#eloise understands and could never turn him in���

[myokk]

🥺

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: 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.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: 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?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

[d-targaryenshoe]

In The End - Colin Bridgerton

Word Count: 2172

Summary: To be married to a stranger is not what every single lady of the Ton wants, is it not?

You and Eloise Bridgerton, childhood friends, sat under the spreading branches of an ancient oak tree, the leaves above you rustling in a gentle breeze.

The sunlight streaming through the leaves cast dappled shadows upon your faces, dancing like living things.

"You can't be serious, y/n," Eloise said, her voice tinged with disbelief. "An arranged marriage? You're far too young to be thinking of such things!"

You shrugged, your expression wistful. "I know it's not what I would have chosen for myself," you admitted, "but it is the path my mama has chosen for me."

Eloise reached out to take your hand, your eyes filled with concern. "But what if you don't like this Lord Somerset?" she asked. "What if you don't want to marry him, must that not change things?"

You sighed, looking away from your friend. "My mother says I must marry well, to secure the future of our family," you replied, your voice tinged with resignation. "I fear my opinion does not matter in this matter."

Eloise frowned, her brow furrowing. "But y/n, you're not just a possession to be traded or bargained with! You have feelings, thoughts, desires! You should have a say in who you marry!"

You bit your lip, looking away again. "I know, El. I wish things were different," you sighed. "But my mama has made it clear that this is how it must be."

Eloise's heart ached for you, but she could tell that there was no changing your mind right now. "There must be something we can do?"

You looked up at her, hope flickering in Eloise's eyes before being extinguished. "I don't know, El. I don't want to disobey my mother. She's only trying to secure my future."

"The future you did not choose, must I remind you."

Eloise's tone was gentle, but firm. You looked up at her, surprise flitting across the Bridgerton her features before settling into a pensive frown.

"I know, El. I just... I feel as though I have no say in anything that happens to me."

"But you do, you always have a say."

Eloise's gaze remained fixed on you, her eyes searching for any sign of doubt or hope.

"You could speak with your mother, and explain how you feel. You could try to convince her that you deserve a choice, that you deserve happiness."

You shook your head, your hair swaying gently. "She'd never understand, El. She's always put her desires first. I don't think she'd ever see things from my perspective."

Eloise bit her lip, thinking. "Then maybe it's time you showed her," she said, determination shining in her eyes. "Maybe it's time you stood up for yourself, for your future. You don't have to do this alone."

You looked up at your friend, hope flickering in your eyes. "You'd help me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise nodded, her determination growing. "Of course, I would. You know I'd do anything for you. Together, we can find a way to make sure you get the future you deserve."

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, each lost in your thoughts. Your hands were clasped tightly in your lap, your nails digging into your palms.

You looked away from Eloise, out towards the garden where the flowers swayed gently in the breeze.

Eloise watched you with a mixture of sympathy and determination. She could see the turmoil in your eyes, the conflict between your duty and your desires.

It was clear that this decision weighed heavily on you. As if sensing the tension in the air, a figure appeared at the edge of your vision.

Colin Bridgerton, Eloise's brother and your friend, approached you from behind, his stride purposeful.

His dark hair was tousled from the wind, and his blue eyes sparkled with mischief. "Ah, there you are, you two. I've been looking everywhere for you."

Eloise turned to face him, her lips curling into a smile. "Hello, Colin. We were just having a... ladies' moment, if you will."

You looked up at Colin, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Hello, Colin. It's nice to see you."

Eloise watched as Colin's eyes flickered between the two of you, clearly sensing the weight of the conversation.

She wondered what he made of your sudden seriousness, but decided not to dwell on it. "Colin, why don't you join us?" Eloise invited, patting the bench beside her.

He hesitated for a moment, glancing at you, before sitting down beside Eloise. "What were you saying about standing up for yourself, y/n?" he asked, his voice gentle.

"I know you've always been good at doing what's expected of you, but sometimes I think it's important to follow your heart, too."

You looked at him gratefully. "It's just... my mother has always been so strict. I feel like I can never live up to her." you sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I want so much more for myself, but I don't know how to make her understand."

Colin nodded in understanding. "I can see that. It must be tough, feeling like you're always walking a tightrope." He glanced over at Eloise, who was watching the two of you intently.

"But you know, sometimes all it takes is someone on the sidelines to give you the courage to step out of line, to take a chance on yourself."

You looked at him, hope flickering in your eyes once more. "Do you think... do you think she'd ever understand?" you asked softly.

Eloise took your hand in hers, squeezing it gently. "I believe she can if you give her the chance. You just have to find the right way to explain how you feel, and why this means so much to you." She glanced over at Colin, who nodded in agreement. "But I- I have to join mama to the modiste."

You looked up at your friend, a mixture of gratitude and determination in your eyes. "Thank you, Eloise. I'll think about what you've said."

Eloise hesitated for a moment before standing up, her dress rustling softly against her legs before she turned around and walked away.

Colin studied your profile as you watched your friend disappear into the crowd, a quiet strength emanating from you. "You know," he began, "it's not always easy to stand up to our parents, but I believe you're brave enough to do it."

You turned to face him, a spark of determination lighting your eyes. "Do you think so?"

"Yes, I do," he replied with conviction. "You have so much to offer the world, and I think your mother just needs some time to see that."

You let out a small sigh, your shoulders slumping slightly. "It's not that easy, though. She's always been so focused on me marrying well, and living a comfortable life. She doesn't understand that I want more than that."

Colin nodded, his expression sympathetic. "I know it's difficult, but you have to believe that she can change her perspective. You just have to find a way to help her see things from your point of view." He reached out, taking your hand in his. "And I promise you, I'll be here for you every step of the way."

You looked into his eyes, the sincerity in his words giving you strength. You could feel the warmth of his hand on yours, and for a moment, you forgot about everything else.

"Thank you, Colin," you whispered. "You don't know what that means to me."

He smiled, and you noticed how his dimple dented his cheek. "I think I do, actually," he said softly.

At your surprised expression, he continued, "I've been in love with you since the moment I saw you in the garden that day. You're beautiful, intelligent, and brave. You're everything I could ever hope for in a woman."

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you listened to his words. You had never expected to hear anything like this from him.

"But... we're just friends," you stammered, your voice barely audible above the laughter and chatter of the people around you.

Colin smiled gently, his eyes never leaving yours. "We are friends, yes. But I think there's something more between us. Something deeper, more intense. And I want to explore that." He reached up, cupping your cheek in his hand, and you couldn't help but lean into his touch.

"I want to get to know you better, y/n. Not just as a friend, but as a woman. As my woman."

Your heart raced as his words washed over you, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned forward, his lips mere inches from yours. "I know this is sudden, and perhaps I shouldn't have said anything tonight, but I couldn't help myself. I've felt this way for so long, and I needed you to know."

Your heart raced as his words sank in. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, and you could hardly breathe. You knew you should say something, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.

You could only stare into his eyes, lost in the moment.

Slowly, almost tenderly, Colin leaned forward and brushed his lips against yours.

At first, it was gentle, a mere flutter of sensation, but then he deepened the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours. You gasped, your hands finding their way up to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his skin.

You felt as if you were floating, your body alive with the heat of the moment.

The world around you seemed to fade away, and it was as if there was nothing but the two of you, your hearts racing, your breath mingling together.

You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the hardness of his chest, the strength in his arms as he held you close.

When at last you broke apart, you found it difficult to focus on anything but the look in his eyes.

They were filled with desire and tenderness, and you knew that he meant every word he had said.

You could feel the blush creeping up your neck and into your cheeks, and you couldn't help but smile shyly.

"I-I don't know what to say," you managed to stammer.

Colin smiled back, his fingers gently caressing your cheek. "You don't have to say anything right now. Just know that I meant every word I said and that I want to explore this with you." He paused for a moment, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation, before continuing.

"I want us to be together. I want to protect you and cherish you, and show you the love that you deserve."

You felt your heart skip a beat at his words. You had never imagined feeling this way about anyone, and the thought of being with Colin filled you with a warmth you hadn't known was possible.

You looked up into his eyes, your shining with tears of happiness, and nodded slowly. "I want that too," you whispered. "So much."

He smiled down at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek. "I know it's fast, and I don't want you to feel pressured, but...I want to start making plans with you. I want to take you away from here, show you the world. I want to build a life with you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine. You knew you should pull away, but the look in his eyes held you captive.

"Colin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his lips mere inches from yours once more. "I love you, y/n," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "And I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Marry me?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you stared into his eyes. You could feel the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of your life by his side, explore the world with him, and build a future together.

You knew that you could trust him and that he would always protect you.

With trembling hands, you reached up and cupped his face, tenderly brushing your thumbs across his cheeks.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Yes, I'll marry you."

The weight of your words settled between you, and you both paused for a moment, taking in the gravity of your decision.

It was as if the world around you faded away, leaving you alone in your little bubble, suspended in time and space.

Colin leaned in closer, his lips finding yours once more, his tongue tracing the outline of your mouth.

His kiss deepened, his hands exploring the contours of your body, and you melted into him, returning his affections with equal fervor.

[archive-of-ink]

The Courting Season

Pairing - Colin Bridgerton x Reader

Requested by anonymous

Word Count 1.4k

Warnings - none ◡̈

A/N - I’m absolutely horrible about writing consistently so this took forever to post but here it is!! in honor of part 1 of season 3 ◡̈ enjoy!!

Candlelight coated the room in a dreamy glow. Skirts swayed amongst the dancefloor as young women made their best attempts at gaining a suitor and securing a comfortable future.

Over a month into her debut season, her dance card remained blank and her days empty. She hadn’t one visitor, much less a definite suitor since the day she was presented to the queen. Eloise was frustrated by her disappointment, not understanding why it mattered so much. The lack of interest in the girls left them with the time to continue their daily endeavors. Mainly, reading and speaking of the unfair challenges thrust upon them in their society.

Y/n enjoyed their days together but with pressure from her mother to find a match soon and the prying eyes of the ton, she couldn’t suppress the feeling that she was doing something wrong. The lords seemed to flee from her, never more than a polite smile or nod during their daily promenade.

So for the umpteenth time, she found herself residing in the corner of the room, a glass of lemonade in hand. She would have opted for champagne but her mother insisted that it was not ladylike for an unmarried woman to drink. She rolled her eyes at the thought and sipped her drink, swallowing quickly when a figure approached her.

Colin Bridgerton was the one constant in her life as of this season. He seemed to be there at every turn, ready to relieve her of the dreadful outings and painful looks given at seeing her alone.

He was the one exception to her blank dance card. Though it was deemed improper for a man to dance with a woman more than twice before officially courting, Colin didn’t seem to care. They were probably causing a scandal but she couldn’t be bothered to mention it. She enjoyed their dances and conversations. When they were together, the stressors of the ton seemed to evaporate and for that she was grateful. Even if that's all it was.

“Hello, Miss Y/n,” Colin said, stopping in front of her. He extended one of the glasses he held. “It seems like you could use one of these.” She tilted her head, confused since she was already having a glass but he didn’t pull back. She sat her old glass down on a passing tray and took the offered. Not wanting to be impolite, she took a sip. Bubbles hit her tongue instead of the expected citrus causing her to gasp. He’d handed her champagne.

“Momma said I could not.” She tried to give it back discreetly so as to not cause scandal but he shook his head.

“No one can tell.” He shook his head and shuffled slightly closer to her, “With the way you were eyeing the glasses, you should enjoy some.”

She looked around the room, only to see no one paying them any mind. She relaxed a bit and took another sip, sighing with contentment. There was really only so much lemonade a lady could drink.

“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.” She grinned up at him. She could never look at him for too long or the blood rushed to her cheeks and she began fumbling over her words. Her eyes flitted away but back to him as he spoke.

“I believe I have asked you to drop the formalities.” He raised an eyebrow at her which caused her to look away again. She smiled at his teasing. “Now, finish up quickly because I believe you have been standing all alone for entirely too long. It is time for our dance.”

————

The next week was filled with much of the same. Outings and sporting events, promenades, and balls moved her through the days. Colin was there at her side for nearly all of them. He’d missed a few for business at Bridgerton House but for the most part, he was with her. Eloise was slightly vexed at her brother’s constant presence but y/n didn’t mind. His jokes were funny and just improper enough to not bore her, and she couldn’t help but secretly savor the way his hand would linger in hers as he helped her from her carriage.

She absentmindedly flipped through the book in her hand. After rereading the same passage for the fifth time, she decided that she simply wasn’t in the headspace to focus.

Her sisters were flittering through the house preparing for tonight's ball and her mother was rushing after them. It was endearing but distracting. She would also be lying if she didn’t admit to the pair of blue eyes that kept drifting through her mind. There wasn’t much she could do to stop it either.

No matter how much she pushed him from her thoughts, Colin was there. She sighed and blinked away the few tears that had formed, a mix of disappointment and sadness filled her. She couldn’t love Colin Bridgerton. He was Eloise’s brother and a Bridgerton for Christ’s sake.

The door creaked, revealing their maid who let her know of a visitor. Her mood was immediately raised at the idea. The maid had a small smile on her face which was abnormal. The older woman was typically brooding and huffy but she almost seemed giddy now.

She nodded to let the visitor in, trying to stifle the smile threatening to cover her face, and stood to her feet. She deflated a bit when Colin walked into the room.

“Should I be offended at your lack of enthusiasm towards my presence?” He grinned as he made his way towards her.

“No, No.” She shook her head, hoping to not have offended him. “I was just-”

“Expecting someone else?” He was teasing and it made her face go warm.

She rolled her eyes and sat back down on the sofa. He followed, knee against hers as he angled to face her. His eyes lingered on her for a moment before he seemed to remember himself.

“I have something for you.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box. There was a glint in his eyes and a slight tension in his shoulders, he didn’t seem stressed but nervous.”It was my grandmother’s, my mother’s mother.”

She took the box from him and flipped it open, revealing a gold band with a small diamond. She gasped and her brows knit together in confusion. It was beautiful but why was he giving her a ring? It was too familial to just be a friendly gift. On top of it being an heirloom, it was valuable. It reminded her of her mother’s engagement ring from her father.

Y/n’s thoughts slowed at the mention of the word engagement. Colin Bridgerton was giving her a ring, a diamond ring. She stared at the glittering jewel until her surroundings faded.

“Do you not like it?” He said, worry lacing his voice, “We can find another if you would prefer. It is quite old-fashioned but I had assumed with your love of history and-”

He was rambling, talking faster and faster with each word. She’d sussed him out correctly. He had been nervous.

“No, Colin. I love it, It's beautiful.” She breathed out. Memories of the season fell into places like pieces of a puzzle. His seeking her out at every event, dancing with her at every ball, and whispering with her in the corner of every room she found herself in. The way she’d feel his eyes even when she’d looked away, his hand in hers for longer than necessary, every small touch. It made sense but he’d never said anything. “Though, I must be honest. I am not sure why you are giving it to me.”

He let out a huff of a laugh. Her eyes found him and the expression of confusion written across his face must have mirrored her own.

“I do believe we have known each other long enough to not draw out our courting period.”

She looked at him incredulously.

“You are asking for my hand?” Gaping, she looked from him to the ring and back, “At this very moment?”

He chuckled again and nodded. “I thought that much was obvious.”

“Colin, Since when have we been courting?”

It was his turn to gape at her, opening and closing his mouth before speaking again. His face went white with realization.

“I never formally asked you, have I?”

A laugh made its way through her before she could stop herself, body shaking in amusement. He looked at her, soon joining in her laughter.

She wiped the tears from her eyes as she caught her breath, letting out a small giggle before fully being finished.

They were quiet for a moment as she looked at the ring still in her hand. His eyes were on her once again and she glanced up at him, beaming. They stayed there, not looking away from the other.

“Yes, Colin Bridgerton. Of course, I will marry you.”

[crazyk-imagine]

There’s a Heat Between Us, You Must Admit

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Plus size!rader

Characters: Plus size!reader, Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Mildred “Millie” Nightington (reader’s cousin), Bernard (the servant), Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Simon Bassett, Augie Bassett

Warnings: Anthony is an idiot, the bee scene (mainly from the book scene), drama, Daphne doesn’t want to see her friend end up alone, reader gives Anthony the biggest side eye ever, reader and Anthony are idiots, Millie is a sweetheart, reader and Anthony are competitive, the sideburns line was something I learned about, reader is stubborn, Anthony is oddly very emotional in this, reader knows a lot of things, reader doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions, pregnancy scare, the pregnancy scare reminds me of a sitcom

Word Count: 13,647

A/N: Reader’s last name is Starlington and also, super excited to have finally finished this one. 

*1,700 follower celebration post*

Also, Happy Valentine’s day!!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sometimes you loved your dear friend Daphne and other times you didn't, right now for example, you don't. 

Honestly you don’t know how this got brought up (again) but you’d wish she would stop; it’s not going to happen even if she wants you to officially join her family. 

You knew her being the first to marry out of the two of you was going to lead to more of her shenanigans, but this was too much for you. 

You sigh, setting your cup down to look her in the eyes, “I have no plans on being in this season.” 

Her shoulder sagged, “I understand that but-” 

“But, nothing. Daphne, I am more than content with my being staying very much untied to a man. If I happen to meet someone worth it, you’ll know.” 

-

Anthony glances over in your direction and his mind goes elsewhere. 

You’re his sister’s best friend who also became Benedict’s best friend soon after you met the rest of his family. 

He isn’t particularly upset at the fact that you’ve managed to befriend his siblings (slightly better than he could) but, there’s something that keeps bringing a certain idea to the front of his mind. 

“Are you going to take your turn or continue staring?” Benedict asks. 

The eldest shrugs off his brother’s comment. 

Anthony uses the dreaded “death mallet” and once again, manages to pass the others. 

-

Daphne heads towards her siblings before they can scream and shout at her for sitting down instead of taking her turn. 

You sigh, shoulders sagging because you know she means no harm; you know that but, you can’t force yourself to love and care for someone you don’t have feelings for. 

You’d never admit it (out loud or to her) but there are nights where you do wonder how it would be if you did get married to someone you loved. 

The concerning part is how her brother sneaks into your mind; not your closest friend, Benedict, or the third oldest, Colin, and of course not, Gregory. 

No, Anthony is the one to invade your mind and corrupt your dreams with his charming smile and smooth movements. 

And you would never dare tell Daphne or your cousin of your thoughts; no matter how hard she tries to convince you he feels something for you. 

You take a deep breath, returning your focus onto the game only to meet a pair of oak brown eyes gazing upon you. 

You tear your gaze away at the sounds of Violet walking down the stairs, carrying a smiling Augie in her arms earning a smile from you as you observe the happy baby. 

You glance towards her and offer a polite smile, giving her a moment to settle down in the free chair before turning to focus on the young babe. “Hello, Augie,” you greet him with a baby tone and shake his chubby fingers. 

“He’s always taken with you,” Violet comments. 

“I am the one who always manages to search for his mother when he cries for her. Sometimes I believe myself to be a dog.” 

She chuckles, “that’s not it.” 

“Why else would he like me?” 

“You have a natural instinct that he senses. Children know these things.” 

“If that’s what you say.” 

Daphne steps away from the others, wanting to see her child. “She is right, you know.” 

“Not you too,” you groan. 

“You will make a fantastic mother.” 

“Someday.” 

“It could happen sooner than one would think.”

“What are you planning?” 

“Nothing.” 

Anthony stares back at you once more, observing the way you interact with his dear nephew. As he searches for someone to call wife, his most secretive thoughts keep coming to mind. The more he searches and the longer you stay, the more he finds himself wondering. 

His mother continues to help him in his search for a wife albeit reluctantly since she finds herself so fond of you. She’d never explicitly tell him to pursue you but, she could always kindly ease him into the right direction, which is when his disbelief comes to the surface, truly believing you to feel nothing for him. 

He knows if he tried to pursue you and it fell through, he will have ruined a lifelong friendship for his family- as he watches Daphne hold her purple mallet for you to take- he realizes he can’t pursue you. 

Not that he’d ever given it any real thought, but he’d never be able to forgive himself if he was the reason, you stopped coming by. 

You shake your head. 

She puts it in your hand, persuading you into taking her place so she can attend to Augie. 

You step down from the seating area with little energy. 

His sister offers encouraging nods. 

“I see you finally came to join us,” comments Anthony. 

You avoid his gaze- you can barely stand beside him. “Not like I wanted to,” you reply. 

“You’re scared to lose?” 

You scoff, turning to look up at him, “that is not what I said.” 

He smirks, leaning closer to you, “you didn’t have to.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “we’ll see who’s laughing when I win.” You walk away, taking your turn. You’re satisfied until you sense him behind you. 

He follows you, “for someone who didn’t want to play earlier, you’ve certainly found your spirit.” 

“Or was it a trick?” You smirk, glancing at him when the ball rolls through the metal hoop with ease. “You look nice,” you comment, turning around to walk away. 

Anthony’s brows furrow together, his body takes over as he steps closer to you, standing beside you. “What do you mean?” 

You turn, struggling to find the right words without sending the wrong message. “I only meant you look nice. You know, people- people can actually see your face now.” 

He continues to stare at you. 

“Your sideburns were nice but it- they- people may have assumed you grew them to hide what lies in your heart.”

“And what do you think lies there?” The words escape him before he could process his thoughts. 

“I believe the love for your family and future wife is there, along with the care and compassion you hold for them. I do have to admit, I am a bit glad you shaved.” 

He tilts his head, “and why is that?” 

“I was afraid you would have continued growing them and at some point, they would connect,” you use both hands the gesture from your sideburns to your upper lip, “and you would look as though you were wearing a mask of sorts,” you say with one hundred percent seriousness until you think about it and snicker, covering your face with your hand. 

Anthony is also unable to keep himself collected and joins in. He straightens his posture, “what of you?” 

You take a deep breath, fanning yourself. "What of me, for what?” 

“What do you think lies in your heart?” 

“The same as you, I suppose. Love and compassion for my family and the few friends I have.” 

“What about me?” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“What?” You don’t know what to think. 

“I-” He walks past you, placing his mallet back into place before exiting, wandering to the garden. He needs to get as far away from you as he can in order to clear his mind. 

You don’t understand what’s happened and place your mallet beside his before chasing after him. 

-

He stares at you, half listening to you and his attention moves elsewhere. 

“Are you even listening to me?” You stare at him, wanting to understand him. You’re too into your thoughts to hear the faint buzz. 

The noise sends a shiver down his spine, he knows the noise too well; his nightmares (if he can remember any) always start with the faint buzz. 

He doesn’t move as he searches for it. Sadly, for the eldest child, he doesn’t have to search for long as the small, striped animal floats around you. He prays to whoever is listening to hear his silent prayers for it doesn’t sting you; he can’t lose someone else to the blasted creature. 

“Anthony?” You ask, glancing down when you feel something land on you. You realize why he can’t look away. “Hey, it’s alright.” 

He can’t focus on your words, his mind rattled with the memory of his late father. “Don’t move,” his voice is low and shaky.

“I know, it’s a bee but, it won’t hurt me as long as I-” you close your eyes due to the discomfort you get from the sting, and it sends him into a whirlwind. “I’ll be alright,” you say, still trying to reassure him. You open your eyes to see how pale he’s gotten. 

He invades your personal space, grasping onto your arms. “Are- are you-” He glances back and forth between your face and your wound. His voice is low, far too low for you to understand what it is he is trying to say but you swear you hear him mutter something along the lines of, “don’t move'' repeatedly. 

You know you must calm him down before he can do anything. You reach for him, placing a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “Breathe, Anthony. I need you to breathe.” 

He can’t say anything, almost as if he’s choking on air. Images of his father invade his mind, filling him with worry and dread. 

You can see he is close to tears. Your voice draws him out of his thoughts. “I promise you. I hope you know I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m fine but I will still have a doctor come and look at it so that it may heal properly. I’m right here. I’m here with you.” 

Anthony’s hands grip your biceps, he notices how swollen the sting site has become. 

“It stung me, but I am not hurting. This has happened before. I will be fine.” 

None of your reassurances are having any effect on him. 

The image of his father taking his last breath in his mother’s arm is enough to make lean in to suck the venom out. 

“Anthony?! What are you-” You cut yourself off at the feeling of his shaky hands trying to remove the stinger. “Anthony, you must stop.” 

“Shut up,” he hisses, trying to stay focused on keeping you healthy (and alive) while fighting to keep his father’s death out of his mind. 

You take deep breaths, you try to push him away, but he is insistent and stronger than you. “I am fine, I just need to see a doctor and I-” 

“Would you be quiet,” he finally lifts his head to look up at you. 

You gulp, “I know- I know what tragedy has happened in your family but, today will not be the same for me.” 

He doesn’t listen and continues to squeeze the area. 

You gasp, eyes widening at the feeling of his hands being so close to your breast. This has gone too far; you must stop this before someone sees. “Anthony,” you place your hands on his chest to push him away once more. 

“Stop it,” he shoves your arms off him. “Let me get rid of the venom.” 

“There is a doctor who can do this and-” 

“The doctor is not here. I am.” He stops squeezing when some liquid begins to spill out of the wound. 

You look down, finding the trail of liquid, “see, you did it. Now, I am going inside to-” 

Anthony pulls out a handkerchief, wiping away the trail. “It’s not all of it.” 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, stopping him from patting you dry. “You must stop this, Anthony. If anything were to have happened, it would have happened already.”

“There is still more,” he mutters, staring at the irritated area. 

“You need to stop.” 

“I haven’t gotten all of it,” he turns, staring at you. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing. Don’t.” 

“I have to get the venom out before it kills you.” 

“It won’t kill me-” you gasp, seeing the determination in him as he leans forward. You place your hand on his shoulder, keeping his head away but fail to remove his hand. 

The click clack of women’s shoes against the rock pathway alerts you, but you feel as though you can’t move. 

A gasp makes you turn to find his mother alongside your cousin, Mildred (Millie for short), staring at the two of you with shocked expressions. 

Your heart rate increases and gain enough strength to fully shove him away from you, knowing how this looks. 

He glances up at you with a confused expression. 

“Anthony?” Violet calls out. 

His brows furrow further, he looks over your shoulder, “mother?” 

“What is going here?” 

“She was stung by a- a bee.” 

“A bee?” 

“Yes, a bee. I’d told him repeatedly I was fine. I’ve dealt with being stung before,” you say, struggling to keep yourself together. 

“You were stung by a bee and the boy found himself attached to you?” Mildred raises a brow. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Millie.” 

“I’m not, I’m wondering how you think this can be kept quiet.” 

“Kept quiet?” You repeat quietly to yourself. 

“Neither of us would repeat a word of what occurred today,” he argues. 

“That doesn’t mean anything for a woman’s reputation,” Mildred says with an attitude. 

“You do realize anyone could walk out here and spot the two of you, don’t you?” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Don’t you?” 

He grits his teeth, “I do.” 

“You should consider yourself lucky that it was us who found you and no one else, rake.” 

“That’s enough now, Mildred,” Violet intervenes. “Let’s,” she takes a deep breath, “let’s go inside and talk about this further. Lady Starlington needs to be seen by a doctor.” 

You can’t stand to be there any longer and turn away from him, walking past the two ladies and Anthony; your pace speeds up before you know it, you’re sprinting back to Audrey Hall. 

Mildred sighs, “now what are we to do?”

“We will all walk back and discuss this,” Violet says. 

“Of course, we are but, what am I to tell my parents? They’ll be curious to know why their niece’s name is in a Lady Whistledown column.” 

Anthony grunts, taking a step towards the two. He passes by them and quickly announces, “we will marry before the end of the season.” 

“Did he say what I think he did?” asks Mildred, watching his figure walk away with wide eyes. 

Violet sighs, shaking her head, “I believe he did.” 

“Did I do the right thing?” 

The mother of the family stops, turning to face your cousin, “what do you mean?” 

“I- I basically pushed themselves together into this potentially unhappy marriage. I know I sometimes I can’t keep my comments to myself but, I swear I had good intentions. It's just- when we came around the corner to see that I- I worry about her. I fear I may have ruined my relationship with the two.” 

“I can’t give you an exact answer but, I can say that as long as you have your cousin’s interest and happiness in mind, the most you can do is hope for the best. They are both emotionally driven people, even if neither wishes to admit it. This will be hard for them, and it may be a test.” 

“A test?”

“To see if they will make good of their marriage. You and I, as well as my other children, have come to realize how they connect with one another. They can’t see it for themselves but there is something there and now is the time for them to see it.” 

“I suppose so. What if they can’t make it work?” 

“Then I fear they will be in a miserable marriage.” 

-

No one else disturbed you after the doctor left. 

You sit at the edge of the bed, your vision blurs; you cover your mouth with shaky hands. You don’t want others to hear if they happen to be walking by. You cry, struggling to catch your breath. 

Everything you’ve been feeling with the last few days is slowly escaping you. Your mother is requesting to visit and marriage situation with Anthony; it’s too much. 

You take deep breaths, aiming to calm yourself down. 

Maybe it would be better if you left and went home or maybe somewhere far from here.

A knock disturbs you from your thoughts. 

You wipe your cheeks, hoping whoever it is will go away but fail as another knock comes through. You take a deep breath and open the door, “Viscount Bridgerton?” 

He lifts his gaze off the floor, “what happened to Anthony?” 

Any curiosity falls from your expression, “your making light of the situation?” 

He shakes his head, “I would never.” 

“I think you’ve done enough today. It’s almost time for bed.” 

He takes a step closer to the door, his hand inches away from being crushed, “I,” he sighs, taking a step back, removing his hand from the door. “I have come to ask if you would have dinner with me.” 

“With you?” 

“I think it would be wise if we talked before anything becomes… official.” 

“Now?” 

“Are you going to use full sentences any time soon?” 

“Why should I? Is it bothering you?” 

“Nevermind that. Are you going to join me or not?” 

“Will there be someone else there?” 

He gives you a reluctant nod, “yes, your dearest cousin, Mildred.” 

“I’ll be down in a moment. I will meet you there.”

“I’ll wait here.” 

“Do you have to?”

“No but, I think it might be good practice for us.” 

“Practice,” you mumble and shut the door. You walk over to the vanity, staring at yourself, wondering how you got into this situation. You snatch the extra handkerchief and pat your face, removing any evidence of your despair. 

You take careful steps toward the door and exit, Anthony leaning against the wall across from your room. He holds his arm out for you to hold. 

You shake your head. 

“Don’t you think you’ve touched her enough today?” 

He sighs, “Mildred.” 

“Who else would it be?” She interlocks your arms together, pulling you ahead of the eldest Bridgerton. “Come on.” 

-

“Do either of you know how to use it?” Anthony asks, staring at the stove. 

Mildred shakes her head, “the maids are always around to do it.” 

“Both of you sit down,” you say. 

“Do you know how to work this?” he asks, sounding surprised. 

“I do. It’s too late for us to have a full meal, instead we can have a glass of warm milk.” 

They sit at the table in the corner of the room. 

Anthony watches as you move gracefully around the kitchen.

“If you keep staring, she’ll catch you.” 

He turns to her, “what?” 

“You’re staring.” 

“No, I wasn’t,” he denies. 

“You can lie all you want but I know you care for her. Perhaps, you always have and never wanted to admit it before and the whole bee situation was a ruse so that you could stop being a ninny and marry her instead.” 

His jaw drops, he doesn’t know how to respond. “I did not-” 

She waves him off, “do not lie Anthony, I know you love her and have for some time now, only you must realize it now than later in your marriage. I do not want her… or you to be unhappy. Oddly enough, I seem to care for you but, obviously not the same way she does you.” 

He scoffs through his nose, muttering to himself, “obviously.” 

You place the glass of milk in front of the two, interrupting their conversation. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided to marry my cousin instead.” 

Anthony nearly chokes on the liquid, setting the glass down and snatches the handkerchief you hold out for him.

He wipes his chin, “what makes you think I would want to marry, Mildred.” 

She scoffs, “you’d be lucky to have me, Bridgerton.” 

He narrows his eyes to her. 

“I’ll be just outside this door, leaving the two of you talk and nothing else.”

You furrow your brows, “wait. Mil-” 

She waves to you. 

You take a deep breath, not wanting to face him. 

It was different when he wasn't paying attention to you and rather his own life, but now... you hope he doesn't want to talk. 

"We should- we should talk." 

Everything in your screams to not run away and hide, even though it sounds like it would be the better option right now. 

"How are you?" 

"I would be happier if I was marrying for love and not because of your concern over my virtue," you mumble. 

He overhears and sighs. “Don’t-” 

“No, I understand. Truly I do, just- I need- it’s late. Apologies for keeping you up.” You grab the skirts of your dress and walk out. 

Mildred watches as you run away. She spins around and stands in the doorway. “What did you do?” 

“Me- I-” 

She sighs. “Just shut up.” 

He sighs and slumps in the chair. Mildred storms into the room after you. 

-

“What happened?” 

“Nothing.” You take a deep breath, hunched over your vanity. 

“You know, you two act as a married couple who have known each other for too long and no longer know how to act lovingly around one another.” 

“You are wrong, cousin. He is- he is the scum- the scum that rests at the bottom of my shoe. Why would I ever marry someone like that? Much less that Bridgerton, I mean, Colin would be a better option and I don’t like him as much as I do Benedict.” You keep your head down, “people marry for less.” 

“I wish to marry for love, if it ever decides to come my way but until then I will deal with him marrying the only person, I care about that is close to my age.” 

“So, you care enough about me to marry me off?” 

“Don’t phrase it in such a way that makes me the bad guy,” she throws herself onto your bed. 

“Go to bed. I will be fine, Millie.” 

She props herself up on her elbows. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Please,” you look up and turn around, putting on a brave face. “I promise you. I will be fine.” 

“If you’re sure-” 

“Which I am. Goodnight, Millie.” 

She sighs and steps outside of the room, “night.” 

-

“Good morning.” 

You don’t respond to Mildred. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

“I am simply showing you the way my soon-to-be husband will treat me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It has already begun. I awoke early and decided I wanted to speak to him after thinking about it all. I say hi but he does not.” You shrug, "it doesn't matter now." 

"It does though. Let me," she sighs. "Let me speak with him. I can- I can fix this." 

"No," you say. “I don’t want you to be in the middle any more than you have.” 

“Alright... now onto more pressing matters.” 

“Such as?” 

“Your plans for the wedding?” 

“Oh, right.” You continue to stare out the window. 

“Are you sure you're alright?” 

“I just-” 

Anthony stops himself from knocking on the door and decides to listen. 

“I thought when I was to marry, I would marry for love not because I need my virtue protected or saved." 

"If he didn't agree to this-" 

"I would be a spinster." 

"That is how I will live my life," Mildred grabs your hand and gains your attention. 

Anthony takes his leave, unable to stay there any longer. 

“That is not how I want you to live your life. I want you to be the one to have another you can call upon if there is something the matter because I won’t always be there and I need to know that you are protected before I leave.” 

“You’re leaving?” 

She sighs. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out but yes. A week after you’ve been married, I plan on traveling the world.” 

“Your childhood dream.” 

“Precisely.” 

"I- what if I'm not good enough to," you wave your hand around. "This."

"This what? I'm not sure I understand." 

"What if- what if I am not fit to be a wife. I mean," you push yourself out of the chair and pace around the room. "I don't want him to be disappointed in the person he is to call wife. I don't want to be in a marriage of..." 

"Regret?" 

"Precisely." 

She stops you by placing a hand on your wrists, “now is the time for us to plan your wedding. Violet and Anthony have been sitting in the tearoom since I came in here.” 

“She’s- they’re- why didn’t you tell me?” You rush out the door. 

-

You clean yourself up outside the door and nod to your servant, Bernard, to open the doors. You nervously smile at both. 

Violet pops up from the chair closest to the window. “How are you?” 

“Oh- uh- I’m,” you glance to the side and stare at her eldest, who locks eyes with you. 

“I mean from the- well, you know,” she struggles to say. 

You let out a breath of relief, “ah, yes. I do. I am- I am fine. I’m just happy that everyone else is fine.” 

She smiles, “that is kind of you to say, but unnecessary.” 

“I hear you came to talk about our upcoming… event.” 

“Is that what Mildred told you?” 

You furrow your brows, “is that not what you’re here to discuss?” 

Anthony pushes himself off the couch. “Not yet. Mother, if you’d excuse us.” 

“Anthony, I don’t-” 

He gives her a look. 

"We will be right outside this door." 

"What did you want to discuss?" 

"If we are to marry, we should have stipulations." 

"You think I'll be so horrible that we need rules?" 

"Not you. I believe if we have these, we'll have a better understanding of what should come from this marriage." 

"Why don't I just stay by your side and show my face when you need me to so you can look like the perfect husband? Would that make things easier?" 

He sighs. "That is one of the things we need to discuss, which events you'd prefer to come to." 

"Oh, I get to choose those?" 

"Please stop. I am trying to make this as easy as I can." 

You clench your fists. "How am I supposed to be okay with this?" 

“It’s my fault and I am trying to make up for that.” 

You pause, “your fault?” 

He nods, “yes, it was- it was me who... couldn’t.” 

You step forward and place your hand on his, drawing his attention onto you. “It is not your fault when something so devastating comes to mind and you do all you can to prevent another. I do not blame you, but you must understand that I do not want to be one of those ladies.” 

“Who?” The only word he can get out as he studies you. 

Your compassion shifts into something of annoyance, one he knows too well. “You know who, someone who wants to be like Penelope’s mother or maybe even... all of the other ladies,” you chuckle, proud of the joke you made.

"I'm glad you can make jokes at a time like this." 

You roll your eyes, "oh hush, I am still upset about pretending to be a perfect housewife for the one man every woman dreams of being with." 

"Are you included?" 

Your mouth agape as you stare at him. 

"You two haven't maimed each other, perfect." 

"Millie," you pinch the bridge of your nose. 

"Oh, don't act so coy now." 

You roll your eyes and sit down, waiting to hear what Anthony and his mother have to say. You pace along the floor, finding it to be quieter here than in the tearoom with the others, even if they weren’t talking it was still too loud. You know there’s no alternative for what’s transpired between you and your soon to be husband, but it still hurts knowing he will never love you the way- 

“Are you alright?” Daphne’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. 

You give her a small smile and hope she doesn’t poke further. 

“I know this isn’t how it was supposed to happen but there is one good thing about your marriage.” 

You scoff, “and what, pray tell, is that?” 

“I finally can call you sister.” 

You try not to show how happy that makes you, not wanting her to know she was right. “Thank you.” 

She drags you over to the piano. 

“I still don’t understand why you have many so pianos.” 

She shrugs, “for moments like this, maybe?” 

“Are you waiting for me to play?” 

She nods, “of course, I am. You were always much better than I was.” 

“I was not.” 

“Show me then. Show me how awful you play, and I will not ask you again.”

You don’t know how long you had been playing for, but it was something you missed- not having a piano in your own home, you didn’t realize how long it had been. 

You usually prefer to play when no one is watching but having Daphne by your side was nice, she always knew how to help calm you before things could get worse; everyone knew of your father’s temper, and no one wants to face that through his only daughter. 

Anthony raises his hand to knock on the door but pauses as he listens, he doesn’t realize Daphne had learned a new piece. He slowly opens the door and finds you playing instead. 

‘When did you learn how to play?’ He wonders. 

Or maybe it was, you had always known, and he was too into his fantasies that he forgot to pay attention to the true version of you. 

Just when he was hoping to learn something horrible about you; you’re becoming more and more like his... 

“I didn’t know you played.” 

You open your eyes and glance up at him, standing up as quickly as you can. “I don’t.” 

He furrows his brows, “that’s not what I heard.” 

“That- that was nothing.” 

“Why are you lying?” 

“I prefer to keep this information to myself so if you could kindly pretend you didn’t hear anything, that’d be best.” You exit the room, knowing you’ve left 

Anthony in a wave of confusion. “What was that about?” 

“She doesn’t like others to know of her talents because she knows they’ll ask her to perform one of them.”

“Her mother.” He finally understands. 

“And her aunt.” 

Now he truly gets it. "Is this what you two would do while I was out with mother?" 

She shrugs and pushes the seat back. "Perhaps, or maybe you were never around long enough to learn about her even though you're entranced by her." 

He stutters, unsure of where she could have gotten that idea. "What?" 

She quickly hides her amusement before he can see. "Nothing. Goodnight Anthony." 

He tries to stop her, but she ignores him, offering an excuse for needing to put Augie to bed. He wonders what else he doesn’t know. 

You pace back and forth in front of his office door; this isn’t something you can do in person, is it? You sigh and wonder if it’s a wise choice to be doing this at all. 

You slip the letter under his door and take a step back. “That wasn’t so hard.” You turn around and briskly walk down the hallway, hoping he doesn’t see that it was you who was there.

Something moving in the corner of his eye piqued his interest and moved closer to figure out what it was. He picks up the letter and opens the door, seeing someone’s figure turning the corner before losing sight of them. 

He closes the door and opens the letter, wondering what you could have said when you’ve already said plenty. 

Dear Bridgerton, 

I I want to start off by apologizing for my outbursts, you don’t deserve them, and they are not aimed at you, but you happen to be the person I am talking to and... This is not how I expected the season to begin or end and I’m sure you didn’t either but if there is someone I were to marry, I’m happy it’d be you... because I trust you. I will do all that I can to be the perfect wife for you and if not, I apologize in advance. 

Sincerely, Your annoying soon to be wife 

The next day came, and you didn't know how to act. 

You sit between Daphne and Mildred when he enters. 

He sits in front of you and nods, acknowledging you, which you return. 

The girls beside you don't know how to react, each staring at the other with a raised brow. 

You two talked with his mother about the decisions for your wedding. 

"Have you two discussed what you want?" 

Anthony opens his mouth to answer but finds himself without an answer. 

"Everyone will talk, and it will no doubt be in Lady Whistledown's column, but it would be preferred if we had a small ceremony, family only." 

You don’t look up from your plate. Violet nods, listening intently. "I will use the dress my mother made when I was born, it'll save us time on getting a dress. The flowers can be your choice." 

"And after?" 

You turn to her, "it'd be smart to hold a small reception after all though it will increase because everyone will want to see who married the handsome and fortunate viscount."

You push yourself out of the chair. "I apologize but I realized I promised to spend time with the girls before we go out for our shopping trip." 

"What just happened?" 

"Have you two talked about anything regarding your wedding?" Violet asks her son. 

"Every time we discuss something-" 

"No, have you sat down and discussed what you two are to do? Who will be there? Anything that a soon to be husband and wife should discuss?" 

His shoulders sag. "No." 

"I want you to go in my place." 

"What? Why?" 

"It will give you two a moment to talk and prepare for the future hardships you two will face as a couple. Raise her spirits. She got a letter from her mother, saying she will not be able to attend. Perhaps that is why she is so uninterested today." 

"She- how do you know?" 

"I'm your mother, I know more than you would think." 

-

Anthony waiting by the door frightened you. “Are you joining us?” 

“I’m here in place of my mother.” 

It takes you a few seconds to process what he said. “You are?” 

He nods. “Shall we?” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

The failed whispering voices of the women around you, annoys you to the point where Anthony feels that he needs to do something. “Is there anything that has caught your interest?” 

You shake your head. 

“Let’s go. I know somewhere we can have a better time, away from the whispers of these women.” He leans in, whispering into your ear, “they’re jealous of you.” 

You cover your mouth to hide your amusement, not wanting him to know he’s helping lift your spirits. You two exit the shop and return to the Bridgerton home. “Why are we back here?” 

“We are going to have a drink.” 

“With your family? Couldn’t we do that any day we wanted to?” 

He holds his hand out for you to take, which you do. “Although that may be true, that’s not what I had in mind.” He places his arms behind his back, clenching his fist not wanting you to see the control you have over him. “We’re going to spend time in my office.” 

“Oh? I’m invited in, I feel so special.” 

“You should, very few are allowed in here, especially when I’m working.” 

“Of course. The head of the house needs quiet or else.”

-

“I see going out has helped you.” 

You watch as he fills the glass for you before grabbing it and swallowing it in one gulp. “You could say that.” You scrunch your nose at the sensation, maybe doing that was a bad idea. 

He takes a seat in his chair. 

“Could I ask you something?” 

He nods, staring at you over the glass as he takes a sip. 

“Did your mother inform of the one guest we won’t be seeing at our wedding?” 

He slowly sets the glass down before returning his gaze to you. “She may have mentioned it.” 

“Is that why you came with me today because she told you to and not because you wanted to?” 

“She may have said she thought it was best if I take her place, but it was initially my choice to go.” 

“You’re not lying?” 

“What would I gain from lying to you?” 

You sit up and reach for the bottle, filling your glass. “A relationship built on a lie.” 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to make this harder than it needs to be?” 

“I can’t just- you can’t honestly expect me to ignore that we are marrying one another when you never wanted to marry and I hoped that when it happened, it’d be with someone who loved me.” 

He’s out of his chair before you realize he’s now sitting in the chair beside you. “What will it take for you to stop saying that?” 

“What?” 

He leans in closer. “Why do you think I could never love you?” 

“I-” You gulp. “You have spoken before that you never want to marry, what else am I to think?” 

“How do you know I couldn’t change? What if something comes of this relationship?”

Your breath hitches and you continue staring him in his eyes. “I suppose we’ll have to cross that bridge if we get to it.” You set the glass down and rush for the door, “I’ll take my leave now. I’m feeling quite tired after our outing.” 

He grabs your wrist, pulling you back in before you could open the door. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into answering my questions.” 

“What if I enjoyed them?” 

You turn to face him with a small smile. “Then I am concerned for your being.” 

“Don’t worry about me.” 

“Be honest, did you mother tell you about my mother is not coming?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, but you know the truth. 

“You don’t need to lie on order to preserve myself, it’s okay.” You sigh, “is it sad that a small part of me wishes for her to be there?” 

“Not in the least. It’s natural for you to want your mother there-” 

“It’s not because she’s my family, I just- I need her to stop pushing marriage onto me.” You pace back and forth, “this is my way to prove her wrong but that makes me feel worse because it makes me seem as though I’m being a bad daughter.” 

“You’re not,” he disagrees with you. “That is anything but you being a bad daughter. If anything, she’s- she’s scared to lose her daughter to a new family because they know you will be starting a new life, away from her and that’s why she doesn’t want you to help.” 

“But what if-” 

His hand slides down your arm as if his hand lingering wasn’t enough to drive you mad, he tightens his grip on your hand. 

You force yourself to focus on his words and not the warmth emanating from him. 

“Stop. All the negative thoughts you have are not going to help you. But listen to this, you are a good daughter, and she should be happy to know her daughter will be taken care of. As long as you are a part of this family you will be taken care of and not have to worry about expectations.” 

“I won’t,” you whisper, not meaning to. He shakes his head and gives a small smile. “I promise.” 

He realizes he’s been holding onto you this whole time and his arm falls. “Can I walk you back to your room?” 

You nod, ignoring the warmth flooding your cheeks. “I would like that.”

-

“Will I see you at breakfast tomorrow?” 

“You will, and if I ask you the same question?” 

He smiles, “I will be there.” 

“Good, I think this is a good start to our future marriage.” You step inside the room. 

“I am sorry.” 

“What?” 

“The marriage… and the reason we are to wed.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I lost myself and-” 

You shake your head, placing a hand on his chest over his heart. “I do not blame you for something as traumatizing as your father’s death. Please know that.” 

“But-” 

“Anthony Bridgerton,” you tell him using a stern tone. “Stop it. It may not have happened under the best of circumstances, but I am happy that I will be wed to you than some other man. I can at least trust you.” You step back into the doorway, slowly closing the door as you bid him goodnight. 

He stands there, touching the spot where your hand was until he drops it, straining his hand as he fights to clench it.

-

Benedict and Colin happen to be there when he turns the corner. 

“Quite a show you put on there,” the second eldest says. 

“Yes, you’re whole “I’ll be the perfect husband” speech was wonderful,” the third eldest chimes in. 

Anthony scoffs, “would you two quiet down?” He grabs them by their collars, dragging them into one of their miscellaneous rooms. “Why aren’t you two out?” 

“How could we be out when you’re here?” Colin asks. 

“Trying to woo the love of your life,” Benedict adds on. 

“I’m not- you two are acting like children.” 

“Us? Acting like children?” Colin starts, glancing at his brother. 

“No,” the artist shakes his head, “I don’t think so.” 

The soon to be married man glares at his brothers, unsure if he wants to listen further or not but if he doesn’t let them continue it’ll be worse in the morning. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I let you two continue, will you keep quiet in the morning?” 

“Morning?” Colin turns to partner in crime. “What’s happening in the morning?” 

The artist glances over his older brother and grins, “is the soon to be wed joining his family and future wife for breakfast?” 

“With him being silent, I’m going to say yes.” 

“Finally, you agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” the third eldest argues. 

“I don’t recall.” 

“Okay, now that you two are done, I’m going to bed.” 

“To dream of your wife.” 

“She looked quite nice today, wouldn’t you say brother?” Benedict asks. 

“I dare say, she looks even more radiant since her recent engagement.” 

“You two are done,” Anthony shoves them out of the room. “You two will not speak of her like that again. She is your friend,” he jabs Benedict’s chest. “And your future sister-in-law,” and does the same to Colin. “You will respect her and not talk like this again, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

-

The next morning as soon as you step out of the door, your future husband paces. “You’re awake.” 

“I am, it’s time for breakfast.” You close the door behind you. “Shall we go downstairs and join the others?” 

“We’ll be the first ones down there.” 

“Either way, I’m going down.” 

He holds his arm out for you to take. “Shall we?” 

You give him a small smile and nod. “After breakfast, what are your plans?” 

“I have a few things I need to look over but after that I’m free. What did you have in mind?” 

“I planned on going for a walk along the back of your family’s estate and perhaps we could talk about things.” 

“Just the two of us.” 

“Mildred could join us?” 

“I’d rather she not.” 

“I don’t blame you; she’s been on a rampage since earlier this week.” 

The doors open and his brothers, Daphne and Mildred, are already sitting at the table. 

“Of course,” he mumbles. 

“Did you say something?” You ask him. 

He turns his head towards you, offering a small smile. “No, it’s nothing.” 

The glances between him and his brothers were interesting, intriguing to you and the girls, who also had no clue what was going on. 

He stands behind your chair, hand resting on your shoulder. “I shall find you after I am done.” 

You nod and watch him go. 

“Well, that was interesting.” 

Daphne shushes your cousin. 

-

You lay across the couch, reading another book and were so into it, not even realizing that he had entered the room. 

He smiles as he steps closer, wondering what’s going on inside your head, finding you to be more interesting as he observes you reading, compared to his sister. He leans against the back of the couch, bending down to catch your attention. 

A shadow moving catches your eye and you turn, screaming soon after. 

You place your hand over your heart, taking deep breaths. “For heaven’s sake! What was that for?” 

“What do you mean?” He smirks, arms on around the sides of your body as he stays behind the couch. “What are you reading?” 

You turn around and cross your arms, “why does that concern you?” 

“Can’t a future husband be curious as to what his future wife is into?” 

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Is that all?” 

“It is. But that’s not why I’m here.” He doesn’t say anything else. 

You get impatient and wave your arms around. “Spit it out. Come on.” 

“We are to marry by the end of the week.” 

Your brows raise is surprise, “oh.” 

“Is that alright?” 

You take a deep breath, “I just- I wasn’t expecting it to be so soon but that’s- okay.” You place the book beside you and stand up, brushing the wrinkles out of the skirts of your dress. “I need to go over some things with your mother.” 

The humor falls from his face. “Wait- where are you going?” 

"I just told you." 

He follows after you, "I heard you but-" He reaches for you, pulling you back. "Can we talk?" 

You take a deep breath to calm your beating heart. Why is this happening now? You thought you were over this. Your lips part as you stare at his hand. You shake your head, staring up at him. "I- what do we need to talk about?" 

"Lady... things." He’s quiet for a moment. "I won't push you but know I'm here to talk if you need someone." 

"Thank you." You take off, not noticing the way his hand slowly falls or the way he clenches his hand. 

It's been a long time since he's felt the skin of a woman he was enchanted by, especially one he's to call wife. 

"Did we catch a moment between you and your beloved?" 

Anthony sighs, "don't you have charcoal to break for your fruit drawings?" 

His younger brother puts a hand to his chest, offended by his brother's comment. "I'm hurt, Anthony. Truly, I am but it's not why I'm here." 

He turns to face the artistic Bridgerton, taking notice of the serious look on his face. "What's wrong?" 

"Sister." 

"Which one?" 

"Not one of ours." 

He furrows his brows, mouth agape to ask why but realizes who his brother is referring to. "I thought we had taken care of this situation?" 

"We did but then she decided to cut their trip short and has been calling on you since she arrived today."

"I need you to take care of her. I cannot allow her to ruin my marriage." 

Benedict nods, "you finally figured out you truly care for her, didn't you?" 

Anthony chuckles, "I'm not discussing this with you. Call Colin if you need help." 

"We got it. Go take care of my future sister." 

-

He nods for the doors to be opened. "Good morning, ladies." 

Your cousin shakes her head, your mother fawns over him while Violet takes a sip of her tea. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. 

He places a hand on the back of your chair. "I expect you all enjoyed your breakfast before discussing more of the wedding." 

"Oh, certainly. Your family has been nothing but kind to us, Viscount." 

You adjust the napkin on your lap to keep you from rolling your eyes at your mother's fake enthusiast tone. 

Mildred pats your arm, knowing the strained relationship between you and your mother. 

He notices the tension in your shoulders and wishes he could pull you away from all this madness. "Anything I can help with?" 

"Oh, heavens no. You have other more important things to take care of. Leave this to us ladies, isn't that, right?" 

You purse your lips and let out a quiet, "mmhmm." 

Maybe it was better when she said she couldn’t come to the wedding. Yes, you were sad, but it was better than the real thing. 

Violet glances between you and your mother. "Why don't we let the girls go on a walk with Anthony watching over them?" 

"But-" 

"I think this will be good for them. It will give them more time to talk." 

The woman hesitates to say yes, debating if this is truly a wise decision before making a decision. 

-

You didn't realize how tight you were squeezing Mildred's arm until she let out a whine. 

Your eyes widen, "oh, Millie. I'm so sorry." 

"It's fine. I should have known better. I know how crazy she makes you." "This always happens?" You don't look in his direction. Your cousin nods her head, "unfortunately." 

"Why has she made this unexpected visit?" 

"She," Mildred pauses, giving herself time to think of a better answer than truth. 

"She wants to know if I am with child and if the reason, you're marrying me is to save my family's name." 

Anthony nods, he understands why you preferred planning this with his mother and your cousin. "Should we?" 

You two glance over in his direction. "What are you implying?" 

He shrugs, "I merely suggest we pretend as if there is something going on, give your mother something to worry about." 

"You want her to pretend as if she is with child?" 

He nods, confirming Mildred's nightmare. 

"Please tell me you're not thinking of going through with this. It’s absurd and- oh, no. Now I like it." 

You glance between the two. "Is this something you two finally agree on?" 

They stumble for a minute, waiting for the other to argue and tell you no but come to realize you are, in fact, correct. 

Daphne stumbles upon the three of you and smiles, neither Mildred nor her brother are arguing, and you don't look uncomfortable. 

"Daphne!" Your cousin waves. "Come, come. We need your knowledge on a subject." 

She nods, smiling. "May I ask what you need my help with exactly?" 

"How does one pretend to be with child?" 

She owlishly blinks, tilting her head staring at the woman as if she's lost her mind. "I'm sorry?" 

"We are feeding into my aunt's absurd idea of her precious daughter being with child." 

Anthony purses his lips, finding himself to be offended more than he had been by Mildred's comments. "I'm not the worst option for a father." 

"Moving on," she waves him off before returning her attention to his sister. "We need information." 

"And you want to do this?" She turns to face you. 

Your eyes widen slightly, not realizing she was going to ask. "I think it would be... nice to show mother how well her child is without her watchful eye." 

"And you're sure this is the way to do it?" 

You shrug, "it's not so much if I think this is okay, it's more like she needs to realize I am my own person and can live a life without her dictating everything for me." 

Daphen nods, "okay. I will help." 

Mildred smiles and interlocks her arm with the Bridgerton girl's. "Come, we have much to discuss." 

You turn to your future husband and raise a brow. 

He stares at the two, wondering what advice his sister could have to offer before holding his arm out for you to hold onto as you all return to the hall for dinner. 

"Are you sure about this?" 

You hum, not having listened to a word he said. 

"I asked if you're sure about this. Mildred and I were joking, we don't expect you to play along with this idea." 

"Your kind, but this is something I need to do. She won't listen to reason if I tell her I don't need her help, she'll involve herself, no matter what." 

"And this is how you'll get her to stop?" 

You sigh, "we'll see." 

The dinner was entertaining for most, you felt bad for embarrassing Violet and the Bridgerton name all to get your mother off your back, but you felt there was no other way to stop her from inserting her wants and needs before yours. 

That was the first night you had a stern talking to from your future mother-in-law and- even though you could have thought of a better way to handle the situation, it felt nice to be taken care of the way a child should, compared to the way your mother raised you. 

You didn’t talk to your cousin or future husband after and went to bed with too much on your mind. 

-

Then came the wedding, it was as lovely as could be even if it was short notice and only family was invited. 

It came as a surprise to everyone, mainly yourself, when your mother decided it was time to stop and act like a caring parent. 

She smiled and fixed a piece of hair that was out of place. “I know this isn’t the wedding you dreamed about-” 

“I didn’t dream of a wedding often.” 

She sighs, realizing she’s been putting words in your mouth rather than stopping to listen to you. “I never dreamed of marrying someone I didn’t love. If I were to ever get married, I’d rather it be with someone I could have a future with than someone who would rather be with another.” 

"I know." 

"And you know what else- you know?" 

She nods, "I've been trying to relive my life through you, and it isn't fair. I'm here to watch you marry the man who will provide, take care of you," she cups your cheeks. "And love you the way you deserve." 

You shake your head, fighting to keep your composure, not wanting anyone to know of your breakdown. "He doesn't love me." 

She nods, "he does, you just can't see it." 

"How-" 

Your mother shushes you, "it's time." 

The reality of the situation didn't hit you until it was time to walk down the aisle but with the help of Mildred and Daphne, you were able to overcome it. 

That was also the only time you've felt the lips of your husband. 

-

Since the wedding it feels as though all the progress you two made was wasted, even Mildred was tired of your constant complaints before and after she left. 

You sit in the library, biting your nail until it hurts and turn the page; a new habit of yours, one Eloise would be proud of. 

You started hiding away to read when everyone went off to live their lives now that the beginning of yours has ended started. You’ve been reading more since your cousins’ departure; it was a tearful morning but you're happy to know she’s out living her life the way she wants. 

Then Daphne and Simon left the hall so they could return to their lives in their own home with little Augie. 

You've tried to go out with Violet and Lady Danbury, but they preferred to ask when you two would expand your family; safe to say you also hide in here for another reason. 

The youngest Bridgerton’s are swept away for their studies as they continue to grow. Francesca and Eloise are nowhere to be found half the time (hence where you got the idea). 

You don't know if you'd be able to handle talking to the other two brothers since marrying the eldest. The comments they make at breakfast are enough, going on a walk with them would be too much. 

Not that you mind the quiet even if it does get lonely at times. 

You push yourself off the ground, placing the book back in its place only now realizing how dark it had gotten and your candle has died, providing little light to guide you; its barely the size of your thumb and the wick is dying the longer you stay here. 

You open the door, carefully closing it and wince as the hinges creaking echoes down the hallway. You pause at the sound of footsteps only to hear a familiar girls whisper. "Hyacinth?" 

She smiles, "what are you doing here?" 

"I was reading." 

"In the dark?" 

You two glance down at your source of light that died as soon as she mentioned it. "The candles died." 

“Can you take me back to my room?” 

You smile and nod, “of course I can.” You grab her hand and try to find your way back to the hallway where her room is. 

-

“Finally, we found it.” You glance down at her, “I told you, we would.” 

She smiles up at you with a sleepy expression. “I knew you would.” 

You open the door and get her settled into bed before exiting. 

You wonder what it would be like to have your own child and stop. Are you really thinking about what it would be like to have a child when you haven’t seen your husband since your wedding day? 

You shake your head and continue down the hallway before turning around, realizing you made a wrong turn; you sigh, leaning against the railing, staring at the ballroom floor. 

You remember the first time you arrived at the hall and saw him. You didn’t know why your heartbeat was so fast until your cousin explained it to you. 

You wonder if he knows how you feel and if that’s the reason, he’s been avoiding you. 

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” 

You spin around and find- “Ben!” You cross your arms to cover you. 

He smiles, “what are you doing out of bed and away from your husband?” 

You take the jacket he offers you, “I’d rather be reading but my candle died- oh no.” 

“What?” 

“I left it in your sister’s room.” 

“Ah, so you’ve seen the whole family other than the one man you should be seeing.” 

“Quiet now, Benedict. Unless you want others to know you’ve seen your brother’s wife in her night dress.” 

“It wouldn’t be the biggest scandal our family has dealt with.” 

You lower your head, rubbing your forehead at his words. “You’re an idiot. I’m going to bed.” 

Anthony had a rough night and going to bed was something he desperately needed, maybe seeing your figure laying in our shared bed would make him feel better; he always seems to calm down when his eyes land on you. 

That was something he always enjoyed about you whenever you were around. 

He stops removing his coat when the door opens, and his brother is behind you while you stay in the doorway with his coat around your shoulders. 

His brother takes the item from you and takes his leave before Anthony starts asking questions (not before Benedict gives him a suggestive look). 

He doesn’t want to ask- he shouldn’t ask, it’s not his place. “Something I should know about?” He hopes this doesn’t lead to a fight. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re going to pretend as if my brother walking you, my wife, wouldn’t be a scandal if we were elsewhere.” 

“Why? Don’t you trust me?” You ask, tired of all the games; him avoiding you and now having an interest in you. 

“Do you know how much it affects me?” 

An annoyed sigh escapes him, revealing to you how he feels (about the situation and not yourself). “What affects you, sweetheart?” 

You ball your fists, “stop calling me that.” 

He can’t call you such an endearing name when he hasn’t been acting like your husband. “That is what a husband is supposed to call his wife, is it not? A charming word of endearment for a handsome lady, such as yourself.” 

“Stop talking…” 

“What else am I to call you? I cannot call you by your name, it would prove-” 

“How little we care for each other.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You. I’m talking about you.” 

“Me?” 

“You are a pest.” 

“A pest,” he whispers, finding himself offended. 

“You have never once thought of myself in the manner of being one’s wife but yet you act like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re my husband.” 

“Am I not?” 

You study him. “You want to make a big deal out of this when you’ve been avoiding me since the wedding? Therefore, you are a pest.” 

“I- I haven’t- when was I avoiding you?” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

He struggles to remove his coat and you make your way towards him, helping him. 

“Your brother found after I helped Hyacinth get back to bed after she found me exiting the library. He didn’t want anyone else to see me in such a… intimidate manner.” 

You stare at him through your lashes. “Anything else you want to add? Maybe,” you place his jacket on the back of the chair before taking a seat at the vanity. You start removing the pins and ribbons keeping your hair up, your tiredness hitting you as you prepare for bed. 

He sighs, untying his collar. “I wasn’t avoiding, I’ve been… busy.” 

“Busy? You’ve been busy?” You undo the sheets, settling onto your side. “I’m going to sleep until you can come up with another excuse on why you’ve been avoiding me.” 

“I- believe me when I say I wasn’t avoiding you because I- this isn’t easy.” 

You spring up, glaring at him. “And you think this is easy for me?” 

“I’m not saying anything about our marriage. I have been,” he pauses, thinking of the right word. “Dealing with personal matters, things you shouldn’t have to worry about because of a mistake I made in the past. I am trying to protect this because I care about you.” 

You gulp, “I’m sorry.” 

“What was that?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m sorry for thinking you were avoiding me but to be fair,” you spring forward, pointing to him. “I- I-“ You struggle to speak as you catch the sight of his bare chest. 

He knows what he’s doing to you and his chest warms at the thought of only you being the one to see him in such an intimate way. 

You turn away, fiddling with the sheets. “Like I said, I’m sorry for assuming the worst but considering-“ You close your eyes, following the way his lips moved against yours. You push him away, the warmth of his chest lighting a fire within you. “Just because we are married, does not mean you can use your body to change the subject or get me to stop talking about something you don’t want to.” 

The corner of his smile twitches before he allows himself to smirk. 

You’ve only ever seen him use this expression with his family, never once was it directed at you. 

You’re happy tonight ended the way it has, you’re feeling closer to him, learning more of what makes Anthony Bridgerton tick. 

-

He closes his eyes, chest heaving with every breath he takes. “I’m here.” He pulls away from you. 

Your hand falls at your side. 

His figure fades away, leaving you confused. 

You burst up, confused as to what your dream means and glance beside you, finding him still asleep. You push yourself out of bed, needing the get away for a moment, sitting in the bench underneath the window. 

You stare at the stars, wondering if there was some way, they’d be able to respond to your questions. It’s only been several days since your marriage became official; you still feel as though you’re not and none of is real. 

You think back to your first kiss you two shared at the altar and the one you shared before going to bed. Your fingertips brush against your lips, relishing the sensation you felt then as it fills you with something you never thought you’d be able to enjoy. 

‘Is this what love is?’ You think, staring at the bright moon, knowing it won’t answer you. 

You glance back at him and wonder if he’ll ever love you the way-. You wipe away the stray tear, knowing how much it’d break you if he decided to cheat or leave you entirely. 

Your greatest fear was thinking you’d end up alone. 

Now you fear he’d be the one to leave you without looking back. 

He squints, the moonlight disturbing his slumber. “What are you doing up?” 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Hmm?” 

He repeats his question, sitting up in bed, his night shirt wrinkled and slipping off his chest. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you tell him, not believing your own words. You crawl back into bed when you notice he won’t fully fall asleep until you’re near. 

As soon as you settle onto your side, his breathing evens out. 

You lay your head on the pillow, fighting the thoughts you know will keep you awake, feeling you’ll need more sleep than anything. 

-

"We need to try for a child." 

He glances up from his work. "I didn't realize your mother was in town." 

You narrow your eyes to him, something he is truly fond of even if you are upset with him. "I'm going to pretend as if you didn't say that." 

You close the door and pace around the floor in front of his desk. 

“If you find yourself calm enough to talk, could you repeat what you said when you busted into my office.” 

He knows what you said, there's no denying what he's heard but what's got you riled up to bring up such a topic. 

The wedding was only three weeks prior, he knows of the idle gossip some of the other women enjoy talking amongst each and he's curious as to who said something. 

He's also been trying to keep himself busier than usual to keep him from staying up too late and thinking of performing such acts upon you. He sets his pen down, giving you his full attention. “Why are you asking now?” 

“I’m not asking,” you argue. 

Is it such a wise idea to try and push for this? Most likely not but you're too upset over the gossip to think logically. 

He studies you for a moment, wanting to understand what happened to make you think such a thing. 

“What happened? I mean, you and Daphne went out for a walk, right?” 

You pause, trying to understand where he’s getting at before nodding. 

“Who said something to you?” He raises his brow. 

“No one… exactly,” you huff, crossing your arms. 

“I know they’re expecting me to be with child by now or at least, in the works of trying for a baby and I don’t want there to be another Whistledown column with either of our names in it. It’s not just my reputation that could be ruined, it could be yours or your family’s this time.” 

He can’t help but smile at your kind thoughts. “I appreciate the concern and I’m sure my family would as well, but everything is going to be fine. We don’t need to worry about this.” 

You continue having your pity party. “I’m glad you seem to think so.” You furrow your brows, thinking about how he’s avoiding the topic. “Why are you putting this off?” 

“Putting what off?” 

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t act as coy as your brothers do when asked about their courtships.” 

He doesn’t have a way out, does he? A knock on the door alerts him. “I have other business to attend to, I’ll see you at dinner?” 

You scoff, “you pretend as if you want me and need me when we are in our shared room but now that we are out in the open you want nothing to do with me? Tell me, are you just using me for your own gain?” 

He sighs, “please, can we,” he glances at the door to find his brother. “Talk about this another time?” 

You nod, offering a fake smile, “of course, husband.” 

His attention turns to you once more, “I thought we weren’t going to have the normal marriage?” 

“It seems we were both wrong.” You shrug. “Goodnight, husband.” You yank the door open, rushing past Benedict and the guest without looking back. 

Kate smiles watching as you put yourself further away from the one person she wants. “It seems you and your bride are having minor troubles, may I?” 

Anthony grits his teeth. “What’s brought you here, to my family’s hall, today?” 

Her mischievous smile turns into an evil smirk, “I’ve come to visit an old friend, after all, didn’t you say I was always welcome?” 

“That was before you tried to take my family’s fortune and run off.” 

She plays with the cuff of his coat sleeve. “If it makes you feel better, I have a husband.” 

“Then you should be with him.” He removes her hand from him. 

If this had happened a year ago, he would be crawling back into her embrace but now that he has you, the only person that can keep him sane; he’s not going to make that mistake. 

He sits down at his desk, rereading the page he was working on when you came in. He knows he’d be stupid if he fell for her tricks once more and ruined your marriage (and family name). 

She pouts, not liking the fact that he doesn’t want her anymore. 

“Perhaps you should go back to your home. We must clean up for dinner,” Benedict chimes in. 

She spins to face the second eldest, “dinner? I’d love to.”

Anthony pushes himself out of the chair. “That’s not an invitation.” 

“Why? Are you scared I’m going to ruin your precious marriage? You truly think I’d be harsh to do such a thing?” 

“We don’t need to think it if we know.” 

She smirks in trump, feeling as though she’s won. 

-

You glance at the two with a sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Is this the way your marriage is going to end? It took a while before you could remember where you knew her from and as soon as it clicked, you were fidgeting in your seat. Why did he allow her to sit so close to him? 

She knows he's a married man and doesn't care. Maybe she thinks the marriage is fake and- you aren't worthy enough to be his wife. 

You push the food around on your plate, your appetite forgotten. You remember the rumors about their relationship but could never be proven since she went back to India with her mother but now that she's back, you don't know what to think. 

He notices and wishes that she didn't invite herself to join his family tonight. 

You ask him about expanding the family line and him avoiding the topic entirely because he doesn't want you to feel as though this is a duty the two of you have to do. 

He remembers when you two were first engaged and how you wanted to marry someone who truly loved you rather than someone marrying you out of a convenience. 

His heartbeat when you told you should try for a child, he nearly passed out on the spot at the thought of you baring one of his children. 

He knows you'd make fantastic mother; he doesn't doubt that in the least but since the wedding day he's realized something he should have a long time ago- something Kate is seeing for herself; he truly loves you. 

Nowhere is it near what she thought they had but she's happy that he has someone who cares for him in more ways than she could. 

-

She bids her farewells before pulling you to the side. "I apologize for intruding on your family dinner, but I think you should know you have nothing to worry about." 

You furrow your brows. "I'm sorry, what-" 

She shakes her head. "He loves you in more ways than he ever could care about me. I saw it tonight." She smiles, "all I ask is that you take care of him better than I could. I know you're good for him." 

You stare at the door as it closes, unsure if anything that’s just happened is real or if this is a fever dream. 

“Are you alright?” 

You turn to face your husband and gulp. “Perfectly fine, why do you ask?” 

“Did- She didn’t say anything, did she?” 

The blank expression from your face falls and is replaced by one of annoyance. “What if she told me something she shouldn’t have? Is there something you wanted her to hide from me?” 

He shakes his head, “is it too late to say no?” 

You scoff, “you’re an idiot.” You close the door, not caring if it slams shut or not. 

He stops it before it closes in his face, “I’m sorry I- it’s not true.” 

“Then what is? Why do you care whether she’s told me about yours and her relationship or not? I know about you two. I’ve read the columns and-” 

“That’s what I was worried about. I don’t want you to think something that isn’t true happened.” He stands behind the chair in front of your vanity. “I don’t want you think I’m a rake when I’m not, us marrying has changed things-” 

“Us getting married is the only reason you’ve changed?” 

“No,” he stumbles over his words, something he does more when he’s around you than anyone else he’s ever spoken to. “I-” 

You push yourself out of the chair and walk towards the bed. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I keep pushing and I’m sorry but right now, I just want to go to sleep.” 

“After you listen to what I have to say.” 

“I have not felt the way I do for anyone else. I- no words can come close to what I feel for you.” 

His grip tightens on the back of the chair. “I cannot- cannot breathe when you are near.” He catches your gaze, “you drive me insane when you try and argue with me. I don’t understand how you have vexed me and stolen my every thought. When you are here all I can think of is you, when you go out with my sister, you are the one thing on my mind. I- you, you are the bane of my existence, but I can’t seem to keep myself from you.” 

You turn around, catching his gaze in the mirror. “Why are you telling me this?” 

He spins around, “so you understand why I have changed. It’s not because I don’t care for you. I care too much about you. I have for a long time which is why I was scared when that bee was near you.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I was terrified I was going to lose you and I didn’t understand why until our marriage.” 

“But- that was days ago.” 

“Exactly,” he takes a step closer. “I’ve been losing my mind trying not to push you into something you’re not ready for. And then, earlier when you came to me, telling me we should try for a child. I didn’t know what to think.” 

“What about Kate?”

He owlishly blinks, trying to understand where you’re coming from. “What about her?” 

“You’ve been with women before me and I’ve accepted that, but Kate was here, having dinner with your family. She’s- she’s been around town from what I’ve heard being whispered behind my back. She was here and you didn’t tell me. You- you say that you love me, but I don’t know what to believe when the woman you were in love with, who later broke your heart, returned into your life and you didn’t so much as think to tell me. Benedict was more involved than I was!” 

You don’t know why you’re getting so upset over this, it shouldn’t bother you this much since you don’t- 

“I didn’t want her to spout lies about me to you and make you think I am not going to be a good husband.” He grabs your hands, “believe me when I say she is not relevant. You are my future.” 

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “How-” Your nose twitches as you purse your lips, collecting your thoughts before you completely explode. 

“How what?” He switches between looking into one eye and then the other. 

“How could I be blind?” 

“To what?” 

“I have loved you since I could understand what the word meant and now you- you-” You gesture to your back, “help me with my corset. I cannot breathe.” 

He nearly rips your dress off you as he pulls the strings keeping the oxygen from getting into your lungs. 

You hang your head, trying to keep your emotions at bay. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You turn around, pointing at him with wet cheeks. “You have ruined me. You have ruined me for any other man since before my first debutant and have had my heart for just as long and I didn’t know it yet.” 

He holds his hand out for you, allowing you to take a step closer to him. 

You accept and stand with a few inches between you two. “You have bewitched me from the beginning, if you can accept my foolishness and accept me now, I would happily give myself to you only if you can return the feelings.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to survive if I declined your love.” 

For the first time since the wedding, the two of you share a genuine kiss and not one where he tries to use his body to distract you. It’s one that makes it feel like the world’s stopped spinning and you two are the only ones in the world. 

-

A knock on the door alerts the two of you. 

You wince, covering your eyes with your hand before reaching over for him. “Anthony, wake up.” 

“I’m coming in and I hope you two are decent.” She groans, “God, you two are naked. Gross.” Mildred complains loudly to whoever stands outside the door with her. “I thought they’d at least have the decency to be awake by now.” 

You can hear Benedict’s voice, but it comes out all muffled because you’re not fully awake. 

He opens his eyes and turns his head to find your beautiful face lying beside him, hair in disarray on the pillow. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Good morning, Viscountess Bridgerton.” 

You find it hard to resist the urge to smile and open your eyes, staring at him with nothing but love and happiness. You hum, brushing back his hair so it doesn’t look as messy, wanting to see more of his handsome face. 

“Good morning, Viscount Bridgerton.” You remove your hand from his hair, pulling his hand away from your cheek to peck his palm. “What do you have planned for today?” 

“Spending time with my wife, although I do have to say, I don’t think she’d appreciate me lying in bed with someone as breathtaking as yourself.” 

You can’t help but smile. “I think if you paid her the same comments you do to me, she’d understand.” 

He sucks in air through his teeth, “I don’t know. I think you’d have to meet her to find out the kind of woman she is.” 

“I think I know.” You lean against your elbow, meeting him halfway for a morning kiss. 

“Would you two hurry up? We have plans. I did not come here on a boat to see you two to stay in bed when I have plans with my cousin. Do you hear me, Bridgerton?” 

He sighs, flopping back onto his back. “How could I not?” 

You smack his chest before pushing yourself out of bed. “I’ll be ready soon. Go downstairs and wait for me, Millie.” 

“If you’re not down here before sunset. I’m leaving.” 

You chuckle to yourself. “Okay.” 

He pulls you closer to him, hands resting against your waist, slowly wrapping around you. He kisses the exposed parts of your back before pulling you down, kissing along your shoulders. 

-

“This cannot be safe.” 

“Just because it’s a new corset, doesn’t mean it’s not safe.” 

“For the baby.” He ties the strings through the loops. “When can we tell them?” 

“When they won’t freak out.” 

“Never, okay.” 

You chuckle and spin around, placing your hands on his shoulders. “They will know soon. It’ll be fine.” 

He stares into your eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

“I think that’s my line.” 

“Not today.” 

You peck his lips before ordering him to tie the corset. “I’ll see you after our walk.” 

“Don’t overexert yourself.” 

“I won’t. Goodbye, ‘Thony.” 

His eyes never left yours as you’re dragged away by your cousin. 

Benedict steps inside. “Someone’s happy.” 

He shakes his head, ignoring his brother; so happy go feed into the comments.

[plotbunnysyndrome]

More Than Honour

Chapter 24: Tactical Alliances and Other Dinner Table Crimes

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Introduction: The rules were never announced. The alliances? Formed with eyebrow raises and stolen sips of wine. And tomorrow’s games? Officially sanctioned sabotage wrapped in sibling tradition. But tonight— Tonight is all candlelight and crumbs, hallway whispers and quiet confessions. Just enough sugar to mask the sharp edges underneath.

The moment Violet gently cleared her throat and rose from her chair, the tension in the room broke like brittle sugar beneath a spoon.

“I believe,” she said smoothly, her tone the picture of grace, “that dessert is ready to be served.”

Footmen emerged as if summoned by magic, carrying trays of lemon tarts, custards dusted with cinnamon, and glazed fruit tarts that shimmered under candlelight. The clink of silver returned—safe, rhythmic, polite.

Anthony had just excused himself from the table with an apologetic murmur. Edwina watched him go with concern, her expression soft but perplexed.

You knew that walk. That stiff, back-too-straight stride. That was the Anthony who couldn’t control the storm inside his chest and needed to control something else instead.

Violet didn’t look surprised. She simply took a bite of custard and hummed thoughtfully, like she was plotting an escape route from the castle she built herself.

Simon watched the door Anthony disappeared through with a slight smirk. “Should we be worried?”

Lucien, without missing a beat, murmured, “Only if he returns.”

Colin choked on his dessert.

Benedict grinned. “Careful. That sounded like you’re not afraid of him.”

Lucien dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “Should I be?”

Daphne raised her brows. “At the very least, cautious.”

Kate, who had remained relatively quiet through dessert’s arrival, spoke up for the first time in several minutes. “Why is it,” she said slowly, “that every time I think I understand the relationships at this table… someone goes and quotes poetry like a dagger?”

Lucien tilted his head, curious. “Was that aimed at me?”

Kate sipped her wine. “Not just you.”

Her eyes shifted from you, to Lucien, to the door Anthony had vanished through. She was observing. Always. You could almost hear the thoughts clicking behind her gaze.

You didn’t meet her eyes. You were too busy trying to remember how to hold your spoon.

Across from you, Edwina stirred the lemon tart on her plate. “He seemed… off this evening,” she said softly. “Do you think he’s alright?”

There was an awkward silence.

Hyacinth broke it. “Define alright. If you mean ‘not currently screaming into the garden,’ then yes. He’s alright.”

Daphne delicately cleared her throat. “He’s just overwhelmed. This household isn’t exactly known for peace and quiet.”

Lucien’s voice dropped to something gentle. “Some people need quiet to think. Others run from it.”

His words weren’t cruel. They were too true for that.

Kate’s gaze flicked to him.

“You’re very sure of yourself,” she said.

Lucien smiled faintly. “I’m very sure of her,” he said simply, eyes falling on you for just a breath too long.

You froze.

The tension was back again—no less sharp, no less present—but threaded now with something warmer, something almost aching.

Lady Danbury’s spoon hit her saucer. “Is he always like this?” she asked no one in particular.

Colin raised his hand. “Since the moment I met him.”

Gregory leaned toward Eloise. “This is the part where the villain turns out to have a heart.”

Eloise muttered, “This is the part where the hero realizes he’s not the only one bleeding.”

And then—

Anthony returned.

He entered like he hadn’t left. Composed. Calm. Except… not. His coat sat straighter. His hands were looser at his sides. But his eyes—they went straight to you. Then to Lucien.

Then away.

He sat beside Edwina, murmured something that made her smile.

But he didn’t smile back.

Colin leaned into Benedict and whispered, “Well. He’s either about to declare war, or dessert.”

Benedict replied, “Would it be wrong to hope for both?”

Hyacinth: “It’s never wrong to hope for dessert.”

Lucien, meanwhile, sat straighter.

Not as a threat.

As if he’d felt Anthony’s return in his bones.

And you… you hadn’t moved. But your fingers curled slowly around the base of your goblet, grounding yourself in the only thing still, still.

Anthony cleared his throat.

Not a dramatic sound. Not a warning. But a clearing, as if brushing away the last threads of tension lingering like fog over candlelight.

He placed his napkin down carefully beside his untouched dessert plate. The silence that followed was not total—but it was expectant.

“If we’ve all… sufficiently recovered,” he began, gaze skimming the table with the precision of a man pretending not to measure emotional carnage, “I believe we should discuss tomorrow’s plans.”

The fork in your hand paused.

Lucien leaned back in his chair just slightly, watching.

Gregory sat up straighter. Hyacinth leaned forward with predatory glee.

“The family tradition,” Anthony continued, “has always included a match of Pall Mall during our time at Aubrey Hall. However, my mother—” he glanced toward Violet, whose serene expression was just a bit too polished, “—mentioned that this year, the plans have been… adjusted.”

“Oh, I definitely did not approve that phrasing,” Violet said lightly, cutting into her custard with unsettling grace. “I said nothing about adjusted plans.”

Anthony blinked. “Then what—”

“I said the traditional Pall Mall would be replaced entirely.”

A gasp rippled through the room.

Mostly from Colin, who looked like someone had slapped the cravat off his soul.

“Replaced?!” he cried.

Violet, entirely undeterred, dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “With something more inclusive. And more reflective of the number of guests we’re hosting this year.”

Simon raised a brow. “Inclusive usually means exhausting.”

Lady Danbury’s cane tapped once against the leg of the table. “It means someone’s going to cry.”

Hyacinth grinned. “Excellent. That’s our measure of success.”

Anthony gave his mother a measured look. “What, exactly, are we doing tomorrow then, if not Pall Mall?”

Violet set down her fork. Her smile didn’t widen—it sharpened. “It wasn’t my idea, dear. Ask the masterminds.” She gestured lazily toward the two chairs on either side of her.

All eyes turned.

To Gregory and Hyacinth, who now looked suspiciously pleased with themselves.

“It’s called…” Hyacinth began, glancing toward her co-conspirator.

Gregory straightened his spine like a man about to be knighted. “The Bridgerton Olympics.”

A beat.

Colin blinked. “That sounds fake.”

Eloise: “That sounds dangerous.”

Daphne: “That sounds familiar. Didn’t someone cry last time they tried to organize a family-wide competition?”

Hyacinth, eyes glowing: “Exactly. This time it will be official.”

Anthony rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Hyacinth…”

“Oh come now,” Gregory interrupted. “You always tell us to channel our energy. Now we’re doing it through sportsmanship.”

“Organized chaos,” Hyacinth clarified helpfully.

Benedict, grinning, glanced at you. “I give it three minutes before someone tries to weaponize a teacup.”

Kate, arms crossed, voice suspiciously calm: “Are we allowed to know the events?”

Hyacinth smirked. “No. That ruins the element of surprise.”

Lucien sipped his wine. “I adore surprises.”

Anthony’s eye twitched.

Violet had just set down her fork. The air around her shimmered with the elegance of authority. “Teams,” she declared, “will be posted tomorrow morning, and—”

“Actually,” Hyacinth interjected sweetly, voice too innocent to be trusted, “wouldn’t it be far more entertaining if we got to pick our own teams, in groups of three?”

Gregory immediately chimed in, mouth still half-full. “It’s only fair. Strategy is half the sport.”

Lady Danbury gave a sharp little nod, tapping her cane twice in what might as well have been a gavel. “Let the children sort themselves. It’s how we learn who to actually worry about.”

Lady Mary, from beside Kate, offered a diplomatic smile. “Besides, it will show us who trusts whom.”

Anthony narrowed his eyes. “This sounds suspiciously like sabotage dressed in sibling bonding.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Eloise said brightly. “But I’m already excited.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, surveying the room like a general planning his battle campaign. Lucien was already watching him, eyebrows slightly raised. No words passed between them. Just a look. An agreement. Formed in the flick of a brow and the tilt of a wine glass.

Simon jerked his chin subtly in Hyacinth’s direction.

Lucien’s lips curled in approval. “Naturally.”

Hyacinth, watching them from across the table, blinked. “Wait—am I the wildcard or the weapon?”

Lucien: “Both.”

Simon: “Undeniably.”

She grinned like she’d just been knighted.

“Done,” she said, sliding her place card toward their side of the table as if that was how official teams were forged.

Colin, watching the silent alliances take shape around him, looked suddenly nervous.

Across the table, Anthony cleared his throat, ever the picture of noble purpose. “Miss Sharma,” he said to Edwina, voice polished, “might I have the honor of your partnership?”

Edwina beamed. “Of course, my lord!”

Kate quirked a brow. “Are we drafting now?”

Anthony turned to her with careful neutrality. “Would you join us? I’d value your... competitive spirit.”

Kate’s mouth twitched. She glanced at her sister, then back at Anthony. “Fine. But if we lose, I’m blaming the embroidery conversation.”

“Fair,” Anthony muttered under his breath.

Three seats over, you had barely turned when Benedict, already half out of his chair, said, “Us. Obviously.”

Eloise lifted her glass in silent agreement. “I like our odds. We’re chaotic, clever, and emotionally unmoored.”

You grinned. “A perfect combination.”

“Besides,” Benedict added, tapping his fork against his plate in thought, “I think we’re the only team that won’t implode halfway through.”

“That,” you murmured, “remains to be seen.”

Colin looked around slowly. Panic creeping in.

Because across the table, teams had formed in confident, coordinated silence—and he was not part of any of them.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered.

Gregory raised his hand. “Hi.”

Daphne waved serenely. “Darling brother, don’t look so distressed.”

Colin’s head hit the table.

“No,” he groaned. “No, no, no. I’ve been drafted by the chaos twins.”

Gregory leaned toward him with a slightly unhinged grin. “We’re going to destroy them.”

“You literally cried during Pall Mall last year!”

“That was a strategic release of emotion,” Gregory huffed.

Lady Danbury raised a brow. “I like this team already. Unpredictable.”

“You mean doomed,” Colin grumbled.

Simon laughed softly. “That’s the same thing in this house.”

Violet stood then, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve with practiced grace. “Then it’s settled.”

Six pairs of eyes turned toward her—some gleaming with pride, others bracing for war.

“Tomorrow morning,” she said, “the opening ceremony begins. The Bridgerton Olympics are officially in motion.”

Hyacinth saluted.

Gregory looked ready to mount a horse and ride into battle.

Lucien? He looked at you.

And smiled.

Slow. Wicked. Certain.

You felt it in your ribs before you felt it in your breath.

Anthony didn’t look at you. Not yet.

But he saw the way Lucien did.

And tomorrow?

He’d do everything in his power to win.

Because losing to Lucien Blackbourne, in front of you?

Would feel far worse than any duel.

After dinner, in the hallway.

The hallway outside the dining room is dimly lit, the sconces casting flickering shadows across dark oak and velvet wallpaper. The laughter and chatter behind the doors are muffled now, a low hum in the background of a house that had just weathered a social storm.

Lucien stands near the window, the collar of his jacket slightly undone, hands in his pockets, as if he hadn’t just baited half the table into losing composure. He inhales deeply through his nose and exhales just as slow, eyes fixed on nothing in particular.

“You warned me this house was volatile,” he murmurs.

From behind him, Simon’s voice carries, low and amused. “And yet, you poured oil on the flames and called it foreplay.”

Lucien chuckles, but it’s quiet. “You don’t think I went too far?”

Simon steps beside him, arms folded loosely as he leans against the banister. “You were only holding up a mirror. If they flinch, that’s on them.”

A silence settles between them—companionable, edged only by the knowledge of what simmered all through dinner.

“She’s extraordinary,” Simon says finally.

Lucien’s eyes soften, and this time, he doesn’t look away.

“I know.”

“No game?”

“No game.”

Simon watches him for a beat longer. “You care for her.”

Lucien’s throat works. “It’s terrifying.”

Simon’s mouth quirks. “Good. That means it’s real.”

Lucien doesn’t answer. Just nods once, slowly. The silence that follows says more than any sentence could.

Then, with a dry grin, Simon adds, “But if you don’t win this… you’ll be the one getting challenged to a duel.”

Lucien finally laughs. “If he does, I hope he aims well. I’d hate for my waistcoat to survive another scandal.”

A few hallways over.

Away from the noise and the warmth of the dining room, Benedict is seated on a windowsill, sketchbook open on his lap, pencil dancing absently across the page.

Anthony steps into the hallway with all the weight of a man dragging a secret he doesn’t know how to carry anymore.

Benedict doesn’t look up. “Come to yell at me for enabling chaos?”

Anthony exhales. “No.”

Benedict raises a brow. That’s new.

Anthony walks a little closer but doesn’t sit. He stares out the window instead. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

Benedict flips a page in his book. “No. But when is it ever?”

Silence.

Anthony speaks again, quieter now. “I was doing the right thing. I thought I was being… honorable.”

“And maybe you were.” Benedict finally looks at him. “But who is it serving now, Anthony? Her? Or you?”

Anthony’s jaw ticks.

“She deserves to be chosen,” Benedict says gently. “Not buried under duty.”

Anthony says nothing.

Because what is there to say when the truth is an echo you’ve been trying not to hear?

Benedict closes the sketchbook softly. “Don’t wait until it’s too late to realize what you gave up in the name of doing the right thing.”

And with that, he leaves Anthony standing alone in the hallway. No lecture. No resolution. Just truth.

And a silence that sinks deeper than any wound.

Meanwhile, on the terrace.

The house had finally gone quiet. Laughter now lived only in echoes, and the distant sound of the last wine glass being cleared was the final note of a symphony that had played too close to chaos. You had slipped away when the last of the conversation dwindled, murmured a soft goodnight to Eloise, and wandered, restless, into the dark.

The terrace was still warm from the day’s sun, but the breeze carried the promise of night. Above, the stars had emerged from behind gauzy clouds, not yet bold but still glimmering. And below, the garden slumbered — petals curled, fountains stilled, even the misbehaving peacocks tucked away.

You were alone for maybe a minute.

Then you heard the soft creak of the terrace door open behind you.

Footsteps.

Measured.

Familiar.

You didn’t turn around.

Lucien came to stand beside you, his presence quiet — no theatrics tonight, no signature grin.

Just him.

After a moment, he exhaled. “You disappeared.”

You kept your eyes on the stars. “Only just.”

He didn’t speak right away.

Then — “You were quieter tonight.”

You smiled, faintly. “Says the man who nearly turned the dinner table into a poetic duel.”

He huffed a soft laugh, but there was no smugness in it. Just breath. Just warmth beside you.

Then, more seriously — “I’ve been thinking…” A pause. “I know I can be… a lot.”

You blinked, glancing over. He was looking out over the garden now, one hand lightly gripping the stone ledge, his knuckles pale in the moonlight.

“A performance. A flirt. A scandal waiting for the right guest list,” he continued, almost wryly. “I enjoy being that person. But not with you. Not only with you.”

He turned to you fully now, and the light caught something rare in his expression — uncertainty.

“And I suppose what I’m asking, in a very roundabout way, is… have I been too much?”

Your lips parted, caught between the instinct to soothe and the instinct to retreat. You didn’t expect him to ask. You didn’t expect him to see it.

You looked down at your hands. “No,” you said, softly. “You’ve never been too much.”

He exhaled. But you weren’t done.

You forced yourself to lift your head and meet his gaze. “You’ve been more present than anyone else. More real. That matters to me.”

The silence stretched.

But it wasn’t heavy.

It was… full.

Lucien looked at you like he wanted to say something more — something deeper — but instead, he let the moment breathe.

And then, with a soft smile, he nudged your shoulder with his. “So. I hear we’re on opposing teams tomorrow.”

You blinked. “God help us all.”

He grinned. “I do hope you’ve prepared. Because I plan to win.”

You arched a brow. “You’re teaming up with a Duke and a chaos goblin.”

“And you’re with Benedict and Eloise. That’s not a team — that’s an uprising.”

You laughed, and this time it came easily. The tension that had clung to your ribs all night cracked, just a little.

Lucien watched you, his smile softening into something warm. “I look forward to seeing your strategy,” he said. “Even if it means losing.”

You tilted your head. “Since when does Lucien Blackbourne lose?”

He leaned closer, his voice dipping low, fond. “Only when it’s worth it.”

And then — like it wasn’t even a question — he took your hand.

Not to flirt. Not to stake a claim.

Just to hold it.

Beside you, the night exhaled.

The stars above twinkled like conspirators.

From the Garden.

Anthony stepped out into the cool dark, the door clicking shut behind him with a sound that echoed louder than it should have. The quiet slapped him like a reprimand — no clinking silver, no soft laughter, no Violet’s eyes flicking across the table like a conductor trying to hold together a broken orchestra.

Just crickets. The hum of distant wind through rosebushes. The hush of nightfall settling on old stone.

He didn’t plan to come this way. He didn’t plan anything tonight, and that, he knew, was where it had all begun to unravel.

He needed air.

He needed to forget the dinner. The stolen glances. The aching silence between your chair and his.

And so he wandered through the garden paths without really seeing them. Past the hydrangeas, the fountain, the weathered cherub statues he used to hate as a child.

And then he looked up.

The terrace.

He froze mid-step.

There you were — silhouetted in the soft golden spill of lamplight. Standing just close enough to Lucien that it twisted something sharp in his ribs.

And then—

Lucien reached for your hand.

No theatrics. No spectacle.

Just fingers brushing yours until you let him in. And then you stood there, silent, steady — like you were two halves of the same quiet storm.

Anthony couldn’t move.

He didn’t breathe.

Because it wasn’t the handholding.

It wasn’t even the smile on your face — real, gentle, safe.

It was that he’d never given you that.

He’d burned for you in silence. Had tried to contain you.

Lucien?

Lucien just… showed up.

And you let him.

Anthony stepped back before either of you could see him.

Back into the shadows.

Back into the ache.

His heart didn’t shatter, exactly. But it shifted. Something cracked, slow and deep.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t cry. He didn’t rage.

He simply turned around, alone in the garden he once played in as a boy —

and walked back inside, quietly, with the weight of something he could no longer deny:

He was losing you.

And he had no one to blame but himself.

A while later in the night, Daphne & Simon’s bedroom.

The fire in their room had dimmed to embers, casting long shadows across the stone hearth. Daphne sat at the vanity, slowly brushing out her hair, while Simon leaned against the doorway in his dressing robe, arms crossed, his expression thoughtful in that way that meant something had been left unsaid for too long.

“You’re quiet,” Daphne murmured, glancing at him through the mirror.

Simon smiled faintly. “Just replaying the battlefield.”

Daphne laughed, soft and amused. “We do call it a dining table, not a dueling ring.”

“With those three seated like chess pieces?” he said, walking over to her, “It might as well have been a war council with dessert.”

He picked up her hairbrush and gently took over, brushing through her hair with long, slow strokes. It had always calmed him — this simple, domestic intimacy. The part of marriage that had nothing to prove.

“I spoke to Lucien,” he said after a pause. “After dinner.”

Daphne arched an eyebrow. “And?”

Simon’s voice lowered, thoughtful. “He didn’t say much. But he didn’t have to. He’s in it. For real. And he’s not playing to win—he’s playing because he already knows he’s losing something, whether he wins or not.”

Daphne looked down for a moment, then met his eyes in the mirror. “That makes two of them.”

Simon stopped brushing.

“He won’t say it,” Daphne continued. “Not even to himself. But he’s spiraling, Simon. Every glance, every swallow of wine, every sharp breath he thinks no one notices? It’s all her.”

Simon set the brush down gently.

“I hate watching it,” Daphne whispered.

Simon nodded. “Because it’s not just heartbreak. It’s pride, and guilt, and duty, and everything he’s never learned how to unravel.”

A quiet beat passed between them, heavy with understanding.

“And now,” Daphne added, turning slightly to face him, “we’ve put all three of them on opposing teams. During something invented by Hyacinth and Gregory.”

Simon blinked. “God help us.”

Daphne leaned her head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be a massacre.”

Simon smiled into her hair. “Oh, it’s going to be delightful.”

They stood there like that for a moment longer—two spectators who loved the players too much to look away.

And somewhere in the silence between words, they knew:

Tomorrow, the games would begin.

And no one would leave unchanged.

Taglist: @bollzinurmouth @drewstarkeysrightarm @thorins-queen-of-erebor @yearninglustfully @khaleesibeach

[tulipatheticee]

Hello hello! Could you write for Eloise x fem reader? They are secretly together and Benedict married reader to make it easier for them to be together and Eloise goes to live with them? You can change it up, it was just the first thing that came to my mind.

Thank youuu

Secret Love Song

eloise bridgerton x fem! reader

benedict bridgerton x fem! reader (platonic)

synopsis; When Eloise Bridgerton and Y/N L/N are caught in a forbidden kiss by Benedict, he offers an unexpected solution: a ruse marriage to protect their love

word count; 1.7k

master list

a/n; it's quite magical how much more i can write from wlw, i heart eloise and benedict so i hope i did this request justice! eloise can be a little hard to write dialogue for sometimes HAHA

as always, kinda proof read, kinda not :p

We keep behind closed doors

Every time I see you I die a little more

Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls

It'll never be enough

In the heart of the Bridgerton house, behind a door that was usually shut tight, Eloise and Y/N found a rare moment of privacy. The sun cast golden beams through the window, illuminating their secret, tender kisses.

"Eloise," Y/N whispered against her lips, "we shouldn't be doing this here."

"I know," Eloise replied, breathless. "But I can't help it."

Their tender moment was shattered by the sound of the door creaking open. They sprang apart, hearts pounding, as Benedict stepped into the room. His eyes widened, taking in the scene before him.

"Eloise? Miss Y/N?" Benedict's voice was filled with shock and confusion.

Eloise quickly stepped forward, trying to form a coherent explanation. "Benedict, I... we..."

Benedict raised a hand to silence her, his expression softening. "Eloise, it's alright. I understand more than you think."

Y/N, still reeling from being caught, looked at Benedict with apprehension. "You... you do?"

Benedict nodded, closing the door behind him to ensure their privacy. "Yes. I've had my own experiences that society would frown upon. If you're willing to trust me, I will keep your secret for this family does not need another scandal as big as this one."

Eloise exchanged a hopeful glance with Y/N, before turning to Benedict  "You promise?"

Benedict took a deep breath. "Yes, I promise. But you have to be more careful, not everyone will be as open minded. And perhaps I will remember to knock next time…" 

And with that Benedict took his leave, leaving the two girls feeling rather shaken up.

“I believe I should take my leave now” Y/N chuckled lightly “It was nice seeing you, Miss Bridgerton” Y/N teased

“The formalities? You wound me” Eloise acting like she’d been stabbed in the heart “Farewell, Miss L/N” 

It's obvious you're meant for me

Every piece of you it just fits perfectly

Every second, every thought, I'm in so deep

But I'll never show it on my face

The following days were filled with tension and uncertainty. Benedict had kept his promise not to say a word, but Eloise and Y/N could sense his worry. One evening, Benedict invited Eloise and Y/N to a quiet part of the Bridgerton house.

“I’ve been thinking,” Benedict began, his voice steady but his eyes betraying his concern. “About what I saw. About the two of you.”

Eloise and Y/N exchanged a nervous glance. “And?” Eloise asked, her voice barely a whisper.

“I want to help you,” Benedict said, his gaze sincere. “I’ve had some time to think about it, and I believe there’s a way for you both to be together without arousing suspicion.”

Y/N frowned. “How?”

Benedict took a deep breath. “I propose that Miss Y/N and I enter a courtship. Eventually, we’ll marry. This way, Eloise can live with us, and no one will question why you’re always together.”

Eloise blinked in surprise. “You’d do that for us?”

“Yes,” Benedict replied firmly. “I know what it’s like to hide a part of yourself. If this is the way to ensure your happiness, then I’m willing to do it.”

Tears welled up in Eloise’s eyes. “Thank you, Benedict. This means more to us than you could ever know.”

Benedict smiled warmly. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

But we know this, we got a love that is hopeless

Why can't you hold me in the street?

Why can't I kiss you on the dancefloor?

I wish that it could be like that

The courtship between Benedict and Y/N progressed smoothly, with the ton none the wiser. Their wedding was a grand affair, filled with laughter and joy. Eloise watched her brother and her love exchange vows with a mixture of relief and gratitude. She knew that Benedict’s selflessness was giving her a chance at happiness she thought she could never have.

Although Y/N wished the person in front of her was her beloved, witty, Elosie, she knew this was for the better. The three all knew when Y/N said her vows, although her eyes were on Benedict, her words were for Eloise. Eloise had also gone out her way to write Benedict’s vows, so in a way, it was as if the two girls married each other.

Why can't we be like that?

Cause I'm yours

When you're with him, do you call his name

Like you do when you're with me?

Does it feel the same?

As the newlyweds settled into their home, Eloise moved in with them, but not till after a honeymoon that felt like years to Eloise, having been prohibited from visiting her friends during this period by her mama. For Y/N and Benedict, they took this time to get to know each other better, gathering that since they are wed, they should still have an unbreakable bond with each other. They had fun with each other and found they enjoyed each other's company a lot, becoming fast friends, they discussed the matter of their marriage, they would attend events together and produce a heir but agreed to discuss children more in depth with Eloise. 

The arrangement allowed them a semblance of normalcy, though their true relationship remained hidden. They had to be careful, always mindful of the watchful eyes of society. Despite the challenges, Eloise and Y/N’s love only grew stronger.

One evening, as they sat together in the drawing room, Eloise leaned in close to Y/N, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever wish things were different? That we could be open about our love?"

Y/N smiled softly, taking Eloise’s hand in hers. "Of course, I do. But what we have is precious, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. We’ll find our way, Eloise. Together."

Their love was a testament to their resilience and courage, a beacon of hope in a world that demanded conformity. And with Benedict by their side, they knew they could face whatever challenges came their way.

Would you leave if I was ready to settle down

Or would you play it safe and stay?

Girl you know this, we got a love that is hopeless

Their days were filled with quiet moments of stolen affection and whispered promises. Eloise often found herself watching Y/N as she went about her day, marvelling at how lucky she was to have found such a love. Y/N, in turn, cherished every moment they had together, knowing that their situation, while not ideal, was the best they could hope for.

Benedict was a constant source of support and understanding. He played his role as the devoted husband convincingly, always mindful of the delicate balance they maintained. He and Y/N developed a genuine friendship, bonded by their shared love for Eloise and their determination to protect her.

One afternoon, while the three of them were enjoying a walk in the park, Eloise found herself laughing at one of Benedict’s jokes. Y/N squeezed her hand, a silent reminder of their love and the sacrifices made to keep it alive.

"Eloise," Benedict said, his tone serious now. "We’re going to make this work. No matter what."

Eloise nodded, her heart swelling with gratitude. "I know we will. Thank you, Benedict."

He smiled, the warmth in his eyes unmistakable. "Anything for my sister."

Why can't you hold me in the street?

Why can't I kiss you on the dancefloor?

I wish that it could be like that

Why can't we be like that?

Cause I'm yours

One evening, after a particularly lively family dinner, Eloise and Y/N found themselves alone in the cosy confines of their shared sitting room. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow over the room. Eloise sat on the plush sofa, a mischievous glint in her eye as she watched Y/N move about.

"Come here," Eloise beckoned, patting the spot next to her.

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering as she joined Eloise on the sofa. "You seem in a particularly good mood tonight."

"I am," Eloise replied, leaning in close. "I was just thinking about how astonishing it is that we’ve managed to fool everyone. We’re practically masterminds."

Y/N laughed softly, her breath hitching as Eloise’s hand cupped her cheek. "Well, we have Benedict to thank for that."

"Don’t remind me," Eloise groaned, her gaze flickering to Y/N's lips. "You know, I don’t think I’ve kissed you nearly enough today. It’s quite a travesty."

Y/N's eyes softened. "We can’t have that, can we?"

"No, we certainly cannot," Eloise murmured before capturing Y/N’s lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

And nobody knows

I'm in love with someone's baby

I don't wanna hide us away

Tell the world about the love we making

The world seemed to melt away as they lost themselves in each other. Eloise’s hands tangled in Y/N’s hair, pulling her closer as the kiss deepened. Y/N responded eagerly, her arms wrapping around Eloise’s waist. The kiss was a dance of passion and love, a silent affirmation of everything they had fought for.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathless and smiling. Eloise rested her forehead against Y/N’s, her voice teasing. "If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to make me swoon."

"I love you so much, Y/N," Eloise said more seriously, her eyes softening. "Every day, I’m grateful for you."

"I love you too, Eloise," Y/N replied, her fingers gently tracing the contours of Eloise’s face. "More than words can say."

Eloise’s eyes sparkled with joy. "Let’s make a promise, right here and now. No matter what happens, we’ll always find our way back to each other."

"Always," Y/N agreed, sealing the promise with another sweet, lingering kiss.

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, basking in the warmth of their love. The challenges they faced seemed distant, insignificant compared to the bond they shared. At that moment, everything was perfect.

As they eventually settled back onto the sofa, Eloise’s head resting on Y/N’s shoulder, she sighed contentedly. "Thank you for loving me."

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Thank you for being mine."

With a playful smirk, Eloise added, "And thank you for tolerating my oh so insufferable wit."

Y/N chuckled, tightening her embrace. "Always, Eloise."

And as they drifted into a peaceful slumber, entwined in each other’s arms, they knew that their love story was only just beginning.

Why can't I say that I'm in love?

I wanna shout it from the rooftops

I wish that it could be like that

Why can't we be like that?

Cause I'm yours.

a/n pt2; crying this was pure fluff ngl, when i picked the song there was intention for angst, like y/n was gonna settle with benedict, start a family 'fulfil her duty' and eloise is like 'you cant have children with HIM' and it would be a whole thing BUTTT that was scraped hehe

also sorry if some scenes repeat? i wrote this in my notes app at different times throughout today and kinda smacked it all together tonight

[aliesbienish]

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader? They were attending a ball and there was a Lord who was paying her attention the whole time. He's staring at her and making a face. Benedict was disgusted at his behaviors, wanting to confront him but she doesn't let him. With “If he doesn’t stop staring I swear to god,” & “Un-ball your fists please.” You decide how it goes. Thanks!! :))

Even Benedict gets Jealous

Hi anon, hope you enjoy xx

Dancing at balls had become a much more enjoyable pastime now that you were married. Before you were stuck having to agree to every man who asked. Each man seemed to be worse than the last. Boring small talk turned into one sided monologues. Bland compliments becoming backhanded. Now you could dance as much as you liked, propriety be damned. You spent your time hand in hand whispering sweet nothings or Ton gossip.

You were currently twirling around the dance floor with Benedict, conveniently ignoring anybody who dared think that a married couple staying on the floor for more than one song was scandalous.

“I’ve being debating how to get Eloise and Penelope to reunite. How do you think your sister would react if I locked them in a room together?” You questioned, eyes glancing up at your husband towering above you. Ben just grunted but made no attempt to respond, focusing on something over your shoulder.

“Okay so no to that idea. If El is mad why I think it is I understand.” Benedict nodded again, clearly not paining any attention. Time to test if he was listening at all. “I couldn’t imagine my best friend writing a personal attack on my family and publishing it. Although I guess you’re my best friend and, your family is now my family so that wouldn’t particularly work” Another nod and absolutely no reaction to you confessing you think Penelope was Whistledown, something was clearly up.

Stroking his cheek you pulled his attention back to you. “Honey, are you okay?” You questioned trying to iron out his frown with your thumb.

“No I’m not, if he doesn’t stop staring I swear to god,”

“Who?”

“Lord Dimond or Damien or Dipshit…. whatever his name is. He is looking at you like your a piece of meat. Like you are an object. I want to wipe that silly little smirk off his face,”

“Honey, un-ball your fists please. Lord whats-his-face is not worth damaging your hand. They are very talented and I’d like to keep them intact.”

“He needs to learn a lesson,”

“Ben, I think the best lesson would be to show him he’d never have me. Show him that the better man won. Let’s show him that I love you and he will never ever stand a chance,”

[myokk]

a good friend

pairing: Eloise Babbit x Liam Calloway (@starry-slithers)

word count: 1,5k

summary: Eloise thought it would be a good idea to lie to Liam to make him jealous😇 (it was)

cw: NONE this is just fluff, mutual pining

a/n: I wrote this in like 45 minutes while I was working out a few days ago so please excuse any errors !! My favorite thing in the world is writing Eloise POV (can you tell from my fic and other oneshots lol) and I ESPECIALLY love when she doesn't think things through bahahahahah

“You know, you could always practice kissing with me.”

Eloise swallows nervously, quickly averting her eyes and staring determinedly at his collar. If she hadn’t been looking so intently at his neck, she wouldn’t have noticed the way his throat bobs as he waits for a response.

How had their conversation gotten to this point?

But - and this is the shameful part she can never admit out loud - she can’t deny that it’s what she was hoping for.

Liam sits sprawled across from her on his bed looking entirely too handsome as the soft light of the candles catches on his golden hair, the remnants of the homework they were working on and haven’t picked up yet abandoned between them. These moments of conversation after the end of a long night studying have easily become the best part of her day since Liam Calloway fell into her life. She can’t remember what her days were like without him, without all of the subtle ways he shifts the world around her and makes her feel seen: wrapping scarves and jumpers around her when she shivers, tucking her hair behind her ears as she reads; at the way he always seems to actually hear her when she speaks; at his carefree smiles whenever he passes his friends in the hallways and shares a quick laugh with them. And somehow, inexplicably, he’s chosen her time and time again to be the one he ends his days with.

Recently, they’ve been staying up later due to how strenuous their OWL and NEWT coursework has become. The exhaustion is starting to hit her like a graphorn, and every night for the last week he’s started smoothing her hair from her face as she nods off at his side, quietly murmuring singsong sentences she can’t understand. It’s so achingly gentle that she almost can’t stand being in his presence these days because of the big, fat, terrible crush that’s overcome her.

Eloise hates that she’s blushing every time he directs his smile towards her - he’s always looked at her like this, so what’s changed?

And now, here she is, in a terribly mortifying situation of her own doing. She doesn’t really know what had possessed her to tell Liam that she had started talking more with Leander, nor why she had told Liam that she thought the two of them might kiss soon. Because none of it was true.

But, in the depths of the confusing feelings that swirl around whenever she thinks about the boy in front of her, she thinks that she might want to see what kissing him feels like; maybe she wants him to feel the same jealousy she feels when he talks to other girls - see if he could even feel jealousy at the thought of her kissing Leander. What she hadn’t expected was that he would offer to practice with her so quickly after she tried to casually mention her plans, and now she feels woefully unprepared.

Yes, she had thought that mentioning she was nervous about kissing Leander might spark something in Liam. And yes, she had been hoping that maybe she could gauge his feelings for her. But -

“Not that you have to,” he says hastily. Eloise blinks and looks back into his clear, blue eyes, now worried that she may have missed her chance due to her wretched habit of getting lost in thought. She feels her traitorous face heat up as she looks at him - “I mean, it was just a suggestion but if you think–”

“No,” she interrupts, hating how breathy her voice sounds, “I mean yes…I mean - maybe that would be a good idea. Just so that I know what to expect, yeah?”

“Exactly,” he says, nodding, clearing his throat, his cheeks turning pink. “It’s what friends are for, after all.”

At the reminder that they’re just friends, Eloise can’t help but feel herself deflate a tiny bit. But…she still wants to take advantage of the situation, selfish as it may be. Even if this turns into a disaster and she has to follow through with her stupid lie and snog Leander later, it will be worth it.

She turns fully to Liam now, her eyes searching his, her mouth feeling impossibly dry. “Where do we–”

Liam leans in slightly - he’s so close she could start counting all of the freckles dusting his face if she wanted - and brings a gentle hand to her cheek, tucking an errant curl behind her ear like he always does. But this time, his hand lingers on her cheek, fingers feather-light tracing down to her neck, and she shivers at the sensation.

Eloise breathes in sharply, her tongue coming out to wet her lips, and she sees his eyes flicker down to watch the movement. His eyes darken before they slowly make their way back up to her face, stopping when they reach hers. Their faces are still inching closer and then - she…she stops breathing, as she feels his warm breath ghost across her lips, her eyes fluttering closed as his lips finally make contact with hers.

It’s soft and gentle and sweet and nothing like how she imagined it could be. It’s so much better and as Liam presses his hand more firmly against her jaw to hold her in place as he kisses her, she sighs into his mouth. Eloise wonders if he can feel the smile on her lips that she wouldn’t be able to get rid of even if she wanted to.

Her hands come up to rest on his chest, fingers curling in his sweater, and she’s lost in the sensations of his lips moving against hers, but then - she remembers that it’s all just to help her. Liam, ever the helpful Hufflepuff, is obviously just doing this to help her.

Eloise pulls away reluctantly - she doesn’t want to take advantage of his generosity after all - and peels her eyes open. Liam looks deliciously disheveled, his face more flushed than before, pupils dilated, breathing heavily. She sees a flash of…disappointment? go through his face before he leans back slightly.

They clear their throats in unison, and all of a sudden Liam’s dorm room is stifling, unbearable, and she has to get out of there. Now that she knows what could be - what she won’t ever have because she’d have to be a fool to ruin their friendship in the way she had just attempted - she doesn’t know how she can look at him again. Her lips still tingling and warm from their kiss, Eloise quickly scoots away from him before turning to her things and gathering them up as quickly as possible.

“Wait,” he says, bringing a hand up to her arm before she can fully flee and she shivers at the touch. His voice is hoarse, lilting Irish accent more pronounced. “I’m sorry, I got carried away and–”

“No,” she interrupts with a strangled cough, still unable to look him in the eye, hating how the words are rushing out of her and she can’t stop them: “I’m the one who should be sorry…I don’t know what I was thinking, and now I have to snog Leander because you were so kind to help me, you’re always so kind, and if I don’t do it now than your help would all be for nothing, and–”

“Eloise,” he says, and now she looks fully at him. There’s a small, bemused smile playing on his lips. “What are you talking about?”

“I…” She snaps her mouth shut before she can say anything incriminating. How can she possibly tell him that she doesn’t like Leander, she likes him? It’s entirely too embarrassing, because what if her feelings aren’t reciprocated? She can’t bear the thought of losing his friendship because of something as silly as this.

“You have to snog Leander? I thought you two were…”

Eloise gives a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of her head as he trails off. Her mouth barely moves as she whispers: “I lied.”

Liam lets go of her arm and scoots closer to her on the bed. “You…”

“I lied,” she repeats, a bit louder this time. “I lied, okay? I don’t want to snog Leander, I want to kiss you, I want more than just being friends, and I know that it’s not what you want because you’re just always so nice and you were just helping me and–”

She’s cut off from saying anything more as he brings his hand back up to her face and before she knows it he’s kissing her again, and oh, Merlin, it’s better than the first time. One of his hands moves to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her thick hair, and the other moves to her waist, pulling her closer to him. Eloise gasps into his mouth as she snakes her arms around his shoulders, and he takes advantage to deepen the kiss. She doesn't want to let go of him, lets him pull her closer still as she loses herself in the feeling of his lips moving against hers.

Liam pulls away slightly, lips brushing against hers as he whispers, “I suppose that now I won’t need to hex Leander at breakfast tomorrow?”

Eloise just smiles and pulls his face back to hers.

[yunofreak]

During my 685' watch I realised something. During part 1 Pen flees 3 times during a ball. But there's an interesting storytelling with those escapes. Let me explain.

The first escape takes place during the first ball of the season at Lady Danbury's house. This ball was an opportunity for her to show off her new look. And although she initially gets the intended effect, it later becomes apparent that the exterior alone is not enough. Pen is unsure of herself and doesn't know how to talk to potential suitors. She is all alone. Colin has let her down, Eloise has turned on her, and the only person who showed her a shred of sympathy at the ball - Francesca - has also been forced to leave her on her own, due to social norms. Pen continues to be a wallflower. And the ball itself ends with her being humiliated by Cressida (nothing new). Upon her escape, the only person who reacts is, of course, Colin. Unfortunately, after Pen finally explains to him why she doesn't want to speak to him, our traveller is so shocked and embarrassed that he simply has to watch her leave.

The second escape takes place at The Full Moon Ball. Pen feels much more at ease there than before. Her relationship with Colin is in a good place again and her interactions with potential suitors are not as disastrous as before. Colin has already given her a bit of confidence which she uses efficiently. Plus he is always somewhere around to make her laugh and give her encouragement. She is no longer completely alone. Unfortunately when the information that Colin is helping her find a husband gets out, she is once again completely embarrassed. All eyes are on her and not for a good reason. She feels cornered and so she runs away. And once again Colin is the only person who reacts, but Pen is too stunned to notice that he is following her. He starts at least, but despite his earlier statements, COLIN IS BOTHERED by the opinions of others. And above all, he still doesn't fully understand his feelings for Pen, so he's not determined enough to stop her. Instead, he confronts Eloise (who instinctively also rushed after Pen) for revealing the secret he asked her to keep. Unfortunately, because of this confrontation, they are both left in a situation where they just allow Pen to leave once again. She leaves alone and in shame once again.

The third time tho...

The Queen's ball. Penelope was sure Lord Debling would propose to her that evening. It was a turning point. She had to abandon her old self that evening - her feelings for Colin and her dream of marrying for love, to avoid ending up as a spinster and to finally gain some acceptance and respect from her mother, sisters and society. But Colin ruined those plans for her and caused her to find herself at square one again - without love and/or friendship. Rejected, humiliated and with no acceptance or understanding from her family. Once again she is on the run, alone. Except this time it is not the same. COLIN LOVES HER and as he watches her depart once again, he knows he cannot possibly let it slide. He literally runs after her, even though he could just take his carriage and follow her. No - he needs to make sure that he catches her and that she understands that she's not alone and doesn't have to escape anymore. That he will be by her side, and that he will never let her feel completely alone in this world.

I am most certainly not crying right now..

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

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

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

series masterlist

ix. nine: need your love

loraine did not sleep a wink at all. writing only a quarter of the piece for her father yet, she was too tired to lift her fingers anymore. it was a surprise that the family did not ask her about playing the piano last night. they must have missed the way she slammed her fingers on it. that or they chose to be silent about it, respecting the girl's sorrows.

when the sun showed up, the bridgertons coming down one by one, she simply pretended she woke up earlier than them as they crossed each other on the stairs on her way to freshen up.

after they have all done their individual activities and had breakfast together, lady bridgerton ushered her children in the drawing room. the young silva had told her yesterday that she wishes to inform the others too, if it was okay with her. she believed that they deserve to know as well, considering they had their moments with her father too.

"why are we gathered here?" eloise asked, noting the expressions of the people who already know.

violet lightly coughed to compose herself and get their attention, "we have something to tell you all, eloise."

she turned to the young silva, gesturing for her to continue. the girl nodded, pausing to herself and thinking the right words to say. but there really was no easy way to say it, is there? the person they once loved is dead. there is no way around it.

"my father has passed."

she uttered in one breath, the second daughter walking to her at once with a quiver, "oh, raine."

violet's lips formed a thin line as she turned to her other kids, "armand's death is a complex situation, so i ask you all to not let the news leave this home."

her two youngest nodded forlornly as francesca was the only one who found her voice despite the news, "of course, mama."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the three people in the center of this battle settled in anthony's study once again. it has been their office, the only place they can plan with no worry of listeners.

"we must plan our course of action." anthony voiced with tenacity in his eyes.

the lady turned to him as she took a sit on the couch, "we, anthony? no, you are not involving yourself on this."

he regarded the silva in a scolding tone, "there is no need for you to go through this alone. we can help. we can ask lady danbury, the duke of hastings—they will be willing to help."

she could understand his earnestness to be of any form of aid to her. her family was there for him all those hard times before. but this one, she was adamant to let him stay out of this.

"i am not involving civilians in this, anthony. if i could, i will not even involve father's soldiers."

raphael turned to her at the mention, the look of disagreement clear on his features, "raine, with the general gone, we are all at your disposal."

"and this is me saying i will not dispose of you all!" she looked at him directly in the eyes with firmness, placing no room for arguments. the young silva's voice has never been so clear and intact than that.

their heated exchange was interrupted when a knock on the door resonated in the room. major thorpe informed them of his presence before the viscount responded for him to enter.

the soldier acknowledged the two men before going straight to the girl, passing her a letter with the highest legislature's seal. she opened it with unfavorable feeling as gilbert stepped back and out of the room.

raine slowly stood up, eyes still on the paper as raphael walked to her and peered at the paper. his breath hitched at the contents he read, turning away as he raised his head with closed eyes in defeat. the girl dropped her arm hopelessly.

"the parliament has called for our presence."

anthony shut his eyes closed at that. now that the higher government is involving themselves, it will be much harder to find a way out. raine continued in disbelief, "tomorrow afternoon."

"it will be my death." the colonel stated, acceptance and denial mixed in his tone.

"i will go alone." she declared firmly to him once again.

raphael wanted to scoff but he could not bring himself to do so at the graveness of their situation, "absence is punishable for high treason. i am dead either way."

"they have figured we know." she said in realisation, ignoring the former's disagreement of her idea.

the government knowing that they now know of the crown's atrocities to its own people is the most terrible thing that could happen in their current position. they are being left with almost no move or strategy to execute.

"you cannot go." the viscount expressed his thoughts, "there will be a ball tonight. you can attend and we can use it in our advantage to get the ton on our side."

she really appreciated the fact that anthony was so invested in helping them get out of this, but there was simply things that are hard to get out of. she let out an exasperated sigh as she ran her fingers between her hair, muttering to herself, "how did things turn to this?"

raine wanted to tear her hair so much, punch someone, or run yards away. she badly wanted to release the tension that has been building up in her for days, and now this on top of that.

she looked at anthony, "i will not go to the ball, but you must. your absence will reach them and they will link you to use, extending the target to you and your family."

the girl was trying to control her breathing. one problem at a time. she chanted to her head, but fate had other plans. because just after she is trying to deal with one, another came in the form of a newspaper.

gilbert came in, not bothering with a knock this time as urgency in this one is much higher. he immediately handed her the newspaper, announcing the news himself.

"it is out, my lady. they have released the death of the general.

"what?!" raphael exclaimed in immense anger, head noticeably heating in fury.

raine read the headline with incredility in her tone, "they are claiming my father betrayed the crown."

in just a span of a single night, the government had managed to turn the story around. this is very disadvantageous for them. the government releasing what happened first would mean them getting the support of the people first. and the support of the people, no matter how uninformed, is a monstrous force.

raphael continued to read the contents of the column aloud, "they named us under suspicion as well as the rest of the troops."

raine passed the newspaper to him as she sat down in weariness, head casted down in deep thinking, "fuck, they have pushed us to a corner."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the bridgertons have already left for the ball tonight. loraine situated herself in her guest room, joined by raphael as they go through different ideas and strategies on what to do for tomorrow.

they needed a very good plan, or else no one is getting out alive. and so far, there has not been one good plan at all.

"we must parade then, on our way, to sway the people's favor." raine pitched, focusing on turning the people to them so that at the very least, the government could not do anything rash immediately.

the colonel clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he shook his head disapprovingly, "they will not be swayed by a single parade of traitors."

the two have been at this for hours now, their ideas getting more and more desparate as the time passes. he looked at her solemnly as he continued.

"you must understand, we are not under suspicion, raine. they have decided we are traitors and we will be written in history as such."

the young silva wanted to tell him otherwise. she wanted to tell the man that the life they have spent on defending the country would not go to waste—that their legacy would not be reduced to something as shameful as treason.

she bit her lips as she herself shook her head in worry, "we can at least try—put on theatrics so that we will at least leave alive after, no matter the sentence."

there was no way out, raphael knew. hence, he admired the girl for trying so hard to save him, to save the soldiers, to save herself.

he inhaled before throwing a pitch of his own, one he was sure the girl would strongly disagree, "we could play like i have taken you hostage as we exit. this way, you will be free of their suspicions."

she placed her pencil down harshly and turned to him, "while you take the fall? no!"

he sighed resignedly, leaning back on his chair, "stop trying to find a way for me to live. no one will believe i do not know anything about the general's plans."

the girl was about to respond, when he continued, "raine, what we should be planning for must be directed on ensuring that our story will not fall on deaf ears. there is no getting out of this unscathed. the thing we must fight for is the truth."

he pushed himself away from the table. he stood with a notable grief on his step, ruffling her hair childishly—the only little act that would bring them the smallest joy in this moment, "we can talk about it again in the morning."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the miserable planning earlier took a toll on her. even the room could not offer her any comfort. and so, she stood up and made her way to the balcony. perhaps, the fresh wind would greet her gently.

raine has been awake for two days straight now, and although she can clearly feel the exhaustion, she had no intention of sleeping. depending on how tomorrow goes, she might not even come out of it alive. there is no point in sleeping now if she will have an eternal one soon. and so, she would like to relish the little moments.

however, her peaceful silent conversation with the night is disrupted when a rushed sound of footsteps grew louder and louder, nearing her.

a certain second son appeared on the balcony.

benedict placed a hand on his chest as he bent down, catching his breath as cold sweat run through his features.

raine looked at him in confusion, "what are you doing here? is the ball done?"

"you must not go tomorrow."

he ordered pointedly as if a command as he stood up straight, chest still heaving deeply. the young silva scoffed at what he said, finding it utterly idiotic.

"i will not if i could."

he paused, trying to think of other things that could convince her, but he knew that she really could not. doing otherwise would mean execution. and so, he tried to calm himself, jumping to the other side and chose to comfort her this time.

"you will be okay. in truth, you really did not know anything about it in the first place." if she could not avoid it, then at the very least there would be not a lot to worry much, "you are not a traitor."

however, they should really worry—extremely. because everyone knows that when your enemy is the crown, there is almost no way to win the match.

"my father was not and look what they did."

"then you cannot go!" he exclaimed in distress and angst as he walked aimlessly near her.

"they know we are staying here, evidently by the letter." her voice began to increase in volume at the persistence of the man, "it is a form of intimidation. they will make you all traitors as they did to us, and i will not let that happen!"

"i will not let you go as well." he defeatedly respond, almost beggingly as he reached for her hands.

"you already have!" raine took her hands from his immediately, as if repulsed by his actions, "in the gardens two nights ago!"

"then i will not this time!"

benedict declared with striking determination, unwaveringly. he let breaths to come in between them before he continued in a softer manner, like an artist that does not know what to paint next.

"this urge to run away from what i love is a sort of sadism i will no longer pretend to understand."

raine wanted to slap him. to punch him. to shoot him. he dares to say such words in misleading context. she was right; he really was exhausting. she looked away, trying her earnest to not let the tears fall from her empty eyes before turning back to him.

"this has always been you, ben. you say one thing today and different the next. you never make up your mind."

"well, this is me." he offered with a gesture presenting himself, "i am here to make up my mind for the first time."

raine has heard it before, when her parents were sitting at the balcony. her father said, thank you for loving me when i still tasted of heartache and war. it was then she saw her mother crying and realised it can also be a form of happiness.

and she wanted to cry because of happiness at his reciprocation. but, she fears it was too late for that.

"is it fun for you to see me chasing and crawlimg for you? declaring my affections rejection after rejection?" she found her voice getting stronger once again, despising the way he acts as if their exchanges before can be simply shrugged by his presence now, "loving you has always been as easy as breathing, but tonight, i am gasping for air."

at her accusing tone, he could not stop himself from defending his person. unknowingly to him, his own voice were laced with malice as he retorted.

"that is because you surround yourself with fire, raine. despite the close proximity, i cannot cross." he took a step back, completely in contrast of his attacking words, "is it fun for you as well? to make a fool of me by the childish notions of your love."

raine gritted her teeth harshly at his words. she can accept his rejections, no problem. but to call her love fake? to call it childish? she stepped forwards to him, pushing his chest with her index finger, rage clear on her features against the good night.

"i am tired of explaining over and over again. just like the fire, my love for you burns!" she stopped the action, throwing her arm back harshly as she directed all her will to her voice, "it will always because it must!"

"and you think me not burned?" he stepped closer, ire and passion blending in his sharp voice, "raine, i am ablazed! its flames are scorching me day after day. you haunt me! your presence screams, even in my dreams—especially, in my dreams."

benedict looked at her piercingly in the eyes, "i dare not love you just as humans should dare not travel the stars. i am not worthy of such heavenly body."

he charmed, his voice gradually becoming smaller, trying to find the peace within him. he ran his fingers between his hair, looking away in utter shame of his words. he sighed heavily, opening his eyes to catch sight of her once again.

"i have seen you since you were an innocent young. i have been with you throughout everything." his voice small, like a child confessing his sins, "i have seen you grow into such a fine lady as you always were, even as a child."

the realisation of his words did not come to him, seemingly decided to divulge his side of ugliness and his twisted love—his deviant nature, all for her to see.

"does that not make your bones curl?! does that not disgust you enough?! for goodness' sake! the voice in my head is a monster, raine. he does not whisper. he has been screaming for me to do things—to grab you, to seize you, to put you under me. do you know how hard it is to drown him down?"

raine could do nothing but watch the man she has yearned for all her life reveal his innermost aberrant tendencies. it was a kind of undressing.

"i held lady arnold in my arms, her mouth exploring myself and all i can utter is your name, just as i have always done with other women. is that not sickening enough?"

he gazed at her beggingly, as if a cry for help—a cry for her to free him from whatever this is. he took a step back from her defeatedly, like a man afraid of touching what he loves in fear of it breaking.

"like the fire, i cannot touch you."

and at his final confession, she walked towards him, steps evident with striking determination and eyes filled with passion.

"then let me."

she took a hold of his collar and pulled him to her, their lips connecting desperately and mouth starving for each other. maybe, there was nothing more to say. perhaps, she has said everything.

his hands and lips moved in reflex, deepening the kiss as he pushed her back on the wall. she grasped on the back of his head as he lifted her leg, his lips brushing her ear as he settled on her jawline. his other hand explored her harshly, his mouth dangerously grazing her purity.

they took themselves away from the wall, lips longing for the other again as he guided her slowly inside, fighting for each other's taste. playing their aggressiveness in front of the door, he wasted no time in turning the knob, pushing themselves inside.

in contrary to what edgar allan poe said, years of love were not forgotten in the hatred of a minute. it was amplified.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @omy0 @idek-what-to-put

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 25: The Viscount

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 5.8k

Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

The Viscount and Viscountess were up early. Kate typically woke first, enjoying some time with little Edmund before taking her morning ride, all while the city was still coming to life. On any other day, Anthony would have slept through all of this and risen later, but he had barely been able to close his eyes through the night. As soon as the sky lightened to grey, he was out of bed with a singular mission: to find Benedict. First, he would go to his brother’s lodgings across the square. If he was not there, Anthony would press Colin and Eloise again, threatening them with whatever was necessary to elicit some useful information. He may need to start searching the homes of Benedict’s friends. He knew that he frequented parties at the Granville house and Sir Granville seemed precisely the type of bohemian who would happily keep the secrets of illicit lovers. 

While his mind reeled, Kate convinced him to take breakfast in their room and at least wait until the sun had fully risen before he went stomping across London. 

“What are you going to say to them, Anthony?” She asked, her eyes concerned. She sat in her nightgown, wrapped in a pashmina and brushing her hair at the vanity.

Anthony stood on the other side of the room, dressing before a mirror. He couldn’t help sneaking glances at her reflection. Even with all the turmoil in his mind, a part of him was magnetized to her. It had been since they first met and he knew it always would be. His wife, the most beautiful and vexing woman he had ever known, was what kept him tethered to the earth.

“I am going to find them, with any luck before they are wed, and ensure they understand the ramifications of what they are planning to do.” He said curtly, cinching his tie into a bow.

Kate laid down her brush. “So your true intention is to stop them from marrying?”

He knew that tone of voice. That exacting tone which took him to task and could deftly challenge any statement he made. She always deployed it in precisely the right manner to either cut through him, call him back to reason, or make him question himself entirely. It drove him mad, but was also paramount to why he loved her so much. He could tell that she was making him assess his plan without saying outright that she disagreed with him. 

Eloise’s words came back to him too. Was he setting out with the intention of denying his brother happiness? Was he worried that Benedict was making the wrong decision out of concern for his well being, or out of concern for the family’s reputation? When Benedict set his mind to something, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him. So what precisely was Anthony hoping to accomplish with a confrontation?

Before he could settle these thoughts, there was a soft knock at the door. Kate answered and a footman stepped into the room with a bow. 

“Miss Sophie Beckett is requesting an audience with the Viscountess.” 

Kate and Anthony turned to each other, gaping in confusion. 

“She is here?” Anthony asked the footman.

“Yes, my lord. She is in the main hall.”

Kate’s brow furrowed but her husband cut in before she could respond. “I will meet with her instead. Please show her to my study.” He turned back to the mirror and straightened his tie, then pulled on his jacket as if he were donning armor for battle.

___

Sophie needed to collect her things from Bridgerton house and extend the family the courtesy of giving notice. Benedict likely would have discouraged it and sent someone to gather her belongings but she knew it would only rouse more suspicion and scandal that she had left with him one night and never returned. Mrs. Wilson knew that they had left together. If Sophie returned to the house early enough, it might go unnoticed that she had stayed out the whole night. Whatever gossip her meeting with Benedict might have spurred, at least she could quell some of it by showing her face again and taking her leave with dignity.

Grateful that Benedict was sleeping and could not protest, Sophie rolled as softly as she could out of his bed, dressed in silence, then crept quietly out of the house and across Grosvenor Square. Just before reaching Bridgerton House she thought to remove her betrothal ring and stash it in a pocket. She made her way through the back servants’ entrance and straight to the main hall where there were always footmen standing at attention. 

Not only was it customary to give notice to the lady of the household, but it was the Viscountess who had approved of Sophie joining the family in London. When the footman had delivered Sophie’s request for an audience and returned to escort her into the Viscount’s study, she grew nervous. Perhaps the Viscountess preferred a more formal setting for her meetings.

The footman left her to wait in the study alone. Though Sophie had worked in the house for weeks, she had never entered this room. It was a warm space with gleaming wooden walls and the faded spines of many well-used books on the shelves. Over the fireplace hung a portrait of who she knew must be the late Viscount. There was so much of Benedict in his gentle eyes, the bridge of his nose, the line of his hair. Somehow Sophie could see all four of his sons in his face equally. She felt an unmistakable sense of gratitude and admiration for this man whom she had never met. Nearly all the happiness she had experienced in her wretched life was due to the remarkable and loving family he had created.

She was staring up at the portrait as the door opened behind her. When she turned and locked eyes with the Viscount her breath caught in her throat, but she managed to curtsy. 

“Lord Bridgerton.”

“Miss Beckett.”

He closed the door and held her gaze, his face inscrutable. “Please sit.” He motioned to an armchair then strode across the room to sit behind his desk, exuding authority. “I know you requested to meet with the Viscountess, but I’m afraid my wife is indisposed.”

Sophie perched on the edge of her chair, wired with nerves. Though they had said nothing of substance, something in his demeanor already made her feel like a scolded child.

“Thank you for meeting with me, my lord. I only wanted to give notice that I must leave employment in this house.”

Silence. She glanced up and saw his dark eyes burning with intensity. She continued, “I am grateful to you and your family for the kindness and generosity you have shown me. I have very much enjoyed working here, but I’m afraid I must move on.”

“And run away with my brother?” 

His words were as sharp as a knife. Sophie felt her insides freeze. He knew. Oh god, he knew. 

A creeping dread began to cloud her mind. She met his searing gaze. He looked so much like Benedict, or rather, Benedict in another life. A life shaped by duty, expectation, and responsibility which had carved his brow into a furrow, his jaw into a perpetual lock and his lips into a thin line. He lacked the boyish mirth of Benedict’s beauty. He was a peer of the realm, landed gentry with power, control, and all of their accompanying pressures. 

“Yes, I know about you,” Anthony sneered. “I know how you have been carrying on with him for some time. So tell me, are you leaving now to go and marry or have you already eloped?”

Benedict had made passing mention of his brother’s mood, how he was intense and decisive. Sophie had assumed these were merely the well-intentioned traits of a dutiful viscount and elder brother. But now in their presence, she understood. They were withering. 

She chided herself. She should never have come here. It was a stupid notion to speak with any member of the Bridgerton family knowing that she was engaged to Benedict and planning to run away. But she had no escape now. She had faced the wrath of nobles before and survived. She would find a way to do so again.

Drawing on her courage, she replied with a steady voice. “We are not married.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched, both relieved that the worst had not yet occurred and chagrined to have the stories confirmed. His brother was in love with a member of the help. Such a relationship threatened to detonate everything he was charged with safeguarding.

“But you soon will be?” he asked, remembering Benedict’s intentions at the club. The young woman nodded. “And you’ll live abroad I’m assuming?”

“Yes.” Sophie was managing to keep her composure under the Viscount’s glare. She knew it was Benedict who should be having this conversation, revealing the scandalous news to his brother. But her own actions had landed her here and she would not shrink into dishonesty.

Anthony studied her with frustrated curiosity. She kept her back straight and her eyes trained on his. It was not how he had envisioned their conversation would go. He had expected a meek and wilting girl who would burst into tears and scurry out of their lives with barely a word. Not this quiet beauty possessed of courage. He should have known better, though. His brother would never throw everything away to marry a weak creature. This whole situation and the woman at the center of it were so entirely Benedict. How had this gone unnoticed by him for so long?

“Who are you, Miss Beckett?” He growled.

She blinked, not understanding the question. “What?”

“Who are your people?” Anthony leaned back in his chair with a look of disdain. “If my brother is to leave this family, I am at least owed the courtesy of knowing who the woman is he left us for.”

Sophie had been telling the falsehood of her insignificant birth for so long, she nearly repeated it as a reflex. But now that all veils were down, it was time to start owning the truth. “I have no family. I am a bastard.” For the first time she felt a spark of reclamation over the word. “My father was the late Earl of Penwood and my mother was a maid. I have made my own way in the world for the better part of my life.” 

Anthony paused for a moment, surprised at her noble connection. But his anger colored everything. Her ties to the aristocracy no doubt made her feel emboldened to engage with them and try to claw her way above her station.

“Yes, I’d say you’ve made your way quite effectively,” he sniggered. “No doubt seducing a wealthy gentleman into elopement will ensure you no longer have to toil for your livelihood.”

“It was not my intention to seduce anyone.” A bitter taste arose in Sophie’s mouth to hear her love for Benedict presumed as nothing more than manipulation. 

“Oh no?” The Viscount arched a brow sarcastically. “But you clearly have not discouraged Benedict’s advances.”

This was another truth she couldn’t hide from. She had failed to put an end to things, as she knew she should have. She had failed over and over again to leave. Her mind had known better but her heart had won out. It wasn’t her place to convince the Viscount that his brother’s feelings toward her were genuine. She could only confess to the sincerity of her own, as if that were a balm for the sting of what they were wreaking on his family.

“I…I did not mean for any of this to happen between us.” Sophie’s eyes dropped and her voice softened, overwhelmed by the unlikely arc of her love affair. “Please believe me, I did not have designs toward your brother. I never thought I would see him again.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed. “Again? How long have you known each other?”

“We met at your masquerade years ago.” The scenes played out in her mind as clearly as if it had been yesterday.

Anthony’s stomach twisted in spectacular fashion and his agitated stance went slack. It couldn’t be…

“The masquerade? It was you?” His eyes were wide, incredulous.

Looking back at him, Sophie nodded. “Yes. I borrowed a dress and snuck in without an invitation. It was foolish of me.”

The earth had given out under his feet on precious few occasions during Anthony’s life. Once of course was when his father had died suddenly before his eyes, saddling him with unimaginable responsibility in the midst of his young grief. Another was when he held his youngest sister Hyacinth, newly born, in his arms and realized that he would be the only type of father she would ever know. The latest upending had come when another fateful bee sting led him barreling headfirst and hyperventilating into love with his now wife. The last thing he expected when he sat down to clean up Benedict’s most recent mess was to feel a similar seismic shift - the dumbfounding recognition that his brother was not quite the mad fantasist he had teased about for years; that such a degree of serendipity, something nearly magical, was indeed possible. 

“And then you disappeared.” Anthony leaned across his desk, cobbling together what he could remember from Benedict’s ramblings, pressing her to share the story.

Sophie continued, “I was working for Lady Cowper and she was furious with me. I couldn’t withstand her punishments anymore. I ran away and stole her jewelry to get by until I found work.” 

Her story spilled forth and with it came a dawning realization as to how it sounded. Confessions of trespassing, thievery, white lies. How she entered the service of the Bridgerton’s country home without revealing her identity. She even alluded to attacking Phillip Cavender in order to escape his clutches. At this, Anthony’s brows shot up.

A sinking feeling began to spread through Sophie, making her tongue heavy. Her hardships and indiscretions felt so incongruous with where she sat. To talk of stealing and scrabbling across the desk of a viscount which probably cost more than she would ever earn in her lifetime. Was he expected to forgive her for all of this? To embrace her into his aristocratic family? The societal chasm that felt meaningless when she looked at Benedict seemed impassable when she looked at his brother. There was no other option than for Benedict to live with her in shameful hiding. A lonely life, rather like the one she had grown accustomed to. He didn’t deserve it. Not when he had a choice. The thought of it made tears prick her eyes at last, knowing that she had just narrated precisely why they should not be together.

“So you see, I am not at all like you, Lord Bridgerton,” she wept. “I am not worthy of your brother, nor of your family. I know it. I know now that this has all been my mad fantasy.”

Anthony was surprised at the trajectory of her words. Rather than plead or obfuscate or argue, Sophie had been honest. Her grit in the face of her circumstances was remarkable, if not entirely defensible. He nearly chuckled at her besting of Cavender, realizing she and Benedict held it in common. But he kept his face solemn, watching the despair build on hers and wondering why she was not trying to beg for his forgiveness. The answer came quickly.

“I cannot let Benedict choose between me and his family. I could not live with myself if he made that sacrifice.” Wiping her tears, Sophie looked at him with all sincerity. “You are precious to him, and family must come before all else.”

Anthony was stunned, hearing his own words echoed back to him. Words he had shouted long ago to defend a sibling from what he thought was an imprudent marriage. He did not know Sophie Beckett, but she had made it clear there was a great deal more to know. Something that had drawn in his brother from the start and something that had charmed his sister if not even more of the household. Benedict had not been hallucinating on the night of the masquerade. He had not been pining for years after a phantom. He was not chasing the skirt of a simpleminded scullery girl. He had met a woman of character whom he wished to marry and fate had brought her back to him, albeit in the guise of a maid. Just as Eloise had warned him, Sophie was not a dalliance. She was the one Benedict had been searching for, and in that moment Anthony knew that separating them was beyond his power.

He swallowed hard. “You truly love him?”

Sophie held back another wave of tears, her chin trembling. “I do. But I will leave. You do not owe me any wages. I will go to him and end our engagement and then I will be gone. I swear, you will never see me again.”

Anthony cocked his head, scrutinizing her. “You would prioritize family, even above your own happiness?”

Sophie wasn’t sure where this line of questioning would lead, certain that she would be banished from the house as soon as she set foot outside the study. But the Viscount’s question wasn’t even a choice for her. She knew that she and Benedict had let their dreams run away with them and it was time to face reality. After a year or two had passed in isolation, when they were married but separated from his family, his friends, his entire way of life, would he still be capable of so much joy? The same carefree zest for life? Would he not start to resent her for being the reason he was banished from society? If she had to hurt him in the present to protect his heart in the future, she would. She loved him. She loved his family. She loved them both enough to leave for good.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Why?” 

With a final sniff, Sophie straightened again. “Lacking one myself, I am acutely aware of its value.”

Thoughts and emotions whirled within the Viscount. He rested an elbow on his desk and brought his fist to his mouth to steady himself, never taking his eyes from his perplexing visitor. It would be rather easy to let her leave as she planned, but then he’d be tormented by a heartbroken brother for years, if not the rest of his life. Benedict’s quest for his lost love would no doubt start anew and drive him mad. Anthony had wounded his siblings before. The necessity to do so came with his title. Whether or not his best laid plans to try and direct their futures panned out, they would always find a reason to resent him. But he didn’t know if he could commit this most severe act against his brother. The brother who he held in closest confidence and the one who had, he now realized, fought the longest to find love. 

He sat in a long silence, mind spinning with all of the revelations placed at his feet. Sophie waited, her eyes wandering to the portrait over the mantle. Anthony followed her gaze and thought of what his father would do.

Sophie jumped when he suddenly pushed back in his chair and stood. He moved to lean on the side of the desk, a hand on his hip as he addressed her directly.

“These developments are all arising rather suddenly for me. Before now, all I have known of you is that you threatened to cause the disappearance of my closest brother; a man who is both dear to me and of vital support to our family. Benedict has more heart than sense, so I’m sure you can appreciate my trepidation.”

Sophie bowed her head in understanding.

Anthony continued. “But you have enlightened me to two significant truths. The first is your noble heritage. I am sorry that it was not given more credence and that you were left to fend for yourself. It speaks to a deficiency of honor among the ton that I will seek to redress.”

Her head shot up, face twisted in confusion. “Redress?”

With a tight nod, Anthony began to pace along the bookshelves, sifting for something. “Being a bastard is not an incurable situation. Everyone knows they exist in great number, and God knows there are enough of them hiding amongst the ton, of the male variety at least.”

Retrieving a portfolio of documents, he dropped it on the desk and began to rifle through its contents. “I think there could be a solution. My brother-in-law, the Duke of Hastings, I believe he has dealings with Lord Cowper. I’m sure between the two of us we could get him to agree to a suitable arrangement…”

“My lord?” Sophie was gobsmacked. What on earth was he intending to do? Eventually he stopped shuffling paper and walked around the desk to face her, closer than ever before.

“The second and more significant truth you have divulged to me is how evidently you care for my brother. I am beginning to understand why several members of my family carry such fondness for you.”

Sophie swallowed. She opened her lips but no sound came out. Was this truly happening? Was the Viscount attempting to help her? To compliment her?

Suddenly his hand was extended before her. With great trepidation, she rested her own within it and allowed him to raise her from her seat. He dropped her hand and looked her squarely in the eyes, his voice gentler than she had ever heard.

“Miss Beckett, tell me truthfully. If you were legitimized in the eyes of society and given full public leave to marry Benedict, would the two of you remain in the country?”

His words rang in her ears, the rest of the world growing unnaturally silent.

She answered breathlessly, “Of course we would, but how would…?”

“You needn’t worry about it now.” Before her mind could truly process what was happening, he was steering her back toward the door. “I will inform you of the details once they are finalized.”

Sophie could hardly keep up. She was not being banished. She was not being chastised. The Viscount was escorting her out of the room like a noble young lady, his hand hovering behind the small of her back. He spoke of arrangements, legitimacy, and the blessing of her union. Either she was still dreaming in Benedict’s bed or this was the day her luck changed forever. 

Dredging up her last ounce of sense, she paused and turned to him. “Why would you do this for me?”

Anthony stepped back, his eyes growing soft. “Because I love my brother, and I can see how sincerely you love him too.” He cleared his throat. “Because I too learned the value of family through loss.”

Then the most remarkable thing happened - he gave her a small smile.

”We are perhaps not as dissimilar as you may believe.” 

___

Moments later, Sophie stood in the main hall, trying to stop her mind from spinning. She tucked herself into the alcove by the stairs, the same one in which Benedict loved to corner her for illicit kisses. She replayed her conversation with Anthony over and over again and still could not comprehend how things had ended. He had accepted her. He would help her. He gave her leave to marry Benedict. She still didn’t know how the pieces would fall together but the radiant truth began to swell within her: she would marry Benedict and be able to remain with the family. 

The realization was a joy so staggering she could hardly breathe. She pressed a hand to her chest, eyes fluttering, wondering how on earth she would manage to walk back across the square to share the news with her fiancé. She felt as if her legs would give out, and then she heard her name.

“Sophie!”

Just as she had before when Sophie was in a compromising situation, Benedict’s mother appeared by the staircase and rushed to her side.

“Lady Bridgerton.” Sophie gasped, trying to appear steady on her feet.

Violet frowned. “I heard that you were giving notice. Were you speaking with the Viscount?” She looked back toward the study door which remained closed.

“I was, my lady.”

The elder appeared genuinely distressed. “My dear, I must ask why. Has anyone been mistreating you? Are you not happy?”

Sophie tried to compose herself, allowing the burgeoning sunlight inside to wash over her. She was happy. Beyond happy. And for the first time, she allowed herself to believe it would not be taken from her. To believe she deserved it. With sparkling tears welling in her eyes, she looked up.

“I…I may be the happiest I have ever felt.”

A hopeful look flitted across Violet’s face. “You are not going to leave?”

Sophie shook her head.

Then Violet gave her a knowing look. “It’s Benedict, isn’t it?” 

“You know?”

She smiled gently. “It’s obvious that there is some feeling between you.”

“Why didn’t you fire me?” Sophie whispered. She didn’t think that Lady Bridgerton knew that she and Benedict had been intimate, but no one of Lady Bridgerton’s position would want her son pining for a housemaid.

“I don’t know,” Violet replied, looking more conflicted than Sophie could have ever imagined. “I probably should have done.” She shrugged, her eyes strangely helpless as she gave a defeated kind of chuckle. “But I like you.”

Her next words held a very careful and measured quality, as if she were choosing them with great care, searching for a specific reply. “You are,” she said, her eyes never leaving Sophie’s face, “the sort of woman I would like for my son. Our acquaintance has not been a long one, but I know your character and I know your heart. And I wish…”

“The Viscount has given his blessing for our betrothal.” Sophie blurted out, unable to bear the pain she saw in the eyes of the woman who had always been so kind to her. Perhaps hers were not the only dreams that were coming true on this day. 

The color drained from Lady Bridgerton’s face and she pressed a hand to her stomach, her voice breathless. “Betrothal?”

Though the words were new to her tongue, Sophie was relieved to finally share her true identity with those she trusted. The family she would marry into had a right to know about the family she came from. Anthony’s actions dared her to view herself, for the first time, as much a noble as she was a servant. Both were true and both should inform her actions equally. 

Slowly, she explained. “I am…my father was the late Earl of Penwood and the Viscount believes he may be able to…smooth any risk of scandal which I do not wish to bring upon your family. I know the circumstances are difficult…”

“Difficult, but not impossible!” Violet declared, her skin now flushed as realization dawned in her eyes. “Not in the face of true love. A betrothal?!” Her hands flitted about as if she did not know where to rest them. She looked ready to dance a jig there and then.

A wide smile spread across Sophie’s face. “Benedict has asked for my hand.”

“Oh, my dear daughter!” Suddenly Sophie was wrapped in her arms, squeezed tight in the first motherly embrace she had ever known. Then it was as if a dam broke inside her. All of the loneliness, the pain, the rejection; the fears and struggles, the anger and injustice were leeched from her soul with this loving touch. She sobbed quietly into the fine fabric of Violet’s dress, clinging back to her new mother, stunned by how correct it all felt.   

“I prayed,” Violet whispered into her hair, her own voice choked with emotion. “I prayed you would choose each other despite all the odds.”

They stood in the main hall, rocking gently, with no care for who saw them. Violet let Sophie cry herself out and then pulled back, grasping her by the shoulders, her sharp blue eyes imploring her to listen. 

“Hear me, now. I do not think any less of you because of your background and neither will anyone in this household. You have proven yourself strong, clever and steadfast, with the kindest heart. You have all the makings of a Bridgerton and it will be to our benefit to bring you into our family.”

Sophie felt as if her heart were a flower, stretching its petals out in full bloom. She beamed as Violet brushed the last vestiges of sorrow from her cheeks.

“Dearest, only happy tears from now on.”

___

An hour later, the door to Anthony’s study burst open as if it had been kicked in.

“Where is she?!” Benedict stalked over to the desk looking even wilder than the night before. With no jacket and his waistcoat unbuttoned, he looked as if he had rolled straight out of bed and run out the door. His hair was on end, his eye and lip bloodied and swollen.

“Ah, there you are at last.” Anthony calmly folded the paper he had been reading and stood, inspecting his brother. “God, you look terrible.”

“Anthony, where is she?” Benedict growled, fingers twitching with nervous energy.

“Who?” He asked nonchalantly over his shoulder as he stowed a portfolio back on a shelf.

“Miss Sophie Beckett.” Benedict huffed. “The footman told me she was here.”

Anthony continued to look positively blasé. “Yes, I spoke with her.”

“About what?”

The Viscount met his brother’s glare. “About what’s really been going on with the two of you.”

Nerves shot through Benedict but rather than root him in place, they spurred him on without fear. His mind was made up and his plans were laid. He would not tolerate any more obstacles to the happiness he and Sophie deserved. He had never felt so convicted in his life. 

“Anthony, you will not come between us,” he threatened, pointing a finger in his face. “It is decided and we are engaged. You may be my elder brother and the Viscount, but you cannot hold sway over my happiness.”

With the most aggravating smirk, Anthony sat smugly on the edge of his desk, arms folded. “Is that so?”

“Yes. I know what a scandal this will cause for our family. Therefore I will do whatever is necessary to protect our name. I will move to the Continent and you can tell everyone I am living there. No one ever needs to know about her. I cannot be dissuaded from this.”

A tense silence followed, punctuated only by Benedict’s heavy breathing as Anthony sat, unmoving. He searched the Viscount’s face but it was a stone mask, unreadable.

At long last, Anthony spoke. “You truly feel this way?”

Benedict could feel his heart beginning to break. He knew the condemnation was coming. That he would be cast out and have to say goodbye to his brother, his most beloved brother, on bad terms. That he would become a pariah to his family, and this may be the last day he ever saw them. But he had to tell the truth. 

“Yes,” he pleaded, the aggression fading as he gave voice to his soul. “I am in love, Anthony. Truly, for the first time. She is…” How could he describe the indescribable? “She is light given form. She is a beacon toward my future and without her, I am in darkness. I do not wish to break away from you,” he looked at his brother with eyes full of sadness. “But I must, if I am to avoid living as a man without a soul.” 

Anthony glowered, eyes dark. “No.”

Benedict would not be swayed. He was ready to fight. Sophie was worth everything. “This is not a request for your permission. This is advance notice out of courtesy.”

“I will not allow you to leave our family.” Anthony stood and turned his back, marching over to another shelf.

“You cannot…”

“And neither will your fiancée.” Anthony declared, carrying a new volume to the desk. 

Benedict started then froze, befuddled. He blinked. Surely he had misheard.

Anthony kept his eyes on the book, turning and scanning pages. “We have reached an understanding, she and I.”

Benedict blinked again, gawping. His mind, so full of fire only moments before, now held nothing but a confused hum.

Then his brother looked up at him with a glint in his eye. “I will do everything I can to…adjust the story of her background and spare you both reproach so that you need not live in hiding. You have my blessing for your marriage.” He gave a rare cheeky grin, the one that let Benedict know he had been deceived.

But Benedict was too astonished to be upset about the ruse. He felt a maelstrom of hope and love whirling within and fought to find words. “Anthony…you would do that for us?”

The Viscount’s smile continued. “If you believe this lady is worthy to be your wife, then yes. She has certainly proven her worth to me, in our limited interaction.” He cupped a brotherly hand around Benedict’s neck, eyes full of affection. “I could not see you live the rest of your life in exile. I need you beside me, brother.”

Despite his split lip, Benedict’s crooked smile stretched ear to ear, relief and joy crashing over him. He flung his arms around his brother and squeezed him within an inch of his life. 

“Thank you! Thank you, Anthony!”

The elder realized how infrequently he was thanked, particularly by his siblings, and allowed himself to savor the moment. Something within him knew that their father would be proud of the course of action he had chosen. He felt his love and approval flowing through the arms of his brother who bore the closest resemblance. But eventually Benedict’s excessive affection and superior height made him feel like a suffocated younger sibling and he extricated himself, patting his brother on the back.

A sudden thought made him snap to attention. “Do you need to marry in haste? Have you gotten her…?”

Benedict stared off, wondering if he had in fact gotten Sophie pregnant. If so, it had only happened the night before. He found that the idea made him inordinately excited. He looked back at his brother but couldn’t hide a guilty smirk. “We have time.”

Anthony scowled but withheld his admonishment and nodded curtly. “Good.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away @benophievisuals

[kitchenisking]

Perfect by canyonoflight - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,484)

Polin consummate their marriage after the Butterfly Ball.

Interrupted by zalvera - (Rating: G, Words: 2,327)

The 'Bridgerton Drawing room lesson' continues uninterrupted. Eloise does not come back early. Violet does.

Dance With Me by ShadowsFiction - (Rating: G, Words: 1,312)

“That’s not how the dance goes,” she chides him gently, causing him to laugh at her, and slide his arms around her, pressing her back into his chest. He ran his fingers up her stomach, and she caught his hand before it went any further.

“This isn’t dancing,” she giggled and his eyes met hers in the mirror. She watched as his eyes darkened. Her breath hitched in her throat when she realized desire was written all over his face. She hadn’t felt beautiful in the longest time, or desirable, but watching him watch her, and the want that is expressed across his face– it made her feel something.

Or Pen is feeling out of sorts since she's become with child and Colin, being the ever sweet husband he is shows his wife how much he loves her.

Love Is Merely A Madness by Sea_Dragonfly - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 6,900)

Sneaking into Penelope Featherington's bedroom just before midnight was certainly outside the bounds of propriety; Colin knew that. But he was more concerned for his dear friend's health. She'd been struck down by a mysterious illness, and the ton was ablaze with rumours.

Colin just had to be sure she was well.

Or: Sex Pollen? Sex Polin.

Embers in the Hearth, Peace in the Heart by ScullyLikesScience - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,253)

New parents Colin and Penelope Bridgerton make some time for themselves.

Ruining Lady Whistledown by ArdentCastle - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,453)

‘I do not understand, how it is I can be furious with you. So angry at what you have done, and yet, desire you as much as I do,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t. I wish I could turn away from you. Forget what it was like to taste you, to feel you, to have you. I cannot.’ 

Season 3, Episode 8 - Colin didn’t leave the bedroom after going in to get the blanket.

//Pt 2 - Penelope writes a Whistledown column for Colin's eyes only

with my body, i thee worship by gentlewallflower (greyspilot) - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,076)

Colin wakes in the morning to his wife’s grip on his upper arm and his morning wood causing him all kinds of problems.

~

A direct continuation from 'to have and to hold' but can be read alone.

truly madly deeply by not_your_babyy - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 5,349)

Colin leans down, allowing his lips to brush against her ear causing her to shiver. In a low voice, he murmurs, “Although in truth, I wouldn’t oppose leaving the ball early to return home and rectify the night of our wedding. As well as every night since.”

“Oh.” Her chest rises and falls rapidly with the steadying breath she takes. Colin’s eyes unabashedly track the movement.

“But as it is your night, I do not wish to rush to end it,” he says teasingly, spinning her as if he didn’t set her body ablaze from just the mere suggestion of his previous words.

Her head feels as if it is floating with the butterflies overhead instead of attached firmly to her. Weakly she tries, “I mean there will be other balls and other dances, Colin. Surely one early night won’t have much importance.”

💛🖋️🪞🐝💙

After the public Whistledown reveal at the butterfly ball in 03x08, Colin and Penelope make up for their wedding night after leaving the ball.

just a trick of light (to bring me back around again) by drjemmanugent - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 2,319)

“Stay.” Penelope’s voice breaks the silence, save for the fire made up by the night staff. Colin had already turned towards the door by the time she stood to face him. “Please.”

or, the one in which we explore that fleeting scene at the end of ep 8 ;)

My love was never conditional by lionheartwriting - (Rating: G, Words: 963)

First time writing for this show. I have come to terms with season 3 part 2. There's only a few minor things that annoy me, including the pregnancy announcement. So I rewrote the scene in which Colin and Penelope talk after Francesca's wedding.

Hope you like it!

[lapseinart]

I do have like a rather cracky idea for a Wicked/Bridgerton crossover that I will never write but need to excise from my mind so this is messy as hell. Exists solely because I've watched the clips of Dancing Through Life like twenty times.

SO Anthony (and maybe also Simon?) was isekai'd into Oz during his uni days, where he took on the name Fiyero after he was found/adopted by the royal family of Winkie Country. Wicked proceeds as usual, except at the end, Fiyero tells Elphaba hey I'm not from here, she's like oh! I think if you go back, I can turn you human again in the process and he's like bet. Or they both go to the human world where Elphaba manages to change him back because magic is different there and then she goes back at some point.

This is all just backstory for when the Bridgertons (I'm thinking Kate, Benedict, and Eloise at least, maybe Daphne and Simon) get isekai'd into Oz. And only because I want them confronted with people that know a version of their brother that they barely know, the carefree, scadalocious dancer. Also Gelphie is a thing, and they keep trying to poach Kate. I really am obsessed with this plot point. I don't really care as much for the background/context. My main point in all this is that Fiyero's exes got together and they're coming for Anthony's wife.

Benedict's angsting about the fact that Anthony hates the fact that his exes are homosexuals and keeps trying to be supportive of them flirting and stuff and Anthony keeps trying to shut it down until they have outs until Anthony just goes "For God's sake Benedict, I don't give a damn if you want to fuck a man or if they fuck each other, we've all been there, they just can't fuck my wife!" And this is how Benedict finds out that Anthony and Simon almost definitely boned while at Oxford.

Eloise is obviously fascinated by everything. The skirts are shorter here! And so flouncy! And some men wear skirts! And the most powerful people in the land are two witches! Women! Amazing! Why is Anthony Like That when he knows women are fully capable? And he's like first of all society here and at home are very different. I can wear a skirt here. "You've worn a skirt?" "Of course I have I just didn't like it." Second of all, mother is not here, mother is there. Third of all Eloise if you had an actual concrete plan, I would of course support you. That's what the dowry is for. But you have no plan that doesn't mean negatively impacting your sisters that do actually want to get married! And like for Anthony after knowing and loving these headstrong independent women in Oz, how can he even half-heartedly love any demure debutantes? When he knows they could be more if they allowed themselves to be more? It feels like a waste to him.

There's also an awkward moment where Anthony has to explain to Kate, yes I courted Glinda and we were going to get married but then I ran off with Elphaba. However, they were always in love with each other so it all worked out. And it's like I don't understand was Elphaba your mistress? did you court her too? And Glinda interrupts if anything Fiyero was Elphie's mistress, i think, and I tried to entrap Fiyero in marriage. Kate's like ah, I see. Kate does think that it's kind of wild that Anthony is almost kind of sort of Edwina in this relationship?? But they all get along rather fabulously. Gelphie's always trying to include her into stuff and Kate's flattered and lowkey kind of interested by the attention. Sue her, she didn't know women could do marital acts with other women!

Glinda and Elphaba for their part are absolutely fascinated by this uptight, responsible version of Fiyero. He talks about responsibility "What about your responsibility to corrupt your fellow students?" "We were all so well-behaved before you came along." "That's a lie, stop lying, the pair of you were always menaces." "Yes, that's fair, but we were well-contained menaces before you came along." "I only started cutting class after you joined." "And none of us stepped on or kicked books" "You kicked a book??" "This was ages ago!" "He got away with it because he seduced the librarian" "I did not seduce the librarian! I merely... charmed her."

This all culminates to a rendition of Dancing Through Life which is very shocking for all Bridgerton people because it's a lot more sensual and energetic than anything they've seen before with the like gyrating and stuff. And Anthony/Fiyero drags Kate into dancing with him, and she's into it, this version of Anthony that's so loose and carefree and infectious in his confidence. And it's like damn I'd hate balls too if I knew dancing like this was an option because Kate can solidly say she's having fun in a way she's never had before, as Elphaba spins her around and Glinda shows her how to stomp her feet and Anthony does a freaking cartwheel instead of walking up to her normally for no reason other than because it makes her laugh.

And for the Bridgertons it's like. this is who Anthony could be. If he was, like, a second or third son and not the Viscount. If he wasn't constrained by society. He'd be charming and rakish and energetic and laughing and an absolute menace to everyone and also society.

I do also think that Benedict at some point is like I did wonder at some point if Anthony had a type, but of his two girlfriends here one of them is green and the other's blonde so I guess he was serious when he said personality mattered more to him than any particular physical features.

Anyway Kate's having the time of her life, Anthony is getting some stress free days and the other Bridgertons are getting their worldview shaken. That is all thank you.

[darthstitch]

The Opera Ghost's Apprentice

by Darth Stitch

First Lessons

Christine rather liked being an opera ghost.

It was great fun exploring the hidden passageways of the Opera House, to learn how to move silently and stealthily in its shadows, quieter than a mouse. It was also quite exciting to learn how to throw one's voice, to mimic the ethereal, ghostly quality in Erik's tone.

Erik was a patient teacher, carefully explaining everything she needed to know and getting her to laugh at her own initial clumsy mistakes.

When she finally managed to master the ventriloquist's art, chanting a childish skipping rope rhyme in the most eerie way possible right next to Erik's ear, she was rather amused at the results.

Erik chortled like a twelve year old boy.

"Christine!"

She adopted an air of artful innocence. "That wasn't me, that was poor little Eloise. Died of hunger just before the Revolution - those nasty old aristos wouldn't even give her a piece of moldy bread. Now she haunts this Opera House, singing her lonely little songs and playing her favorite games."

"What an imagination you have, child." Was Erik actually wiping tears of laughter from his eyes? "Wouldn't the terrifying Monsieur le Fantôme frighten our ghostly little girl away?"

"Oh no - he's adopted her as his own. Be wary, sir, lest they both play their tricks on you."

"I shall consider myself warned. Whatever shall I do to avoid their wrath?"

Christine pretended to give this considerable thought. "Chocolate. That would be much appreciated."

She didn't really mean to practically knock Erik over with a hug on the day he gave her a small box of chocolate profiteroles ("For Mam'selle Eloise") but he did end up chortling again at her delighted reaction. His return hug was endearingly awkward and hesitant but it felt good all the same.

And she also taught him "Eloise's" ghostly little skipping rhyme, which the frightened stagehands would soon hear echoing in the empty halls and stage of the opera house at night.

Angel of Music

"If I should be cursed to live a hundred years, I shall never understand women!"

I had often said something similar myself, though, wisely, never in the hearing of my beloved and sorely missed Rookheeya. That it was Erik saying these things, surprisingly without drama and potential disaster, well....

"I shall venture a guess and say that this has been caused by the little Daae, yes?"

The glare in those mismatched eyes - perhaps I should quake in terror, but I was rather used to my friend's displays of temper at this point. The quicksilver changes in mood were also familiar.

"She was much easier to understand before she turned sixteen," Erik said mournfully. "I could always cheer her up with a song, a sweet, a present or some harmless mischief we could wreak as the resident opera ghosts."

I vainly tried to repress a snort of amusement. Sometimes, I forget that Erik was still young himself in many ways, despite everything that he'd already lived through. His friendship with the little Daae made me recall how he was with my Reza and if Allah would be so kind, I fervently hoped that there would be no heartbreak or some other tragedy to loom over them.

Erik murmured something and I had to strain my ears to catch that last word. Something about his mask.

"Forgive me, my friend - but I do not possess the ears of a bat. What was it about your mask?"

Erik sighed. "She saw me. My face. Without my mask."

Allah have mercy! "How on earth did that happen?"

Erik shrugged. "An accident, truly. I have grown accustomed to her presence and I had not realized I had forgotten to put it on." A wondering tone entered his voice. "She cried for me, daroga. Asked if it hurt under my mask. She was even incensed on my behalf when I mentioned that it was the first thing that my mother ever made for me."

Ah. Little Christine Daae, who I knew, from all the stories Erik had told, was quite fond of her "Monsieur le Fantôme."

Little Christine Daae, who was, in fact, not so "little" anymore, since she was already sixteen - and Erik had mentioned that she would be celebrating her seventeenth birthday in two months.

Oh dear.

"I told her that I did not want her pity and she gave me quite a dressing down for that - I was terribly impressed, to be quite honest." Erik shook his head ruefully. "Also, I am under orders by Mam'selle la petite Fantôme that I am not, under any circumstances, to ever refer to myself as a monster ever again."

I snorted and applauded quite wildly. "Brava! You would do well to heed your little diva, Erik." It was, in fact, an accurate assessment - Erik was also tutoring her in music and the little Daae's voice was a match for Erik's own. I would not be surprised that she would take Paris by storm, once given a chance on the stage.

"According to her, I am her Angel of Music and - daroga? Daroga? Stop laughing!"

I could not help it. The fact that Erik's life - which I had once feared would end in some magnificent operatic tragedy - was now slowly, but surely taking the course of an opera buffa - how could I not laugh? He left me in quite a huff but truly, this was a cause for celebration.

And certainly, Christine deserved some sort of magnificent present on her birthday, for bringing in such joy...

Footnotes from the O.G.

a. Erik was still Officially Confused as to why his best friend Nadir had such hysterics over this whole Angel of Music business. He had thought to seek some sensible counsel from a male perspective on how to understand the female mind but Nadir, alas, was next to useless.

b. He was, however, smart enough not to contradict Christine over his new title. Even if he knew perfectly well he wasn't, by any stretch of the imagination, angelic.

c. There was a certain warmth in his heart at the knowledge that Christine was not frightened of his true face and well, it did make him smile that she thought of him as an angel. Her angel, to be precise. Such a ridiculous notion, really...

d. Now, what did one get a little girl for her birthday? No, wait, she was a young lady now, wasn't she? She was no longer the tiny waif tripping after him as he stalked the shadows of the Opera House. Christine was growing up and if Erik had any say about this, he would help her take her first steps towards becoming the prima donna she was destined to be. Paris would grovel at her feet - the new bella diva of the Palais Garnier.

e. Erik tried not to think too hard about certain other things in Christine's future - that she was no longer a child, that there would be admirers to flock around her once she took her rightful place as a queen of the stage, that she would eventually forget her teacher and friend, leave him behind ...

f. Well. No. Erik would not think about that at all. Birthday presents were much better things to consider.