admit that your betrothed is a sight to behold. Underneath the golden shower of the candelabrum, he resembles all the Greek sculptures you are always fascinated to admire in the art galleries around Europe. Your gaze follows with artistic fascination the cupid bow of his slightly chapped lips, the freckles on his tall nose because of all the hunting trips in the countryside, and the strand of rich blond hair falling carelessly on his forehead. 

He looks so much like the child who used to chase you around your countryside house backyard. A dear friend. A brother chose beyond blood. A victim of your Machiavellian plans. 

“A woman to be afraid of.”

He laughs, yet, an unspoken sadness resides heavenly in his eyes. As if the mere sight of your aunt's watchful stance reminds him of the truth and the unpaid debts of the past - about the tormented heart of the beautiful and elegant woman watching in some place of the ballroom.

Hands fidgeting. Longing gazes.

Two hearts broken. Two hands bloody. 

You wish to tell him all your regrets and apologies. You hope that he can see it in the trembling of your hands, the shame you hide in the bow of your head at the end of the dance, and the avoidance of her gaze. The woman he calls out in dreams, the one that has been banished in the eyes of his family. The daughter of a merchant, who is not enough for a man of his position. His true love. 

Selfish girl. The voice of your wickedness whispers, but are you that selfish when love is the root of your decisions?

Immediately, you search for the figure of the object of all your affections. Your mother's-tired smile sends a pang of hurt to your heart as she dismisses the help of Penelope's Featherington to serve her a glass of fresh lemonade sitting on the refreshment table. You let go of James' arm, rushing to her side while sending a grateful smile to Penelope. The girl returns it without a single word, and you are more than thankful for her lack of mention of the faltering strength of your mother to do a simple task. 

“Mama, let me help you with this.” You say while taking the glass off her hands. Her only response is a gentle touch on your back. Motherly and soothing. 

“Mr. Bridgerton has been watching you all night.” 

You halt your movements abruptly, a bit of the lemonade spilling on the table, leaving a faint stain on the elegant tablecloth. Still, you chose to remain silent, convincing yourself that the knot in your throat at the mention of him is not the reason. 

You extend the glass, and she takes it with fragile and trembling fingers. 

For a brief moment, you tell yourself that you don't care if Mr. Bridgerton has been gazing at you all night, that it doesn't matter how the image of his cerulean eyes burns in your mind, how much you long for his touch, and how a single glimpse of him again could set your miserable heart in flames.

There is no more room for foolish dreams and aspirations, or dirtied dresses and paint-stained hands. There is no acceptance for sneaking around in places a lady like yourself never must dare to go, and Aunt Carol pleading your case for you to be in a place where a woman is not meant to be. 

No more being an impostor. No more being a failure. No more him.

The fire inside you extinguished at the realization of your mediocrity—the reason for all your endurance in this pretense of shy smiles and lovesick gazes. 

As you take a deep breath, you realize that you have been fidgeting all this time with the ring placed on your hand, your fingertips tracing the shape of the jewelry while a bittersweet smile curves on your lips. You remember seeing it in much stronger and larger hands. Rough palms covered in charcoal. Long fingers holding a brush in between them. 

You do this for him. 

“You know, my dear, Mr. Bridgerton always reminds me of him,” your mother's face melts with love at the thought of your father like it always does when she thinks of him. The memories feel like weapons because, after all these years, the tomb would not close, and the pain is still the same. 

His ghost still haunts you to this day. You wonder which is more painful. 

“Mama-”

“He is watching you now, dear.”

It takes all the bravery in your bones to raise your gaze. Blue eyes meet yours and for a brief stolen moment, time halts.  The chattering and the string quartet playing are replaced by the sound of your own frantic beating heart. 

You are foolish. All these months of lying to yourself about that magical summer night, just for the mere sight of him to take all your breath away. In his eyes, you still see the ghost of his desire, the same dark spark full of passion that you saw that warm night in June. It brings all back to motion. The lingers of his touch on your skin, the burning pleasure that consumed you from the insides, and the intoxicating taste of his mouth that keeps you awake on the loneliest nights. So sinful, so vibrant, so sweet.

He has ruined you, is the bitter realization you come to. He has ruined you from other men. 

Eloise at his side, dressed in a signature blue sparkly gown, touches his arm, yet, his magnetizing eyes don't waver from you.  Does he see it? How his ivy has covered all your stoned heart, covering you.

“Miss Laurence,” you feel the familiar touch of rough fingers on the naked skin of your elbow. You raised your head encountering James's pitiful eyes. His touch is meant to be comforting and tender as if he was trying to pick up a wounded animal, but it only crescents the pressure in your chest. Has breathing always been a difficult task?

He is here with you, but his eyes are not the ones you want to gaze at on your loneliest nights. 

“Benedict!”

You heard it before you saw it. The collective gasp of the mama and her daughters. The high pitching of Eloise's voice, the crack of glass, and the soft call of your name coming from your mother's tinted lips. You see the desperation and fury in his gaze. The shredded glass on his feet and the gold ricochet of the champagne mixing with the maroon liquid staining his hands. 

How poetical.

Four hearts were broken. Four hands bloody. 

He takes a menacing step toward you. A forbidden question in his eyes. 

“Excuse me for a second, Lord Brooke,” you know it's time to go, “Mama.”

You don't wait for the answer. Doe eyes and a sweet smile are enough armor for you to flee from the scene in a desperate attempt to bury the past - silhouette disappears behind the open doors leading to Lady Danbury's Garden. 

The night sky's dull black, accompanied by the coldness of the air on your flushed skin brings a false sense of peace that you haven't felt in months. You relished in the feeling, even when the murmurs and vivid music coming from inside the ballroom, sounds like a mocking requiem of your misery. 

You close your eyes for a moment. 

But you should have known better.

Whatever you stray, he follows. 

“I knew I will find you here.”

You stay rotten to your spot, helplessly hearing the sound of his footsteps coming closer, the warmth of his body near you followed by the touch of callous fingers, bringing forth a tarnished incandescent glow. “Do you despise me so much that you refuse to see me?”  

With words pathetically stuck in your throat, and weak sudden courage running in your veins, you turn towards him. “Mr. Bridgerton,” you acknowledge with a curtsy bow, hands shaking at your sides. “It is a pleasure to see you again.” 

Slowly, you raise your fearful eyes to look him in the eye, feeling a sudden shyness engulfing you.

He is a sight for sore eyes. You decide at that moment as you watch how the strands of chestnut hair fall over his forehead as the wind blows and how his opal eyes seem so vibrant under the moonlight, that Benedict Bridgerton has the air of a true muse. A man incapable of being forgotten. A lover whose memory will always haunt the women who have spent the night in his arms. 

“You did not answer my question. Do you despise me so much that you refuse to see me?”

It is almost natural the course of your actions. The soft cloth of your handkerchief goes directly to the open wound in his large palm, crimson red staining the initials of your family's name embroidered in golden thread. The silence is excruciating, but what answer can you give him? So you decide to remain silent, enjoying the glimpse of the unrequited love you gave away. 

Benedict's hands are cold against yours. Elegant fingers gripping the ones with the silver gentleman's ring.

“Is this his ring?” The darkness in his tone sends a cold shiver down your spine. “I thought you were going to refuse his hand,” He breathes out, hands abruptly letting go of yours. “That night you told me you were going to refuse his hand, and tonight I found you giving him the privilege of your company. What is the meaning of this?”

You let out a shaky breath, “I changed my mind, my lord.'' The words leave behind a bitter taste. You want to scream how he took the vanity of you and your foolish dreams about his love. “I decided to reconsider, and decided to do the best for my family and me.”

“The best for your family? Marrying him is the best for you?” 

The disdain in his voice makes your blood boil. 

“I think that is not of your concern.”

He recoils at the aggression in your voice. 

“Not of my concern? Do you think it is not of my concern after that night?” 

The air around you change for a second. The crescendo when souls intertwine and hearts connect in a way meant to never be separated again lingers in your memories. If he remembers it all too well, why didn't he act when there was time? 

You cannot hide the resentment in your answer. “My lips have been shut, Mr. Bridgerton. You don't have to worry about your family's honor and reputation being ruined.”

“And what about you? Your honor? Your value?”

“Soon, I will be a married woman, and I assure you, my lord, my husband will not care about the meaningless whispers.” 

You wait for the morbid satisfaction that the fallen expression on his beautiful face would bring.

It never comes. 

“So, you would go through this?” the bend of your head and cryptic silence is enough to answer. An expression of incredulity passes through his face before he lets out a deep sardonic laugh. “And what about your art? You cannot simply abandon all your aspirations for this nonsense.”

You raise your head, taking a turn to look perplexed. Something you later will identify as disappointment touches your heart. 

“I told you already, My Lord. The big masterpiece will never come.”

“So, this is what you are going to do? Marry that man for his wealth.” there is venom in his tone that feels foreign on his tongue. The burn-in of his opal eyes and the twist of his beautiful factions in a scowl leaves you speechless for a second. “I never thought you would be so frivolous, and cold-hearted.”

You see red.

“You have no right to judge my choices!”

You tell yourself that not a single tear should fall in front of him.

“I am speaking for what I see, Miss Laurence.”

“You speak from your selfishness.”

“My selfishness?” True confusion shines in his eyes.

Of course, a man like him could never understand. 

“Yes. You cannot possibly understand what is for me and what is expected.” Your lips tremble as you speak, and you can hear it again.

An invisible clock ticking in your ear. The sound of the sand quickly hitting on the other side of the glass. 

“You are making yourself a martyr. You know damn well, as I do, that you are one of the more talented artists I have the pleasure of meeting, so I don't -”

“Talent is not genius, Benedict.” the boom of your voice silences him. The call of his first name appeased the unjust fury burning in his gaze. “I have talent but it is not enough. I want-” you swallow down the knot in your throat, “I need to be great or nothing. I am not going to be an impostor and a mediocre if I could not be the great artist I always wanted to be. I won't do it.” 

The resignation and despair in your voice are unable to hide. And you don't want to, because of all the people, you always thought that the kind man with a soul of an artist would be the one to be able to just comprehend. 

Benedict doesn't say anything. His eyes are fixed on every inch of your face.

“I am a woman. I don't have the same liberties as you. I don't have the free will to go around and try to take chances if I am not good enough.” The laughter and mocking stares still follow you every time you dare to stand in front of a canvas.  “And I just realized that I simply wasn't.” You think back to a trashed art room full of childish dreams. “As a woman, I do not have a way to make my way in the art world, not when I am not the genius, I need to be for me to succeed, and even if I do, the money I could make would never be enough to support myself and my mother.”

Your mother's face flashes in your head. Her pale face, and fragile hands help you to style your hair for tonight's ball. Her false reassurance that she is okay, that you must have seen wrong about the way she barely tries to catch her breath when she walked the short length of the stairs. The weakness of her limbs, and how the simple task of raising a spoon to feed herself seems to exhaust her more and more each day that passes. 

“As a woman, I am not allowed the luxury to choose. I need security. I need to look out for the people I love. So don't stand there judging my decision, and calling me cold-hearted when I am only trying to look for myself. Marriage might not be an economical proposition or a place of security for you but certainly is for me.”

You are not able to hold back anymore the sorrow of your soul, sapphire tears finally fall down your cheeks. Benedict's face softens, regrets soaping for his pores at your stance. He takes cautious steps, one hand reaching for your face as tender fingers brush away the salty river. Pathetically, you lean down your cheek against his palm.

“I deeply apologize. I have been cruel in my accusation. I know you are angry and have every reason to be.” You let out a shaky breath the gentleness of his tone. “But I would not retract about the supposed selfishness you accused me to possess. Where does it leave me in your plans? What about what I feel?

Your voice breaks and you whisper. “And what exactly do you feel, Benedict?”

His lips remain shut, even when his eyes reflect the hidden galaxy, he is so desperate to guard. Instead, his attention returns to the silver ring on your left hand. 

The words fall from your lips carelessly, offering explanations he doesn't deserve. “This is my father's ring. He didn't have any son to inherit it. He gave it to me the night he passed away.”

A smile of sadness and comprehension draws on his face. 

“Do you love him?”

“No, but I could do it if I try.”

Both of you know that is a lie. 

“Don't marry him.” The grief is visible in his plea. “Don't submit the both of us to this torture, please.”

“Why?” You take a step back from him, backing away from his alluring scent. 

“You know the reason why.”

With the condescending in his tone, you let out a bitter laugh. After all this time and all these feelings, he still cannot admit it.

“I have loved you for a very long time, Benedict Bridgerton. I assure you; you are an unforgettable man. But I would not throw away a secure future for me and my mother for a man who is unable to admit what he feels.” 

You see the exact moment your words ignite a dangerous fire inside him, and soon the cold and lonely air of the night is replaced by the fervent heat of his lips. The ardent touch of his hands around your waist, gripping it as if you were his lifeline. You feel again the passion and desire buzzing in every part of your body. The urgency and all the unspoken promises claimed in a starry night where you gifted him your innocence with a heart full of tender love. Unarmed, you surrender to his touch, and just for a wicked moment, you melt between his arms. Hands grasping at his strong shoulders, inhaling his masculine scent, and enjoying the sweet taste of the champagne in his mouth.

For a short moment of loss of judgment, you found yourself praying to the sky for a chance to stay forever in this beautiful lavender haze.

Foolish dreams of a woman in love.

The gold rush is not enough.

You let go of him slowly and painfully, catching a glimpse of disheveled hair and swollen red lips.

He is beautiful under the moonlight. 

Benedict notices your intentions, quickly gripping your hand before you slip away from him and towards a place he couldn't reach anymore.

“At least let me have a final dance with you.”

Your heart doesn't allow you to say no.

You will have one last dance with the man you love, even when both of your hands are tied. 

[thescandalousladyk]

A Fateful Inheritance

Only truest love could move Arabella Amberton to give up the freedom she enjoys as a wealthy heiress – that is until her rich aunt's will names Benedict Bridgerton the main beneficiary instead of Arabella and quite suddenly, her world is turned upside down.

A number of absurd conditions are tied to the inheritance Benedict has recently and surprisingly come into: spend a fortnight at the family estate, copy a painting, participate in a charade, and attend a masque ball, to name a few of them. He does not even want the money but there is something about Arabella Amberton, his dead benefactor’s opinionated niece, that provokes him into accepting the challenge anyway. A fateful decision.