#kate sharma x y/n

[bumblesimagines]

Imagine:

Being married to Kate Sharma

Request: Yes or No

Pronouns: He/Him/His

~~~

Kate Sharma had arrived in Mayfield with one singular goal in mind: ensuring her beloved Edwina married a good, wealthy man who'd provide her with everything she could ever desire. Of course, that meant she stepped off the boat with the acceptance that she'd never wed nor have children of her own, no matter how many gentlemen Edwina pointed out to her during the first few weeks. She hadn't, however, taken you into account.

The beloved, nephew of the Late Lord Edmund Bridgerton, cousin to the Bridgerton children, and child to exceptionally wealthy parents with steady standing in Mayfair's society. By all means, Edwina should have caught your eye. She was young, beautiful, and the Queen's Diamond of the Season. Most gentlemen tripped over themselves to call upon her, filling Lady Danbury's hall with many gifts for her, and while yes, you had been among those men, you had called upon Kate instead.

It'd thrown her off completely, and she'd been in shock as Edwina ushered her onto the couch and took a seat nearby, trying to pretend as if she and her mother weren't eavesdropping as much as possible. Kate, surprised and undeniably suspicious, had assumed Anthony sent you to distract her from his pursuit of Edwina but you assured her you took no part in it and she allowed herself to trust you.

And that trust proved to be one of the best decisions she'd made, second only to taking on a parental role for Edwina. 

There were a lot of things Kate had envisioned for her own future, truth be told. She'd seen herself become a spinster, a sister-in-law, a happy aunt. Never did she expect to lounge upon a seat with her thumb rubbing her wedding ring and her hand rubbing soothing circles around her protruding belly. But... she was happy. She'd been given the opportunity of being more than just someone's sister. She was a wife, a mother, a good friend, an aunt, and eventually, she'd be Lady (L/N). 

"Hello, darling," Kate murmured upon feeling a soft kick, pressing her palm against her belly and giggling upon feeling another. "You sure are full of energy today." She said softly, pushing herself up in the chair and carefully reaching for her teacup. Kate delicately sipped from it, sighing in bliss as the warm liquid traveled down her throat and warmed her chest. 

"You should be resting, Kate." Her head turned toward the door, a smile stretching across her face at the mere sight of you. 

"I am resting, my love. I refuse to stay in bed until this little one comes."

"Doctor's orders, sweetheart. He said the babe could come at any given moment now." You raised your brows at her and she waved you off with a flick of her wrist, finishing her cup and gingerly setting it aside. You chuckled quietly at her defiance and stepped aside, nodding for the three little ones waiting on the other side of the door to enter. Akshara raced forward ahead of her brothers, her brown ringlets and baby blue ribbons bouncing with her movements. 

"My darling girl," Kate cooed immediately, unable to pull the girl up onto her lap so she settled for helping her sit on her knee. Akshara leaned down once she settled, pressing her cheek against Kate's covered belly and brightening when she felt another swift kick. "Your sibling is so eager to meet you."

"Is it a boy?" The eldest of the trio, Nalin, questioned with wide eyes, resting his arms over the armrest and watching his little sister rub Kate's belly with a gleeful smile. 

"We don't know yet, Nal." You told him as you scooped up Akshara's twin, Edwin, into your arms, feeling the boy drop his sleepy head onto your shoulder. Nalin hummed thoughtfully, moving onto his toes to lean over the armrest and feel Kate's belly. His mother watched with a smile, her eyes softening as she gazed over her children. 

"Well, whether boy or girl, I'm sure they'll be more than happy to play with you and their cousins. You'll have to be patient, love, as we've been these past months. You-" Kate gently booped Nalin's nose. "-took an awful long time to arrive. Your sibling may do the same." 

"Let us hope we aren't blessed with another surprise." You laughed, watching Kate's features contort and a heavy sigh escape her. She slumped back in the chair, carefully petting Akshara's hair, no doubt thinking back on the shocking day in which they discovered in the midst of labor there were two babes instead of one. 

"Yes, please." She laughed breathlessly. 

"Come now, kids. Why don't we pay your cousins a visit and we can give your mother some rest, hm? She'll need as much as she can get when the babe comes." Kate smiled up at you.

"Thank you, darling."

[skyrigel]

Tell me again [ AB ]

Pairing ~ Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Plot ~ after a long day at work, Anthony tells you how much he missed his wife <3

Warning: pregnant!reader, little teasing, shy!reader

Words : 0.8k

My other fic

Anthony bridgerton angst

" I thought you would be asleep..." Anthony murmured, words soft as melody spelled in the dark, hands crossed around his chest, his cuffs rolled up like usual after every tired night in his office, he smiled at you, a glint in his eyes.

" Why would I ? " I would wait for you at the worlds end, You turned to look at your husband, after a hard day, his eyes looked so tired and yet, they were sparkling, always when it was you.

" Oh my dearest wife." He moaned as he crossed the distance in two long strides, wrapping his hands around your waist all the while dropping to his knees,

"I missed you so much baby." He said, kissing your baby bump gently as he looked up with stars in his eyes.

" You didn't miss me Anthony ?! " You fake gasped, watching the slow chuckle make its way through the rings of his cartilage as he plucked the book you were holding.

" Oh you have no idea ! " He growled, taking both your hands in his and guiding them to his face, his eyes shutting as your fingers traced the face you adored so much, he hummed in response, kissing the soft skin of your wrist as watched you, one knuckle at a time, eyes never leaving yours.

" you think I haven't missed you ? " His asked, almost blazing, " you? " He said again, " There wasn't a moment when my soul didn't want to crawl and come to you, not a moment when i wanted to be anywhere but in your arms love." He squeezed your hand gently as you smiled, because you knew, knew how much he loved you.

" Have i told you how much I love your hands ? " He traced the lightening like green nerves that made it ways across your skin, he loved every bit of you, body, soul, mind and heart.

" You haven't," you replied, feeling your breath knocked out, heart punching against your ribs.

Anthony's lip quirked at your dazed eyes, he loved every and each version of you but he so much adored when you made your needs known, how much Anthony loved giving you what you wanted, you just have to say it for me, my sweet love, he had told you.

" This," Anthony said, his lips grazing at the slight raise of vein of your wrist, following it upto the crook of your arm, smiling in triumph as a strangled noise made it's way out of your throat.

" You like it ? " He tilted his head, brows raised in question, " mmm" you hummed softly but being the Viscount and smug bastard lord bridgerton was, he smirked.

" Say it in words my lady." He gazed up, you gave him one eye roll but opened your mouth anyway, " I do." You said ans Anthony resumed his venturing.

" And I have told you how much I love your collarbones ? " He hummed, planting open mouthed kisses all way to to dip of your neck, his breath lingered like a tattooed kiss, you dropped your head back on the couch as Anthony nipped at the raw skin of your neck.

You felt his smile the way his teeth tore into your flesh, his hand soothing your belly in circular patterns, the other cupping your breast and kneading it with all the time in the world, " You aren't telling me." He complaint, mouth fixed several inches away from yours as he looked deeply into yours eyes, your breath were uneven as you whined at the lack of lips on you, he understood and caressed your cheeks, leaning until a thread of wind was between you, you waited for touch to burn you, waited for his lips to crash into yours but alas!

" An..thony " you whimpered and he shaked his head, mouthing a small, No.

" You haven't " you whispered, closing the inches as his mouth pressed against yours in warm fuzzy music, like everything the poets talked about, Anthony smiled as pulled for a second away, his eyes peicring yours, mischief dangling through the corners and oh, how much you loved this man.

" I think I have..." He trailed, nose nuzzling at the dark reds and blues of your neck, he loved his little vicious games, loved to tease you, loved to drive you crazy.

" You have." You told him, " Tell me again."

That was all Anthony needed to you tell you again, and again and again, how much he loved you.

Rigel's note🪩: This has been in my drafts for so long<3

[i-hate-accidents]

I feel like Benedict would be so frazzled when his love is in labor. He would insist on being in the room with his wife

the author took immense liberties with this idea. she hopes you enjoy it nevertheless and offers her thanks for sharing it with them~

the author would also like to name that, whilst a she/her femme, the sort of reader who the author wrote with in mind would likely not resonate with being called 'wife.' she would likely prefer 'partner' or a more gender inclusive term. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

i hate accidents: a drabble

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  pregnancy (no birthing/labor)

word count:  891

tagged: @mikariell95 @omgsuperstarg @flyestvenustrap @nowheredreamer @jimblejamblewritings

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you are thinking of something.”

you smile; your husband knows you too well.  you continue to rub at your protruding stomach. 

“our child can kill a scottish king,” you respond.

benedict laughs through his nose, his ocean eyes crinkling in the adorable way that they always do whenever he is truly delighted. 

“if you hadn’t said 'scottish,' i might have needed to turn you in for treason.  why do you say that, love?”

you struggle out of your lounge, swatting at your kindly husband’s offer to assist you, and waddle over to your shelves of books.  you drag your forefinger across the spines until you emit an ‘aha!’ and pull the book.  flipping towards the end, you find the pressed wisteria you used to mark the verse and read,

“‘for none of woman born shall harm macbeth,’” you look up from the words to benedict as you beam with pride.  “see?  the premiere attribute for assassinating a fictitious monarch, and here our child has it because of me.”

your husband returns your beam as he approaches you and leans in to plant a soft kiss on your temple.  shifting himself to be behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist and rests his hands on the low of your stomach.  you lean into the comfort of his embrace.

“and how shall we support our child with their nefarious intentions?” benedict inquires.

you hum.

“both their parents are quite proficient in fencing.  perhaps it is a trait that they shall inherit?”

“that seems certain.  their parents are also quite good at sneaking about; that ought to be of use to them for their plot.”

you snort.

“i think you are too generous, love.  there is a certain eldest brother who has vehemently disproved time and time again that we are, in fact, quite terrible at sneaking about.”

benedict nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, causing you to giggle.  you can feel his smile against your quickened pulse.  it is silly; how he is your husband— how he is the father of your child to-be!  and yet, he still makes you feel this way.  he still makes these damned butterflies flutter within you.

“more incentive to keep practicing, no?”  you feel benedict’s smile broaden into a grin.  “for our child, of course.”

stupid benedict.

you shake your head with all the affection in your heart.

“for our child.”

a small silence falls amongst you.  you should allow yourself this comfort.  you should allow yourself this peace.  but—

“do you think i can do it?” 

you had meant to say it as plainly as you could, but the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes choked your words into a whisper.  benedict releases himself from the embrace, one hand still on your stomach, as he shifts to face you.

“do what, my love?”

the crack in the softness of his voice and the gentle circles you feel on your stomach from his touch make you close your eyes.

“birth our child.  raise them.  what if it is too much?  what if i hurt them?  what if i—” you flutter your eyes open to the tear-blurry sight of disquiet in ocean eyes, “what if i am not the parent they deserve?”

he says your name, and that is enough to allow your tears to fall.  you start to look down, feeling the weight of your shame settle within you, but benedict does not let you.  he gently cups your face, lifts it, and kisses wherever tears roll down your cheeks.  benedict murmurs ‘i love you’ with each kiss until he whispers,

“i am fearful too.”

you pull your face away from his and see how his throat bobs, as it always does right before he wishes to say something more firmly.

“i am fearful that i will fail them.  i am fearful that i will not be even an inkling of a father to our child as my father was to me,” benedict heaves a sigh, and you see how he wills himself not to let his tears fall.  “but,” his throat bobs again, “then i remind myself that our child has you, y/n.”

you place a hand on his cheek and softly rub your thumb against his skin.

“you can cry too, benedict,” you manage.

he huffs out a laugh as he allows a tear to fall.  you gently press your lips against his cheek to capture it.

“yes, but i am not the one carrying our child.”

you look down at your stomach and then up at your husband.  you offer a small smile.

“i suppose it is your fault that i am in such a state.”

that makes benedict laugh fully. 

stupid butterflies. 

he tries to look down and away, suddenly shy by the very silly observation you have made, but you do not let him.  you shift your head and capture him with a kiss between his chin and his cheek, gently pushing his face up and murmuring ‘i love you’ into his skin.

perhaps your and benedict’s fear shall never go away.  perhaps you two shall never be the perfect parents you wish to be for your child.  but your child was created out of real, true love.  a love that protects, that laughs, that nurtures, that comforts, that heals.  and perhaps, that is enough.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ ✕ ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

[rafeyswrd]

HER ROYAL HIGHNESS

benedict bridgerton x princess (poc) reader

prologue.

After a series of agonising years of begging her mother to be let out into society — as a commoner would, equally putting her as the diamond of the season, the queen has finally, yet hesitantly agreed. Though with a single condition;

Sponsor the upcoming season. SUCCESSFULLY.

It was proven to be a challenge when her faith was put into the hands of the eldest bridgerton, whom was stubborn beyond belief. And it was only with the help of the second eldest that the princess might accomplish her goal.

However, getting Anthony to be married seemed to be less of a struggle in comparison to the hardship soon to occur with Benedict. Whose eyes never seem to leave her own.

OVERALL WARNING. smut!! (and lots of implied sex & talk), age gap (almost 8 years), toxic family, mentions of mental health issues, classism, abuse of power, mean ish lady danbury (i had to okay), alcohol consumption, misogyny, miscommunication, slowwww burn.

GENRE. fluff, angst, smut. a slight Rapunzel retelling, set in season 2–3 with mentions of season 1.

AUTHORS NOTE. ahhh!! i’m so excited for this, i’ve had this idea since i rewatched season 2 of bridgerton and read a one shot on here about princess reader, and it has not left my mind since. it takes place in season 2 and will have snippets of season 3. please feel free to leave suggestions of what you’d like to see xx

also!! i’ll finish your requests in my inbox soon i promise, this’ll probs make me go back to wp lol

[alewritesfics]

Bridging Realities

ℑ. 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤....𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: slow burn, unedited, angst, eventual smut, playful banter, happy ending

You sighed, your eyes half-lidded as the familiar orchestral strains of Bridgerton filled her room. You sat cross-legged on your bed, the soft glow of the screen illuminating your face. There was nothing more comforting than watching the series you loved so much. Rewatching the third season once again

Personally, you enjoyed the second season so much more but then again, maybe it had to do with Anthony Bridgerton being the focus and not the other brothers.

Lady Whistledown’s narration sounded through the speakers, narrating the final words of the last episode, slowly turning into Penelope’s voice. You leaned back against your pillow, letting the sound wash over you. You knew the world wasn’t real, that the characters were fictional, yet somehow, Bridgerton had a hold on your heart.

Your days were filled with spreadsheets, emails, and endless Zoom meetings. Romance was more of a distant dream than a reality, your last date having ended with awkward silences and mismatched expectations. In comparison, the universe of Bridgerton seemed impossibly alluring and the dream world every girl wished to live in

But as the credits washed over the TV, your eyelids grew heavier. The candle’s lavender scent, the one you lit to relax, mingled with the faint hum of the screen, and soon, you fell asleep.

The first thing you noticed was the sun, bright, golden, and far too harsh for your liking. You groaned as it hit your eyes, squinting as you tried to roll over, only to feel the crunch of grass beneath your hands. Grass?

Your eyes snapped open and you sat up abruptly. Gone was your bed, your cozy room, your TV. Instead, you found yourself on the edge of an immaculately trimmed garden path. The air smelled of damp earth and blooming flowers, and birds chirped in the distance.

Panic bubbled in your chest as you took in your surroundings. You were outside, in what looked like the perfectly manicured grounds of a grand estate. But what caught your attention most was what you were wearing.

A corset cinched your waist tightly, and the skirt of her butter-yellow gown flared out around you. The material was heavy, the embroidery intricate, and your gloved hands trembled as you touched the neckline.

The ridiculous color made you want to barf, not to mention that when you grabbed your hair, the first thing that caught your attention was that it was red.

“What the—” you started to curse

“Y/n Featherington!”

The shrill voice cut through your confusion like a knife. You turned sharply, your heart racing. A woman in a garishly bright gown approached her, her face a blend of exasperation and disapproval. You had to admit it took you a moment to recognize her, but when you did, your jaw dropped.

“Lady Featherington?” you whispered.

The older woman pursed her lips. “What are you doing dawdling out here? Have you forgotten we have breakfast waiting? Come along, child!”

You scrambled to your feet, your mind reeling. Lady Featherington? None of this made sense. The last thing you remembered is watching her on Tv happy for Penelope but-

“Are you quite well, or has all that daydreaming rotted your brain?” the matriarch continued, waving a handkerchief impatiently. “The season is already underway, and we can’t afford for you to be making a spectacle of yourself.”

You stared, words failing you. Lady Featherington’s impatience only grew. “For goodness sake, do not stand there gaping like a fish! Move, Y/n!”

And with that, she turned and marched off toward the sprawling estate ahead. You hesitated, glancing around as if someone, anyone, might jump out and explain what was happening. When no one appeared, you hurried after Lady Featherington.

The Featherington estate was exactly as you remembered it from the series: bright, bold, and bordering on garish. But you weren’t familiar with it since they didn’t show it much, or at least the full house, all they showed was Penelope’s room, the drawing room and you could say the entrance.

You followed Lady Featherington through the grand halls, struggling to keep up in your unfamiliar gown. Did they really need to wear corsets all day? You felt like you couldn’t breath. Each step felt surreal, like you were floating through a dream.

“Do fix your hair before you sit down,” Lady Featherington snapped as they approached the dining room. “Honestly, Y/n, you’re one and twenty not one and ten. One would think you’d have learned to present yourself properly by now.”

You scowled but kept quiet, your mind too preoccupied to argue. Twenty-one? The words hit you hard. That was your real age. How did this fictional world know that?

Your thoughts were interrupted as you entered the dining room. Seated at the table were three familiar faces: Penelope, Prudence, and Philippa Featherington.

You froze, they looked just like their on-screen actors, down to the way Prudence leaned too close to the mirror she carried, fixing her hair with exaggerated care. Philippa was giggling over something no one else seemed to find amusing, and Penelope sat quietly, her expression kind but weary.

“Good morning, Y/n,” Penelope greeted, her voice soft.

“Morning, Pen” the words left your mouth before you could think, as if it was something familiar to you, something you’ve always done.

You sank into a chair, your movements awkward under the weight of the hideous dress you wore. Prudence snorted. “Honestly, you look half asleep. Did you even bother to brush your hair this morning?”

Your hand instinctively flew to your hair. You had no idea what it looked like, only that it was red, and kind of curly, but the smug smirk on Prudence’s face told you it wasn’t good.

“Leave her be,” Penelope said gently, giving you a sympathetic smile

“Leave her be?” Lady Featherington exclaimed as she swept into the room. “How can she hope to attract any suitors if she looks as though she’s rolled out of bed? This is her second season already, and we’ve yet to secure an offer!”

The words stung, even though you knew they weren’t meant for your real self. But the reminder that you were apparently in the start of a second season in Regency-era London was enough to snap you back into focus.

“None of us have attracted any match yet, have we?” You try to defend yourself

“I beg to differ” Philippa cuts in “Mr. Finch and I are soon to be married” she giggled

You rolled your eyes “perhaps instead of worrying about your sisters, you should start worrying whether you will still remain unmarried by the end of the season” Lady Featherington told you. You decided not to respond, not wanting to start an argument.

Breakfast was an exercise in survival. You focused on eating, using the elaborate table settings as a distraction from the whirlwind of thoughts in your head. You listened as Prudence and Philippa bickered over their prospects, while Lady Featherington chimed in with unsolicited advice about how to catch a gentleman’s eye.

Penelope remained mostly quiet, though she sent you a few sympathetic glances. How such a sweet girl got born into this kind of family, you would never know.

“So, what are your plans for the day, Y/n?” Penelope finally asked.

You froze. Plans? What plans? Did people in Regency London even make plans, or were they just dragged around by their mothers and chaperones?

“Um…” you began, only to be interrupted by Prudence.

“She hasn’t any plans,” Prudence declared. “She never does.”

“Don’t be cruel,” Penelope chided.

Prudence shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

You looked down out the window, ignoring their conversation as you thought over what to do. What even is your purpose? From what you remembered, there was no fourth Featherington daughter, well, there was in the books but it was a little girl that was best friends with Hyacinth. And you are no little girl, obviously. And based by your age, you are the second eldest with Prudence at twenty- two in this season, you twenty-one, Philippa twenty and Penelope eight-teen almost nine-teen?

“Could we not have appealed to the queen, mama?” You snapped back into the conversation as you heard Prudence’s familiar dialogue “after mourning dear papa for so long, perhaps her majesty might extend her kindness and allow us to be presented again”

You couldn’t help yourself and cut in “even if you were presented again, Prudence, you still would not be declared the diamond”

“Y/n!” Lady Feather- mama, god you need to get used to calling her that, scolded, you apologized, shoving Penelope slightly as I saw her chuckling silently next to me

“I see no need to go through all of that again when I myself am already betrothed to Mr. Finch” Philippa stated, waving her hand around

Prudence turned to her “Mr. Finch may very well change his mind” she said snarkily. I sighed turning back to Penelope.

“what has you so impatient, Pen?” you asked her

She turned to face you, a small smile on her face “It is just nerves” she tried to play it off, but since you have already seen the series, you already know what it is “On whether I will find a good prospect this season… no one wants to be a spinster, but maybe I will be the unfortunate one to become so”

You chuckled, “You will not become a spinster, Pen.” You assure her “I assure you that if you don’t find a husband this season, you will the next one…and who knows, maybe it will be the person you’ve always longed for” you give her a knowing smile

“I am not that fortunate” she stands, walking towards the window.

“Penelope, how many times must I warn you to be wary of that window?” Portia called out “Do you wish to appear like a befreckled beggar spending all day in the sun?”

“Of course not, mama” Penelope turned her head to face her “My apologies” she smiled before turning back to the window

“It is here” She said happily

You watched Penelope as she stood behind the couch Prudence and Philippa occupied as they all read Lady Whistledown´s paper.

“I am off to the market with my maid, mama” She told Portia “I have just a bit left of pin money and- “Portia waved her off, gesturing for her to go

“I´ll go with you” you said to her as she turned to leave

The park was a lively scene that afternoon, filled with ladies strolling arm-in-arm and gentlemen gathered in clusters, exchanging conversation and laughter. You had chosen to take her walk alone, though Penelope had gone ahead to meet Eloise.

The events of the past few weeks still left you feeling disoriented, but you had started to settle into your role as Y/n Featherington, even though the world around you felt like an elaborate charade. You weren’t entirely sure why you were here or how you were supposed to navigate these social games, but you were determined to find your footing.

Lost in thought, you didn’t notice the tall figure stepping into your path until you nearly collided with him.

Your head snapped up, your eyes immediately opening wide as you saw him. You’ve always imagined meeting him but finally seeing him in front of you is surreal.

Your breath got caught In your throat.

Anthony.

He was exactly as you remembered—broad-shouldered and impeccably dressed, his dark hair neatly styled and his expression exuding the quiet confidence of a man accustomed to commanding attention. But seeing him here, in the flesh, was entirely different from watching him on a screen.

And he was handsome. Extremely.

“Miss Featherington?” His voice, deep and smooth, cut through her shock like a blade. Your eyes widened. How did he know- ah, right, Penelope

You blinked, trying to regain your composure. “Lord Bridgerton,” you managed to say, dipping into a shaky curtsy as you remembered it was the custom in this era

He stepped closer, his brows drawing together in mild concern. “Are you quite all right? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

You gave a nervous laugh, hoping it didn’t sound as forced as it felt. “My apologies, my lord. You just… startled me, is all.”

“I assure you, that was not my intention,” he replied, his tone polite but edged with curiosity. His dark eyes studied you, and for a moment, you felt as though he could see straight through your carefully constructed façade, realizing that you didn’t belong to this world

“You must forgive me,” You said quickly, your words tumbling out in an effort to mask your unease. “I was lost in thought and did not see you approach.”

“Clearly,” he said, though his tone carried no malice. “It is a rare occurrence to catch someone so thoroughly off guard.”

You straightened, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “And yet, here you are, Lord Bridgerton. A man of many talents, I see. I suppose this is a rare moment of leisure for you?” You tried to make small talk, not wanting to waste this opportunity.

Anthony raised an eyebrow at you. “Leisure, you say? And what makes you so certain I am not hard at work?”

“Hard at work?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “I had imagined as much. A man like you—busy securing the future of your family and interviewing potential viscountesses—surely has little time for aimless walks.”

Anthony blinked, clearly caught off guard by your bluntness, though he recovered quickly. “You are well-informed, Miss Featherington.”

“Only what everyone else already knows,” You replied casually, smoothing the skirt of her gown. “Your efforts to find a suitable match have become the talk of the ton. I dare say even Lady Whistledown has taken notice.”

“That is hardly surprising,” Anthony remarked, his tone edged with faint exasperation. “Lady Whistledown takes notice of everything.”

You tilt your head “Then perhaps the better question is whether you take notice of her words.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, he seemed to genuinely consider your question. “I find that Lady Whistledown’s observations are often exaggerated, though not always without merit. Still, I prefer to form my own opinions.”

“An admirable approach,” You said. “Though I do wonder, does that same logic apply to the ladies you interview? Or do you rely on recommendations from your family?”

He studied you carefully, as though trying to determine the intent behind your words. “I assure you, Miss Featherington, I take my responsibilities very seriously. When it comes to choosing a viscountess, I rely on no one but myself.”

You raised her hands in mock surrender. “Of course, my lord. I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise. Let me guess, the perfect wife must be well read, intelligent, must play an instrument. Must know how many children she wants, able to hold a conversation and most important, hips capable of child bearing, am I wrong?”

Anthony’s eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of surprise and amusement flickering across his features. “You have quite the imagination, Miss Featherington,” he said, his tone even, though there was a distinct edge of curiosity in his gaze. “And an uncommonly sharp tongue.”

You offered a small smile, your nerves steadying under the guise of playful banter. “Forgive me, my lord, if I’ve overstepped. But the list does sound like something Lady Whistledown herself might concoct. Or perhaps it’s simply what one hears when the Bridgerton heir is the subject of such persistent speculation.”

Anthony regarded you with an unreadable expression, his hands clasped behind his back as he leaned slightly closer. “And do you often find yourself among those who speculate, Miss Featherington?”

Your breath hitched as he leaned in closer, hesitating for a moment before responding, your voice light but measured. “Speculation is hardly my pastime, my lord. However, when a man of your stature begins conducting interviews as though he were drafting a contract, it’s difficult not to take notice.”

There was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that made your heart flutter. “And what would you have me do instead, Miss Featherington? Rely solely on the whims of fate? Entrust my future to the uncertainty of a fleeting glance across a ballroom?” he murmured

“Some might argue that fleeting glances have led to the happiest of unions,” you countered, . “Though I suppose that would not suit a man as practical as yourself.” You smiled knowingly, already aware that before next season starts, he would already be in a marriage of love that started with those very same fleeting glances he has no interest in.

Anthony’s lips quirked upward in the faintest hint of a smile, though he quickly masked it. “You seem to have a rather strong opinion of me, despite our limited acquaintance.”

“Limited, perhaps, but not nonexistent,” you replied, taking a small step closer as if to match his intensity. “I’ve heard enough to know that you value duty above all else, that you are a man of precision and purpose. But even the most dutiful man can benefit from embracing the unexpected.”

He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And do you speak from experience, Miss Featherington?”

You hesitated, his question striking closer to home than you anticipated. “Perhaps,” you said finally, your voice softer now. “But even if I did, I doubt my experience would be of any interest to you, my lord.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony said, his voice low but firm. “I find you quite… intriguing.”

Your breath hitched once again at his words, and for a moment, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. But then Anthony straightened, his composed demeanor returning as quickly as it had slipped.

“However,” he continued, his tone now more formal, “I must take my leave. Duty calls, as you so astutely pointed out.”

“Of course, my lord,” you said, managing a polite curtsy despite the sudden flutter in your chest. “I wouldn’t dare keep you from your responsibilities.”

As he turned to go, Anthony paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “Miss Featherington,” he said, his voice softer now, “you may think me a man of precision, but even precision has its limits. Perhaps one day, you’ll learn just how far.”

And with that, he strode away, leaving you rooted to the spot, your mind racing and your heart pounding in a way you hadn’t expected.

As soon as he was out of sight, you let out a shaky breath, your heart still racing. Seeing him on-screen had never prepared you for this—for the sheer intensity of his presence, for the way his voice seemed to resonate in her very bones.

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to steady yourself. This world might have been a dream come true, but Anthony Bridgerton was proving to be a far more disarming reality than you imagined.

Taglist:

@heyyitsreign

[frost-queen]

Persevering love // part 3 (Male!Reader x Bridgerton siblings)

 Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @floatlosers,  @alex–awesome–22, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly , @denkisclown, @wildiefleur , @meyocoko , @subjecta13-thefangirl , @m-rae23, @melsunshine  , @venomsvl , @the-uncoordinated-house-cat , @rosecentury , @evilcr0ne , @vviolynn , @niktwazny303 , @avada-kedrava-bitch-187, @erikasurfer , @slythetic  , @eliscannotdance, @p0nycurtis, @slythetic, @bitchybananaflower, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @winter-solstice24, @how-what-why-huh

Summary: After the Sharma's have visted, you start to feel more like your old self. Even daring to go to your first ball even if it was just to see that one person once more. [part 1 & part 2]

The door swung open as Gregory ran inside. Startling Violet, Francesca and Colin. Not a moment later you stormed in after him. Gregory laughing loud and screaming in delight. They all blinked confused when you ran up to Gregory.

Wrapping your arm around him and lifting him up with a groan. Gregory kept laughing as you set him back down. – “Got ya!” – you called out with a chuckle. You noticed your family staring in confusion at the two of you. – “Sorry mama.” – you breathed out at the disturbance.

Violet smiled. – “I’m glad to see your smile again.” – she responded. Colin approached you, ruffling his fingers through your hair. It made you smile, lowering your head. – “You’ve become more childish.” – he teased. You removed his hand from your hair, giving him a playful shove.

Gregory pressed his hands against your lower stomach. – “I’ll race you to the other side!” – he called out. – “On it!” – you replied pushing Colin out of the way. The two of you started running out of the drawing room. – “Be careful!” – Violet shouted loud afraid you would not hear it anymore.

Gregory and you were racing. Running through the house whilst laughing loud. Anthony appeared from his study, immediately jumping back at the two quick figures nearly knocking him over.

“You can’t catch me!” – he heard Gregory shout loud. Making Anthony scratch the back of his head, staring back at you with a smile. Normally he’d comment on it that running was not allowed in the house, but this time he didn’t.

Not when he saw how happy you were. How more and more you started feeling like your old self again. The brother he knew from before the war. The goofy brother that had a care-free spirit. You picked up Gregory with one arm, letting him fall on your bed as you couldn’t uphold the weight any longer.

Exhaling out pants, you let yourself fall on the bed beside him. Gregory rolled over to his side, coming to lean on his elbow. You breathed out a laugh, turning your head to him. – “Something on my face?” – you asked wiping it.

Gregory chuckled, shaking his head. You dropped your arm over your eyes, catching your breath. – “I’m just glad to have my brother back.” – he responded poking your cheek. You lifted your arm up from over your eyes, looking cheeky at him. – “Am I your favourite brother?” – you asked him teasingly.

He laughed loud as you waved your hand. – “No, don’t tell me.” – you said looking back up at the ceiling. Cracking up a smile. Gregory lifted your hand up to look at your face. – “You are the most fun one.” – he told you. Humming loud, you were pleased with his answer. – “Good enough.” – you spoke coming to sit up with a loud groan. Gregory came sitting up as well.

Letting his head lean against your shoulder. – “Thank you for staying with me.” – you told him, taking his hand. Gregory curled up a saddened smile. – “I’ll do anything for my brother.” – he responded. – “Truly?” – you answered quirking your eyebrow up with a cheeky smile

Gregory lifted his head up, chuckling nervously. He got up slowly backing away from the bed. You got up as well with a finger held up. – “Will you give me all the chocolate macrons?” – you said teasingly. You knew just how much he loved those. Gregory swallowed hard. – “Yes…” – he said after some time.

“You hesitated.” – you replied with a smirk. He quickly shook his head. – “Your macrons are mine.” – you called out. – “Mother!” – Gregory shouted loud, running out of your room to save his precious macrons. Unable to hold it in, you started laughing loud.

“Something funny?” – Benedict questioned when he came peeking in your room as the door stood open. You sighed soft, pinking some happy tears away. Nearing Benedict, giving him a pat on his chest before leaving. You followed him downstairs back to the drawing room.

After diner everyone got up to prepare for tonight’s ball. They were all standing in the hallway when you came down the stairs. Dressed up in a suit. – “Y/n?” – Anthony said confused. You cleared your throat nervously. – “Got room for one more?” – you commented avoiding eye contact. Your brothers gleaming with pride for you.

“Always.” – Benedict responded throwing an arm around you. Giving you a sturdy pat on your shoulder. – “What made you decide to join us tonight?” – he asked curious. You smiled sheepishly, hand disappearing into your pocket. Clenching around something long.

“It doesn’t matter.” – Violet said coming nearer. You removed your hand from your pocket when she placed her hand under your chin. – “Even if it just for one ball, I am glad you have found the confidence to show yourself. For you should not be ashamed.” – she spoke.

You cleared your throat nervously, looking briefly away. Grabbing for the rolled up sleeve that hid your stomp. Anthony walked up to you, throwing his arms around you in a hug. – “My brother!” – he let out smiling. – “No one needs to dare comment about you brother.” – Colin pitched in, knowing how insecure you were about your limb.

You had lost your under arm during the war. Something you could not easily hide. Knowing many people would stare at it or ask questions about it. – “If they dare, they’ll have to face us.” – Anthony added patting you on your cheek. Violet cleared her throat that it was time to leave. Your brothers surrounding you. Practically carrying you on hands outside.

Blessed that you were still amongst them. You joined the carriage with your family. Sitting nervously by the window. Your gaze went up to the skies. The carriage wobbling over cobblestone. Exhaling nervously at what was to come. A ball. Your first to be exact. Since you have returned from the war, you had not attended one.

It was foolish considering what you went through. Also you felt too ashamed with your battle injury. Exhaling deep you let your hand slide in your pocket once more. Grabbing firm around the long thin object, hidden away. 

The thing that gave you strength to put yourself out there. Something a kind heart had blossomed inside of you. Your gaze went towards Anthony, sitting across from you. Biting your lip hesitantly. Anthony noticed you were watching, showing you a smile. You smiled partly back, turning your gaze back to the outdoors.

Your nerves spiked up when the carriage came to a stop. Footman opening the door. All of you getting out one by one. You let your mother and Anthony go first. Wanting to hide somewhere in the middle of your siblings.

You swallowed nervously when the doors to the ballroom opened. Several heads turned in the direction of the Bridgerton’s. Seeing a curious figure amongst them. You lowered your head, rather wanting to disappear than remain. It would be the first time everyone has seen you since you left for the war.

Anthony looked over his shoulder, seeing you shuffled backwards for an escape. He wouldn’t let you, grabbing you by your arm. He pulled you to the front with him. – “Everyone cheer for my brother!” – he called out proudly, swinging your arm up. You could die on the spot from fright. The ton all raised their glasses, shouting ‘hear hear’ for you.  Clapping and bowing at your presence.

Anthony smiled proudly rubbing your chest playfully. Keeping an arm around you. Proud to show off his brother to the ton. You gave him a playful shove for humiliating you like that, but secretly you liked it. Your brothers hyping you up with such proudness.

Glad to have you by their sides. Colin came joining in throwing his arm over Anthony and yours shoulder. – “Let’s drink brothers.” – he said patting you on your shoulder. You followed your family down the stairs. Several lord and ladies bowing when you walked past. Your eyes met with some girls as they smiled bashful.

It made you smile uncomfortable at the sudden attention. Benedict nudging you with a cheeky smile. You shoved his head away with a roll of your eyes. Anthony handed you a drink. All raising a toast to your first ball. Your brothers and you all laughed, feeling Eloise wrap her arm around yours.

Letting her head rest against your shoulder. Allowing her to squeeze her head against you. You raised your arm wanting to pat her on the head. Mid-way you stared at your rolled up sleeve. Seeing you were missing your underarm and hand. It made you laugh at how easily you had forgotten about it.

Lowering your arm, you let your gaze go around the ballroom. Some ladies came blocking your vision, suddenly standing before you. – “Mister Bridgerton.” – they said with a curtsy. It made you look nervously away. One of them rose her hand, showing you her dance card. – “Would you be so kind as to sign mine for a dance?” – she asked rather boldly.

Eloise quirked her eyebrow up, looking up at you. Clearing your throat, you felt warm. – “I… apologize ladies, but I… wouldn’t be such a great dance partner.” – you told them referring to having an arm less. – “You still got your feet.” – another one pointed out. It made you look down at your feet, knocking the sides to each other.

Chuckling nervously whilst touching your ear. – “I do…” – you responded. Eloise rolled her eyes stepping in. – “My brother also still has the ability to choose and he says no.” – Eloise called out, shooing them away. The girls pulled up their noses, taking their leave. You mouthed a thank you to her.

Turning your head, your eyes widened seeing her from across the ballroom. Glorious in pink. Clearing your throat, you straightened your posture. – “I’ll be right back.” – you told Eloise, taking your leave. She blinked confused, shrugged her shoulders and went to the buffet to stuff some cakes in her mouth.

You moved across to reach your destination. Taking in a deep breath, the closer you got to her. Seeing that charming smile on her lips. She lightly turned her head, eyes twinkling even more at your presence. – “Mister Bridgerton!” – she called out. – “Miss Edwina.” – you responded with a bow. – “I did not expect to see you here tonight.” – she responded rocking her body a bit from side to side.

It made you smile sheepishly, hand diving in your pocket once more. – “I…I… uhm…” – you felt yourself stumble over your words. Feeling like a blathering fool around her. Her eyes fell on your arm, gasping in delight. – “You rolled it up.” – she said touching your sleeve briefly. – “I.. I did.” – you spoke.

“Well I am very proud of you.” – she said with a sweet smile. It made you rub the back of your head nervously. – “I… I uhm… I still needed to give you this.” – you said taking out the object from your pocket. – “My pin!” – Edwina called out. – “The one you had given to me for my sleeve.” – you responded.

Edwina accepted the pin from you with a bashful smile. Her eyes fell on your sleeve once more. You looked down as well. – “I’m afraid this pin is rather boring.” – you told her with a laugh. Edwina reached for your sleeve. – “Then you must keep it.” – she spoke pricking her pin through the fabric to keep your rolled up sleeve in place. – “But…” – you responded. Edwina giggled finding you sweet.

It made you smile back at her. – “Tell me mister Bridgerton, are you here to show off your dance skills?” – she asked touching your arm. The arm that was wounded from the war. It made you look at it as not many people dared to touch it, besides your family.

“Or have you been saving them only for me?” – she added with gleaming eyes. Your eyes locked with hers. – “Only for you.” – you blurted out before you could think properly. Edwina giggled even more scrunching her nose as you exhaled at how beautiful she was. Further away stood Violet and Anthony.

“Now they seem very matching, don’t you think Anthony.” – Violet spoke. Anthony turned his head to watch you chatting with Edwina. A smile curling up his lips. Despite that he was courting Edwina, he didn’t really felt much for her. Violet glanced up to him, watching him smile. It made her smile as well that her son was finally realizing that Edwina was not the girl for him.

That his heart was elsewhere. With another Sharma girl. Anthony couldn’t deny feeling happiness when watching the both of you. – “They sure do.” – he responded, looking back at his mother. His gaze than drifting away locking with Kate somewhere in the crowd.

Edwina giggled loud taking you by the arm. Before you could protest, she pulled you to the dance. – “Edwina.” – you chuckled out nervously as she kept dragging you. She put you to a stop on the dancefloor. Coming to stand before you with a smile on her lips. The music began as she hopped forwards.

You felt a bit nervous with so many eyes observing, yet Edwina didn’t seem to be affected by them. Taking you by the arm, pulling it up. Keeping her hand up to twirl underneath your wounded arm. Not caring that she was not holding onto a hand. She then set her hand on your shoulder, her other on your back.

You touched her lower back as she led you into a waltz. She kept giggling, enjoying every moment of the dance. Each time she needed to hold your hand, she kept her hand on your upper arm. Unbothered by the watching eyes. It didn’t take you long to smile as well. Enjoy the dance with her as you have never felt more alive than now.

Edwina twirled a few times before you. Ending with her hands pressed against your chest. Looking pantingly up at you. You were out of breath too. Reaching your knuckles up to her. Touching her cheek lovingly. Edwina leaned into it, closing her eyes to cherish the touch more.

You cleared your throat, looking nervously around. Hoping you wouldn’t anger Anthony with this. It was something you did not anticipate. It simply happened. You fell for her caring and kind heart. You found your brother amongst the crowd, clapping with a reassuring nod your way. Letting you know it was alright.

Edwina took you by the arm, pulling you away from the dancefloor. – “I only have so much fun with you mister Bridgerton.” – she let out. – “As do I.” – you responded, taking her dance card in your hand. – “So I only reserve my feet for you.” – you told her before writing your name in big letters across her dance card.

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

Read more of my fics on my Masterlists!

[kennarose1108]

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader !CHILDHOOD ENIMES! !PART 4!

ANTHONY'S POV

She looked so stunning... Standing there nervous with her breathing heavy and staring up at him.

He saw the innocent stare on her face and he wanted nothing more but to ruin that innocence and take her as his own...

But he was a gentleman.

He couldn't just do that.

So he leaned in but stopped about an inch away. "Wh... What are you doing?" She asks him again. Anthony's other hand trailed down her arm and slowly pulled off her glove. He dropped it to the floor when it was removed he took her hand in his. "You feel it too don't you...?" He whispers.

"That feeling... The one of desire..." He whispers, his lips barely away from yours. "I could teach you so many things..." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Anthony... We can't..."

"Oh, but we must..." Anthony whispers right after you.

"If you don't feel the same tell me now and I'll walk away..." He says. He could tell she was at a loss for words at first before she let out a shaky breath, "I do not know what I feel..." She murmured. His fingers intertwined with hers.

God... Her bare skin felt so good against his... He wanted to touch every inch of your skin... He wanted to taste every inch of your skin.

"Tell me... Tell me how you feel. Just think about it for a moment... About the feelings you have." He says while rubbing his thumb gently over her knuckles. "Anthony w-we really... Can't." She whispers. Anthony stares at her momentarily, just taking in her scent, looks, aura... Everything. He wanted her fully in his memory before he did something that took all his strength to do...

He pulled away.

He let his fingertips leave her skin and he takes a step back. "I understand..." He nods and looks down. "No Anthony it's not... It's not like that, please... Just... It's too complicated." She says, clearly nervous and slightly desperate for him to understand. And he did. He did understand.

He nods again and looks up at her, "I understand Y/N. I am a gentleman. I will not force you to do something you are not comfortable doing." He says with a soft smile.

"It's not that I..." She starts but stops herself. There was a moment of silence between the two, them just staring at one another and both contemplating on what to do next. Finally, Anthony spoke up, "Let's go back to the carriage." He says while shrugging off his jacket. "Here, we'll have to run." He says with a smirk while giving her his jacket. She took it and raised it over her head to shield herself from the rain as they both ran back to the carriage. The carriage ride home was silent other than her telling him to take her straight home.

Once they got to her home she went to hand him her jacket but Anthony put his hand up to stop her, "Keep it for now. Use it to get inside the house. I'm sure we'll be seeing one another again sweetheart." He says with a wink. She blushes slightly but doesn't say anything before leaving the carriage.

Anthony watched as she quickly ran inside her home and he sighed. He wanted her so badly... But he couldn't have her. Not yet anyway.

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

A couple of weeks went by and Anthony had done his best to try and ignore her and ignore his feelings and focus on Kate. He got fitted for a tux, and they picked out a wedding cake flavor and where to have the wedding.

But the thought of her still lingered in his mind...

And now tonight was another ball and he knew he'd be seeing her again... He swallowed his pride and went to the ball. Anthony and Kate entered the ball arm-in-arm with big smiles on their faces... That was until he saw her.

She looked stunning, as always, but she looked upset. She was sitting by herself and looking at the people dancing... She seemed to not want to be there.

After a few minutes, Anthony peeled away from Kate walked over to her, and sat beside her. "For such a stunning lady you surely do have such a sad frown," Anthony says. She turns her head and glares at him and he chuckles softly, "And such a piercing glare..." He murmurs under his breath.

She turns away and sighs, "My mother has been on me for days... And because I've been avoiding her and her suitors none want to court me anymore. So now she's on me even more." Her gaze fell down as she spoke. "I just wish to be free... Is that too much to ask?" She says while turning her head towards him. He could see tears in her eyes and it broke his heart.

He wanted nothing more but to pull her into his arms and tell her everything was going to be alright... But he couldn't. Not here at least.

"Would you like to take a stroll with me in the garden? To get away?" Anthony suggests. "I don't think that's allowed..." She says but she was clearly intrigued by this idea. "Who cares?" Anthony chuckles. He then stands up and holds his arm out to her, "I would enjoy your company." He says with a smile. She hesitates before taking his arm. He leads her out into the garden and they walk around in the dimly lit garden arm-in-arm and just in silence.

It was a comfortable silence. But finally, Anthony decided to speak up, "I know you hate getting dressed up... But you truly look beautiful." Anthony says with a charming smile. She smiles back, "Thank you..." She says.

Anthony then clears his throat, "I would like to apologize for my actions a few weeks ago." They both stop as he continues, "It was ungentlemanly and I shouldn't have been so forceful on you..." Anthony says. She shakes her head, "Anthony... I told you that's not what I meant by we can't I..." She says before sighing.

"Listen... I just... I don't understand my own feelings and I don't want to ruin anything with you and your fiancé..." She explains. "Y/N... I won't shy away from my feelings." Anthony says while pulling his arm out of her grip.

"I want you." He says. She shakes her head, "No... You can't." He steps forward, "Oh, but I can." He says, his arm snaking around her waist. "I know you feel the same... The way your breath hitches when we touch, the way your face blushes when I do a kind gesture for you... I know you feel the same." He says, repeating himself at the last part.

"It doesn't matter what I feel..." She says with a heavy breath. "To me it does..." He whispers, his lips just inching towards hers.

But then a bush rustled near them causing her to gasp and both of them turned to the sound. But, luckily, it was just a bunny running through a bush. She lets out a sigh of relief and pulls back. "Anthony... This is wrong... W-We can't..." She says while shaking her head. "We cannot deny our feelings for one another..." Anthony says and she sighs and turns to walk away. He quickly follows after her.

He calls her but she ignores him as they walk back into the ball, she hurries up the stairs, trying to get away from him. She goes into a room, which seems to be the library in the manor, and tries to shut the door in his face but he grabs the door and makes his way inside. She backs up until her back hits a table in the room.

"We can't..." She says. "We must." He answers back.

"Anthony it's wrong." She says with a huff. "Since when has love been so wrong?" He answers. She scoffs, "Now you claim to love me?"

"I have always loved you!" He says, a little bit too loudly. "Since we were children... I have always loved you." He says, his voice barely above a whisper. She stares at him with a sad stare, "You are to be married..." She whispers.

"I will leave her." He says quickly. Her eyes widened, "You cannot!" She says. "But I can." He says back. "Your reputation will be ruined! You cannot!" He then grabs her hips and pulls her close to him.

"I. Don't. Care. I want you. My heart aches for you... I only want you." He says in a low and seductive, but sincere, tone of voice... They stare at one another, both of their breaths heavy and their hearts yearning for one another...

She then grabbed the collar of his shirt before yanking him forward and kissing him passionately.

PART 5?

[aliesbienish]

Anxiously awaiting your return.

Summary: You can’t help feeling left out while waiting for your partners to return home.

Pairing: Kate x Reader x Anthony (poly)

“I’ve missed you,” You say as soon as your partners entered the sitting room. They had spent the evening at the Cowper ball, their presence demanded by the Tons unwritten society rules.

“And we you,” Kate declared, placing a kiss on your forehead. Anthony followed suit with a gentle peck on your cheek.

You had no desire to go to the ball, at least not while pretending to be who the Ton thought you were. A lonely spinster who’s only fortune was her parents passing young, leaving her in charge of the small wealth they had accumulated.

“How was your evening love?” Anthony questioned as he took your hand in his.

“It was fine,”. Clearly your face didn’t agree with the sentiment as both Kate and Anthony frowned.

“Truthfully?”

“Truthfully I spent most the time wishing I was with you. That I could hold your hands in society, that we could dance together. I love you both soo much but I can’t help being jealous that you both can be out in love together and I’m hidden away here.I’m sorry, I know that it’s silly” The feelings flooded out before you could stop them, tears flowing down your cheeks. Embarrassed, you hid your face in your hands.

“Pyaari, your feelings are not silly, we wish you were with us as well.” Kate declared, wrapping you into her arms.

“We spend the evenings apart discussing how much we want to be home with you,” Anthony added.

“I just get scared that you’ll both decide this relationship is to hard. That it’ll be easier just to be the married couple society dictates you should be, that you visibly are. And I will be heartbroken and won’t even be able to show it.”

“Love, while this may be unconventional its worth it. I know I speak for Kate when I say we don’t see you as an add on to our marriage. You are an equal part. You are entwined with us, I’m certain we will never be able to be separated.”

“Anthony is right Pyaari. I’m sorry if we haven’t been abundantly clear but to us you are our wife. We want a life with you, a family with you and to grow old with you. And if that means upsetting society so you are comfortable then so be it.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I think I’m going to try to make a one shot series out of this idea… let me know if you are interested and/or have any requests.

According to Google ‘pyaari’ means love in Hindi - feel free to correct me if inaccurate. I’m also not entirely sure which region Kate comes from in India and therefore not sure if Hindi is even her mother tongue. Anyone know??

Anyway hope you enjoyed.

[inlovewithpandora]

"Just keep looking at me. No one else matters." ᝰ Anthony Bridgerton

ᥫ᭡ — Tracklist ᝰ Genre Keys.!

✿ - fem!reader・❖ - gn!reader・♛ - black!reader

💍 - wife!reader・🌸 - mom!reader・💞 - pregnant!reader

✲ - smut・※ - suggestive・❀ - fluff・♨︎ - angst・✂︎ - hurt・☂︎ - comfort

♥︎ - romance・★ - platonic・📥 - request・🗓️ - newest

ᥫ᭡ — CASSETTES ᝰ HEADCANONS.!

— new music pending.!

ᥫ᭡ — DIGITAL ᝰ DRABBLES.!

— new music pending.!

ᥫ᭡ — VINYL DISC 1 ᝰ ONESHOTS.!

— new music pending.!

ᥫ᭡ — VINYL DISC 2 ᝰ TWOSHOTS.!

— new music pending.!

ᥫ᭡ — ALBUM ᝰ SERIES.!

— new music pending.!

[starriisarchives]

"it is his mind and spirit that will court yours." ღ kate bridgerton.

౨ৎ welcome to kate's channel ! ᝰ please read the warnings before interacting. minors dni with [n]sfw content! grab your snacks and enjoy :D

(✰) fluff — (❀) angst — (❤︎) smut — (⟡) hurt/comfort

·˚ ༘ * SHORTS ✗ DRABBLES

ﾒ this shelf is empty

·˚ ༘ * LIVES ✗ HEADCANONS

ﾒ this shelf is empty

·˚ ༘ * VIDEOS ✗ ONESHOTS

ﾒ this shelf is empty

·˚ ༘ * STREAMS ✗ SERIES

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·˚ ༘ * PLAYLISTS ✗ TWOSHOTS

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please do not copy or repost my fics.

[imgondeletedis]

since this is like the saddest song on the album imo might as well start writing a fic (one shot) inspired by it because i love being tortured.

[bumblesimagines]

The Clouds and The Stars

Request: Yes or No

Sequel one shot to The Sun and Moon!

Pronouns: He/Him/His

~~~

Married life... such a curious thing. Many grew up with an expectation as to how it would be, mostly based on their own parents' relationship. There were the happy parents who formed a love match and loved each other with their whole hearts. There were the friendly parents who were more friends than partners but still cared for one another. Then, there were the saddening parents who either due to a forced marriage or perhaps because of time grew to despise each other, only tolerating each other for the sake of their children whom they unknowingly harm with their arguments and jabs. 

(Y/N) grew up with friendly parents. Lucy and Henry had ended their respective social seasons by marrying under the guise of being madly in love in order to chase after what they truly wanted, even if their desires had to be kept behind closed doors and only exposed to trusted individuals. Secrecy had always been a part of his life, even when it involved marriage, and he supposed now, as he lied in bed and watched the sun peek through the curtains, he'd truly followed in his parents' footsteps. At least, however, he'd found someone. Found more than one, in fact. 

"Love," (Y/N) couldn't help but smile as Anthony sighed into his ear, his muscular arm tightening around him and pulling him closer to his chest. Anthony buried his face in the crook of his neck and inhaled deeply, lips pressing against his skin before he hooked his chin over (Y/N)'s shoulder. He gently nudged him, a soft grunt leaving him when (Y/N) remained still. "Love."

"What is it?" (Y/N) chuckled and finally shifted, moving onto his back and peering up at Anthony when he propped himself up onto his elbow. Anthony smiled at him, cheeky and pleased, one hand moving to cup his face and rub his thumb soothingly over his cheek, a warm twinkle in his dark eyes. (Y/N) felt his skin flush under such an adoring gaze. 

"I simply wished to see my husband's beautiful face, is all." Anthony cooed, and (Y/N) smile widened tenfold, a bashful and breathy laugh escaping him. They weren't married to each other, not legally or in the eyes of the church at least, but in their hearts and to their families they were. Many in the ton suspected but with Queen Charlotte's silence and Lady Whistledown calling their dance together a 'much-needed change for such dreary balls', anyone with suspicions or beliefs remained silent. Of course, they still had to remain a secret, lest someone grew annoyed enough to reach out to the church. 

"Such a charmer, Anthony." (Y/N) spoke teasingly, sighing softly against Anthony's mouth when he swooped down to kiss him. Anthony pressed harder against his lips and fully rolled over, laying ontop of the painter and only pulling away to trail kisses down his jawline and to his neck. Always so hungry, so needy and clingy. "Anthony, we have things to do-"

"They can wait," Anthony murmured against his skin, one hand slipping under his shirt while the other took his hand and locked their fingers together. (Y/N) rolled his eyes and released a breathy laugh, breath nearly hitching when Anthony needily rolled his hips. "We have time."

"It's an important day, Anthony. Francesca will need her brother today, you know." (Y/N) reminded him, dipping his fingers beneath Anthony's chin and gripping it lightly so he could tilt his head up. Anthony sighed dramatically, putting his full weight down on him and bringing their intertwined hands toward his face, a gentle kiss pressing against the back of (Y/N)'s hand. (Y/N) smiled.

"Suppose we should be quick, then." Anthony grinned mischievously, his free hand pushing up (Y/N)'s shirt and head dipping to pepper kisses along his stomach. 

"Anthony!" (Y/N) tried not to laugh too loudly, mindful of those still slumbering in the nearby rooms. He could hear the maids and servants bustling around, likely readying the house and preparing breakfast. Such a big day for the Bridgerton family again, and yet, there lied the Viscount, acting like a hormonal boy all over again. (Y/N) swatted at his shoulder and pushed himself up but it only prompted Anthony's head to dip even lower. "Anthony Bridgerton!"

Releasing a muffled laugh, Anthony finally relented and sat back, his hand still keeping an iron grip on (Y/N)'s no matter how hard the painter trying to pull back. (Y/N) groaned again in fake annoyance that only made Anthony giggle like a child and reach out to pull him onto his lap. He leaned in, pressing their lips together again. (Y/N) melted against him and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, squeezing Anthony's hand and feeling his fingers tighten even more. 

"If only-" (Y/N) leaned back, briefly interrupted when Anthony pecked his lips again. "-you put this much effort into having an heir with Steph." 

"Mm, I've been busy and she seems more than content with her... lady friends," Anthony said, nuzzling his face into (Y/N)'s chest. "If you'd been a lady, I'm certain you'd be expecting by now." 

"Yes, I'm aware. You've made that abundantly clear, Lord Bridgerton. I don't understand how you can have this much stamina." (Y/N) shook his head with a soft laugh, sweetly kissing the top of his head and exhaling softly. "But, I am not a lady nor your wife, Anthony. You need an heir. I'm sure it won't take too many attempts."

"And what of you and Kate? I'm sure you nor she will have this difficulty if you try for children of your own. We have each other's blessings, you know. If you'd like to have a child-"

"We've been breaching the topic, actually." (Y/N) revealed, finally untangling his hand from Anthony's and rising up from the bed, searching for the clothes he kept in Anthony's home for days he spent the night. Because of their predicament regarding Anthony's position as Viscount and their inability to wed publicly or have children, both men agreed to take on brides. Stephanie provided the perfect candidate for Viscountess and (Y/N) had always held affection for Kate. "She's more than happy to have children. She thinks two is a good number, in fact, so they have someone to keep them company."

"How many do you think Steph will want?" Anthony sighed, standing up as well to get dressed.

"Well, if you have a boy first... I think you'll both be content with just one." (Y/N) chuckled, slipping his coat on and adjusting the ends of it while Anthony began taking clothes out of the closet. The thought of parenthood, of fatherhood, hung over the two of them, both exciting and nerve-wracking. The four of them would care for the children together, that'd already been agreed upon, but still... bringing life into the world? It made (Y/N) queasy yet... pleased. 

"If you and I could have children," Anthony whistled sharply, a grin spreading across his face and fingers swiftly buttoning up his shirt. "We'd have a bigger brood than Mother." 

"I don't doubt it." (Y/N) retrieved Anthony's coat from its spot draped over the armrest and approached him, helping him slip his arms through and adjusting it for him. He smiled, finishing the last button of his shirt and fixing the collar before tugging Anthony closer to kiss him. "You're insatiable, Anthony."

"Only for you." Anthony cooed, gearing up to lean in again but the sound of the door opening made him pause.

Stephanie dramatically gasped at the sight of them, lifting a hand to her head and fanning herself rapidly. "Oh, Kate, what ever will we do? How could they do this to us?" She gasped again, a teasing smile stretching across her face as Kate giggled and gently nudged her and walked further into the room. (Y/N) rolled his eyes at Stephanie but smiled widely at Kate, pulling away from Anthony to extend his arms out toward her. 

"My darling wife." He greeted warmly, coiling his arms around her waist and planting a kiss between her brows. Kate hummed softly, leaning her head down to rest it on his shoulder. Stephanie stopped at Anthony's side, taking a quick look over his clothes before nodding approvingly and curling her arm around his. 

"Shall we get to it? Breakfast is ready and Violet has been fretting over Francesca nonstop. She's worried about the poor girl." Stephanie told them and Anthony sighed heavily, leaning over to kiss (Y/N)'s temple and nod to Kate. The Viscount and Viscountess fell into conversation and exited the room, leaving Kate and (Y/N) alone. 

"So, my darling husband," Kate began with a small laugh, lifting her head and smoothing out his shirt with her palms, her keen eyes searching for anything out of place before rising to look him in the eye. She smiled, pecking his cheek. "We have a long day ahead of us, as you know. Ready for this social season?"

"As long as I have you and Anthony and Steph, I'll always be ready."

[skyrigel]

Can you write an image in which Benedict is obsessed with Y/N and is always looking for reasons to touch her. However, Y/N knows that when it comes to women, Benedict quickly gets what he wants... sex. She keeps him waiting and doesn’t sleep with him until the wedding day.

Obsessed with you | I

Part 1 | Part 2

Pairing: Benedict bridgerton x afab!reader

Synopsis: Ton's most eligible bachelor is obsessed with the mystery lady in silver, and would do anything to have her

Warning: Reader's mother has issues, scandalous family, last name Rose for convience, Benedict being a smug bastard, some regency class differences, cute Polin, cute kathony, minor non-con touching, smoking cigar, lots of teasing and ofcourse obsessive and possession behaviour. Might be toxic! Benedict but please he's a cutie.

Dearest gentle readers,

While for sure we have seen former Rake now Kate's beloved whipped husband, and Colin bridgerton who is so smitten with his dearest wife that it will not come forward a surprise if he hasn't set foot out in all these days, but Benedict bridgerton is neither whipped nor smitten, he is, as the poets would whisper, obsessed. It will be amusing to know who this mystery lady is, with her dazzling silver gown and piercing eyes, sharp enough as she carved the gentleman's heart out.

Benedict was a man for art and muse so forgive him if he got so obsessed with you, the real question was, how could he not ? You were the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, clad in your most dazzling blue dress that he wanted nothing but to take off.

" She exaggerates." Anthony pouted, he shouldn't know that he had but he's been pouting a lot lately, it's called 'kateffect'

" No, you've been domesticated brother, just admit it, Kate has tamed you." Colin peppered, sprawling down next to Anthony who greeted him with the most glaring glare.

" Like you're any better." Anthony smirked, setting his gaze on Benedict who read the index again.

" Penelope doesn't know her name ? " Benedict worried his jaw, looking between his brothers.

" I take that back, Penelope didn't exaggerate, you're really very much obsessed." Anthony remarked, Colin nodded.

" Oi, she would've known your mystery lady's full name and history but—"

" Don't complete that, I'll duel you."

" In the middle of a ball ? " Benedict laughed, eyes amused, Colin turned a crimson red.

" Rather tempting—"

" Oi! " Anthony raised his brow, his mouth curving in disdain, as Colin staggered away, leaving Anthony praying to lord behind like he was any better.

" Oh dear." Benedict smiled when once alone, thumb caressing the index, as if it was the mystery lady in silver blue gown, accused of taking away the gentleman's heart.

" Who are you ? " He whispered.

_

" Ma'am, would you like something else ? " Mrs. Turner asked once you were seated on your dressing, playing with several glassy bottles with colourful scenty substances.

" In yesterday's masquerade ball, I was dancing with a Bridgerton—" Mrs. Turner tutted softly," He's Benedict bridgerton, i assume."

" Yes, indeed, the only bachelor bridgerton boy of age." Mrs. Turner pulled the corset strings and you gasped, feeling your internals squeeze in the process.

You smiled, thinking about the way Benedict looked at you, all stars in his eyes.

" I..it is not my place miss but as your well wisher, i would say.." she worried her jaw.

" It's okay Mrs. Turner, you should speak your mind." You assured her, feeling her fingers stop at your back as she looked at your reflection in the mirror.

" Benedict bridgerton's a rake, unlike any other gentleman... he's known to engage women with class and wits...artists, musicians, and other dimplomacy that are odd amongst our sex."

" Oh." You nodded, feeling stupid enough to think those were meant for you, like they were of real affection.

" I wouldn't want you any harm, after your father's death and your inheritance affairs, you couldn't afford another scandal, for a good match—"

" My virtue should stay intact ? " You raised your chin, examining the stain of rose on your lips.

" Your sister was a good girl madam, so are you." Mrs. Turner smiled, her eyes crinkling with deepest concerns.

-

Benedict's eyes were searching for you everywhere, he has been waiting for you since so long. Despite anxious mamas forcing introductions and dances, he was looking only for you.

" Miss Rose." Benedict turned to see his sister in law, smiling a smirk, followed by her husband in tow.

" You wound me Pen, it's Benedict bridgerton! " He laughed, much to Colin's dismay.

" Oh well your mystery lady is Miss Rose, daughter of late Duke of Blair field and lady bloom." Colin was one step away from clapping.

" Wow." Benedict's mouth curved in a delightful 'o'.

" Oh well they are rather scandalous, her sister was rumoured to be not a virgin which deceased all of her prospects of marriages, her mother is rather protective of her."

" Pen, did I tell you how you're my favourite sister ? " Benedict perked his gaze towards the entrance, hoping for you to bless him.

" Don't let Eloise hear that." Colin said, outstretching his arm that Penelope held as they swirled between the crowd, laughing.

_

" You shall not be unchaperoned." Your mother had a faraway look in her eyes, her hand was trembling and you surged the desire to just hold it.

" I understand, mama." You bowed your head once, trying to forget the trembling of her hands.

" Don't engage in gossips dearest, better keep to yourself and..." She forgot what she was saying, her lips trembling along, you looked at Mrs. Turner with a pleading gaze.

" Ma'am, we must make haste." She simply said, your mother spared a glance to you, her mouth tightening around the corners.

" You look beautiful child." She looked away, you pretended not to see the tear that glistented down her cheek.

After securing yourself in the carriage, with your dress squeezing the life out you, you finally breathed.

" I envy Gissele." You said softly, caressing the uneven glittering fake diamonds.

" She would say the same." Mary mumbled, she was Mrs. Turner's daughter who rather got scolded every often for being too blunt. You liked her alot.

" Oh wouldn't it be so wonderful to just lay in bed, reading a book and wearing simple soft dresses." You perked up at the idea of a life like that, a simple homely cottage, filled with warmth and sweetness and books.

" But the society has it's own fun, look at you, pretty dresses, pretty shoes, and all those prince charming lords." Mary took your fan and mimicked the motion, you smiled.

" Well you could always borrow a dress, have some fun." Your eyes glinted, Mary shaked her head.

" C'mon." You grabbed her wrist, shaking them, up and down profusely.

" No, mama will kill me ! "

" But the fun ?! No one would know, they haven't seen me, they don't know me."

" Well i can't pretend to be you, what would happen if somebody caught us."

" Don't then, be yourself ! Mary Turner."

" Sounds like a bad idea." Mary said, her smile deceived her.

" Lord Turner of Riverdales, be their relative, no one hardly pays attention."

" Whistledown does." Mary narrowed her eyes, you looked out to make sure you haven't yet reached.

" Well she called me a mystery woman who apparantly took a gentleman's heart."

" Oh Mr. Bridgerton's a known gentleman." You scoffed at that, Mary's brow knitted together as she studied you.

" What ? He's a rake." You brushed the tingling away, feeling the way Benedict's gaze lingered on you, the way he twirled you around like you were the only real thing, the way he flushed and stumbled through his words, attempting to know absolutely anything about you.

" I highly doubt that, never heard anything about him."

" Presumably he has a longing for accomplised women." You finger quoted it with a scowl that was too unladylike, Mary bursted into fits of giggles.

" What ? " You poked her, she shaked with her guffaw, chortling in her way.

" You fancy him." She said, chuckling the ' him' away, you frowned deeply, heart leaping at the ton that was gathered outside lady Danbury's exquisite ball.

" Utter rubbish. Do you still want to have fun ? " You asked, Mary smiled.

_

Benedict gaze perked up when you and Mary stumbled through the ball, Mary was almost shaking and you were sure her clothes didn't fit much to you, you felt your back prickling with burning gaze and you turned.

" Told you he's a rake. Don't be friendly to him." You whispered to Mary who was about to run when Benedict dropped his conversation with lord White, swaggering towards you.

" What if he recognises you ? " She mumbled and your lower lip trembled, but that's not possible, your mask obscured your whole face except your lips and eyes and certainly he hadn't painted you in his mind, afterall he shouldn't be that obsessed.

" My lady." He bowed, his gaze locking in yours as he kissed the hand Mary very reluctantly gave him, he was amused when Mary mumbled a hasty greeting, her manners mimicked.

" You look exquisite, more than the ball itself." He was clearly flattered when Mary blinked hard, looking at you for help.

You rolled your eyes when Benedict too, looked at you with a similar pleading as Mary.

" Forgive me my lord, my lady is tired—"

" We haven't been introduced i remember, Benedict bridgerton." He grinned, he actually freaking grinned as Mary glanced at you with the corner of her eye.

" Lady Mariam Turner." She blurted it quickly, looking at you for approval, " A pleasure." Mary smiled, you nodded.

" Forgive me Mr. Bridgerton." You cleared your throat, Benedict's gaze penetrated through you, he was setting you on fire and you couldn't do anything but to burn.

" My lady is tired, you must excuse us." You felt your throat dry, your whole body withering when Benedict narrowed his eyes, lingering specifically on your lips and treading down slowly.

" Indeed, I must not keep you." He cocked his head to Mary, humming along as you strode past him. You were sure he only whispered the ' not ' out of curtsy.

_

" That was bloody brilliant ! " You giggled while Mary shaked her head, clutching her bossom. Your footsteps echoing in the abandoned corridor, stiffling back your giggles.

" That was bloody scary and I can't breathe." Mary heaved, her breath easing when you patted her back.

" Lady Mariam Turner." You teased, bumping your hip as Mary looked at you, gasping scandalously.

" Shut up. I almost died." Mary pulled her dress that sticked to her skin, trying to fan in some air.

" Do you think he recognised me ? " Your cheeks blazed at the heat of the memory of him, his teasing glances and amused smiles.

" I...I think it was rather amusing that we were messing up, did you see how I trembled? " Mary shaked her hand, as you laughed at the display.

" No, my lady." You said, once your giggles subsided, " You were exquisite."

Mary wacked your arm, her smile unable to hide through the twitch of her lips.

" So, shall we go home ? "

" Would you mind waiting in the carriage ? "

" Don't tell me—" Mary glared, you pouted with puppy eyes.

" Please, you know it's my only way."

" Smoking is bad." Mary declared, " and for men." She added grimly, you nodded along, grabbing her wrist.

" Please, please, please."

" Only if you give back my clothes, i miss them." She touched the soft cotton of her clothes that you were wearing, you perked up eagerly.

_

You took joy at the puffs of smoke that ridiculed the air, the night chill freezing it into clouds of silvery mist.

Mary was dozing off in the carriage until it was time to go home, so early arrival doesn't raise any questions and your mother fast asleep, her trembling lipped questions saved for the next day.

" I thought your lady was tired." You almost dropped your cigar, jumping up the swing as it creaked at sudden outburst.

" Don't drop it, i don't have any with me." His smile was too big and smug for his face, his nonchalance dripped as he took the swing opposite of you. You stared, for some reason cigar still burning in intricate yellow blazing circles, dropping to ashes.

" Forgive me my lord—" you just remembered you were no longer in Mary's clothes.

" That's the only line you grasped so far ? " Benedict leaned on his swing, catching your wrist as he dragged you to sit.

You sat down with a thud, swing jiggling with your weight as you processed his smile.

" I..." You stammered, flushing in heat as he inhaled you in, you were back in your clothes, the one you were supposed to wear. And Mary was right, you couldn't breathe.

" I would say you look beautiful, in everything, in anything..or—" in nothing.

" I should leave." You throat itched.

" Stay." He was soft, almost a whine, a plead.

" Please don't tell anyone." You tried your best persuading smile, it worked on Gissele all the time, your lips pouting and eyes shining with stars.

Benedict's mouth curved in a smile, he clicked his tongue as he attempted to speak but he found he couldn't. A pause, then—

" You love tormenting me, don't you ? " Benedict took the burning cigar from you, locking your eyes with his own as he brought it to his mouth, a sound escaped him as his lips curved around the warmness that belonged to you, he inhaled deeply.

" I don't know what you're talking about." You tore away you eyes from the erotic display of smoking, he hummed in a dry scoff.

" Ofcourse, you wouldn't." He offered the Cigar back, every word coated with sarcasm.

The breeze was so cold that you shivered, moon hanging low in the night sky and every star stared back, Sirius, Rigel, and all of them.

" I never meant to offend you." You took the cigar back, his fingers brushed, a electrifying wave rippling inside you, like the way he held your hand and danced with you in the masquerade ball.

You noticed his flexing but said nothing, heart beating too fast to be sane and alive.

" Miss Rose—" you gasped, how could he know your name, "—have you ever been kissed ? "

" I...Benedict..lord." you clamped your mouth shut, lips suddenly struck by a bolt as they buzzed.

He leaned as you felt your back touching the rope of swing, his face too close... would he kiss you ? Would it be as electrifying as the rest of his touches ? Would you survive it or simply burn like a pheonix ?

" It's okay, we would alot when we get married. " He took away the cigar and dropped it as it was so close to burn your skin, smiling all the while. Was that a proposal ?

" Go home, it's getting cold, Mrs-yet-to-be bridgerton." And he pressed his lips against your forehead, his smile caressing your heart.

Rigel's note 🪩: while I loved this idea especially the hilarious ' Benedict gets what he wants....sex ' but I needed to base it, so it doesn't come as pervy and non con as it might, to make it comfortable enough to write on my part, I have tried to break it into parts, this part is generally meet up and getting obsession with y/n ( no use in fic ) and other will be courting and marriage bliss. Gif not mine.

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the beginning

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, positive/supportive families, allusions to alcohol abuse in [I.viii]

word count:  13.9k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

reading tip: whilst the author is proud of it, she understands the intro to the first section is long. if you wish to get more straight to y/n and benedict's story, the author suggests jumping to [I.ii]. they won't be offended that you did heh.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

well, that is not true; you quite literally walked from the markets and followed the directions that penelope had given you, but you did not think those directions would lead you here.

this is a mistake.  i must have taken a wrong turn, gone up instead of down, made a left when i should’ve taken a right. 

or perhaps this is a dream?  yes!  that has to be it!  a dream!  i must have lulled off and dreamt myself here, for whatever reason.  once i close my eyes and open them again, surely i will be at home, or the markets, or the workshop even.  surely!  

so, you close your eyes shut.

you had been walking about the markets on your non-work day, some weeks ago, browsing the wares you wouldn’t (and couldn’t) buy, eavesdropping on any conversation of intrigue, observing the bustle of the crowd going about their day, mindlessly thinking of the next thing to write, daydreaming—when you had collided with someone.  they had let out a squeak, their materials flying out of their hands, as you had fallen on your back, thankfully not hitting your head.  in your periphery, you had seen how the person had crawled to your side and looked at you with urgency and concern.

“i am so sorry!”  their voice was pretty.  sweet and lovely.  you lifted yourself up a bit to see the person you had collided with.  they were also pretty— beautiful, red-haired, and hooded in blue.  

their eyes widened.

“er, i meant,” they spoke again, but this time with an— irish accent?  their voice was still sweet and lovely but very distinctly irish and distinctly different from their voice mere moments before. “are you hurt?”

“i am all right, thank you.”

“very well,” they said, still in their irish accent, “then i must be going—”  and they shot themself up and turned, you assumed, to run away.

“wait!  you’re a writer, yes?”

as you had hoped, the person in blue froze.  they slowly turned to you again, apprehension and intrigue in their eyes.

“how do you know?”  their voice was mangled between their two accents.

“unless you pluck birds for fun,” you stated as you collected the scattered materials they had dropped in the collision, “these are quills.”

you stood up, approached them, and held out their quills to take, offering a smile.  the stranger took the quills and put them in their bag.  they returned their eyes to you and returned your smile.

“thank you,” they responded in their english accent.

“i know how precious those are, so i am very glad to see they won’t go to waste.  well, they wouldn’t have gone to waste either way; i would’ve taken them if you hadn’t turned around.”

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

“i assume you are a writer?” they inquired.

you don’t know what had overcome you; you don’t know why you had been so trusting of this stranger, especially with something such as your writing, but you had been. you reached for your then most recent, folded up quarto, kept between your bosom and your blouse, and offered it to the stranger to read.  they took it, shifted their eyes from line to line, turned it to read the crossed lines, and then looked up at you, beaming.

“this is brilliant!— oh, forgive me; i did not even ask for your name.”

“y/n,” you extended your hand.  “and you?”

the stranger seemed to stiffen but quickly relaxed themself, taking your hand in theirs and shaking them.  they beamed still, but something of their smile had grown quietly mischievous.

“can you keep a secret?”

when you open your eyes, you huff out a breath in a poor attempt to assuage yourself from the reality of your situation:  you are not dreaming.  here you are—you—at grosvenor square.  

you knew of your friend’s circumstances as she had shared it:  she is a noble lady, a third sister of the featherington family, who has been writing scandal sheets of high society’s romps and happenings since her ‘debut,’ as she had put it (you hadn’t understood how she had used that word and became further confused upon her explanation of it), under a pseudonym called lady whistledown.  penelope has been kind enough to let you read her sheets, and you find it ridiculous what these high society persons do for their lives and utterly brilliant with what wit, snark, and compassion even penelope commentates on that world.  

but you did not ever, ever think that she would bring you to it, let alone into it.  when penelope had said that you were to meet her most beloved friend, you had thought it would be in an obscure alley or a room hidden behind a bookcase in an unassuming shop—not the literal neighborhood in which she, and presumably her friend, lives!  by your posture, by your clothes, by your very existence, it is blatant how much you do not belong here.

i should run.  i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

—when you hear the sweet voice of your friend.  you scrunch your eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling through your nose, and turn around and see penelope in a picturesque green dress, lifting up her skirt with gloved hands, scurrying down the pavement of her neighborhood towards you, beaming.  despite the anxiety that rages within you at this very moment, your heart swells upon seeing your friend in such enthusiastic spirits, and you smile despite yourself.

“good day, pen.”

she takes hold of your bare hands in her gloved ones and gives them a squeeze.  perhaps she can discern your nerves because you start to feel yourself calm ever so slightly by her gesture.

“i am so glad you are here,” she says.

“i am—— glad to see you,” you then lower your voice.  you do not know why; it is not as if your lowered voice will help conceal your existence in this place.  “are you certain i am permitted to be here?”

letting go of your hands, penelope swats at the question.

“the bridgertons and i care not about such things.”

“the— bridgertons?” 

“yes!” she turns and gestures to the grand brick house with wisterias.  “it is at their home, after all, in which we will be spending our time together.”

your jaw drops.

“we are staying inside the house?  not simply meeting outside the house?”

this is not a dream.  this is a nightmare.

penelope returns her eyes to yours, and it startles you with what tenderness she gazes at you.

“i understand that you are fearful, y/n.  i had presumed you would not have come if you had known we would be here.  but i would not have led you to bridgerton house if i did not think you would be safe here.  the bridgertons are the most inviting, kindly family of the ton— of high society,” she amends upon seeing your confusion at the word ‘ton.’  their name for their world, it seems.  “eloise has assured me that we shall be in her bedchamber for the entirety of our time together.  and if you wish to leave, for any reason, at any point, i shall accompany you, and we shall leave together.”

with closed eyes you heave a sigh through your nose.  you flutter your eyes open and offer penelope a weak, but sincere, smile.

“very well.”

penelope squeaks in excitement, taking hold of your hand once more, giving it another squeeze of encouragement, and leads you towards this bridgerton house as she so called it.  she raps at the stately door thrice with great eagerness, seeming to knock in perfect tandem with your beating-too-quickly heart.

an elderly man opens the door, about to greet penelope and her guest, when a young femme shoves herself through the opening.

“thank you, giles!” she calls out as if the man is across the road and then looks at you, ferocity in her eyes.  it ought to unnerve you, the whirlwind force of this stranger, but it doesn’t.  you just return her gaze with a large, albeit a bit bemused, smile.

“penelope has shared so much about you,” the stranger states and takes hold of your hand.  “let us get inside!” and yanks you into the house.  she turns, looking straight ahead, and barrels forward, pulling you with her.

as the fiery femme seems to soliloquize excitedly to herself, you look back at penelope who merely wears an amused smile at her friend’s antics as she follows behind.

“oh!” the femme exclaims suddenly.  she halts you both and sharply turns to you, still gripping your hand, grinning.  “my name is eloise.  eloise bridgerton.”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent.  now!  with introductions all sorted—”

and she turns and barrels you both right, rather than heading straight ahead to the grand staircase as you had presumed she would.

“eloise—” eloise’s fervency had provided a reprieve to your anxiety, but the confusion in penelope’s voice puts you back ill at ease, “where are you—”

“it’ll take just a moment, worry not, pen!”

eloise leads you down a hall, noises and voices of all sorts coming from an entrance to a room, growing louder and louder as you approach until they reach the peaks of their volume as eloise halts you both once more, to your mortification, at the entrance of that very room.

“family, penelope, y/n, and i shall be in my bedchamber.  we have much to discuss.  please do not bother us,” eloise proudly announces to the entirety of the room.

silence falls.  all eyes—and there are many eyes—are on you.

oh, my god.

you turn to penelope.  her overall manner is calm and composed, but you can see the disquiet in her eyes.  she peers into you, the apologetic look conveying, i did not know this would happen.

you turn back to the family.  

a lady.  a lady of older age.  two gentlemen with a difference in age.  a boy.  a girl, the youngest amongst them.  

how is it with a house this massive in the middle of the city that the entire family is present in this one room?  well, the room is the size of the two floors of your home combined, if not larger, so in that sense it is sound—but your question still stands.

this has to be the entire family.  surely.  there are so many of them.  this has to be the entire family.  yes?

“no talking, no music playing, no fighting?” inquires a droll voice walking into the room, “has someone—” 

you turn your head to follow the source of the voice and make contact with dumbfounded ocean eyes.   

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

“y/n, this is my second eldest brother, benedict bridgerton,” eloise states.  “benedict, this is my friend, y/n y/l/n.  do not bother us once we are in my bedchamber.”

he stares and blinks at you but then assumes a gentlemanly posture and bows his head.

“it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss y/l/n.”

without any forethought you start to extend a hand to benedict until you hear penelope give a slight cough only you, she, eloise, and he can hear.  receiving the hint, you retract your hand and pretend to swat at your skirt.

“err— yes.  likewise.” 

another cough. 

“mis, ter?— brid… ger?—ton,” you articulate with complete and utter uncertainty of how this world’s introductions function.

he cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows at you, something like amusement playing at his features.  he wears a lopsided smile that he is barely attempting to conceal.  his expression should be infuriating.  and it is.  but, it is... charming, too.  and welcomed.

you have never felt more embarrassed or more pleased in your life.

shit.

“before the three of you retreat to eloise’s bedchamber,” declares an authoritative voice, breaking your reverie.  you turn away from ocean eyes and see the lady of the room approaching you.  much to your surprise, she smiles.  to an even greater surprise, her smile seems sincere.  “i must insist that i introduce myself and the rest of the family to our guest.  

“i am viscountess kathani sharma bridgerton, the lady of this house,” she curtsies with perfect elegance.  “it is a delight to welcome you to our home, miss y/l/n.”

“thank you for having me— lady bridgerton.  and you may call me ‘y/n.’  you need not use such, uh, formalities with me.”

“very well; then you may call me ‘kate.’”

you furrow your eyebrows.  she had introduced herself as ‘kathani’ but now asks you to call her ‘kate.’  it makes you think of mama and papa; they shared with you once how they had chosen to go by different names upon emigrating to england.  when you had asked why, they simply replied that it would be easier for others in this country to address them.  

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

surprise flashes over the dignified demeanor of the viscountess.  she regards you with softness in her eyes.

“yes.  yes, you may.”

resuming her full composure, kathani guides you to the eldest of the gentlemen and introduces him as her husband, viscount anthony bridgerton, the lord of the house.  he offers you a small smile with a bow of his head and greets you ‘good day.’  you try not to wince at his decorous use of ‘miss’ with your first name, but you suppose it is merely in these people’s natures.  

kathani continues and leads you to the lady of older age, introducing her as dowager viscountess violet bridgerton.  she dips into a lovely curtsy and, on her rise, gazes upon you with a gentle smile.  you feel compelled to respond in kind, but it would certainly not be as graceful as hers, and worse, she may interpret your slovenly attempt as a lark.  so, you refrain.  

the viscountess next introduces you to mister colin bridgerton (you summon all your self-restraint to keep your countenance neutral—this is the boy who hurt penelope); then to mister gregory bridgerton (he bows so ceremoniously towards you, you cannot help but be endeared by his resolve); and lastly to miss hyacinth bridgerton.

“why are you dressed like that?” she inquires.

“hyacinth!” the dowager viscountess reprimands.  she must be her mother.  she sounds like a mother.  it reminds you of how your mama reprimanded you and your siblings as little ones; the memory and the exchange make you hold back a laugh.

“what!  what did i say wrong?”

you ought to feel self-conscious, your lower standing brought into further display to everyone in the room, but you detect neither malice nor judgment in the young girl’s voice.  just genuine curiosity.  so, you smile.

“my family and i have different means to clothes, amongst other things.  i wear these when i work or go about my day.  though,” you regard your attire and then— hyacinth?, feeling the glimmer in your eye, “it makes for running around and playing make-believe quite easy.”

“make-believe!  gregory, do you hear that!  miss!— miss—“ she turns to you with a cocked head.  

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

“miss y/n plays make-believe!  we must play!” hyacinth latches onto your hand and, with remarkable strength for a child who cannot be older than two and ten, pulls and drags you towards the entrance of the room.  “come along, gregory!  wouldn’t want to be the last one there!”

“no fair!  you cheated!” the second youngest shouts back, dropping all previous ceremonies, and scrambles towards the entrance.

“hyacinth!  y/n is not your playmate!  she is here with me and penelope!”

“plans do change, dear sister,” hyacinth retorts.  eloise’s jaw drops, and the rest of the family bursts into laughter.  the entire exchange warms your heart.  in so many ways, they are so proper, so wealthy, and yet they are not all so different from your own family.  they seem to really care for one another.

“when did you get so smug!” eloise shoots back.

“small wonder where she could’ve learned that from,” you hear colin, the traitor, murmur.  turning your head, you see him give amused, pointed looks to eloise and kathani.  the latter grins wickedly, and her husband beams at her with pride. 

“there are only so many hours in a day!” hyacinth complains.  you face her once more, still holding her hand.

“what about this?  i will play with you and your brother for an hour, and then i will be with your sister and penelope for my remaining time here.  i want to honor the wishes of each of my new friends.”

hyacinth considers this with much theatricality to her expression.  she then grins.

“that is an excellent plan,” she remarks, looking to eloise for her thoughts.  you follow her line of sight.  eloise rolls her eyes and sighs, but a smile rests on her lips.

“very well, then.”

feeling peace restored, you smile in return and, in doing so, in your periphery, catch the ocean eyes of the second eldest brother.  benedict.  he is looking at you.  why is that?  you feel your cheeks flush and the tips of your ears heat.  his gaze is somehow gentle and intense and indecipherable all at once, and the flutterings in the pit of your stomach grow, and intensify, and start to overwhelm you—

when you are tugged back to reality with a tug forward.

–

< hyacinth leads y/n through the house to the gardens with gregory by her side.  y/n is both uneasy and in awe of the things she sees.  eventually, they arrive in the gardens.  y/n notices two swings hanging off of a large branch of an old tree and is utterly endeared by the sight; it confirms what she has been thinking:  though the bridgertons are wealthy, they are warm and welcoming.

< just as hyacinth declares that she has found a suitable spot for make-believe, two male voices ask if they may join.  hyacinth, gregory, and y/n turn and see benedict and colin approaching.  colin shares that though y/n seems lovely, it would be unwise of the family to leave the two youngest with a stranger; though y/n agrees with his family’s caution, she refrains from wanting to strangle the person who hurt her friend.

< gregory whines and asks if they can begin before eloise complains.  hyacinth agrees and says that they need to assign characters.  y/n suggests that hyacinth should be a sorceress and gregory should be a knight; these proposals delight the youngest bridgertons.  y/n volunteers herself as the villain and decides to be a banshee; she turns to the elder bridgertons and asks what they wish to be. 

< before they have a chance to respond, hyacinth proposes that benedict should be the princess who has been captured.  benedict indignantly asks why, and hyacinth simply states because he is the most sensitive of the family.  sensing how the sibling argument is about to evolve, y/n intervenes and suggests that, like a sensitive princess, perhaps benedict is merely in tuned with his emotions, even amidst adversity; it is, in its own way, a compliment.  benedict’s eyes become indecipherable upon the comment, but he wears a small sincere smile.  gregory then proposes that colin is y/n’s changeling henchman. 

< make-believe ensues, and it is very sweet and very silly.  eventually, gregory is called in for latin tutoring and thanks y/n for the fun with a deep bow; hyacinth is called in for pianoforte lessons. >

hyacinth launches herself at you with a hug.  pulling back from the embrace, she beams.

“we must continue when you return next!”

before you can even start to reply, she turns and skips off towards the house.  you hear how gregory makes a comment about coming in first, and suddenly the youngest bridgertons are in a race against one another, shouting taunts and insults.  you can’t help but smile.

“they seem to quite like you.”

your smile falls.  you turn and face towards the two elder bridgertons, the traitor being the one to have spoken.

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

he smiles and nods.  you surge forward and shove your finger into his face, his smile now wiped.

“if you ever hurt penelope again, i shall make certain that it is the last time you ever do.  do i make myself clear?”

when he does not respond, you repeat yourself, and he slowly then quickly nods.  satisfied, you turn towards ocean eyes and point your finger at him.

“and you look after him.” 

“what did i do?”   

“be a proper elder brother and serve as an example for your misguided sibling.  understood?”  

“i— yes.  of course.  understood.” 

you smile again.

“wonderful.  i am glad we three are in agreement.  it was good speaking with you, gentlemen.  good day.” 

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

“i quite like her too,”  and you hear the restored smile in the third bridgerton’s voice.  “what about you, brother?”

you hasten your steps towards the house.  though mere moments before you had felt emboldened and brave, you fear hearing benedict’s response.  you do not why.

–

< eloise, penelope, and y/n extensively discuss literature and writing; upon talking about women writers, y/n shares how she does not fully see herself as just a woman. >

“so, what are you?”

you wince.  you have kept good on your promise and joined eloise and penelope in the former’s bedchamber, but you are swiftly wishing you had been able to stay with hyacinth, gregory, colin even, and benedict.  you had attempted to explain an aspect of yourself to eloise but not to very much fruit, it seems.  you want to hide and escape and run from this place—

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.  

“what?  what is it?”

“perhaps you could have phrased your question with more tact and thoughtfulness.”

eloise looks between the two of you, concern flooding her eyes.

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

you hope that your eyes are sufficient enough to convey the immensity of gratitude that you feel towards penelope in this very moment.

“y/n,” begins eloise, “i did not realize—”

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

you jump, penelope squeaks, and eloise growls a noise of exasperation.  turning towards the voice in the doorway, you are visited, once again, by the third and second bridgerton siblings.

“and what makes you think we are gossiping?” demands eloise, “because we are w— people?”

you feel the corners of your mouth tug upward.  at least she is trying.  wanting to keep the attention on benedict and colin rather than yourself, however, and with genuine curiosity, you cock your head at the two gentlemen.

“do you two always come in a pair?”

“not always,” replies benedict.  and he smiles at you, “today is merely a special occasion.”

stupid butterflies.

“speaking of such,” colin proceeds.  “kate has requested that the three of you join the family in the drawing room.”

< the five of them make their way to the drawing room.  kate shares that, on behalf of the family, she would like to invite both y/n and penelope to dinner.  though at first honored to have been invited, upon hearing “dinner,” y/n realizes how late it has become and looks out the window:  the sun is halfway set.  she apologizes and says that she cannot stay because she resumes work the next day.  her latter statement renders some of the people in the room confused, but kathani states how she understands and that y/n is welcomed to join dinner whenever she visits.  

< seeing how confused y/n is, anthony shares that y/n is welcomed to visit their home whenever she is able and whenever she would like, and the rest of the family pipes in with how delighted they would be if she does.  not knowing how she deserved such kindness from people who were mere strangers at the start of the day, y/n thanks the bridgertons and says that she would love to.  penelope chooses to stay for dinner and says that she will see y/n next week.  y/n affirms that she, and the bridgertons, will.

< kathani and benedict offer to escort y/n to the entrance.  y/n walks down the steps and passes the gate but, before she goes, takes one last look at number five until next week and sees benedict still in the doorway.  y/n notices, but reprimands herself for perhaps imagining it, that his smile grows when his eyes lock with hers.  with flutterings in her stomach, y/n offers a wave.  he gives a small wave back.  she turns and goes, smiling all the way home. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“benedict has been making more appearances as of late,” penelope remarks.

the three of you all look up—you and pen from your writing, eloise from her reading—to see benedict entering through the doors and heading towards the other side of the drawing room.  he looks over at you— at you all and offers a smile before he plops himself down onto a chaise and begins to draw.

“yes, it is strange,” eloise considers to the two of you.  “for so long he had been moping about, locked away in his bedchamber aside from mealtime or the occasional visit to the drawing room.  he’s even picked up his charcoal again.”

“again?” you inquire, averting your gaze from the artist to your friend.  “had he stopped prior?”

“he had entirely put it down after—” eloise sighs.  whatever memory she has recounted, it does not seem to be a pleasant one.  you look to penelope; you sense that she shares a similar sentiment by the sad look in her eyes.  you are curious but you choose not to press.  

“it has been quite some time since he’s last drawn.  but now, whenever i see him, whether in his bedchamber or the billiards room or some other room in the house, he’s drawing.  he frequently arrives to mealtime with charcoal stained fingers—much to the chagrin of mama and anthony.”

you all laugh.  benedict looks up at you three, and from here you can tell he wears a curious expression, no doubt wondering what you are laughing about.  when he exaggeratedly arches an eyebrow, eloise just makes a face at him.  benedict rolls his eyes, smiling, and for the briefest moment, you feel as though he is looking at you.  but you’ve always had an active imagination.  when you blink, he has returned to his drawing, a smile still on his lips.

“i wonder what has changed?” eloise softly says, still looking at benedict.  for all her fire and spirit, you see how deeply she cares for her second eldest brother.

“perhaps he has found a muse,” penelope poses rather than queries.  you shift your gaze from eloise to penelope, and you’re curious about her expression.  she seems... delighted?  benedict finding his passion for art again does sound delightful; you know firsthand how difficult it is to pick yourself up from a slump.  but that’s not what she seems delighted by.  she just looks at you.  with a soft smile.  why?  what does benedict have anything to do with you?

you feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears flood with warmth.  you don’t know why, but penelope’s expression unnerves you, in a pleasant sensational way.

you clear your throat.

“i am happy for him,” you say, returning to your quill and folded quarto, haphazardly writing down whatever words come to your mind.  

ocean.  charcoal.  smile.  flutters.

shit.

it is not until what feels like an uncharacteristically long moment later that you hear penelope resume her writing and eloise resume her reading.  you try not to imagine what they could have silently exchanged with your gaze averted.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you suck in a sharp breath and shoot out of your seat.

“you do not!” you shriek, hastening towards kathani, eloise, and the stack of books they have just settled onto the table.  you had arrived early to the bridgertons’ home, at the invitation of kathani, so early that the rest of the family seems not yet to be awake.  

(which is strange, you find, as it is nearing 8 o’clock.  most mornings, at this time, you are already well into the bustle of work.)  

kathani had prefaced, rather enigmatically, that she and eloise had a surprise they wished to share with you.  you had your suspicions as to what it could be related to, and with each passing moment, you are suspecting, very excitingly!, that you are very correct. 

“indeed, we do,” kathani grins and gestures to the stacks.  

taking no hesitation to the offer, you grab from the top of a stack and open to the title page.

the dramatic works of william shakespeare.  vol. 2:  a midsummer night’s dream / the merry wives of windsor / much ado about nothing.

you shriek again, this time accompanied with hops of excitement, flipping to the final third of the book.

“much ado!  this is the one i’ve read!” 

dorothea, a fruit seller, had offered a copy of it to you (at a lowered price, she had emphasized) when she had learned of your liking to stories.  she grandly stated that she had started to write down the dialogue during low-attendance performances at the theater and then brought her handiwork to be typed and printed at a not-to-be-named press.  but if the pages’ handwritten annotations alluded to anything, you suspected that she had managed to purloin a performer’s copy of the script.  you felt a bit of pity for the poor performer who misplaced it, but you respected, and still respect!, dorothea’s moonlighting. 

you shoot your head up from the book and are greeted by the grins of your two friends.  “which one has romeo and juliet?”

this past autumn you had overheard several candlemakers at the markets animatedly discussing the ‘incandescent’ portrayal of the titular character by an actress from ireland.  a performance, described as ‘incandescent’ by candlemakers!  embodied by a storyteller who has emigrated here!  hearing all those wondrous things made you insatiably curious to one day read the text that made such wondrous things happen.

“i believe,” eloise says, pulling the second from the bottom of a stack, “it is this one.”

you twitch your fingers; you have to refrain yourself from snatching the book from your friend’s hand.  when it is in yours, you open to the title page and feel your eyes, along with your smile, widen.

“it is, it is!  oh, this is extraordinary!”  you flip furiously to your desired page and, once you find it, start to read,  

prologue.  two households—

—when you hear kathani say, “we had thought of starting with that one.”

that makes you rip your eyes away from the words and look up at the two ladies.

“‘starting with’?”

“when eloise, penelope, and i learned of your eagerness to read shakespeare,” elaborates kathani.  her saying that makes you flush; you had not realized with what apparent enthusiasm you had spoken of the poet.  “the three of us had discussed that the four of us could read his plays together.  if you would like, of course.”

your jaw drops.  you cannot help the squeal that emits from your mouth.  hopping once again in your excitement, you throw yourself at your friends and wrap your arms around them both.

“if i would like!  i would be delighted!”

you pull back from your hug with the two ladies and are greeted by gleaming eyes and wide grins.  you feel how your expression matches theirs.  it has only been a little over a month of your friendship with eloise and kathani, and the rest of the bridgertons at number five, but they each have somehow found a way to carve themselves out in your heart.  and if this most recent kindness by eloise and kathani indicates anything, perhaps you have found a way to carve yourself out in each of theirs.

(and you promptly ignore the thought of what that could possibly mean for ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands, flutterings within you be damned.)

“how shall we allocate the book?” you say aloud out of genuine inquiry and a deep desire to revert your heart, mind elsewhere.  “shall we read passages aloud and then pass it on to the next reader?”

< eloise makes a remark that indicates her confusion at y/n’s question.  kathani, who is more privy to the situation, shares how she has her own copy as do eloise and penelope.  the stack that they’ve brought is an extra set that the bridgerton house has that y/n can use.  this perplexes y/n.  she cannot understand how a household can have multiple copies of a book, let alone copies of a whole anthology of many books.  before y/n can doom-spiral into thinking, penelope arrives at the entrance of the drawing room.  reading of romeo and juliet commences.  

< just as y/n finishes reading the scene in which romeo and juliet meet for the first time at the capulet ball and then kiss, y/n notices in her periphery benedict approaching the four.  kathani remarks how unusually early he is to be awake and ready for the day; y/n notes to herself how there seems to be some sort of mischief in the viscountess’s smile. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“i shall be y/n’s teacher,” the viscount declares.

“you were adamant on her not fencing, and now you are insistent on being her teacher?”

“it would be hardly appropriate, colin, for two young unmarried men to be in such close proximity to a young unmarried lady, as proximity of teacher and student in fencing would require.”

“are you always this— antiquated?”  you inquire.

that earns a snort from kathani.  anthony, looking betrayed, turns to his wife; she merely shrugs in reply, mirth shining in her eyes.  he turns back to you, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth fully frowning.

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

“are you so distrustful of your own brothers, the ones for whom you have served, and still serve, as a model, that you think they would take advantage of me in such a situation—”

you sense how the eldest bridgerton is about to retaliate and arch a severe eyebrow at him in response; you refuse to be interrupted.

“or are you so unbelieving in persons of feminine dispositions that you think i shall be compromised by the mere closeness of a body different from my own sex?”

there is a silence, and though you cannot see them as you stare down the viscount, you can feel how the others exchange delighted glances with one another and hold back their laughter.

“you have two choices, my lord,” you offer.

“neither of them are suitable!  and do not call me ‘my lord’!”

“is that not the proper way to address you?”

“it is, but you—!” he huffs out air through his nostrils, like an indignant dragon in a fairytale; it is a very silly, very amusing sight.  “we have not even begun the lesson and you are already the most exasperating student i’ve ever had!”

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

“would you expect any less?” colin grins back.

your wide smile remains intact until your eyes fall on the expression of benedict.  you are entirely uncertain of what emotion he could be possibly feeling until he seems to realize where he is, and how you are looking at him, and breaks out into a brilliant smile with matching brilliant ocean eyes.  you quickly snap your head away from him, ignoring the fluttering of butterflies summoned within you upon the shift in benedict’s expression, and turn to anthony.

“shall we begin, then?”

–

it turns out that you are quite the quick learner when it comes to fencing.  after putting on a fencing vest that had previously belonged to benedict—

“because you are the shortest of the three of us, brother,” remarked colin after the second son inquired why it had to be his former vest that you were to wear.  benedict scrunched his nose and eyebrows in displeasure.  (perhaps you should have taken offense to his opposition, but it was truly of no personal consequence to you and the reaction it created in him was truly adorable.)

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

and the three eldest sons of the esteemed bridgerton family stood next to one another, comparing their heights.  you turned to kathani, eloise, and penelope.

“are they always like this?”

“idiotic?” eloise deadpanned, sounding remarkably like her eldest brother.

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

—over your blouse, you are immediately put to lessons.  anthony explains the basic concepts of fencing and then demonstrates elementary strikes and parries, occasionally adjusting your stances to the proper forms.  noting how quickly you took to the lessons, he calls for a match between the two of you to observe how you would apply your skills in combat.

“you are retaining information exceptionally well, as well as executing the techniques rather impressively,” states your teacher as you deflect his strike.  you try to hide your gladness in his praise as you smirk and push his blade away with the terzo of yours.

“ah, so my sex is not a detriment to my abilities; that is good to know.”

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

your opponent frowns further, slightly turning his head away from you to steal a glance at his wife.  he turns back to you.

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

“it takes a true man of honor to rise up to his folly,” you remark honestly, as you strike anthony’s arm with the tip of your sabre.  loud cheers burst from the onlookers and an aghast but proud look emerges on the countenance of your teacher; you grin, “and a fool to leave his defenses so easily open.”

impressed by your display of sport, and seemingly overcoming his antiquation, at least for the moment, anthony decides that you will match against colin and then benedict.

“how are you to improve if you are to face the same opponent?” claims your teacher with his usual air of annoyance, but you detect his pride in your accomplishment.

it is also decided that the matches will end when one scores a point.

and so, you face colin.  it is easy to keep pace with him, not due to lack of skill on his part but complete and utter determination on yours.  you tried to convince yourself, in the beginning of your match, that the remnants of your anger towards the third bridgerton brother, and how he treated your friend, did not fuel your determination to score the point— but it did and does.  and successfully so, as you strike colin in his left shoulder.  perhaps you do it with too much force as the strike reels him off balance (and perhaps you are delighted that it has done so), but he quickly resumes composure and flashes you a grin.

“i see more and more everyday why you and pen are friends.”

that softens your heart.  you should be dubious of his charming remark, but you aren’t; it is too sincere, as is he, and you begin to see, even if minutely, why penelope cares for him.

“she has good taste in the company she keeps, i’m learning.”

that makes him laugh, as it does the others, and you look over and see how pen’s countenance shines with joy.  that is enough to put your anger towards colin at ease, and turning towards your defeated foe once more, you return his smile and bow your head.  bowing his head in kind, colin leaves, and in his place arrives your next and final opponent; he is smiling like a boy.  

“best for last?” he remarks as he prepares his starting position.  you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that starts to fill the center of your chest.

“this shall determine that,” and settled in your starting position, you and benedict begin your duel.

you have observed something of the eldest bridgerton brothers in your matches against them.  anthony struck like fire, bombastic and ferocious.  colin stood his ground like earth, his guards resolute.  and benedict— 

benedict moves like water.  free.  fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

both you and he have reached a stalemate.  you have managed to parry every one of his strikes, and he has managed to deflect every one of yours.  you can feel how those watching are holding their breaths, waiting for someone to land the point.  

you try not to startle when you hear benedict’s voice as you guard against his strike.

“it takes quite an astonishing person to earn the praise of anthony bridgerton.”

“are you so surprised that i am such a person?”

“quite the opposite, y/n,” he catches one of your strikes and grins at you.  “i think you are entirely perfect in that regard.”

you roll your eyes once again but cannot help the blush that you feel spread across your cheeks as you push back his sabre with yours.  

“do you honestly think charm will win you the point?”

“do you find me charming?” you ignore the heat that creeps up your neck and the voice in your head that has already answered his question far too quickly for your liking.  “no, i do not think so lowly of such a formidable foe.”

and he winks at you.

and somehow, without you realizing how you got there, benedict strikes the center of your chest.

“but a little distraction does help.”

his point earns a round of groans and bleats from the crowd.  instead of looking offended, benedict just laughs and approaches you, gloved hand outstretched, a boyish smile once again on his face.  despite your loss, you cannot help but smile too.  you place your gloved hand in his. 

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes.  likewise.”

perhaps you imagine it, but you feel his thumb swipe against the side of your hand.  it is featherlight, hardly felt with both your and his hands gloved, but felt nevertheless.  before you can process the sensation any further, he lets go of your hand.  with another smile, he bows his head at you as the crowd of people approach you both, penelope raving about your matches, eloise expressing her wish to fence now, anthony already commenting on what you could do better in your next match.

and without you realizing it, you gently swipe against the side of your gloved hand.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama?  papa?"

it is a rare occasion when you, mama, papa, and your sibling eat together, and an even rarer occasion to do so for a second meal, but this night was such a night.  the three of them halt their conversation and look over to you.

"how did you know you were in love with one another?"

there is a small silence, but then, without looking at one another, they smile in tandem.

"it was at first sight, really, for me,” your papa says as he offers his hand to mama.  “as trite as that sounds."

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

"when i looked into your mama’s eyes, i knew that something was different.  that my life had changed."

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

"no, actually.  it has been misery ever since."

you and your family laugh as mama playfully slaps at papa’s hand.  it warms your soul every time they do this, when they tease one another and are light because of the other.   it makes you believe in love each time.  

mama and papa lace their fingers together again, smiling, still gazing at one another.  as if it is just the two of them in their own world.  mama, turning her smile from papa to you, speaks again.

"the flutterings in my stomach wouldn’t quiet, and they only intensified as we approached closer to one another that day and grew closer to one another with time."

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

"why do you ask, my dear?  has someone captured your eye?"

"or, better yet, your heart?" papa tags along.

ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands flash by in your mind.

"no!" you say too hastily.  "no, of course not.  it’s— for one of my writings, is all."

you repeatedly poke at your bit of boiled chicken to avoid any further inquisition from your parents’ gazes.

–

sat by your window, you stare up at the night sky when the voice of your sibling infiltrates your dreaming.

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

you whip your head over to them.  they don’t even look at you; they are preparing for bed.

“pardon me?” 

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true.  you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

pleased with the setting of their bed, they ruin their work by plopping their bottom onto it as they finally face you in what you realize now is a confrontation.

“of course it doesn’t, the word on its own.  your reaction, however?  could not be more transparent of your feelings.”

“i have no feelings!”

“is that why you asked mama and papa about being in love?  because you have no feelings and you need to be told what they are?”

“i!—— i am going to bed!” you lift yourself up from your seat at the window sill, turning away from the peace of the night sky, and crash onto your bed.  you lay on your side, faced towards the wall, refusing to make eye contact with your sibling.  you lift up your sheet with too much force and lay it over your body and head.  “good!  night!”

after some silence, you hear the creak of your sibling’s bed and, a moment later, feel a featherlight touch on your upper arm.  you give it a thought, and perhaps against your better judgment, you lift off your sheet, turn, and are greeted by the gentlest of expressions from your sibling.

“i think it is wonderful, y/n.  whoever it is, they are very blessed to have your affections.”

your heart swells.  you love your sibling.

“how did you know it was the artist brother?”  

“so i am correct!”  they smile with a shrug.  “i deduced based on how much you’ve been writing about paint and charcoal as of late.”

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

“well, if they weren’t to be read, why do you leave them spread out on the table?”

“because there is no other place to store them!”

“and how good that is, or else i wouldn’t be able to read your fantastical stories or have been able to discover who your beloved is.”

“you are impossible!”

they kneel next to your bed and place their head on your shoulder.

“i love you too.”

you exhale the last of your frustrations, adjusting yourself a bit so that your sibling can rest their head more comfortably.  without realizing, you stroke their hair, just as you always have.

“i quite like the story about the mushroom family,” they state after some time. “i’m happy that the middle mushroom child befriends the peony and then the hyacinths.  i am happy they are happy.”

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

you hear your sibling’s need for sleep in their reply.

“that’s a lovely name.”

“he is,” you murmur as the peace of the night falls over you.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

“good day, y/n!” and robert holds the door of bridgerton house open for you to pass.

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

“no offense taken on my part!” the late adolescence beams.  you grin back.  with how utterly enthusiastic robert is all the time, one would think it is part of some ruse.  but it is not; he is just that genuinely delighted by life, you’ve observed.

“i am grateful.  i had expected to be greeted by giles, is all.”

robert frowns.  you feel the corners of your mouth tug downward in response, concern starting to swell your heart.

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill!  with what?”

“i know not.  i had admitted the doctor perhaps not even a quarter of an hour ago.  but worry not too much, y/n!  from what the viscountess has shared with the servants earlier this day, giles shall make a quick recovery.  and lady bridgerton has yet to be wrong in anything!”

relief floods your body.  giles is of elderly age, so it calms you to hear that his ailment seems not to be too severe.  and you can’t help but smile not only by robert’s sunny temperament but also by his rightful faith in kathani.

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

“oh god no.  i am quite all right, but thank you.”

“understood!  then i must pardon myself; i must retrieve miss bridgerton and miss featherington.”

“‘retrieve’?  are they not in the drawing room?”

“i was informed by dowager lady bridgerton, who was accompanied by miss bridgerton and miss featherington themselves at the time, that they would be in the gardens until your arrival and to retrieve the young misses upon your arrival.”

“i see.  well, i shall be in the drawing room then.  thank you again, robert.”

“it is my pleasure, y/n!” he beams once more and takes off to complete his task.

how odd, you think to yourself.  this day seems rather unusual to the ones you’ve had thus far at bridgerton home.  and it is hardly even noon!  you become lost in your thoughts as you approach the entrance to the drawing room—

when you are greeted by benedict, and benedict alone, lounging with his legs thrown over the arm of a chair, staring sternly at the page he draws on.

“oh,” is all you say.

benedict snaps his focus from his book to you, his countenance transforming from deep concentration to frustration to genuine surprise in a mere moment.  he scrambles up from his seat, book in one hand and charcoal in the other, posture now proper, and he bows his head.  

“miss y/l/n.”

never before have you been alone in a room with a man.  a gentleman.  a gentleman with a handsome face, charcoal-stained hands, and beautiful ocean eyes.

you roll your eyes.

“blimey, it is just me.  there is no need to bow.  and why are you calling me miss y/l/n?”

benedict smiles.

“all right.  y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

“where has your family gone?” you inquire as you go to sit in the chair parallel to his, ignoring the flutterings within your stomach.  “it is uncommon to enter the drawing room of bridgerton house and not be greeted by talking, or music playing, or fighting.”

smiling, benedict falls back into his seat and resumes his drawing.

“hyacinth is with her reading tutor; gregory is with his fencing instructor; colin is eating some sort of pastry, i am certain, in town; anthony and kate are likely— preoccupied—”

you snort; benedict’s smile grows broader as he smudges charcoal with his thumb, a small furrow in his eyebrows now forming.

“and mother has managed to rope eloise into learning about the flowers of the gardens, and eloise, being eloise, has roped penelope into doing the same.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“why have you chosen the drawing room as your whereabouts?”

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

“it’s in the name of the room, is it not?”

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

“so that you may lie to me and say you possess them?”

“of course not; the list is merely too long and i shan’t bore you with a soliloquy.”

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”  

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

and benedict shifts his ocean eyes from his drawing to you, a smile on his lips.  he is being playful, but you detect no deceit in his expression.  it infuriates you, really.  how charming he is.  how endearing.  how sincere.  

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

you sit in comfortable silence a moment more until benedict breaks the gaze, returning his oceans eyes and smile back to his drawing.  his smile, however, does not last for very long.

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

and he rips out the paper from his book, crumples it in his hand, and throws it onto the carpet of the floor, giving his deed not another moment’s notice.  he puts his charcoal to a new page in the moment next.

your smile falls.

“do you know how much paper costs?” you demand.

benedict looks back up at you with scrunched eyebrows and a smile having returned to his lips.  he tilts his head.

“why?  should i?”  he inquires.  nonchalantly.  delight in his ocean eyes.

as if you are making a jest.

as if this is amusing.  as if this is nothing.

it reminds you of a recent memory.

eloise had generously given you sheets of paper.  hitting a stride in your writing and wanting to continue, you had asked, after much internal deliberation, if you could have a ripped half of a quarto upon running out of all negative space on your current one.

“have a foolscap.  have a whole lot of them, actually,” she said easily, taking a good chunk of her stack and handing it off to you.

“eloise, are you certain?”

“of course.  it is just paper, after all.”

“right.  yes— of course.  thank you.”

eloise hummed affirmatively in response, returning to her passage, as you stared at the small stack of foolscap in your hand.  that amount of paper would have been eight months’ wage, perhaps even more.  

a gentle touch of a hand on yours brought you out of your clouding thoughts.  you looked over and saw penelope looking at you softly.  understanding her unspoken thoughts, you held her hand and gave it a squeeze.

thank you, you mouthed.

"i must be going,” you say aloud.  “goodbye, mr. bridgerton.”

you stand, turn, and quickly exit the drawing room. 

“y/n.  y/n!”

you hear him scuffling up from his lounge and start to follow you.  you hasten your steps towards the entrance.  

moments before you can open the doors of bridgerton house to the respite of the outside world, you feel benedict take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your steps, and it infuriates you how gently he does it.  how you can pull away from his touch if you want to, how you can just go if you choose to.  but you do not.

it infuriates you how much you want him to hold you.

you turn to face him.

“please— wait,” he breathes.  “what did i do wrong?  what have i done to upset you?”

you look at him incredulously.  then it dawns on you.

“please.  tell me,” benedict practically begs.  with such softness in his voice.

it infuriates you.

“i know money is of no concern to you, or your family, or fair ladies and pretty gentlemen.  but it is for the rest of us.  for the rest of us who have to work to keep the ones we love fed, clothed, warmed, sheltered.  that is a fact with which i have been concerned since the very moment i could think for myself.  and for you—of the male sex, of pale skin, of inherited riches—it is something to discard onto the carpet of one of your family’s many houses.  the paper you threw to the ground would have paid for a month’s worth of warmth for the entirety of my family’s home.  and you ask me what you have done to upset me?”

he says nothing.  he just looks at you, damned ocean eyes and all.  gentle.  attentive.  like he could care; like he does care.

you feel your nostrils flaring, your blood pounding in every vein of your body.  you finally rip your wrist away from his loose hold, already missing his touch.

“i shall take my leave.  please give my regards as well as my apologies to eloise and penelope.  goodbye, benedict.”

you turn away from him, yank the door open by its handle, and step outside, walking composedly at first, then quickly, then sprinting, then running.  to be as far away from number five of grosvenor square as you possibly can be.  to be far away from crumpled up paper, charcoal-stained hands, gentle touches, and ocean eyes.  

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

why am i so afflicted by this?  why am i crying?  why do i hurt?

because i love—

no.

you cannot fall for him.  he is someone you cannot have, cannot want, cannot— cannot…

it cannot happen, the two of you.

and most likely of all, you are not someone he wants.  not someone who he would love.  not the way you—

you are a fool for getting this far.  but these feelings, they will pass.  somehow.   you will forget them.  you will forget him.  this is not the fairytales you read, not the fairytales you write.  daydreams, hopes, love for a gentleman— there is a reason you are a writer.

you write the things you can never have, the things that will never happen.

you and benedict will never happen.

this is the prayer you tell yourself that evening before sleep takes you.  you pretend not to be affected by the tears that afflict you as you do so.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< y/n does not go to number five the next week on her non-work day as she had grown accustomed to.  she had tried to write at her table in her home to preoccupy herself, but her teardrops were ruining what she had already written.  she considers going to work to distract herself, but y/n knows her unexpected presence would be a detriment to her fellow workers’ established flow of day.  she decides to go to the markets to try and get fresh air and a change of scenery and to do anything to interrupt her spiral of thoughts and emotions.

< while at the markets, y/n hears her name called and turns to see penelope in her blue cloak.  y/n asks what penelope is doing here, and penelope gently replies that she can ask y/n the same thing.  she shares with y/n how, the week prior, after she received news that y/n had left bridgerton house, she left to find y/n in the markets and at her workplace but to no avail.  

< their conversation continues.  penelope shares how y/n was missed last week; by her, by the family, by benedict.  y/n tries to dismiss her words and how the past few months have been a mistake and that she shouldn’t be there with pen or the bridgertons, that she’s not meant to be in their world.

< with patience and empathy and grace, penelope gently encourages y/n to return to bridgerton house next week, and y/n, though her heart aching and reluctant, agrees because she misses them. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

and you rap your knuckles twice against the stately door of number five.  a moment later, the door opens, and you are greeted by a beloved grin.

“miss y/n!  i have not seen you in weeks!”

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

“oh, where are my manners!” and the elderly doorman bows at you.  you huff out a laugh, feeling how your face contorts with distaste. 

“blimey, please don’t.  i am not a lady, giles.”

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

you shoot him a severe look; he merely continues to grin.

“you know of my feelings towards being called ‘miss.’”

“i am getting older; my memory frequently fails me, miss y/n.”

“and yet you’ve recalled how we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.”

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

“well, it was quite the surprise when I fell ill the following week!” then giles frowns.  “and it was an even greater surprise to have not seen you when i had returned the week following that.”

you look at the ground, unable to face the inquisition in his sad, kindly look, but when you bring your head back up, you manage a smile.

“it is no matter.  i am here now.  that is most important, yes?”

the elderly man smiles.

“yes, i suppose you are right, y/n,” and he holds the door open for you to pass.  

“aside from bouts with ailment, how have you been, giles?”

“still standing upright, still opening and closing doors,” he beams without a bit of sarcasm.  “and what of you?  how have you been?”

“i’ve been—— well.  and the family?” you say quickly, wanting to move the conversation away from you and your feelings.

“the same as is to be expected.  though—” 

concern starts to swell in your heart.  what has happened in the fortnight you have not been present?

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

“oh,” is all you say.  giles’ gentle joviality transforms into solemnity, and it makes your heart ache even further.

“on the rare occasions i do see him now, he is leaving for the gentleman’s club in the bright light of day and coming home at an ungodly hour, drunk as a wheelbarrow, wreaking of what smells like every available spirit in london.  he had stopped dipping rather deep sometime ago, much to my relief, so it was an utter shock to return to my station and to see him back on the cut, and deeply at that,” the elderly man sighs.  “i wonder what has happened for him to be so…” he unexpectedly turns to you, his countenance sanguine, “do you happen to know?”

you swallow as you ignore the sensation pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“no, i— i do not.”

“i see.  well, whatever it might be, it is clear how much it deeply afflicts him,” and giles offers you a small, sad smile.  “you know mister benedict; he has always been the most sensitive of the family.”

i do.  

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

“do you happen to know where eloise and penelope are at this moment?”

giles cocks his head at you but is kind enough (you thank the heavens) not to press your change of topic.

“the last i had seen them, they had spoken of viewing the art gallery.  do you know the way?”

“i am unfamiliar.”

he smiles again, and it makes you smile in return.

“then i am most glad to escort you there.”

–

giles opens the doors to the gallery, and ahead, in front of a portrait, you see the turnings of penelope, eloise, and—

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.  

you look to giles, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and then to eloise and penelope.  upon seeing their expressions, you feel your eyes narrow.

“ah, penelope!” shouts eloise.  everyone else turns to stare at her.  “with y/n’s arrival, i must change out of my, my art gallery viewing dress!  and— and, into my... drawing room!  sitting— dress...”

eloise scrunches her entire face in displeasure, confused by her own poorly concocted excuse.  that does nothing to deter her, however, from clamping onto penelope’s wrist and barreling forward towards the doors of the gallery.

“come along, pen!” she calls out to the friend she is pulling right behind her.  as they pass you, eloise gives you a strange and strained smile bearing all teeth, and penelope offers apologetic eyes and an encouraging smile.

giles looks to you, to benedict, and to the two escaping ladies.  mouth still agape, all he manages is,

“i suppose— i shall see to that— miss bridgerton and miss featherington arrive to miss bridgerton’s bedchamber... safe—ly…?”

he mouths, i’m sorry!, at you before quickly bowing his head at benedict, fleeing the scene with remarkable speed for an elderly man who has recently recovered from illness, and leaving you at the entrance of the art gallery.

closing your eyes, you deeply inhale through your nostrils as you place your hand to the space between your eye and your temple.  on your exhale, you wipe your hand hard against the side of your face and open your eyes, whipping your head to look at the second eldest bridgerton brother.  it seems that he has been staring at you this entire time, stupid (stunning) ocean eyes and all.

“would you like to paint a picture?” you snark.  “you are the artist in the room, and it would certainly last longer.  or perhaps you have run out of paper?”

he does not respond, indecipherable expression unchanging, and it unnerves you how guilty you feel at goading him, at taunting him, and he merely takes it.  you sigh again and cross the gallery to where he stands.  resisting the urge to look at him again, as you feel his gaze still on you, you instead look at the painting ahead of you.

it is a portrait of a gentleman.  with dark chestnut hair and mutton chops.  he wears a blue jacket, a darker blue vest, a cream cravat, green breeches, and brown boots.  a watch on a ribbon hangs from his vest; it looks familiar.  he looks familiar.  a benevolent smile rests on his lips.

you look at the plaque at the bottom of the gilded frame.

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

you look back up at the painting, captured by a particular feature.

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

you roll your eyes but smile despite yourself.  (you try to ignore the flutterings that bloom upon hearing his voice again.)

“yes, but that’s not what i was referring to.  they peer into you— not with scrutiny, nor judgment, but with kindness, curiosity, compassion.  an eagerness to learn about you.  pools of welcoming.  cool tones that radiate warmth.”

you cough, ripping your eyes away from the portrait to inspect the scuffs of your boots.  you feel embarrassment spread throughout your entire body as heat creeps up your neck.

“the painter is excellent at their craft.  it is as if i know him, your father.”

silence falls in the expansive gallery, the calm and kind eyes of viscount bridgerton looking down upon you and his second eldest.

“i’ve missed you.”

you snap your head up to look at benedict, your eyes making contact with his ocean ones.  welcoming and warm.  honest and... hopeful?

i’ve missed you, too.

“benedict, it has only been a fortnight since we saw each other last,” you respond aloud, your voice coming out so much softer than you had intended.  you offer him a small smile, an olive branch of sorts.  something of relief starts to fill his ocean eyes, but his demeanor does not change.

“i behaved arrogantly, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of such behavior.  no one does, and i am so— i am so sorry, y/n.”

and you know he is.  you resist the urge to touch his cheek, to comfort him with your caress, to selfishly have your skin touch his.  instead, you look on at him.

“i do not ask you to grant me your forgiveness; i know i am unworthy of it.  i just— i just wanted you to know how i felt, and feel still.  and how i shall work on myself to be better, to do better.”

the butterflies in your stomach flutter maddeningly.  you emit an exhale from your nostrils.  the urge to touch him intensifies, and you feel yourself flex your hand to let go of the sensation.  you huff out another breath, and smile brightly, sincerely, at benedict.

“well,” you begin, “with our friendship renewed, care to show me what other paintings you love in this gallery?”

benedict’s ocean eyes beam with relief and joy, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, and it takes all your self-control not to drop all discretion and wrap your arms around him in a crushing embrace.

“i would love nothing more, y/n,” he declares.

you try not to flutter your eyes closed at the words ‘i,’ ‘love,’ and your name in the same breath from benedict’s lips.  at the pleasantness and home you feel in them.  you smile on.

“where shall we begin, then?”

you and benedict walk together as he approaches a miniature in a wooden frame ornately carved with floral motifs.  he admits that he has not the slightest clue which bridgerton ancestor this is, and that makes you snort.  grinning, he points out how adeptly the artist portrayed the translucency and fluidity of the lady’s veil and how particularly impressive it must have been to accomplish such effects in paints during the early 1600s, if the remnant dating of the artist’s signature is correct.  you remark how particularly impressive it is that a painting has endured two hundred years of existence, details still intact, and benedict responds simply that rich people have a way.  that makes you snort again, and that makes benedict grin again.

he then leads you to a portrait of kathani and anthony, the viscountess sat in a chair with the viscount stood behind.  you marvel at the painting—how much it looks like them, how much it captures kathani’s confidence, how much it captures anthony’s conviction, how much it captures their love.  excitement coloring his voice, benedict imparts to you how he was given the opportunity to observe and assist the painter on the days the latter was commissioned to portray the viscountess and the viscount.  he also shares with you how impossibly difficult they were as models, always giggling and kissing and looking away from the painter and talking to one another, being overall sickeningly saccharine.  you chortle and share with him how that does not surprise you in the least bit.  despite his annoyance upon recalling the memory, an incredibly fond smile rests on benedict’s lips.  turning from his lips back to the painting, you remark how in love they are, and he remarks that, indeed, they very much are—and turns his fond smile from the painting to you.

coughing, you walk over and ask about the landscape of an enormous building.  benedict names it as aubrey hall, the ancestral home of the bridgertons.  you recall how you had heard of it early on in your friendship with the bridgertons; you had been unable to see them one week as they were preparing for kathani’s first ball as viscountess at the home.  you also recall how the usually collected and confident kathani was anxious and uncertain during that time.  benedict, beaming with pride, says how, of course, she absolutely excelled and how all of the ton—he rolls his eyes then and you guffaw—enjoyed themselves at the event.  while kathani had done an unsurprisingly resplendent job, the ball was not very entertaining to benedict.  he much more enjoyed the annual bridgerton game of pall mall leading up to the event.  after announcing how kathani had won—much to the contradictory disappointment and delight of her husband—and answering your questions about what sounds, to you, like a very silly, very fun game, benedict suggests that you join them next year.  you laugh, finding it impossible to imagine yourself at a home such as aubrey hall, particularly for the entirety of three days, but your heart swells at the invitation and the sincerity in his voice, and you say aloud how you would love nothing more.

your spontaneous tour eventually comes to an end, and the two of you make your way towards the entrance, still discussing the various art you had seen.  as you and benedict walk out of the gallery, a thought crosses your mind.

“none of your work is on display.”

you notice how benedict stiffens.  you feel your smile tug into a frown.

“ah, yes.  i do not think my work is— up to snuff— with the work on display here.”

“horse shit.”

benedict’s jaw drops, his face aghast and regaled in reaction to what you assume is your choice of language.  you merely shrug.

“you have not even seen my work!”

“i do not need to see your work when i can already see how harsh you are being.”

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

“fine— i will show you, then, and prove to you my point.”

“fine, then!  show me, and i will prove to you my point!”

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

you and benedict are in his bedchamber, where all his works are hidden away.  he has shown you canvas after canvas, sketch after sketch, charcoal drawing after charcoal drawing, his palette of color ideas— and he still has the audacity to say that his work is not “up to snuff” for the bridgerton gallery.

benedict looks aghast again, perhaps by your language, perhaps by what you are (very rightly, very correctly) insisting.  he shakes the canvas that he holds in his hand in your face.

“look at the proportions, y/n!  they are entirely off!”

you roll your eyes, swatting his arm away, and begin to rummage through his other work.  you pull a sheet and hold it up to benedict’s face.

“look at this sketch, then look at the canvas.  there is a very clear, marked improvement, and with only a—” you look at the dates at the bottom right corners for confirmation, “—a difference of two days!”

“what does ‘improvement’ mean if the improvement is not even good!”

“it is good!  and!  improvement is everything, benedict!  it is progress!”

“what—”

you and benedict jump back from one another by the sudden new voice.  you had not realized how close the two of you were as you were shouting at one another, how close your faces were to one another, how close your lips were to—

a blazing heat creeps up your neck, at the tip of your ears, and across your cheeks as you turn from benedict’s flustered face to the scowl of the eldest bridgerton sibling in the doorway.

“—are the two of you doing?”

“brother!  i— i was merely showing y/n my work.”

you vigorously nod your head.  anthony’s glare remains unaffected.

“alone?  together?  in your bedchamber?”

your heart almost leaps out of your chest, your eyes about to bulge out of their sockets as you look around the room, suddenly aware of where you are.  you are in benedict’s bedchamber.  alone.  together.

“i—” you start, very pathetically.  “i——  we—”

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

“y/n, i would like to have a word with my brother.  in private.  please.”

“of— of course, right— of course!”

you hastily put the sketch on a nearby table and walk towards the door, pass anthony as he steps in, and are about to run down the hall and away from the scene when—

you turn and steal a glance at benedict, mustering up all the apologies you can convey through your eyes.  despite the peril of his current predicament, his ocean eyes soften immediately, and a thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach and flutter around viciously.  he offers you a slight smile, one that is sincere and unregretful.  you offer one back, just as sincere, just as unregretful, before anthony gives you another bow of his head and closes the door.

–

“are you pleased by the results of your consorted trickery?” you state blandly upon seeing the young ladies that you thought were your friends sitting in the drawing room.

eloise looks up from her pamphlet, beaming at you, as penelope wears a wide and proud smile.  well, at least they have answered your question.

“trickery?” eloise feigns.  you roll your eyes; their expressions answer honestly, but their words continue their game.  “i have no idea what you are referring to.  pen and i were merely keen on viewing the art gallery today, and i thought, my blue-deviled of an elder brother ought to stop moping about; what better to get him to leave his bedchamber than by way of his favorite topic?”

“and his other favorite topic,” penelope adds.  eloise chortles, and you feel the tips of your ears heat.

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

“benedict knew nothing of your arrival, as i am sure you deduced by his surprise,” but the second eldest daughter grins wickedly.  “though, from the sheer amount of time you have spent together thus far today, i am also sure the surprise was very welcomed, indeed.”

“by both parties, it seems.”

you promptly ignore the flush you feel on the apples of your cheeks.  your friends are lucifer incarnate split into two.

“well, then you must be delighted to know that your shared plot has led to punitive action against him.”

that surprises them.  (good.  you are relieved to finally have some sort of an upperhand in this conversation.)

“‘punitive action’?  by whom?  for what?”

“by—”

the three of you hear a set of footsteps.  you look to where the sounds are heard and see the two eldest bridgerton siblings enter the drawing room, the elder approaching you with conviction and the younger trailing behind him like a pet that has just been reprimanded.  the sight would make you laugh, if you weren’t the one to have instigated the current conflict between the two brothers.

anthony stands before you, posture perfect and chin held up high.

“y/n, thank you for your patience.  please allow me to apologize most ardently on behalf of my brother for his complete and utter lack of propriety.  it will not happen again as i shall be more vigilant in tracking his every deed.  i do hope this incident of my brother’s disrespect does not taint the beloved friendship between you and our family.” 

and he deeply bows his head at you.

your jaw drops.  benedict shuts his eyes tight and scrunches his face.  penelope bops her gaze amongst the three of you.  and eloise just howls, causing anthony to break the gravitas of his decorum and shoot a glare at her.

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

“it is harmless fun, brother!  a pursuit of intellect exchanged between two creatives, who also happened to be by themselves.  i have never heard of a baby being conceived from sharing some art.”

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

you have now entirely hidden your face behind your hands; no one needs to witness the deep crimson that you are certain is spreading very rapidly across your countenance.  an absurd hope also blooms in you that if you cannot see the others, then the others cannot see you.

“what ever is the matter in here?” 

your eyes shoot open upon hearing the much needed voice of reason.  removing your hands from your face, you see kathani enter the drawing room, a confused expression worn on her face.  

“my dearest,” anthony begins, “i have offered my deepest apologies to y/n for benedict’s disgrace.”

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

“disgrace!” reiterates anthony with increased fervor.  kathani’s confusion does not lighten.  she looks to benedict, whose eyes are scrunched closed again (his nose looks adorable this way), and then to you.

“are you all right, y/n?” she inquires gently.

“i—” you had intended to say, am well, but that would be a lie.  you are utterly mortified.  so, instead, you state the truth.

“benedict has been a gentleman.  he has treated me with the utmost respect, and when he has done wrong by me— which!  which has nothing to do with our being in his bedchamber!—  he—” you steady your voice, determined to say this right, as you know and feel it with and in your heart, “he has corrected himself and bettered his words and thoughts and deeds.”

“you hear that, brother?  no harm has been done.”

“eloise, you were not even there!”

“i believe what eloise means, anbe, is that you are being dramatic.”

“dramat— they were in his bedchamber, kathani!  together!  alone!”

kathani rolls her eyes, her attempt at diplomacy entirely gone.

“speak louder, anthony; just a bit more and the entire country shall hear you.”

the viscount pouts grumpily at his beloved, emitting a huff of air through his nostrils.  

“you must trust y/n by her word,” the viscountess states.

“or do you not trust someone of feminine disposition to speak for herself?” eloise inquires.

“pen!” 

you all snap your gazes to the entrance of the drawing room and see colin making his way to your friend in blue, followed by—

“y/n!” shouts gregory and hyacinth as they run towards you.

“y/n, penelope!” remarks violet and approaches you both.  “how delightful it is to see you!  you—” she says, reaching out for your hand, gently taking it in hers, and smiling kindly at you, “—in particular.  it has been a moment, y/n.” 

it melts your heart, really.  the sincerity of affection that flows so easily from violet bridgerton.  you recall the kind eyes and benevolent smile of her late husband.  it is no wonder you so easily fell in love with this family; true, real love is woven into the very fabrics of each of their beings.

you look at them.  hyacinth and gregory cling onto your slides, holding you tight.  kathani and anthony are engrossed in debate, affection in their eyes despite the heat in their words.  colin and penelope speak with and blush around one another as eloise, unknowingly (and, in your opinion, frustratingly, endearingly), butts into their conversation.  and benedict.  who, with the gaze of the entire room no longer on his so-called indiscretion, is looking at you.  softly.  with those damned, wondrous, bewitching ocean eyes.  a smile on his lips that makes the flutterings in your stomach unbearingly, wonderfully unyielding.

you truly, really love this family.  

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.  

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you see how violet looks at the others in the room as half of them now pointedly avoid eye contact with the matriarch and the other half share a similar sentiment to her.

“is everything all right?” she turns to you, peering curiously into your eyes.  “has something happened?”

you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you.  violet seems taken aback by your reaction, as are the others in your periphery, but her eyes, as well as theirs, shine on.

“i think,” you say, smiling, “it is just another day with the bridgertons.”

[swiftholic-13]

The Season's Scandal Masterpost

series → paused atm

pairing → Eloise Bridgerton x Female Reader

summary → Y/N, the sister of a Duke, is forced by her family to participate in the social season and find a husband, despite her reluctance to marry. As she joins the Ton, she quickly befriends Eloise. Their bond deepens over time and might grow into something more than just a friendship.

genre → regency romance, forbidden love, drama, lgbtq+ romance, angst

warnings → smut

words → 1k - 2k per chapter

other platforms → Ao3

chapter 1

chapter 2

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

[alewritesfics]

Bridging realities

ℑℑℑ.- 𝔅𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔤𝔦𝔫𝔤....𝔫𝔢𝔴 𝔭𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔰

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word count: 2.1k

Tags: unedited, slow burn, eventual smut/ spicy scenes, some angst but happy ending, playful banter

Summary: in which Y/N's slight actions start to- or you'll see on your own.... His POV

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

The night air was cool against Anthony’s skin as he stepped onto the garden, a welcome reprieve from the stifling confines of the ballroom. The distant hum of laughter and music filtered through the open doors, but out here, the world was quiet. Peaceful.

He leaned against the balustrade, running a hand through his hair and exhaling sharply. The evening had been relentless—a parade of bright-eyed ladies and their overly enthusiastic mothers, each vying for his attention, each more determined than the last.

And then there was her.

Anthony’s brow furrowed as his thoughts returned to Miss Featherington. She was unlike the others—sharp, playful, and entirely unpredictable. Most women he encountered were eager to flatter, eager to please, but she… She teased him. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and for reasons he couldn’t quite understand, it both infuriated and intrigued him.

He could still feel the warmth of her hand in his, the way her gaze had met his so boldly, so unflinchingly. It had been a long time since someone had looked at him like that—not as a title, not as a prize to be won, but as a man.

Anthony shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not when his responsibilities weighed so heavily on him. His family’s future depended on his choices, and his choices had to be logical and calculated. There was no room for impulsive emotions, no room for the kind of connection Miss Featherington seemed to inspire.

And yet…

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the cool breeze brush against his face. He’d always prided himself on his control, on his ability to compartmentalize his feelings and focus on what truly mattered. But tonight, something about her had unsettled him.

“Bridgerton!” his eyes opened as he was called, he turned his name to see a gentleman he was acquainted with (Honestly I forgot the names of them and am too lazy to search so they’ll be man 1,2 and 3)

He sighed, annoyed his alone time was interrupted but walked towards them nonetheless. “I owe you a drink” man 1 said

“Whatever for?” Anthony asked, looking between the three of them

“With you as the prize catch of the season, the rest of us shall receive a respite from the marriage minded mamas this season indeed” man 1 smirked

“Enjoy your freedom while it lasts” Anthony responded “You, too, will soon submit to this ridiculous rigmarole of courtship,” The doors opened a few feet away, a young beautiful lady walking out without their knowledge. “Squiring every eligible miss around town until you’re barely able to see straight”

“Is one lady unlike any other?” man 2 asks “Simply pick the least objectionable and get her wed, bed and bred. Then you can turn to more pleasurable pursuits”

“And more pleasurable partners” The lady walked down the stairs, quietly walking behind a big bush to listen more closely “You may be cavalier, but if I must leg shackle myself in marriage, the lady in question should have more to recommend her”

“Do not tell us you are hoping for a love match?” Man 1 jokes

“Love is the last thing I desire,” Anthony denied “But if my children are to be of good stock, then their mother must be of impeccable quality. A pleasing face, an acceptable wit, genteel manners enough to credit a viscountess” Anthony was surprised as the words left his mouth, remembering a questionably intriguing redhead said that was what he was looking for. His lips twitched slightly but he composed himself “It should not be hard to find, and yet, the debutantes of London fall short at every turn”

“You want the best. Perhaps the queen will finally name a diamond. Save you some trouble, at least of choosing her, wooing the piece is a different story indeed” Man 2 stated

“I should have no problem there” Anthony crossed his arms smugly, making the men laugh

Man 1 patted himself, “Smoking room, gentlemen?”

“I Shall be there anon” Anthony told them before the three men left, leaving him alone.

Anthony was about to leave when the sound of someone bumping into something stopped him “Is someone there?” he asked, looking back. He walked down the stairs, curious to see what it is “I can hear y-“

“You” He said with a smile as he stared at the mysterious woman he encountered days ago

“Pardon me, my lord” The woman sighed without emotion

“I never got your name” Anthony approached her “I was wondering if we might meet again” he crossed his arms behind his back, giving the woman a glance over

“So you might discern if my wit is acceptable? My manners genteel?” she said with annoyance

Anthony’s smile faded “You were eavesdropping?”

“It was hardly an effort, seeing as you were proclaiming your many requirements for a wife loud enough for the entire party to hear-“

“You take issue with my requirements?”

“I take issue with any man who views women merely as chattels and breeding stock” The lady said angrily

“None of that was meant for-“

“Viscount Bridgerton, yes?” the woman interrupted him, taking a step closer towards him “When you manage to find this paragon of virtue, whatever makes you think she will accept your suit? Are the young ladies of London truly so easily won by a pleasing smile and absolutely nothing more?”

Anthony was about to respond when he stopped, taking in her words before chuckling, remembering the same words said by a blue eyed, red headed beauty, some minutes ago, completely ignoring the young lady before him, finding humor in the coincidence.

“You are laughing?” the woman said offended

“no, no,no” Anthony apologized “my apologies, it is just someone told me the same thing before” his mind went once again towards the redhead. Seems like there is more women that share her particular ideals. If they are friends, then he can see why Y/n gets along with Eloise, both a pair of strong opiniated women.

“Then, seems like that person is someone you should listen to” The woman said

Anthony breathed out a chuckle, something indescribable in his eyes “yes…. yes, perhaps I should” he shook his head before looking at the lady again “If you excuse me…. I shall bid you goodnight” he bowed his head before walking away from the young lady

He’s starting to think balls were his thing (hehe balls). Or maybe balls where you were present that is. Although he will never admit that. Or the fact that as he was currently stepping down the stairs behind his mother and sister, and his brother talking beside him, all his eyes did was search around the ballroom, in hopes of seeing a particular lady.

“Anyone here you’ve not yet rejected?” Benedict spoke beside him

Anthony turned to look at his brother, clearing his thoughts “You’re the artist,” His eyes went to the crowd once again “Do you see anyone remotely inspiring?” He cannot help the small smirk that showed on his face as his eyes caught sight of you next to Penelope “We shall have a diamond tonight and I’ll shall choose my wife”

He followed his mother as she brought Eloise in front of the queen, tuning out their conversation as his face unconsciously turned slightly to keep the redhead in sight. He turned back towards the queen, bowing in tune with his family before they left.

“If the queen, in fact, names Eloise the diamond, who will you marry then, brother?” Benedict asked

Anthony turned to look at him “Hush you” He left before benedict could respond as he saw a certain lady leave Penelope’s side and head towards the refreshments table.

Anthony approached the refreshment table with an easy stride, his gaze lingering on you as you delicately poured yourself a glass of lemonade. The crowd around him faded into a dull hum as he drew closer, his curiosity piqued by the way you seemed so at ease, yet entirely detached from the chaos of the ballroom.

“Miss Featherington,” he said smoothly as he stopped beside you, reaching for a glass himself. “I see you’ve discovered the most sought-after corner of the evening.”

You glanced up shocked before a flicker of amusement showed in your eyes. “Lord Bridgerton,” you greeted, your tone polite but teasing. “I wasn’t aware the refreshment table was the highlight of the night.”

Anthony chuckled, swirling the champagne in his glass. “It’s simply a strategic choice. Much safer here than braving the dance floor—or the relentless matchmaking.”

“Ah,” you said with mock seriousness, turning your body to face him “The infamous Bridgerton charm, evading mamas and their daughters alike. I imagine you ae a master at that by now.”

He raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching in amusement. “I might say the same about you. I don’t see you dancing with any suitors of your own”

You tilted your head slightly “Sorry to disappoint you but I do not have any suitors” You state

Anthony frowned “How can that be? You’re beautiful” He blurted unconsciously. Your eyes widened at his words, a blush filling your cheeks

His eyes widened as well as he processed what he said “I-I-I mean.” He cleared his throat “I meant that you- you have a charm to you that men cannot deny that you are pretty”

You smiled “Thank you, my lord” you said, hiding your glee at his compliment “Oh, I- I’m sure you have matters to tent to. I wouldn’t dream of monopolizing your time. Surely, there’s a line of young ladies waiting for their turn with the Viscount.”

Anthony shrugged, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Oddly enough, the only company I find myself seeking at the moment is yours.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice, though you quickly recovered. “You clearly know how to flatter a lady, Lord Bridgerton. Is this how you court a lady?”

“Flattery?” He placed his glass down with an easy smile. “Not at all. I simply speak the truth.”

“Well, then,” you said, your tone light but edged with curiosity. “If this is the truth, then I wouldn’t dare to say otherwise”

Your gaze held his for a beat too long before you broke the moment with a small laugh. “Well, I hope tonight proves memorable for you, my lord.”

“Oh, it already has,” he said, his voice low and laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

Before you could respond, the trumpets sounded as the queen stepped down to make an announcement.

“Your presence is noted, and your queen most appreciative,” the queen started to say “Allow it to now be my honor to present to you the season’s diamond” she looked around at all the guests

“Miss Edwina Sharma”

You let out a small smile before turning towards Anthony “There you have your new wife” you teased

He turned to look at you “What?” he looked confused

“Was it not the lady that the queen chose the one that is going to be your wife?” You asked

“Where on earth did you hear that?” Anthony said confused

“I have my ways” You shrugged “But anyway, go introduce yourself”

Anthony frowned “I- “

“Go” You urged him “I’ll see you later” Anthony gave you one last look before heading towards the new diamond

“She is a lovely diamond, dearest” Anthony’s mother approached him after the dance with Miss Edwina.

Anthony would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little worried after finding out that the woman he made such a bad impression on was Miss Edwina’s sister, making things just a bit difficult. Miss Edwina was nice, answering all of his questions with sincerity, awareness and intelligence. She is exactly what he wanted if he was going to marry out of duty.

But surprisingly, he cannot help but think back on the featherington girl. You were…different, you challenged him and you weren’t in awe of him like every other lady in London (If only he knew)

“Anthony?” His mother called out when he didn’t respond

He turned to look at his mother, shaking away every thought of you. No matter how much he enjoyed talking to you, how refreshing he found you to be.

You incited things in him he didn’t dare to pursuit more or acknowledge, things that went against everything he said he would never do, surprising considering you’ve spoken, truly spoken, not small greetings like the ones you gave each other whenever he came across the featherington family or when you accompanied Penelope to her meetings with Eloise, but full conversations for a total of like two times.

It unnerved him.

“She is nice” Anthony agreed with his mother, looking down.

He had to put duty above everything else.

“She is…who I shall marry” Anthony stated, his eyes catching a flicker of red hair from the corner of his eyes, he gave his mother one last glance before walking away

⏮️ ⏸️ ⏭️

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