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thecrayonindisguise · 6 months ago

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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.

#bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton fluff

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imgondeletedis · 9 months ago

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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

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barbiewritesstuff · 1 year ago

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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…”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #original fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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messylxve · 3 months ago

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Dearest Gentle Readers

In this new season, it seems we have more to look forward to than just the introduction of our newest debutants. It comes to my attention that we have an old friend gracing us with their presence once more.

Once an unruly child, willingly ignorant of the laws of society, Aurelia Florentine—daughter of Lord Richard Florentine— was sent off to better herself across the waters in Toulouse.

Now a widow and hopefully better aquatinted to manners, Miss Florentine hopes to reintroduce herself into London society; as a friend or a menace we yet to know.

Exist For Love—Benedict Bridgerton x oc

#bridgerton show #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #my fic #fanfic #oc #my ocs

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noeverse · 10 months ago

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࿐ 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.

#bridgerton #bridgerton oc #oc: marie beauchamp #oc: esme holstershire #eloise bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x oc #myedit*#mine*#got bridgerton on the brain

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ailoda · 3 months ago

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updated: 26.12.24

݁₊ ⊹ angst

Thin Ice (❤✧): when the lake at Aubrey Hall freezes over, it seems perfect for a day of ice skating...which it is, until the ice begins to crack. (@starryeyedstories)

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker (❤✧): covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family’s bakery. She just hadn’t expected to have met him in such a state. (@murdockparker)

new! (Be)longing (❤❅): mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging. (@fayes-fics)

new! Safe (❤❅✧): Benedict comforts you after someone tries to compromise you. (@fayes-fics) (warning: brief non-consensual embrace/touching)

new! The Ultimate Deception (❅✧): you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve? (@maximoff-pan)

new! With Child (❅✧): he was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. How hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? It was all within easy reach and never really yours. (@leascorner)

new! If There Is No You (❅✧): after many years of loving and having each other, you and benedict had a beautiful family and a perfect little life together until you fell ill one day and it all threatened to end. while you lied on your bed all day and night, fearing that you might leave your husband and children alone, benedict died a little each second that approached him further to losing you. (@paracosmic-murdock)

#bridgerton #bridgerton fic recs #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton angst #ailoda's recs #bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton fic recs #benedict bridgerton x reader angst #benedict bridgerton x you angst #benedict bridgerton x y/n angst #benedict bridgerton x oc angst

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mschievousx · 10 months ago

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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."

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x oc #anthony bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict is a fox

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intothefairiesland · 20 days ago

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Chapter V ― gorgeous

You're so gorgeous I can't say anything to your face 'Cause look at your face And I'm so furious At you for making me feel this way But what can I say? You're gorgeous

Masterlist

Previous Chapter — Next Chapter 🎨

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Benedict had been deeply moved by the fragility that emerged in her words when she had confessed, with an almost childlike sincerity, that she had never seen a Rembrandt. He was thrilled at the thought of introducing her to one of his favorite artists. He had arranged to meet her on Sunday afternoon, inside the National Gallery. A few hours earlier, he had shared lunch with his family, almost all gathered at the family home in Grosvenor Square. The atmosphere, as usual, was lively. As he was bickering over a trivial matter with his younger siblings, his mother suddenly rose from her seat with a burst of energy. In a cheerful and determined tone, she exclaimed: “I think it would be best for everyone if we went for a nice family walk!”

Her words echoed through the room, but not a single family member managed to hide their deep sigh of disappointment. Hyacinth and Gregory sank into the sofa, sullen expressions painted across their faces. Anthony, the patriarch, smiled at this all-too-predictable situation and immediately found the perfect excuse not to join in: he could stay with his wife, with whom he was exchanging a smile from across the room. Eloise pretended to be absorbed in a book she “absolutely had to finish”, while Francesca, with a suddenly more vigorous gesture, struck the keys of her piano with renewed energy, her air of indifference barely concealed. Each protested in their own way, but Violet, their unyielding mother, would hear no objections. With an assured gesture, she ordered the staff to prepare everyone for the outing, insisting on a departure within the next twenty minutes.

Benedict slowly rose from his chair, stretching nonchalantly, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. In an almost casual tone, he excused himself: “I’m terribly sorry to abandon you all, but I’ve already made plans.”

Eloise raised an eyebrow, eyeing him before responding with a sharp tone: “Oh really? And may we ask what’s so important this afternoon?”

Benedict shrugged, a playful note in his voice as he replied: “Since when did my schedule become a matter of family interest?”

Anthony, watching the scene with amusement, chimed in with a teasing smile: “It’s not your activities that intrigue us, dear brother, but rather who you’re sharing them with.”

Kate, moving closer to her husband, gave Benedict a calming look and a soft smile. “Don’t listen to them. Enjoy your moment of peace,” she said gently, nodding toward the two youngest who were now bickering energetically on the sofa. Then, turning to Violet, she added: “As for us, we have to head over to…” “To a friend’s place as well,” Anthony interrupted, a mischievous glint in his eye. Arm in arm, the couple walked away, their laughter lingering in the air.

Benedict was just about to leave the room when the butler entered and handed him a note. He frowned as he read it, a shadow of disappointment darkening his face. “Is everything alright, my dear?” Violet, only a few steps away, looked at him with palpable concern. “Yes, yes… sorry, I really must go,” he answered hastily, his expression distracted. He leaned down to kiss his mother on the temple—a tender, intimate gesture he alone shared with her. Without another word to his siblings, he quickly exited the room, leaving the rest of the family exchanging curious glances.

She had cancelled their museum outing. No explanation—just that she was no longer available.

————————————————————

Emma had thought about that evening at Sir Granville's hundreds of times since her return in the early morning, just a few days ago. Each reflection swept her into a whirlwind of contradictory emotions. The joy of, for the first time in her life, sharing common interests with others, leaving the evening with the satisfaction of having learned, of having exchanged ideas. She remembered the stimulating discussions that had flowed, and the longer the evening went on, the more she had relaxed, carried by the atmosphere and freely expressing her thoughts on all the subjects discussed. But as she became more involved in these exchanges, one persistent thought kept resurfacing: she didn’t belong to the same world as most of the people she was conversing with. The following morning, in the light of day, no one would remember her words, her ideas on artistic movements, or her contributions to the conversation. There was no doubt about it. After much reflection, she had decided not to accept the walk to the museum with Benedict. She felt no shame for her world, her work, or her family. She knew she was lucky, having grown up in a safe home, free from fear, violence, or great poverty. She was grateful for the life she led. But she was not naive. The people she had met that evening, Benedict in particular, did not truly understand her. Still, Benedict had never asked questions about her life, her background, or her activities. But deep down, she knew that sooner or later, it would come up. And she didn’t want to find herself having to say goodbye to something she had, for once, enjoyed so much. Yet, for the first time in her life, she had felt understood. Emma had surprised herself by being so vulnerable, by letting her guard down with someone—a man—she barely knew. Just like when she had accepted her first invitation, she felt completely at ease with him. She hadn’t hesitated to share her ignorance about Rembrandt, and, on the contrary, she had found his eagerness to introduce her to the art of this famous artist endearing. Endearing, but also a bit annoying. Benedict knew full well the charm he exuded. The nonchalant way in which he spoke, moved, placed her in an uncomfortable situation. It was the very essence of his confidence, his status, his social standing. It destabilized her, irritated her deeply. He had this knack for pushing her to her limits, challenging her with every word, every gesture.

But the soft security he offered her—a security she neither desired nor anticipated—left her with a deep sense of discomfort. She had been enveloped in an unexpected softness, but on the other hand, the idea of losing her footing, of letting herself be overtaken by this feeling of dependence, terrified her. The growing vertigo, the sense of drifting. And above all, the speed with which everything was unfolding. It was too much, too fast.

She had continued her Sunday as usual, with a kind of calm resignation. She went through her tasks, one after the other, without truly paying attention to them. She had helped her mother mend the family laundry, then prepared Louise’s bath, finding comfort in these simple, silent actions. At the end of the day, she had allowed herself a moment of solitude, sketching in a new notebook, a purchase that had eaten up her monthly wage.

————————————————————

Benedict had no intention of embarrassing Emma. If she had declined his invitation, there must have been a valid reason. Yet, he was a man who was not accustomed to being refused anything, and he felt the need to know if she was alright. He wanted to be sure that she hadn’t felt oppressed or obligated to accept his offer, just as she had seemed to enjoy the evening they had shared.

He had gone to the Academy at the end of the evening class, waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. As the first time, she was the first to leave, quick, almost hurried. When she spotted him at the top of the steps, Benedict immediately noticed that she stiffened, as if drawing strength from within to face him. He gave her a wide smile, hoping to reassure her, as she began descending toward him.

He was about to speak when the sound of footsteps interrupted the moment: two of his classmates passed by, whispering and likely gossiping about the situation. In an instant, Benedict lost all his composure, unsure if it was the murmurs of the two girls or the piercing look Emma gave him. He observed her more closely at that moment; she was so small that she had perched herself on two steps to meet his height. This allowed him to study the features of her face and notice the paint stain on the bottom of her cheek. He fought with all his might not to touch her, not to wipe the mark with his thumb.

Emma, seeming to lose patience, immediately sensed his gaze fixed on the stain. Automatically, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, and her cheeks flushed. Benedict smiled at her, trying to calm the evident anxiety that was overtaking her. To break the palpable discomfort, he cleared his throat before speaking:

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright and…”

Emma cut him off with a direct tone: “Yes, thank you. You didn’t have to come all the way here for that.”

Bessy and Claire, who had not yet left, seemed to pretend to be chatting at the other end of the hallway, but their posture was too obvious to fool anyone. Emma looked terribly uncomfortable and didn’t want to draw attention to herself. Benedict understood, in an instant, where her discomfort came from, glancing briefly toward the two girls. He scanned the room around him, and knowing the Academy well, he spotted a discreet corner. He signaled toward the door with his eyes and invited Emma to follow him.

Clearly embarrassed, she complied. Benedict was about to place his hand on her back to guide her but restrained himself, out of respect for her and also to avoid drawing any further suspicion.

The door led to a small room that resembled the workshop on the first floor. Only one window allowed light to enter. On this early July evening, at that hour, the sun was slowly setting, casting a soft, almost golden light on the walls.

Benedict was the first to break the silence, as if trying to lighten the atmosphere: “I’m not sure if we’re giving them more fuel for gossip by being here…”

Emma didn’t react. The situation was in no way funny, especially for a woman, regardless of her social standing. She seemed now irritated, and as she opened her mouth to apologize, she suddenly cut herself off: “I’m fine. That’s all you wanted to know. I have to go, I’m expected somewhere.”

Benedict, much taller and more imposing than her, blocked her way without hesitation: “Would another day work for you to see these famous Rembrandts?”

Emma stepped back, looking at him coolly. “Listen, I enjoyed discussing on our shared passions, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to meet in a public place.”

He frowned. “And why is that?”

She became even more irritated. “You don’t know anything about me, and I’m not…”

Benedict took a step forward and interrupted her without a second’s hesitation: “I don’t care what you do or where you come from. I appreciated your words, your honesty, and the trust you placed in me to share them. I don’t see why it would be wrong to want to show you, in turn, some of my own passions.”

He waited for her response, but she remained silent. He deduced that he might have a chance to convince her and added, with a charming smile: “We could go on a Wednesday, there are fewer people. Whatever time suits you, of course.”

Emma knew that, deep down, neither of them was making a true misstep. But the society in which she moved was such that she didn’t want to draw attention to her actions. She knew, thanks to Louise—one of the first to indulge in gossip—that one could quickly find themselves in the spotlight. Emma was dying to see some Rembrandts, to continue her artistic education. She knew that Benedict had all the right arguments to convince her to go with him to the museum.

After a moment of reflection, she sighed and finally nodded: “2 p.m., Wednesday. I’ll wait for you inside. And if you don’t hear from me, it’s nothing to do with you. I’ve simply been detained somewhere.”

She slipped away as quickly as she had appeared, leaving Benedict slightly bewildered by her positive response but surprised by the satisfied and happy smile that lit up his face.

————————————————————

Rembrandt held a prominent place among the artists revered by Benedict, not only because of the magnificence of his work but also because an invaluable amount of his creations were housed in the National Gallery, a place where Benedict found a serenity and inspiration he could find nowhere else. This place, so quiet and discreet, offered him a peace that the tumult of the annual salons in London, with their noisy crowds and artists obsessed with the quest for recognition, could not provide. Yet, Benedict himself was an artist eager for recognition. Though he was skilled at hiding his true desires from others and did not openly display his ambition in front of his family, it was impossible for him to lie to himself: Benedict longed for fame. Perhaps a term too grand to describe his dream, but he wanted, in one way or another, to be recognized, at least by his peers, and maybe, by those who loved him. Art was for him a means of asserting his existence, to stand out in a family where he often felt lost among his siblings. Art was undoubtedly a way for him to distinguish himself from his brothers and sisters and give him substance, as he believed his own personality alone was not enough.

Benedict had an immense love for landscapes, the very ones he painted tirelessly, not only because they nourished his soul, but also because portraiture, to him, seemed like an unattainable art. He was not an accomplished portraitist, and his attempts always got lost in the intricacies of technique.

Rembrandt, however, was the perfect embodiment of what he aspired to become. Through his canvases, he seemed to possess the secret to a communion with the human soul, a rare gift that allowed him to capture, with incredible vividness, the very essence of his subjects. Through these portraits, one could feel every emotion, every thought, every moment experienced by those who had posed for him.

But it wasn’t just the greatness of Rembrandt that fascinated Benedict. There was also Emma. Her drawings, sometimes simple sketches, exerted an irresistible charm on him. From the little he had seen, these sketches spoke directly and almost intimately, awakening in him new sensations, unexpected shivers. He felt almost a kind of jealousy toward this talent he seemed to lack.

————————————————————

Emma was undeniably anxious; she had pulled off small pieces of skin around her thumbs until they bled. Now, she was even more anxious about having hands that were more damaged than usual. She was wearing her pale green dress, one of the few formal dresses she owned. Although it had been mended in several places, she still loved it, precious in its simplicity. The repairs, discreet yet obvious, were almost hidden by the bolero that gently enveloped the top of her body.

Her hair, carefully untangled, had been styled into a simple bun, held in place by a white ribbon that shimmered softly in the light of the National Gallery's main room. It had been years since she had last visited here. The entry fee was expensive, and although the museum was not exclusively reserved for the upper classes, few from the working class ventured in—unless, of course, they accompanied their employer. The few times Emma had come here were thanks to Louise or Lady Alice, both of whom loved painting, but it was music that occupied most of their time, and visits to the museum remained rare events. The salons, organized once a year, were primarily an opportunity to catch up with acquaintances, more than a true immersion in works of art. It was a family activity, to which Emma was not invited.

She had already paid for her entrance, money she had borrowed from William and promised to return within the week. To do so, she planned to sell one of her old dresses or a few pieces of precious fabric she had carefully kept. She wasn’t ready to visit the first room without Benedict. She waited for him, standing still above the dome. He was right, there was almost no one: a few men, focused on their sketchbooks, and a couple who looked clearly bored.

When Benedict arrived with a confident step, she looked at him longingly, fascinated by the grace with which he moved in this place that seemed so familiar to him. She didn’t know whether it was the clothes he wore that enhanced his figure, or if, on the contrary, it was he who made each piece of clothing he wore shine. Either way, his presence exuded a natural elegance, almost unreal.

He quickened his pace, as if signaling that he was indeed late, and greeted her with a simple “Hello” accompanied by a wide smile. This smile, though revealing his slightly misaligned canines, gave him a unique charm.

“Ready?”

With an elegant gesture, she invited him to go ahead, offering him only an enigmatic smile and a few words: “Lead the way.”

They entered the first room of the museum, crossing the medieval art section in silence, and soon, they reached a corridor of galleries with burgundy walls, saturated with canvases hung side by side like a silent cacophony of colors and periods. It was there, at the heart of the 17th-century section, that Benedict stopped to indicate the spot.

“We’ve finally arrived”, he said calmly.

Emma was about to step forward, curious, already captivated by the atmosphere of the room, when he took a step towards her to interrupt:

“No, no... There’s an artistic journey to be taken. Rembrandt’s works should not be viewed at random; they should be read like a story, in a precise order. I can’t let you go forward without some explanations.”

With a natural movement, he took his jacket with his left hand and, with an elegant gesture, extended his arm towards her:

“May I?”

Emma studied him for a moment, then lowered her eyes to the arm he offered. She gently slipped her hand into his, holding onto him with an almost ceremonial delicacy. They walked together, arm in arm, in an odd intimacy, as if the museum had disappeared around them. Beneath his white cotton shirt, Emma could feel the warmth of his body, even through her own clothes. She remained silent, hanging on his words as he recounted the life of Rembrandt, which he seemed to know by heart.

For him, it was clear that one could not grasp the soul of an artist without understanding the shadow of their past. And vice versa.

They wandered for over an hour, stopping in front of each canvas. Benedict commented on the details with precision, explaining the subtleties of clair-obscur, that mastery of contrast between light and darkness. He punctuated his speech with a few jokes, always leaving space for her to respond, contradict, or elaborate on her own impressions.

Emma loved the way he spoke, how he conveyed, inviting her to form her own personal perspective. She oscillated between listening to his voice and observing his hands, which danced in the air to the rhythm of his explanations. Occasionally, she stepped aside to admire a painting more closely.

“Ah... The Man Seated Reading, my favorite,” he suddenly exclaimed.

“It’s the fifth one you’ve claimed as your favorite,” she replied with a teasing smile, approaching the painting of a man engrossed in his reading.

Taken aback, he laughed lightly:

“That’s true... Well, I’m cheating a little.”

They exchanged a knowing smile. Then Emma stepped forward again, her eyes shining:

“The subtle contrast between the shadow and the light caressing his face… So typical of Rembrandt.”

She turned to him, her face radiant.

“The student exceeds the master, I see,” he said, arms crossed. “My lesson has not been in vain, then.”

“Who told you I was your student?” she replied mischievously before slowly moving toward other paintings. Then, turning back, she added:

“Can I show you my favorite?”

A wide smile lit up her face, and she seemed proud to have, too, a piece of work to share.

“Lead the way,” he answered with a wink.

Emma walked with confidence, but in truth, she no longer knew where the painting was. It had been so long. They wandered through several rooms, her leading the way, her gaze determined, but doubts already gnawing at her. After three rooms, still nothing. Benedict, discreet, showed no sign of noticing. He continued to follow her, pretending not to notice her unease. She had refused to describe the painting, wanting to leave him the surprise intact.

But the annoyance grew. Her patience had abandoned her several minutes ago. She stopped suddenly:

“I’m sorry to waste your time… I’m not sure where it is anymore.”

Benedict didn’t respond right away. He looked at her and then simply asked:

“What’s the title and the artist’s name?”

“Richard Wilson. Lake Nemi and Genzano from the Terrace of the Capuchin Monastery, but it’s useless...”

Without another word, he swiftly walked off, leaving her alone.

This solitude weighed heavily on her. She hated the emptiness, the feeling of failure, of being yet another disappointment. He hadn’t said anything hurtful, but something inside her crumbled. As if all the intelligent things she had said earlier had flown away with this missed moment.

Then he reappeared, still with that same assurance, the one that had struck her from their first meeting. Emma, on the other hand, had lost all sense of time. She needed to leave, to be on time for Louise’s outfit change before dinner. But her thoughts were interrupted by Benedict’s soft voice:

“I went to ask the employees if they knew your painting. Unfortunately, one of them told me it’s no longer displayed here.”

She felt a pang in her heart. Disappointed not to see the painting again, but mostly touched by the gesture he had made for her.

“Oh… she murmured softly, a word hanging between gratitude and regret.

She thanked him gently. He responded with a sincere smile:

“You looked so happy at the thought of showing it to me.”

“Yes… it’s just…”

They then made their way to the exit, in silence, as if this disappointment had closed the enchanted moment they had shared.

When they reached the museum doors, Emma was struck by the crowd outside, so far from the almost sacred calm of the rooms they had just left. A feeling of discomfort swept over her, as if she were waking from a dream. There was something unreal in what she had experienced — a bubble suspended in time, an unexpected tenderness, a breath of softness that had made her forget the world around her.

And the return to reality felt all the more brutal.

Both of them seemed suddenly enveloped in a slight discomfort, that soft hesitation before farewells that can’t quite be formulated. Emma lowered her gaze for a moment, then lifted it toward him, searching for the right words.

“ I… uh… thank you”, she whispered with endearing awkwardness. “Thank you for this afternoon… and for introducing me to such a magnificent artist”

Benedict, clearly more at ease, gave a half-smile, as he knew so well how to do:

“The pleasure was all mine. Thank you… for being such a diligent student.”

She responded with a shy pout, filled with sincere tenderness. Then, in one last friendly gesture, she added softly:

“I have to leave… but…”

She fell silent for a moment, her eyes fixed on his, as if suspended by an invisible thread. Her lips parted, ready to utter a few words, but nothing came. A flicker of embarrassment passed over her face, and her cheeks suddenly flushed, betraying the intimacy of what she might have been about to say. Then, in an almost imperceptible sigh, she shook her head slightly, as if to dismiss the thought. Her gaze shifted downward, avoiding Benedict’s. When she finally raised it, she did not meet his eyes, and in a timid, almost apologetic breath, she simply murmured:

“Thank you.”

#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton #benedict x sophie #the bridgertons #bridgerton s4

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loversatthegreatdivide · 10 months ago

Text

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

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #heavy lies the heart #my writing #masterlist #loversatthegreatdivide

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redheadspark · 7 months ago

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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.

#benedict bridgerton #fanfiction #writing #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton netflix

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thecrayonindisguise · 3 months ago

Text

Chapter 10 Rebinding of Hearts|| Bonds and Barrier

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: no particular warnings

Author's Note: Hey people, I'm back! I am so so sorry for the absence but I had a little of a lack of inspiration and also I failed my exams at the beginning of this month so I was a little down for a few days but here we go after Christmas! Merry Christmas <3 here is your new chapter! Enjoy :)

In the waning light of late afternoon, the world softened, painted in hues of amber and gold.

On the grassy bank of a secluded stream, a quiet intimacy unfolded.

Much younger than she was now, Caterina lay sprawled across the tender earth, her golden dress cascading around her.

Waves of hair framed her face, loose and untamed, catching the occasional glimmer as the dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above.

The melodic trickle of water nearby mingled with birdsong, weaving a cocoon of tranquility around the pair.

Beside her, a young man reclined, his gaze steady and warm as it lingered on her.

His hand, strong yet tender, intertwined with hers.

Their fingers fit together effortlessly, the connection between them as natural as the breeze that rustled through the grass.

Here, hidden from the world, they seemed suspended in their own secret universe, both in place and in time.

Caterina tilted her head, the soft curve of a smile gracing her lips.

She turned onto her side, leaning on one elbow, her other hand still entwined with his.

Slowly, she reached out, her free fingers tracing the contours of his cheek with a feather-light touch.

The familiar planes of his face, the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips, ignited a quiet joy within her, unguarded and complete.

His eyes softened, their depth reflecting something unspoken but deeply felt.

The air seemed to still as she spoke, her voice a quiet murmur, carrying both the playfulness and vulnerability of youth.

“Will you love me forever?” she asked, tinged with a hesitancy that only deepened her sincerity.

A part of her already trusted the answer, though she longed to hear it aloud.

He smiled, his hand lifting to brush a stray curl from her face. His fingers lingered for a moment, caressing her cheek as if committing every detail of her to memory.

“Forever, my beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rich and steady, a promise etched into the golden air between them. “My love for you will never end.”

Laughter bubbled from Caterina, soft and unrestrained, a sound as light and natural as the breeze around them.

She tilted her head closer, her eyes sparkling with a joy so radiant it seemed to outshine the sun.

Her laughter danced in the air, weaving into the symphony of nature that surrounded them.

Then, as her laughter ebbed, she leaned down, her lips meeting his in a kiss, soft and unhurried.

His hand cradled her face, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along her cheek.

For a moment, the world melted away, the grass beneath them, the sky above, and the stream murmuring nearby, all fell silent.

There was only them.

─────────

Dearest readers, It seems this season has no shortage of delights, surprises, and intriguing visitors! The Medici family continues to dazzle the ton, with each member leaving their unique impression on our glittering society. While much attention has been directed toward the upcoming nuptials of the charming Miss Teresa Medici and the dashing Lord Ducker, another Medici has entered the fray to stir up even more excitement.

Yes, dear readers, the Duke of Lucca himself, Lorenzo Medici, has arrived in London with his enchanting wife and their two young children. Rumor has it the twins, Miss Teresa and Miss Caterina Medici, nearly toppled the household with their joy at their brother’s early arrival, a heartwarming scene that surely melted the hearts of even the most unflappable Londoners. To mark the occasion, the ever-hospitable Langstone family has announced a grand ball in the Duke’s honor, a soiree destined to be the talk of the season. With such a distinguished guest list and the Medici family’s growing influence in the social sphere, one can only imagine the connections and alliances that may be forged on this glittering evening.

But, my dear readers, do not let the splendor of the Langstone ball distract you from the whispers that swirl around one particular Medici sister. Miss Caterina Medici, known for her poise and charm, has been seen promenading with none other than His Grace, the Duke of Richmond. While their conversations appear the picture of propriety, one cannot help but wonder if a subtle courtship is blossoming amidst the preparations for her sister’s wedding.

And what of the ever-elusive Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, whose recent absences have left some speculating whether a certain young lady’s sharp words have cut deeper than she intended? Could there be more to this tale, or is it merely the folly of wishful observers? Time, as always, will reveal all.

Until then, my dearest readers, let us await the Langstone ball with bated breath and polished slippers. Who knows what revelations, romances, and rivalries the evening may bring?

Yours most faithfully, Lady Whistledown

─────────

The morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of Langstone House, bathing the drawing room in a golden glow.

The hum of activity echoed throughout the estate as the Medici family and their hosts began their day.

The spacious room, adorned with elegant furnishings and richly embroidered drapes, bore an air of refinement that perfectly matched its occupants.

Near the hearth, a cheerful scene unfolded as Teresa and Caterina entertained their young niece and nephew, Vittoria and Luca.

The siblings’ joyous laughter rang out as Teresa guided Vittoria through a game of pretend tea, carefully arranging tiny porcelain cups on a child-sized table.

Caterina, meanwhile, knelt on the floor beside Luca, who was determined to build the tallest block tower his little hands could manage.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Luca,” Caterina encouraged with a warm smile.

Luca’s tongue poked out in concentration as he placed a block at the precarious summit. “This one is the roof,” he declared with pride.

Vittoria looked up from her tea set with the superior air of an older sibling. “Luca, towers don’t need roofs. They’re not houses.”

“They do in my world!” Luca retorted, puffing out his chest.

Teresa and Caterina exchanged amused glances before laughter bubbled from them both.

Meanwhile, at the dining table across the room, Lorenzo Medici and his mother, Lady Medici, sat in conversation.

The Duke of Lucca exuded his usual commanding presence, his sharp features softened by the familial setting.

A half-filled cup of tea rested in his hand as he spoke, his deep voice low but firm.

“Madre,” Lorenzo began, leaning back slightly in his chair. “You have told me much about Tess intended, Lord Ducker, but I remain curious. What kind of man is he? Beyond the surface, I mean. Tess seems content, but I want to know if he will truly make her happy.”

Lady Medici’s blue eyes met her son’s with a calm, knowing gaze. “Lord Ducker is a gentleman of good repute, Lorenzo. He is steady and dependable, qualities that will serve your sister well. His affection for her is evident in his manner, and I believe he will honor and cherish her as a husband should.”

“Steady and dependable,” Lorenzo repeated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Worthy traits, certainly. But does he have the strength of character Tess will need? Marriage is not just a convenient arrangement, Madre, it is a union meant to endure through the years.”

A soft smile played on Lady Medici’s lips. “Your protective nature does you credit, my dear. Teresa’s happiness is my priority, as it is yours. You will have the opportunity to judge Lord Ducker’s character for yourself at tonight’s ball. But I trust my instincts about him.”

Lorenzo nodded, though his expression remained contemplative.

He took another sip of tea before voicing a new thought. “And what of Kitty?”

Lady Medici raised an elegant brow. “What of her?”

“I heard that a certain Duke is showing particular interest in her,” Lorenzo said, his tone casual but inquisitive. “Is there something I should know?”

Lady Medici’s smile grew wider, and she set her teacup down with deliberate care. “The Duke of Richmond has indeed expressed interest in your sister. He has called on her several times and shown himself to be most attentive.”

Lorenzo’s brows knit together in a mixture of curiosity and concern. “And what does Kitty think of him?”

Before Lady Medici could respond, the subject of their conversation entered the room, both sisters still laughing over some private jest.

The two young women approached the table, their steps light and their cheeks flushed from the morning’s play.

Lorenzo turned his piercing gaze on Caterina, his question hanging heavily in the air. “Kitty, I was just speaking with Madre about the Duke of Richmond. I heard he has taken quite an interest in you.”

Caterina froze mid-step, her composure faltering for the briefest moment.

The flush on her cheeks deepened, though this time it was not from laughter. “Oh,” she said, her voice unusually small. “I suppose he has.”

“You suppose?” Lorenzo pressed a note of teasing in his voice. “Either he has or he hasn’t. Which is it?”

Teresa, sensing her sister’s discomfort, intervened with a light laugh. “Lori, you sound like an inquisitor! Poor Kitty can’t even have a quiet morning without you interrogating her.”

Caterina shot her sister a grateful look before managing a composed reply. “The Duke has shown himself to be very kind and… attentive. But it is still early days, and I do not wish to rush to any conclusions.”

Lorenzo’s sharp gaze remained fixed on his sister as if trying to discern the truth behind her carefully chosen words. “Do you enjoy his presence?” he asked, his tone both curious and protective.

Caterina hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the lace edge of her sleeve. “I… I think he is a gentleman of good standing and character,” she said at last. “He is attentive and respectful.”

“But?” Lorenzo prompted.

“But,” Caterina faltered, “I do not know him well enough to say more.”

Lady Medici, sensing that her daughter needed reprieve, stepped in smoothly. “Caterina has always been thoughtful in matters of the heart, Lorenzo. She understands the importance of choosing wisely, and I trust her judgment. The Duke of Richmond is a patient man, and he respects her measured approach.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly, though his expression betrayed a lingering skepticism.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I might arrange an introduction to the gentleman this evening”

“of course,” Caterina assured him, her voice steady despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within her.

As the conversation shifted to the ball’s preparations, Caterina’s thoughts lingered on her brother’s probing questions.

Her gaze drifted to Teresa, who was now playfully helping Vittoria set up a new tea party.

Teresa’s laughter was light and carefree, a stark contrast to Caterina’s own brooding thoughts.

For a moment, Caterina envied her sister’s simplicity, wishing that her own heart could be as easily swayed by kind attentions and steadfast promises.

But deep down, she knew that her heart was anything but simple.

─────────

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the Medici sisters’ shared dressing room.

The Langstone estate buzzed with activity, the final touches of the evening’s grand ball being perfected by a flurry of servants.

Within the sanctuary of their room, however, the air was quieter, more personal, filled with the rustle of silk gowns and the faint floral fragrance of rosewater.

Caterina stood before the ornate mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl combs in her hair.

Teresa, on the other hand, sat by the window.

Her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

“Tess,” Caterina said gently, glancing at her sister’s reflection, “you’ve been fretting since the moment we returned from luncheon. What’s troubling you?”

Teresa sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s Lord Ducker and Lori,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Caterina turned from the mirror, her brow furrowing with concern. “What about them?”

“I’m worried about the impression Lord Ducker will make on our brother,” Teresa confessed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “you know well how he could be, What if he doesn’t approve? What if he finds fault with Lord Ducker?”

Caterina moved to sit beside her sister, taking Teresa’s hands in her own. “Tess, you’re thinking too much about this,” she said softly. “Lori may be protective, but he adores you. And as for Lord Ducker, anyone with eyes can see how much he values you. He’ll see it too.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Teresa pressed, her voice trembling. “What if he thinks Lord Ducker is insincere or unworthy?”

Caterina squeezed her sister’s hands. “Do you truly believe that?”

“No,” Teresa admitted, shaking her head. “Edward is the most honorable man I’ve ever known. He’s kind, thoughtful… everything I could have wished for. But Lori is different. He values strength and forthrightness, and Edward can be so… so reserved.”

Caterina laughed lightly. “Tess, Lord Ducker isn’t shy. He’s measured. There’s a difference. And Lori will appreciate that once they speak. Trust me, our brother isn’t as difficult to win over as you think.”

Teresa looked at her sister with wide, anxious eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Caterina replied with confidence. “Besides, Lori has a sharp eye for character. If Lord Ducker loves you, and it’s clear that he does, Lori will respect that.”

A flicker of a smile touched Teresa’s lips, though doubt lingered in her gaze. “I hope you’re right. I couldn’t bear it if they didn’t get along.”

Caterina leaned closer, her tone playful. “Well, if our brother does find fault, we’ll simply remind him of his own less-than-perfect courtship skills. That should humble him.”

Teresa giggled, some of her tension easing. “He did have a rather dramatic proposal to Beatrice, didn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Caterina teased. “And if memory serves, she made him wait three months before accepting. Lori may be an intimidating Duke, but even he’s had to grovel for love.”

The sisters shared a laugh, their bond easing Teresa’s worries.

After a moment, Teresa’s expression grew thoughtful. “And what about you, Kitty? Are you nervous about tonight?”

“Me?” Caterina asked, feigning ignorance. “Why would I be?”

Teresa arched a knowing brow. “Perhaps because a certain Duke will be in attendance? Or because Lorenzo might decide to interrogate him next?”

Caterina rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. “Lori wouldn’t dare,” she said, a touch defensively.

“Wouldn’t he?” Teresa countered with a sly grin.

Caterina sighed, rising to retrieve her gloves from the vanity. “I’m not concerned about our brother’s opinions tonight. My focus is on ensuring you enjoy yourself without spiraling into a fit of nerves.”

“Nice deflection,” Teresa remarked, smirking.

Caterina shot her sister a playful glare before returning to her seat. “Tess, tonight is about you and Lord Ducker. Let me worry about my own affairs.”

Teresa’s teasing softened into a warm smile. “You’re always looking out for me, Kitty. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” Caterina promised, brushing a strand of hair from her sister’s face.

The door creaked open, and Teresa’s maid entered with a tray of sparkling jewelry. “Ladies, I thought these pieces might suit the young ladies this evening,” she announced, setting the tray on the vanity.

“Oh, how lovely,” Teresa said, her earlier worry melting away as she admired the shimmering gems.

Caterina selected a delicate sapphire necklace for her sister, fastening it around Teresa’s neck with care. “Perfect,” she declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“And for you, Miss?” the maid asked.

Caterina chose a simple string of pearls, their understated elegance complementing her gown.

As the maid secured the clasp, Caterina glanced at her sister, whose eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

Teresa nodded her smile more confident now. “Much. Thank you, Kitty.”

“Good,” Caterina said, rising to her feet. “Now, let’s make our entrance”

Teresa laughed, taking her sister’s arm. “Lead the way, Lady of Confidence.”

─────────

The Langstone Ball was an affair of unparalleled elegance, a dazzling celebration of the arrival of the Duke of Lucca, and his family.

The Langstone estate, already known for its grandeur, had outdone itself for this particular evening.

Guests began to arrive at twilight, their carriages lining the long drive leading to the stately manor.

As they ascended the marble steps, a murmur of anticipation filled the crisp night air.

The ballroom itself was a masterpiece.

High, gilded ceilings soared above, their intricate designs shimmering in the glow of countless crystal chandeliers.

The walls were lined with tall, arched windows draped in rich velvet curtains of deep burgundy, their edges embroidered with gold thread.

Through the windows, the faint glimmer of lanterns from the garden added an ethereal quality to the scene.

Beneath the chandeliers, a polished parquet floor reflected the light, creating a sense of endless luminosity.

At the far end of the room, an elevated dais held the musicians.

They played a lively yet refined waltz, their melodies weaving seamlessly with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

The music set a tone of joviality and elegance, urging feet to tap and hearts to soar.

The decorations were a sight to behold.

Garlands of roses and greenery cascaded from the balustrades and twined around the golden sconces.

Ornate vases, placed strategically throughout the room, held arrangements of white lilies and crimson peonies, their fragrance mingling with the faint aroma of beeswax candles.

Tables along the periphery bore platters of delicacies, miniature tarts, sugared fruits, and crystal glasses brimming with champagne, attended by an army of footmen.

The guests themselves were a spectacle, a moving tableau of fashion and refinement.

Ladies floated across the floor in gowns of silk and satin, their skirts shimmering in shades of lavender, emerald, and rose.

Jewels glinted at their throats and ears, catching the candlelight with every graceful turn.

Gentlemen, in their impeccably tailored evening coats and cravats, moved with practiced ease, their polished boots clicking faintly against the floor.

The air was filled with the rustle of fabric, the clink of glasses, and the low hum of conversation.

Lady Langstone stood near the entrance, resplendent in a gown of deep blue adorned with silver embroidery.

She greeted each guest with poise, her warm smile a testament to her role as hostess.

Lord Langstone, standing beside her, exuded a quieter authority, his watchful eyes surveying the room with satisfaction.

At the center of attention, however, was Lorenzo Medici, the Duke of Lucca.

Dressed in a finely tailored ensemble of midnight black accented with gold, he cut an imposing figure.

His wife, Beatrice, was equally captivating in a gown of ivory and sapphire, her serene beauty complemented by her gracious demeanor.

Caterina and Teresa were not far behind their brother, each commanding attention in their own way.

Caterina, in a gown of soft green with gold, carried herself with a quiet elegance, her hair swept into an intricate chignon.

Teresa, by contrast, wore a gown of blush pink and radiated a vivacious charm that seemed to light up every corner she entered.

The sisters moved together at first, exchanging pleasantries with acquaintances and admirers.

The atmosphere was electric, charged with the unspoken currents of admiration, intrigue, and ambition.

Conversations ebbed and flowed, ranging from polite inquiries about the journey from Italy to subtle hints of potential matches being observed and judged.

Young ladies glanced demurely at potential suitors, while mothers watched keenly, their eyes flitting between their daughters and eligible gentlemen.

As the evening progressed, the dance floor became the heart of the event.

Couples glided across the floor in perfect harmony, their movements a blend of precision and passion.

The waltz gave way to a quadrille, then a lively reel, each dance a testament to the refined skill and grace of the participants.

Caterina found herself pulled into the festivities, though her thoughts occasionally drifted elsewhere.

She exchanged dances with a few gentlemen, each polite and charming, though none seemed to capture her attention fully.

As she moved across the floor, she caught sight of the Duke of Richmond, his commanding presence unmistakable.

He seemed to be scanning the room, his eyes narrowing slightly when they met hers.

Teresa, meanwhile, was in high spirits, dancing with Lord Ducker and drawing the attention of more than a few observers.

Their easy camaraderie and mutual affection were evident, their shared smiles and occasional laughter painting a picture of a couple deeply in love.

Lorenzo watched them from the sidelines, his expression softening as he saw his sister’s happiness.

─────────

While every corner of the room was alive, amidst the celebration, Caterina’s heart was heavy.

While her lips smiled and her hands gracefully accepted compliments on her gown, her mind was miles away, replaying a moment she wished desperately to undo.

She had decided early that evening, perhaps before she’d even descended the staircase, that she needed to speak with Benedict Bridgerton.

The guilt had gnawed at her since the day of his proposal, her harsh rejection playing on a loop in her mind.

She knew her words had been unnecessarily cruel, a reaction driven more by her own fears than anything he had done.

Tonight, she resolved to set things right.

As the evening unfolded, Caterina slipped away from the crowded ballroom, her heart pounding.

She’d seen Benedict earlier, a fleeting glimpse of his tall frame moving among the guests, his smile warm yet reserved.

Her eyes had followed him until he disappeared, and now, as she scanned the room, she realized he was no longer among the dancing couples or the chatting groups.

Her resolve grew as she moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries but always keeping an eye on the corners of the room, hoping for a glimpse of him.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she saw him slipping out to one of the balconies.

The cool night air kissed her cheeks as she stepped onto the balcony.

Moonlight bathed the stone railing, and the sounds of the ball softened to a distant hum.

Benedict stood with his back to her, the moonlight bathed him in silver, highlighting the sharp lines of his profile.

She hesitated for a moment, her courage faltering.

But then she took a deep breath and stepped forward. “A beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Benedict turned, his expression unreadable.

“Miss Medici,” he said, inclining his head politely, “Indeed, it is. Though I suspect it’s even more beautiful inside, where the company is livelier.”

Caterina smiled faintly, encouraged by his light tone. “I think you overestimate the charm of the company, Mr. Bridgerton. I’ve been among them all evening, and yet I find myself out here.”

He raised a brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Am I to take that as a compliment? Or are you merely admitting to escaping boredom?”

“A bit of both, perhaps,” she replied, her smile growing.

But then her tone turned serious, “Mr. Bridgerton, I’ve been looking for you all evening to… to apologize personally for what happened between us.”

He studied her for a moment, his posture straightening. “You do not need to apologize, Miss Medici.”

“All the contrary,” she insisted, stepping closer, “I do need to. My reaction to your proposal was… disproportionate. Unladylike. Rude, if not even cruel. I cannot fathom what overcame me that day, but I humbly request your forgiveness.”

Benedict’s gaze softened, though there was a guardedness in his eyes, “Miss Medici, you don’t have to explain yourself. I knew the risk when I asked. You gave me your answer; that should be enough.”

“No,” she said firmly, her voice trembling with emotion. “There were a thousand ways I could have refused your kind offer, but I chose the worst. I said things… horrible things about you, about your family. Words I will never forgive myself for. I hurt you in a way I cannot undo, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint music drifting from the ballroom.

Benedict’s face was unreadable, but then he let out a soft chuckle, surprising her, “You know,” he said, his tone laced with humor, “when we were children, Eloise and I had a game where we tried to outdo each other in saying the most ridiculous things about people. I think you might have won without even trying.”

Caterina blinked, startled, and then a laugh escaped her, soft and genuine. “Is this your way of sparing me from drowning in guilt, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin. “I simply think it’s unfair that you’re the only one carrying this burden. I should share some of it. After all, I did propose to you in a rather ill-timed and dramatic fashion.”

She shook her head, her smile lingering. “No, the fault lies with me. You’ve been nothing but kind and patient, and I rewarded you with cruelty.”

She hesitated, her voice softening, “I truly value what we had, Mr Bridgerton. Not as it was, of course, but as friends. I know that the love you feel for me is… perhaps momentary, an infatuation that will pass.”

Benedict gave a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re remarkably confident in your ability to assess another’s heart, Miss Medici. Are you certain you’re not mistaken?”

A faint blush crept up her cheeks, but she met his gaze with quiet determination. “I am certain of very little, Mr. Bridgerton. But I do know that I value your presence in my life and would like to preserve it, even in a different form.”

His expression grew thoughtful. “Friendship,” he repeated, tasting the word. “It’s a peculiar thing to aspire to after a rejected proposal, don’t you think?”

“It is,” she admitted, her cheeks warming.

He studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “You’re a rare creature, Miss Medici. Most ladies would simply avoid me. But here you are, seeking to salvage what you can.”

“I’ve never been one to take the easy path,” she replied, a hint of mischief in her voice.

Benedict chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “That much is clear. Very well, Miss Medici. Friendship it is. But I must warn you, I’m a terrible friend. I tell awful jokes.”

Caterina laughed, the sound genuine and free. “I think I’ll manage”

“Wise of you,” he said with a grin.

The moment stretched, their laughter fading into a comfortable silence.

Then Caterina glanced toward the ballroom, her expression turning wistful. “I should return inside. My family will be looking for me… I'm pleased that things have settled between us.”

Before she could step away, Benedict’s voice stopped her. “Miss Medici,” he said, his tone more serious now. “The Duke… is he courting you?”

She froze, the question catching her off guard.

Slowly, she turned to face him, her cheeks tinged with color. “I… yes, I believe he is ” she admitted quietly.

His expression remained neutral, though his gaze seemed to pierce through her. “And does that… please you?”

Caterina hesitated, the question throwing her into confusion. “I, yes. He is kind and attentive,” she said cautiously. “But I do not think it is proper to discuss such matters.”

Benedict nodded, his eyes lowering briefly before meeting hers again. “Of course. Forgive me for prying.”

She offered him a small, polite smile, her composure returning. “Goodnight, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Goodnight, Miss Medici,” he replied, his tone soft.

As she disappeared into the ballroom, Benedict leaned against the railing, his thoughts a tangle of emotions.

Her apology had been heartfelt, her laughter genuine.

And yet, as the night stretched on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still more between them, something unspoken, lingering like a shadow beneath the moonlight.

─────────

Benedict remained on the balcony long after Caterina had disappeared into the ballroom, her delicate figure swallowed by the glow of chandeliers and the hum of the crowd.

He gripped the stone railing, its coolness grounding him as his thoughts churned.

The night air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of roses from the garden below, yet it did little to calm the storm within him.

Her words lingered like a haunting melody.

“I truly value what we had”

He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that her unexpected apology had unleashed.

She had sought him out, searched for him, she had said.

Not for polite conversation, not for obligation, but to apologize.

To make amends.

To heal a wound she had inflicted days ago.

Did it matter that she was sorry?

Benedict wasn’t sure.

The memory of her rejection, sharp and searing, was still vivid.

It wasn’t just the refusal, it was how she had done it.

Her words had been like a whip, tearing into him with precision and purpose.

She had dismissed his love, his sincerity, and him.

The memory still stung.

But tonight…

He opened his eyes and stared into the gardens below, their neatly trimmed hedges and sparkling fountains illuminated by moonlight.

Tonight, she had stood before him, vulnerable and earnest, her voice trembling just slightly as she spoke.

The Caterina Medici who had once cut him down with sharp words had shown a softness he hadn’t seen in her before.

And it unnerved him.

Benedict was no stranger to forgiveness.

In a household as large and lively as his, grudges rarely lasted long.

Eloise’s sharp tongue, Colin’s mischievous pranks, or Hyacinth’s relentless teasing, were daily occurrences, and apologies were often swift and sincere.

But this… this was different.

Caterina wasn’t family.

She wasn’t someone he was obligated to forgive or someone he could easily tease and banter with as if nothing had happened.

She was Caterina Medici.

Beautiful, intelligent, infuriating Caterina.

And she had apologized.

Her words echoed in his mind.

“There were a thousand ways I could have refused your kind offer, but I chose the worst.”

The way she had looked at him, her eyes wide and glistening, had made him believe her.

She had regretted her actions, not just for his sake but for hers too.

Yet, even as he replayed the conversation, he couldn’t ignore the other thing she had said.

The Duke.

Benedict’s jaw tightened as the thought of the man crept into his mind.

He had seen the way her cheeks flushed when he asked about him, the way she had hesitated before answering.

It wasn’t a bashful blush, not entirely, but it was enough to stir something unwelcome in Benedict’s chest.

Jealousy.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was jealous.

Not of the Duke’s title or wealth, but of the time he spent with her, the smiles he undoubtedly coaxed from her, the way she might be learning to trust him.

Benedict scoffed under his breath, the sound bitter and self-deprecating.

Of course, she would blush at the mention of the Duke.

He was everything a young woman like Caterina could hope for.

A title, a fortune, and no doubt a charming demeanor to match.

He likely didn’t paint sketches or dabble in pursuits society deemed unworthy of a gentleman.

But did the Duke know her?

Benedict frowned at the thought.

Did the Duke understand the way her voice softened when she recounted stories of her family, or how her eyes sparkled when she talked about art?

Did he know how fiercely loyal she was, or how her wit could both challenge and delight in equal measure?

And then there was her laugh.

He could still hear it, clear and genuine, from just moments ago.

It had caught him off guard, the way her guard had slipped and allowed her to laugh at his teasing.

It had been too easy, too natural as if no time had passed since they were friends.

Friends.

The word felt like both a gift and a curse.

She had offered it so sincerely, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes.

Friendship.

Benedict let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair.

Could he truly stand beside her as a friend, knowing he still loves her?

Knowing she was being courted by another man, a Duke, no less?

Could he watch her smile, hear her laugh, and not wonder what might have been?

Yet, her words had struck a chord in him.

“I truly value what we had”

what we had.

She had chosen that word carefully, and he couldn’t ignore the weight it carried.

Perhaps she did regret how things had ended between them.

But was that enough?

He thought back to the softness in her voice when she apologized.

There had been no falsehood in her words, no artifice.

Caterina Medici was not a woman who apologized lightly, and tonight, she had laid her pride bare before him.

And yet…

Benedict straightened, his grip tightening on the railing.

The Duke.

Benedict sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling over him.

He didn’t know the answer.

Caterina had made it clear she wanted to move forward as friends, and he had to respect that.

And perhaps it wasn’t his place to ask.

But the flicker of hope that had ignited in his chest during their conversation refused to be snuffed out.

As he stared out at the moonlit gardens, Benedict allowed himself one brief, selfish thought: perhaps their story wasn’t over.

Not yet.

And as much as he tried to push the thought aside, he couldn’t help but wonder if Caterina felt the same.

─────────

Caterina stepped back into the ballroom, the vibrant swirl of colors and sound washing over her like a tide.

The chandeliers above cast their golden glow across the room, reflecting off jeweled gowns and polished buttons.

The hum of conversation mixed with the lively strains of the orchestra, and everywhere she looked, people were laughing, dancing, and enjoying the festivities.

Yet, she felt a strange detachment, as though she were merely observing from a distance.

Her thoughts were heavy with her conversation with Benedict.

His words, his tone, the way his expression had shifted, everything lingered in her mind like an unfinished melody.

She had meant every word of her apology and every sentiment about their friendship, but his question about the Duke still echoed in her head.

She shook herself lightly, smoothing her gown and taking a steadying breath.

Focus on the present, Caterina.

Scanning the room, her gaze fell upon a familiar figure.

His brother stood near the far corner of the ballroom, engaged in conversation.

Beside him, tall and impeccably poised, was the Duke of Richmond.

Caterina’s heart gave an involuntary flutter at the sight of them.

Her brother, always charismatic, was gesturing animatedly while the Duke nodded, his expression one of polite attentiveness.

Caterina hesitated only a moment before making her way across the room.

As she approached, the Duke’s head turned slightly, and their eyes met.

His lips curved into a warm smile, and Lorenzo, noticing her arrival, broke off mid-sentence to greet her.

“Caterina,” Lorenzo said, his voice warm. “I was just telling the Duke about your infamous talent for convincing me to get into trouble as children.”

Caterina raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Infamous, is it? I recall most of those plans being your idea.”

Lorenzo laughed, clapping the Duke on the shoulder. “Do not believe her, Your Grace. She’s always been far more clever than me.”

The Duke chuckled softly. “I find that entirely believable.”

Caterina felt her cheeks flush slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“The Duke is an excellent conversationalist, though I must say, he is remarkably reserved when it comes to tales of his own mischief,” Lorenzo said with a grin.

“I assure you, I have none worth recounting,” the Duke replied smoothly.

“None worth recounting or none you wish to admit?” Caterina teased gently, her tone playful.

The Duke’s smile widened a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “A fair distinction, Miss Medici.”

Before Lorenzo could interject, the Duke turned to Caterina. “Miss Medici, would you honor me with a dance?”

The question caught her off guard, though she quickly masked her surprise with a polite smile. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”

Lorenzo stepped aside, his grin unabashedly teasing. “Try not to step on his toes, sister.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately at her brother before taking the Duke’s offered arm.

He led her gracefully to the center of the ballroom, where couples were already moving in time to a waltz, the soft strains of the orchestra surrounding them in an almost dreamlike haze.

The flicker of candlelight cast a warm glow across the polished floors, and the laughter and chatter of the guests added a lively undercurrent to the atmosphere.

As they began to dance, Caterina found herself acutely aware of the Duke’s presence.

His touch was firm yet gentle, his hand steady at her waist, guiding her effortlessly through the intricate steps.

His posture was regal, as though he were born to lead, and Caterina, in contrast, felt herself falling into the rhythm of his command with a certain quiet ease.

Yet, despite the grace of their steps, her mind drifted, her attention slipping from the Duke for a mere moment as her gaze wandered across the room.

And there, in the far corner of the ballroom, she briefly spotted him.

Benedict.

His eyes caught hers from across the sea of swirling dancers, and in that instant, a wave of emotions rose in her chest, catching her off guard.

So caught up in the sight of him, Caterina’s foot caught on the hem of her gown, and she stumbled slightly, her body swaying dangerously off balance.

Her hand instinctively gripped the Duke’s shoulder for support, and she felt a sharp gasp escape her lips.

The Duke, ever the gentleman, steadied her instantly, his hand tightening reassuringly around her waist.

“Are you well, Miss Medici?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Caterina’s heart raced, a flush creeping up her neck.

“I’m fine,” she quickly replied, her words a little too sharp, betraying the sudden flurry of thoughts in her mind. “It was nothing.”

She regained her composure and adjusted herself in the dance, forcing her attention back to the Duke.

The music resumed, and their feet began moving in tandem once more, but her thoughts lingered on the fleeting moment she had shared with Benedict.

His presence always had disrupted the careful mask of composure she had been wearing so tightly.

“You seem distracted, Miss Medici,” the Duke remarked softly after a moment, his tone light but observant.

Caterina blinked, offering him a faint smile. “Not distracted, precisely. There is simply much to think about these days.”

“A fair answer,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Planning a wedding must be quite an undertaking, even if it is not your own.”

She laughed softly. “That is an understatement. My sister has more opinions about flower arrangements than I ever thought possible.”

The Duke chuckled, his gaze warm. “And what of you? Are you fond of such events, or do you merely endure them for the sake of duty?”

Caterina hesitated for a fraction of a second, considering her answer. “I enjoy them, in truth. The music, the dancing, the chance to see familiar faces, it has its charm. But I must admit, there are moments when I long for something simpler.”

“A sentiment I understand all too well,” he replied, his tone thoughtful. “There is a certain appeal in escaping the grandness of it all, even if only for a little while.”

Their conversation ebbed and flowed as the dance continued, light and polite.

His questions were thoughtful, his attention undivided, and yet, despite his charm, Caterina’s thoughts kept drifting.

does that… please you?

Benedict’s question replayed in her mind, unbidden and persistent.

She felt her cheeks warm as she recalled how Benedict had looked at her when he asked it, not with bitterness or anger, but with something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name.

Did she like the Duke?

She couldn’t deny his many admirable qualities.

He was kind, intelligent, and undeniably handsome.

But did she feel for him the same way she felt for Benedict?

The comparison was impossible to ignore, and she chastised herself for even entertaining the thought.

“Miss Medici?” the Duke’s voice broke through her reverie, and she realized she had been silent for longer than was polite.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” she said quickly. “I fear I’ve been a poor conversational partner.”

“Not at all,” he said, his tone reassuring. “If anything, I’m grateful for the respite from questions about the latest political debates or hunting expeditions.”

She smiled, genuinely this time. “In that case, I’m glad to be of service.”

The waltz came to an end, and the Duke led her back toward the edge of the dance floor.

As they paused, he bowed slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Medici. It has been a true pleasure.”

“The pleasure was mine, Your Grace,” she replied with a graceful curtsey.

As he stepped away to rejoin the crowd, Caterina found herself letting out a quiet breath.

She glanced around the ballroom, where she briefly spotted Benedict, and felt a pang of uncertainty.

What am I doing?

She couldn’t deny the Duke’s kindness or the potential of what he offered.

But something about tonight, about Benedict’s words, his presence, and even her apology, had stirred feelings she thought she had buried some time ago.

Taking a deep breath, Caterina turned back to the crowd, determined to face the rest of the evening with poise.

But in her heart, she knew that the questions swirling in her mind would not be so easily silenced.

─────────

The soft glow of the morning sun poured through the grand windows of Langstone’s drawing room, casting a warm, golden light that reflected off the ornate furniture and elegant décor.

It was a peaceful morning after the excitement of the ball the night before, the lingering energy of the evening still hanging in the air like the gentle notes of a sweet melody.

The laughter and chatter of women filled the space, accompanied by the soft sound of teacups clinking and the occasional delighted exclamation from the children playing at the hearth.

Lady Medici, regal as ever, sat poised in her favorite chair near the window, her fingers delicately holding a cup of tea as she gazed out at the well-manicured garden.

Beside her, Lady Langstone looked equally content, her eyes twinkling as she caught up with her cousin, discussing the success of the previous night’s event.

Beatrice, Lorenzo’s wife, sat near her, her calm demeanor almost a mirror image of Lady Medici’s, but with a gentler air.

She glanced occasionally at the two young children, Vittoria and Luca, who were playing near the fire with their toys, their laughter filling the room with lightness.

Vittoria was especially animated, weaving intricate stories with her dolls, while Luca tried to mimic her in the most endearing way possible.

Cynthia and Olympia, ever the lively pair, occupied a chaise lounge, their heads together in whispered conversation, their eyes twinkling with mischief.

The lively discussion of the ball was at its peak, each woman recounting a detail or a fleeting moment from the evening before.

They spoke of the grandeur of the event, the music, the dances, the gentlemen, everything that had made the night unforgettable.

“You know,” Lady Langstone said, her voice rich with excitement, “I think the ball was one of the finest we’ve had in weeks. The atmosphere was so lively, and the guests… well, they certainly kept things interesting, didn’t they?”

Lady Medici chuckled lightly, her voice low but full of warmth. “Indeed. It seemed as though everyone in town was eager to attend. I dare say the guest list alone could have kept some of the ladies up for weeks, debating who was invited and who wasn’t.”

Beatrice laughed, her eyes brightening with amusement. “And the dancing! I haven’t seen such energy on the floor in ages. I think even my feet are still aching from all the waltzes.”

The lighthearted conversation swirled around Caterina and Teresa, who sat quietly together on a loveseat by the window.

The two sisters, though not speaking, were very much in tune with one another.

They shared an almost telepathic bond, their silent communication enough to convey everything that words could not express.

Teresa looked radiant as always, the excitement of her engagement still fresh in her expression, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Despite the joy that filled the room, something lingered in the air around Caterina, a quiet restlessness, an unease that she couldn’t quite shake.

Her thoughts kept returning to the conversation she’d had with Benedict on the balcony. His words had stayed with her, even as she tried to convince herself that things were fine.

She had apologized for her rude refusal, for the sharp words she had said to him, and he had graciously accepted.

It was the right thing to do, but somehow, the weight of what had transpired between them remained, unresolved in her heart.

As the ladies continued their discussion, Caterina’s gaze wandered to the children again.

Vittoria had just dropped her doll and was now chasing Luca around the room, laughing as the boy, with his round face flushed with excitement, tried to escape her.

The scene brought a soft smile to Caterina’s lips, though her mind was far from the carefree playfulness of the children.

She turned her gaze back to her sister, who was watching her with quiet curiosity.

Teresa noticed immediately.

She always did.

With a gentle nudge of her elbow, she leaned toward her sister, her voice low enough for only Caterina to hear. “Kitty” she began softly, her tone carrying a quiet concern. “What’s bothering you? You’ve been distant all morning.”

Caterina hesitated, her fingers curling around her teacup as she looked at her sister. “It’s nothing, really. Just… the ball, I suppose. Everything feels like it’s moving so quickly. I’m not sure where I fit into all of it anymore.”

Teresa raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and knowing. “Don’t be ridiculous. You fit just fine, as always. What’s really bothering you?”

Caterina sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she placed her teacup back on the table. “I spoke with Mr Bridgerton last night. After everything that happened, I felt I needed to apologize for the way I treated him.”

Teresa’s eyes widened in surprise. “You spoke to him? I thought you would never do such a thing, you told me”

Caterina looked down, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the cup. “I know. But I had to. It wasn’t fair to him. He didn’t deserve the things I said.”

She glanced at her sister, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I apologized, and we’ve agreed to be friends. But…” She faltered, not sure how to put it into words.

“But?” Teresa prompted, her voice gentle but insistent.

Caterina hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “But it feels strange, Tess. He’s like changed. There’s this distance between us now, something that wasn’t there before. And I don’t know how to bridge it.”

Teresa considered this for a moment before responding, her voice thoughtful. “You can’t expect everything to go back to how it was. But you did the right thing. You apologized. What more can you do?”

Caterina nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “I suppose. I just… I don’t want to lose that connection with him.”

Teresa smiled, her gaze softening. “It just takes time. Just don’t overthink it. Let it unfold naturally.” She paused, her tone lightening.

The conversation lulled as the two sisters exchanged quiet thoughts, their connection growing deeper with every shared word.

Soon enough, the conversation turned back to the lively chatter of the other ladies, and the children’s laughter again filled the room.

─────────

The Bridgerton dining room, with its high ceilings and wide windows, was bathed in the golden light of a late morning.

The polished mahogany table gleamed beneath a pristine white cloth, laden with a spread of fresh fruits, breads, and steaming pots of tea.

The sounds of laughter, clinking china, and the occasional rustle of paper echoed through the room, creating a symphony of domestic cheer.

At the head of the table sat Lady Bridgerton, her posture elegant as she sipped her tea with an indulgent smile, watching the lively chatter of her sons.

To her left was Anthony, already impeccably dressed despite the early hour, his dark brows furrowed slightly as he buttered a slice of toast.

Benedict, seated across from him, looked far more relaxed, his cravat slightly askew and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Colin, perpetually the least serious of the lot, lounged in his chair, occasionally snatching a pastry from a passing tray.

Their cousin, Lord Edward Ducker, sat at the other end of the table, a picture of youthful enthusiasm.

Despite his attempts to appear composed, his animated gestures as he recounted the events of the Langstone ball betrayed his excitement.

Beside him sat his mother, Lady Ducker, who watched her son with amused indulgence.

Edward leaned forward, his eyes bright. “I must say, the Langstone ball was a rather splendid affair. Everything was so well-orchestrated, from the music to the decorations. And the Medici family, what a commanding presence they have.”

Colin raised an eyebrow as he bit into a scone. “Commanding, you say? Is that your polite way of saying they’re intimidating?”

Edward grinned, undeterred. “Not at all. Though I must admit, Miss Medici’s brother, the Duke of Lucca, does have a rather… formidable air.”

“Formidable?” Benedict repeated, his voice dripping with amusement. “Now that’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. The man looked as though he could cut someone down with a single glance.”

“Perhaps,” Edward conceded, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “But I found him to be perfectly civil. We had a long discussion about estate management and—”

Anthony interrupted, his tone dry. “You mean he interrogated you about your intentions toward his sister.”

Edward blinked, taken aback. “Not exactly. Though I do believe he wanted to gauge my character.”

“And did you pass the test?” Colin asked, leaning forward with mock seriousness.

Edward straightened his shoulders. “I’d like to think so. He even called me a ‘respectable gentleman.’”

The Bridgerton brothers exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

“Respectable!” Benedict said, feigning astonishment. “Edward, you’ve truly outdone yourself. To earn such high praise from the Duke of Lucca is no small feat.”

Colin clapped his hands together. “We should have a plaque made: ‘Edward Ducker, Respectable Gentleman, Approved by the Duke of Lucca.’”

Even Anthony smirked, his usually stern expression softening. “I hope you realize that’s the equivalent of him saying he doesn’t actively despise you.”

Edward rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Laugh all you like, but I’m confident I made a good impression. And I’d like to see any of you fare better in his presence.”

“Oh, I’d fare just fine,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair. “I’d compliment his fine taste in Italian architecture and steer clear of any mention of his sister.”

Lady Ducker, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “Edward, darling, if you spent half as much time focusing on Miss Medici as you do worrying about her brother, you’d be married by now.”

The room erupted into laughter, even Edward joining in despite his reddening cheeks.

“She’s right, you know,” Colin said, grinning. “You’re marrying his sister, not the Duke.”

Edward sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “You lot are impossible.”

“And you’re easy prey,” Benedict countered, his grin widening.

Lady Bridgerton, ever the voice of reason, tapped her teacup lightly with her spoon. “Boys, let your cousin have his moment. He’s navigating uncharted waters, after all. Engaging with the Medici family is no small task.”

Edward nodded, his expression softening. “Thank you, Aunt Violet. Though I must say, Miss Medici makes it all worthwhile.”

The sincerity in his voice brought a brief pause to the table, and even the teasing Bridgerton brothers couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s the spirit,” Anthony said, his tone unusually approving.

“Indeed,” Colin added, raising his teacup in a mock toast. “To Edward, the brave and respectable gentleman.”

As laughter filled the room once more, Edward glanced at his mother, who gave him a small, encouraging smile.

It was clear that, despite the jesting, the Bridgertons were firmly in his corner.

Just as the conversation began to shift, a footman entered the room, announcing that the carriages would soon be ready for their errands.

The brothers rose reluctantly, their morning banter drawing to a close as they prepared for the day ahead.

As the group dispersed, Lady Ducker turned to Edward, her tone teasing. “You handled that well, my dear. But next time, perhaps don’t give them quite so much ammunition.”

Edward chuckled, adjusting his cravat. “It’s a fine line, Mother. But I’d rather be teased by the Bridgertons than face another interrogation from the Duke”

Lady Ducker laughed softly, looping her arm through his as they left the room. “You’ll be fine, Edward. If you can survive this family, you can survive anything.”

In the sunlight-dappled halls of Bridgerton House, the warmth of family lingered, a comforting contrast to the grandeur of the balls and the weight of impending proposals.

─────────

The Langstone gardens bathed in the golden hues of a gentle afternoon sun, were alive with the laughter of children.

Caterina knelt on the soft grass, weaving yet another daisy crown for her niece, Vittoria.

The little girl sat cross-legged in front of her, her cheeks flushed with delight as she chattered about becoming the queen of the garden.

Luca, her younger brother, toddled nearby, clutching a stick he had declared his royal scepter.

Teresa, seated on a cushioned bench nearby, kept an amused eye on them all, her hands busy embroidering a handkerchief. “Careful, Luca,” she called her voice light with affection. “You might accidentally dethrone Queen Vittoria with that scepter of yours.”

Luca turned and gave her a gap-toothed grin. “I’m the king!” he declared proudly, waving his stick.

“And a fine king you’ll make,” Caterina said, tying off the last flower in the crown.

She reached forward, placing it gently on Vittoria’s head. “There. Now you look regal enough to rule the entire estate.”

Vittoria clapped her hands and twirled, her giggles ringing like bells. “Thank you, Aunt Cat! I shall knight Sir Luca as my royal knight!”

“Knight or not, I think Luca prefers wielding that scepter like a warrior,” Teresa quipped, nodding toward her nephew as he brandished the stick in a mock battle against an invisible foe.

Caterina laughed, brushing the grass from her skirts as she stood.

The scene was idyllic, yet beneath the laughter, her thoughts were far from peaceful.

She had spent much of the day trying to untangle the complexities of her heart, though no answers had come.

As if summoned by her unrest, Lorenzo appeared at the far end of the garden path, his tall figure framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

He paused, watching his sisters and his children with an expression that blended fondness and contemplation.

After a moment, he strode toward them, his boots crunching softly on the gravel.

“What a picturesque gathering,” Lorenzo called as he approached. “Queens, knights, and their devoted subjects. I almost feel underdressed.”

“Do you ever feel overdressed?” Teresa teased, setting her embroidery aside as she smiled up at her brother. “I believe your wardrobe consists solely of austere tailoring.”

“I’ll have you know, this jacket is quite fashionable,” Lorenzo replied, mock offense lacing his tone. “But I came here seeking the wisdom of my sisters. Kitty, would you walk with me?”

Caterina’s curiosity flickered as she handed Vittoria her scepter and took Lorenzo’s offered arm.

“Seeking wisdom from me? That sounds ominous, brother” she said with a teasing lilt. “Do you have a particularly challenging decision that only I can solve?”

“You’ll see,” Lorenzo replied, leading her down the shaded garden path.

Once they were out of earshot, his tone shifted, becoming more serious. “I wanted to ask your thoughts about Lord Ducker.”

Caterina raised a brow, taken aback by the question. “Lord Ducker?”

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirmed. “You’ve spent time observing them together. What do you think of him?”

Caterina considered her answer, a smile tugging at her lips. “I think Lord Ducker is… solid. Like a fine oak tree. Dependable, sturdy, and quite rooted.”

“An oak tree?” Lorenzo echoed, his lips twitching in amusement. “Is that your way of saying he lacks charisma?”

“Not at all,” Caterina replied, feigning indignation. “I’m saying he’s reliable, which is precisely what one would want in a husband. Tess adores him, and he clearly worships her. He’s respectful and kind”

Lorenzo chuckled, nodding. “You’re right. He does seem to care for her deeply. But as her brother, I still can’t help but worry.”

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” Caterina said, squeezing his arm. “To worry about all of us endlessly. But truly, Lori, Tess is happy. She’s chosen well.”

Lorenzo sighed, though a smile lingered on his lips. “I suppose I should trust her”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before Lorenzo turned to her with a pointed look. “And what about you?”

Caterina blinked, suddenly wary. “What about me?”

“What are your thoughts on the Duke?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp with interest.

Caterina felt heat rise to her cheeks. “The Duke is… a gentleman,” she replied cautiously. “Polished, courteous, and every bit the image of nobility.”

“And yet,” Lorenzo pressed, “your tone suggests there’s more you’re not saying.”

Caterina hesitated, her gaze dropping to the gravel. “I suppose I haven’t spent enough time with him to form a complete opinion,” she admitted. “He is… impressive, but I, well, I find it difficult to know what to think.”

Lorenzo stopped walking, turning to face her.

His expression was both serious and curious. “There’s something you should know,” he said after a moment.

Caterina frowned.

Lorenzo exhaled, his voice lowering. “The Duke approached me last night. He asked for my permission to propose to you.”

Caterina froze, her eyes widening. “He… he asked for your permission?”

“He did,” Lorenzo confirmed. “I told him that while I wouldn’t oppose the idea, the decision ultimately rests with you. But I thought you should be aware.”

Shock rippled through Caterina, leaving her momentarily speechless.

The Duke of Richmond, thoughtful, polished, and enigmatic, wanted to propose.

The weight of it pressed on her chest, and she struggled to find her voice.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Lorenzo said gently. “But I wanted you to know”

Before Caterina could gather her thoughts, Teresa’s voice rang out from the other end of the path. “Lori! Kitty! Vittoria insists her royal court requires your presence.”

Caterina exhaled a shaky breath, grateful for the interruption.

As Luca and Vittoria came racing toward them, Lorenzo stepped back, giving her a small, knowing smile.

Their conversation was left suspended, the implications of his words lingering like a shadow over the garden.

Caterina bent to scoop Luca into her arms, but her thoughts were miles away, tangled in questions without answers.

What did she truly feel about the Duke?

The main reason why she and Teresa are in London.

The Duke was everything a lady of her status should desire: handsome, noble, refined, a man of dignity and integrity.

His courtship had been respectful, methodical, and patient.

And his intentions were clear, he was not merely seeking her beauty or her fortune, but the prospect of a genuine partnership.

It was everything she had been taught to want, everything that made sense for her future.

Yet, even as she stood there, surrounded by the quiet comforts of Langstone House, the warmth of her family’s presence beside her, her mind drifted back to a moment that had stolen her breath and shaken her very foundation.

Benedict Bridgerton’s proposal.

The words echoed in her mind, louder than any conversation she had had with the Duke.

Why, did she find herself thinking of him now?

Why, when the Duke’s proposal was no longer just a possibility but an imminent reality, did her mind keep drifting back to Benedict and his words?

The truth was, that Caterina felt conflicted.

The Duke was everything she could want but Benedict…

Could she move forward with the Duke, allowing herself to be swept into a future of security and respectability, or would she always wonder how could have been if she had said yes to him that evening?

─────────

The fading light of the day poured softly into Caterina’s room, casting long golden beams across the lush rug and furniture.

The silk curtains, tied back with braided cords, fluttered gently in the evening breeze, adding a quiet rhythm to the stillness of the space.

In the corner, Vanessa carefully unpacked the accessories for the evening, a shimmering array of pearls, and a delicate gold necklace.

The gown, already laid out on the fainting couch, was a masterpiece of craftsmanship: soft ivory silk with gold embroidery tracing delicate vines along the bodice and hem.

It was perfect for dinner at the Bridgerton estate, a subtle statement of refinement and elegance.

Yet, amidst all this beauty and quiet preparation, Caterina sat at her dressing table, lost in thought.

Her hands rested idly in her lap, her gaze fixed not on her reflection in the ornate mirror, but on some invisible point beyond it.

Vanessa, ever watchful, paused in her task of untangling a pearl necklace. “My lady” she began gently, “if I may be so bold, you’ve been unusually quiet this evening. are you quite well? Is something troubling you?”

Caterina blinked, her gaze snapping back to the present.

She met Vanessa’s eyes in the mirror and forced a faint smile. “oh yes, I am perfectly fine. nothing troubling” she replied, though the lie was evident in her voice.

Vanessa arched a brow, her hands deftly fastening the necklace onto a padded stand. “Forgive me, but I’ve known you long enough to recognize when ‘nothing’ is quite the opposite.”

Caterina sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I suppose I cannot hide anything from you,” she admitted. “It’s just… tonight feels heavy as if there’s more at stake than there should be.”

Vanessa came to stand beside her, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Dinner with the Bridgertons? Surely it’s nothing to worry about. They seemed charming and kind people”

“It’s not the dinner itself,” Caterina murmured. “It’s what lingers beneath it all. The expectations, the undercurrents.” She hesitated, her fingers toying with the edge of the lace handkerchief on the table. “Vanessa, the Duke is courting me. And… I believe he intends to propose.”

The maid’s expression didn’t change, though her hand on Caterina’s shoulder stilled for a moment. “I suspected as much,” she said carefully. “And how does that sit with you, Miss?”

Caterina bit her lip, turning to face her maid directly. “I don’t know,” she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. “By all accounts, I should be elated. Becoming a duchess is everything a woman could hope for especially when her partner is kind, dignified, and undeniably handsome.”

Vanessa’s gaze softened. “But?”

“But when I think of a life with him,” Caterina continued, “I feel… hollow. Not because he’s lacking in any way, but because I don’t know if I belong there.”

Vanessa took a seat on the small upholstered stool beside her. “Miss Caterina, it sounds as though you’re trying to convince yourself of something you don’t feel. The heart doesn’t obey logic or societal rules.”

“I know that,” Caterina said, frustration creeping into her voice. “But it’s more than that.”

Vanessa studied her for a moment, then asked quietly, “Do you love him?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a long moment, Caterina couldn’t answer.

Instead, her mind drifted to another man.

Vanessa must have seen the flicker of something in Caterina’s expression because she leaned closer. “It’s not the Duke you’re thinking of, is it?”

Caterina’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, and she turned her gaze to the window, refusing to meet her maid’s perceptive eyes. “That’s irrelevant,” she said softly, though her voice carried a faint quiver. “I did not come here to fall in love, Vanessa. All the ton knows that.”

Vanessa tilted her head, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Perhaps, Miss, but I’ve found that love rarely cares for plans or intentions. It tends to bloom in the most inconvenient of places.”

Caterina let out a faint, humorless laugh, her fingers nervously tracing the intricate embroidery on her gown. “You speak as though it’s a blessing. For me, it feels like a curse, a complication I cannot afford.”

Vanessa crossed her arms lightly, watching her mistress with a steady gaze. “And yet, you speak of love as though it’s already found you.”

“I never said—” Caterina started, but Vanessa held up a hand, silencing her with a knowing, almost sisterly look.

“You didn’t have to, Miss. Your eyes betray you,” Vanessa said gently, her tone neither prying nor judgmental. “If it’s not the Duke of Richmond who stirs this turmoil in you, then who?”

Caterina froze, her throat tightening as memories rushed forward unbidden.

She clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself to push the memory away.

She shook her head firmly, her jaw tightening as though to physically banish the thought. “Who it is does not matter,” she said with a strained calmness.

Vanessa’s brows lifted slightly, her expression softening with curiosity and quiet understanding. “Oh, but it does matter. It matters if it’s someone who holds your heart.”

Caterina turned abruptly to the vanity, her fingers brushing over the edge of a silver hairbrush as if grounding herself with the sensation. “No, it doesn’t,” she said, her voice sharper now. “Because my heart cannot afford to belong to anyone. Not him. Not the Duke. Not anyone.”

Vanessa approached slowly, her movements deliberate and gentle. “Forgive me, Miss, but you’re not the type to let fear dictate your choices. Why now? Why deny yourself this?”

Caterina let out a bitter laugh, one devoid of mirth. “Because it’s not about what I want. It’s about what I must do. My family needs me to make a wise match. I cannot…will not be a source of shame or disappointment again. I need to repair for what I did.”

Vanessa’s lips pressed into a line, her eyes filled with a blend of empathy and frustration. “My lady choosing love is neither reckless nor shameful. The events of the past now mean nothing, Don't let yourself become a victim of the past, you are still capable of love”

The words struck Caterina harder than she cared to admit.

Her grip on the hairbrush tightened her reflection in the mirror a portrait of poise cracking at the edges. “You make it sound so simple,” she said quietly.

Vanessa tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s never simple. But the right thing rarely is.”

Caterina’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fiddling with the lace of her gown.

The weight of Vanessa’s words pressed against the walls she had so carefully constructed, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel the truth of them.

But the moment passed, and she straightened her shoulders, donning the mask of composure she had perfected over the years.

“Thank you, Vanessa,” she said softly, signaling the end of the conversation.

Vanessa hesitated, then nodded, stepping back to give her mistress the space she seemed to need. “Of course, Miss.”

As the maid returned to her duties, Caterina’s mind churned with thoughts and emotions she couldn’t quite name.

The mirror before her reflected not just her image but the storm brewing within, a storm she would have to hide before stepping into the Bridgertons’ dinner.

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