#lord ledger x lady danbury

[sea-owl]

This was inspired by @aprill-99

Here's the post here

So imagine years down the road, Lord Ledger is now a widower, and while they never officially married, he and Agatha were together. It's on the down low, but if you pay attention, you know they're together. (Hush now. I don't want to hear about age and dying. Anthony lived to his 90s damn it! Grandpa Ledger can do the same, plus we don't have his canonical age, and the actor himself was late 30s early 40s when he player Lord Ledger so shush!) But really who's gonna try and mess with the lioness Lady Danbury and the beloved grandfather of the Bridgertons?

One day while having tea with his daughter and unofficial wife, Lord Ledger hears Lady Danbury say to Violet. "I would like great grandchildren and more grandchildren."

Looking up from his newspaper, Lord Ledger saw both Agatha and Violet going over different miniatures of eligible gentlemen and debutants, four lists being created for his oldest four grandkids, the names of each list being copied onto another longer piece of parchment. Four question mark lists followed for the younger four grandkids, potential names he suppsed.

Was that Simon and young Penelope? He didn't know Simon was returning soon, nor that the girl was debuting this year. If he remembers correctly from the conversations at White's, this Stirling boy just joined the army. How Agatha got minatures of the boys in university he'll never know, oh this Crane boy is studying botany. Wait, is that Gareth?

"Isn't he already our grandson? And still in Eton?" Lord Ledger asked.

"We're getting an early start," Agatha replied. "He shall not be in Eton forever and will give us great grandchildren eventually too."

Agatha handed him the paper. "Here, make some inquires about these families. We must have the best."

"Of course dear," Lord Ledger said as he took the paper. He

Cue Lady Danbury and Violet running matchmaking schemes with Lord Ledger's support in the background. Also cue Lord Ledger becoming the grandfather figure to all these fatherless children.

[nametoshort]

I wonder how the dynamic between Violet and Lady Danbury is going to be in season three, now that Violet knows her dad was railing Lady Danbury into another dimension

[apinchofm]

why be angry?

Agatha cannot be angry with Lady Ledger or those other bitches who mock Charlotte behind her back - she has a Queen to guide, an estate to manage.

Oh, and she's fucking Lord Ledger.

[bohemian-nights]

Welp my crazy behind is working on a multi-chapter AU fic for these two 💁🏽‍♀️

[thereadersmuse]

Lord Ledger literally charmed Landy Danbury by treating her like a human being, listening to her, talking to her - not at her. Spending quality time rambling and literally saving her ball ages before her husband even croaked. We are simply forced to stan.

You are watching two people fall in love naturally. And by watching it, can understand how detrimental the lack of choice had on both their lives.

[thesevenwondersofawitch]

Queen Charlotte, a Bridgerton story Playlists

Queen Charlotte x King George:

Queen Charlotte:

King George:

Lady Agatha Danbury:

Lady Danbury x Lord Ledger:

Violet Bridgerton(née Ledger):

Princess Augusta (George's mother):

Brimsley x Reynolds:

[okfan527]

So glad that Lady Danbury had a taste of love and passion. And the chemistry between the actors ... loved it! 

What is that? A birthday hat. I make them. I made this one for you. I was not sure when exactly your birthday was, but I did not want it to pass without celebration. 

[incorrect-bridgerton-family]

Queen Charlotte: How did you get Lady Danbury to cooperate with you?

Violet: I threatened to reveal her dark secret.

Queen Charlotte: Which is what?

Violet: I have no idea, I was bluffing. But it must be something horrible.

[motionoftheocean]

Hold up. (Potential spoilers ahead)

Lady Danbury said she had 4 children. (Put a pin in that) we see 3 children in two separate scenes once when they’re playing with the governess/nanny in the gardens and then at Lord Danbury’s funeral. Now she said she 4 kids. This could either mean that she was already pregnant at the time of lord Danbury’s death as it was made abundantly clear that he was more active than usual before he croaked however there is the possibility that the 4th child’s father is Lord Ledger seeing as they had an affair (which was really cute btw I don’t care what anyone says). Which would mean that Lady Danbury might’ve given birth to Violet’s half sibling. OH MY DAYS

[hobermallowed]

I did not think that I would be so gung-ho about Lady Danbury and Lord Ledger’s relationship but here we are…

[aprill-99]

Okay but can you imagine an AU of Bridgerton where Lord Ledger ends up a hot and somewhat-young widower and he and Lady Danbury are married for the events of the rest of the novels to just cackle over their entire freaking horde of grandchildren together?

THE SCENE:

Agatha: *storms in* “I want grandchildren!”

Ledger: *puts down his book* “Don’t we have about 30 of them?”

Agatha: *fans out several miniatures* “I want these specific additional ones.”

Ledger: *examines the pictures* “Gareth St. Clare is already our grandson.”

Agatha: “I can double up if I want to!”

Ledger: “Of course dear.”

[sea-owl]

Who remembers my Bridgerton dragons? I kinda want to take that but add in dragon riders.

Orginal post found here

So in this world, there are several different ways one can learn magic so long as they have the talent for it. One of those ways is bonding with a dragon and becoming a dragon rider. The dragons get little diplomats out of their humans since while dragons are are capable of human level thoughts and emotions, some could even take a human form if they wish, they are also often too prideful to do so and too prideful to communicate with others they do not have a bond with. Instead, they let their riders be their translators, an easy thing since part of the bond allows dragon and rider into eqch othe's minds. This has led to more peaceful times between dragons as treaties and trade agreements were made up between humans and dragons.

Dragons choose who they wish to bond with, and due to how dangerous and fickle they can be, potential riders have to wait until their of age to even attempt it. The dragons don't care about human legacies, humans are all the same to them until they find one they like enough to bond.

Lady Agatha Danbury knew this well enough, she remembers how the dragons rejected her foolish husband and scorched him from this earth. Yet she became one of the few female riders when she unintentionally bonded with a dragon that lived near the border of her lands, the alpha of the Ledger Nest.

Agatha

Lady Danbury paused. Her dear dragon sounded very amused and very close. Which was odd since he was supposed to be at the Bridgerton nest visiting his grandchildren and daughter.

Keir? What has you so amused, and why am I missing it?

Lady Danbury could hear her dragon laugh.

Come to the roof, my dear. It appears one of my grandchildren has decided to bond.

No other words were needed as Lady Danbury picked up her skirts and made her way to the roof. The Bridgerton Nest has yet to bond any rider since it formed. While the alpha was not against it in general, riders just weren't something the family oriented nest was interested in. After the death of the previous alpha, they became even more closed off. In fact the only two humans they were ever really around was Lady Danbury herself who has known the nest's queen since she was still under her father's protection and Lady Danbury's godson Simon who struck a friendship with the oldest hatchling.

Lady Danbury made it to the roof, where Keir waited for her on the thick perch. The golden brown dragon moved his front leg to allow Lady Danbury to walk up it like a ramp and seat herself on his back. Adjusting her skits and securing her cane across her lap.

Are you secured, my dear?

"Yes," Lady Danbury nodded.

With Lady Danbury's answer, the dragon took flight.

So which of Violet's brood decided to bond? And who is the unlucky soul to be bonded to them?

Colin bonded one of Baron Featherington's daughters. Kier answered.

Lady Danbury's mind raced through Violet's eight different hatchlings. All of them were of some shade of blue. If she's remembering correctly, Colin was the ocean blue one, making him the third oldest. Her mind also sorted through the Featherington girls. Only two were currently out in society, the others too young. She wonders how one of those two managed it neither were the brightest. Though the second born girl was more agreeable if you got her around the right people.

According to Violet, Baron Featherington's lands bordered on the lands of the Bridgerton Nest, and the girl had become some sort of a family friend.

Lady Danbury hummed. A familiar tale

Keir chuckled. Indeed

So, how does that end with her bonded to one of them?

Colin has not given out his reasons, but the girl is witty, and not afraid to sass a dragon even if she doesn't understand them.

Lady Danbury raised an eyebrow. Witty is not something she would describe either of the older two Featherington girls. From the little she's seen of them, she would save that description for the younger two.

Keir paused. There is a slight problem. The girl has not yet reached her 18th year.

KEIR! Lady Danbury grabbed her cane and smacked the side of her dragon with it. SHE'S NOT OLD ENOUGH TO BOND! DID YOU NOT WARN YOUR GRANDCHILDREN?!

Keir flew downwards, jostling Lady Danbury slightly. She could see the nest closing in.

That's why I came to get you Agatha. You know the human laws. Perhaps you can come up with a solution.

Lady Danbury could see the other dragons now. They were all smaller than their grandfather, and all of them took on a different shade of blue. Two of them were staring each other down. One was a dark royal blue, he was Violet's oldest hatchling, and the current alpha of the nest, Anthony. The other was an ocean blue, Colin, and in between his legs was a sixteen year old girl with red curls. She has to be the Featherington girl, all of them inherited their mother's hair.

Keir let out a roar, signaling their arrival. The rest of them bowed their heads towards the older alpha and opened up a space that led to the new bonded pair.

Lady Danbury climbed off. "Well, let's get a look at you, girl. What's your name?"

The girl squeaked, hurrying herself into a curtsy. "Penelope Featherington."

Lady Danbury walked around the girl. She was rather short and had more curves than the average debutant. Not that the dragons really care. They can carry any human they deem worthy. The girl squeaked again when Lady Danbury pulled at her neckline. Ah, there it is. Over the girls heart is a mark made out of the same blue scales as her dragon. It will take time for it to take its shape, but as the bond develops, so will the mark. Though it is strange that the colors are so vibrant already. Perhaps this bond isn't as new as the others thought.

[nametoshort]

Still my One and Only

Lady Danbury/Lord Ledger

Rated: E

The affair may have ended, but that doesn’t mean Lady Danbury and Lord Ledger aren’t still drawn to each other…

Read it here!

[apinchofm]

will u write more lord ledger x lady danbury smut?

If I get the plot bunnies then yes!!

[bohemian-nights]

Lady Danbury: Chapter 1

Word count: ~2,871

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury

Description: The new Lady Agatha Danbury was decidedly not happy. Neither was Lord Ledger. Perhaps they might find a bit of happiness in each other.

AN: This is a Lord Ledger x Lady Danbury AU fic. Some plot lines from Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story have been axed🪓

Chapter 2, Chapter 3,

Children are a gift from the heavens. For they are but clay come to life. Their minds, their hearts, their souls, their very being, unknown to what shape it might take. So very ripe. Pure. Untainted. A clean slate to keep from harm that seeks to corrupt them. The duty of protection falls upon their earthly shepherds.  A duty to shape and mold the malleable minds of their flock.                                                      

To make little boys into strong, chivalrous, honorable men, ready to make proud the family name. To mold little girls into gentle, graceful, obedient daughters and wives who will birth more sweet gifts. Or at least that is the blessing, duty, and burden bestowed upon good Christian children and their shepherds. Good Christian people of polite English society. A society that eluded them.       

Agatha Robinson had not been an exception to this duty. A gentle, graceful, and obedient girl. That was what it took to become Mrs. Danbury. That was what she had been molded into. A wife. The wife of one Mr. Hermain Danbury. 

Agatha had never known a time in her life without Mr. Hermain Danbury. She was little more than three years old on the cusp of her fourth birthday when she had been promised to him. A man thrice her age upon their vows. A man older than her own father. 

“She is a pretty little thing.” He had leered as she was placed in front of him. Sizing her up and down as if she were an ornament rather than a young girl who had yet to lose her first tooth. Who stared rather than speak even when spoken to. A fact which annoyed him, but he reasoned that under the proper tutelage and guidance surely it could be remedied. He hadn’t been wrong. “She’ll no doubt grow into a great beauty.” 

Perhaps she should not have remembered. Perhaps she would not have remembered, but the bargain was struck a week after Mama’s funeral. Amelia Robison had not been the most affectionate of women, but she was always there when Agatha needed her and she provided her husband with much-needed guidance. “She’ll do nicely.”   

Agatha had cried herself to sleep the night before and was trouted out by her nanny like a prized pony for his inspection. Made to put on her best dress. Her dark coils curled. She was even allowed to put on some of her mother's makeup.  

Allowed to pick out her favorite pair of earrings and a bracelet from her jewelry box. It soothed her distressed state. The smallest heels were placed upon her little feet. She could barely walk in them. Nanny had to hold her hand so that she would not trip over her dress and go tumbling down the stairs.

She remembered gazing at herself in the mirror as nanny fixed her skirts. She was utterly transfixed. Agatha thought herself so very grown up. Like the glimpses, she caught of Mama on her departure to one of the balls that her friends hosted. The balls she always begged to be brought along with. “When you are older Agatha.” She beckoned her over to place a kiss into her coils. 

Never long for sentimentality, she would dismiss her with a sigh as she pushed her toward one of the maids. Calling for nanny to come collect and deposit her into bed. The miniature form of Amelia Robinson gazed back at her from where Agatha Robinson stood. Her very image. 

Her father must have thought so as well. Looking back on that day, with childish naivety long since past, his face had drawn in when he went for his once over of her. He could not look at Agatha for more than a few moments before he had to avert his eyes. It was as if he had seen a ghost, but she had been so very young. Too young to notice. “Have her down in an hour.” He left without so much as a word spoken to her. Never looking back.

As strange as he behaved, Agatha had thought she was going to one of those grown-up parties. She had thought that father would be dressed to take her with him as he had Mama, but she had only come down to her parent's drawing room, a  room until then she had been forbidden from entering, to find a strange man sitting opposite of her father. 

He was the son of a king back home. Away from polite English society, but even in polite English society that meant something. It had gained him the friendship of another king. The most powerful king in the world. That meant something to the Robinson’s who were descended from the Kpa-Mendi Bo of Sierra Leone in their new home. Who would turn down the son of a king no matter what form that son came in? 

Thus Agatha’s education had begun. The molding of Miss Agatha Robinson. The making of a good Christian wife. In truth, it was the death of Miss Agatha Robinson and the birth of Mrs. Agatha Danbury. 

Miss Ingram had overseen that education. Other girls, even on their side of the ton, had French governesses with their easy smiles and good humor, but Miss Ingram was decidedly English. They were not very fond of educating her kind, but for the right price, English governesses would tolerate schooling the brown children of society. 

Her father was willing to pay that price for an English governess. Too English in her opinion, for Agatha found her to be positively odious. Her skin was as white as linen. She wore her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She did not even dare to adorn it with curls.  

Her eyes were the color of a cat, all-seeing. She could not have been more than one thirty though she seemed as if she were one and sixty. Her expression held a thinly veiled air of disapproval. She only beamed when Mr. Danbury came around to check on her progress. 

Whatever her first name had been Agatha had never known. She had asked the woman once, but she had nothing to show from her inquisition apart from a cramped hand. “I am Miss Ingram to you child.” She was made to list the names, ranks, and titles of every lord in the country. Viscount Bridgerton, Lord Anthony Ledger, the Earl of Kilmartin, it mattered not. Her side had no such titled gentleman to speak of. She told Miss Ingram that. 

The punishment was utterly pointless as Agatha would never meet or be allowed in the company of those lords. Even if she had not been made, molded rather, to marry Mr. Danbury, not one of those respectable noblemen, would see her as a worthy bride for themselves or their heirs.  Miss Ingram met her cheek with a tight smile. Commanding her to write her lines twice over. She had never dared to ask or question her, again. To her face at least. 

Agatha was not the only one who found her governess to be an overbearing shrew. Miss Ingram and nanny often quarreled. Usually on their charges lack of propriety, manners, and appropriate behavior. 

She does not listen. She’s too wild. You restrict her too much. She’s just a girl. In the end, the nanny's defense amounted to nothing. Father always took Miss Ingrahm’s side of things and nanny was sent away soon after she turned two and ten. A mere month after her first bleeding. You are too old for a nanny Agatha. Playtime was decidedly over. She was a woman grown. Or firmly on her way to becoming one. 

Her days became an endless monotony of lessons. A tedious affair. A typical well-born English girl ought to be accomplished. She should be able to converse in  French, Italian, or Latin if her governess was so bold.  

Embroider a handkerchief with roses. Draw the scenes around her. Sing a jaunty tune or two. Play the pianoforte with some measure of proficiency. She must be well-read or rather give the appearance of it. How to run and keep a household. All undertakings which Agatha excelled at, but ordinary was not what he wanted. That was not good enough.

“You are to be Mr. Danbury’s wife.” Above all, duty was stressed in each of her lessons. “He comes from a great line. A long line. We all must play our part in life Agatha. God has put us on this earth with a purpose.” It was her purpose to give life to that great line. To ensure its continuation. To birth the next generation of Danbury’s. 

The education of a wife is an endeavor every gentile lady must study, but Agatha would not just be any man’s wife. She was to be Mrs. Hermain Danbury and all that entailed. She was made to fit him. Tailored like a fitted glove.

The songs she played on the pianoforte, compositions by Arne, were his favorite, so they became hers. The food she ate, liver, mutton, plum cake, and vegetables drowned in butter were his favorites. All of which she detested, but Agatha endured it. 

Agatha embroidered handkerchiefs for him which were sent out every week to his estate. The books she read, she liked them little better than the songs, were his favorites. Her Italian lessons were stopped in favor of Latin for he found the former to be too common. When she became of age she was made to drink port wine instead of the sweet champagne she favored. Most of her gowns were made in his favorite color, the gaudiest shade of gold that she grew to loathe.  

The worst offense had been at her birthday party when she had turned one and four. She had requested to be made up in the fashion of her mother's portrait that hung on the mantle in her father's study. Sneaking into it from time to gaze up at her. 

A simple white cream gown complimented by a slate sash. A string of pearls adorned her neck. A beaded bracelet that Agatha’s grandmother had gifted her before her only daughter made her journey to England.  Her hair was wrapped and decorated with a plum feather, a taste of her home. Her brown face wore the hint of a smile. Not even Miss Ingram could find fault in her choice, but Mr. Danbury had. He never came to her parties, but this time he did and he found her choice to be lacking. 

Father and Miss Ingram, much to Agatha’s shock, had protested his criticisms. It becomes her Mr. Danbury. She makes a vision Hermain. Mr. Danbury, however, would not hear of it. He remained firm in his opinion. It is too Exotic. A frown had formed upon his brow. His dark eyes flitted from her head to her bracelet. 

She was made to change before the guests arrived. Back into his boisterous gowns. The maids worked overtime to unwrap and curl her hair. It was never to be wrapped again. “Dry your eyes, child. We are English.” It was what he had told her after he saw her that they were becoming red as she was spun stiffly around her father's drawing room. Overflown with unshed tears. 

Chapped lips placed a dry kiss upon her cheek. Leaving the stench of his port and something foul behind. The smell of death. She feigned a headache by the second dance. A maid brought up a slice of her cake and she was left undisturbed for the rest of the night. Left in silence to eat in front of her vanity. Her reflection was her only company that night. The face of a stranger

She was made into his perfect bride. A sweet bride that talked, walked, and breathed, as he did. She sang, smiled, and chirped out whatever niceties as he wished. There was room for Miss Agatha Robinson. She had ceased to exist. Mrs. Agatha Danbury stood in her place.

Agatha had been one and five when she had officially become Mrs. Danbury. Mr. Danbury had been four and fifty. Six months to the day after her birthday. He had wanted a spring wedding. There was some hesitation on the date. Mainly on account of her health. More specifically on the risks that the consummation of her marriage would pose to her health.

As with all breed ladies, the intimate details of the marital bed chamber had been kept from her, but Agatha had seen her father's beloved hounds and the horses around his estate going at each other in the strangest of ways. Mating one of the maids told her when she had asked what they were doing while the others tittered on before Miss Ingram scolded them for their impropriety. True to their words, a litter or a foal would be amongst their mists in a matter of months.  

The birthing bed always followed. Her own mother had died in her birthing bed. Trying to produce a son, an heir for her father. Six pregnancies and only Agatha to show for them. Amelia Robinson had been three and ten when she was married off to Mr. Joseph Robinson and died before she was three and twenty. 

A doctor had come in to examine her. It felt like hours as he poked at her. His assessment had been one that pleased both Mr. Danbury and her father. Agatha was a healthy, vibrant young woman. She had never been a sickly child. Had always been active and robust. 

There was no reason to suggest that if she were to find herself with child soon into her marriage it would pose any risk to her health. She had two years on her own mother. She had the right frame to bear children. That made a difference. There was no reason to delay the wedding or the consummation of it. 

The ceremony went by in a blur. She had blocked most of it out of her memory. Though Agatha could recall the moment when the Vicar called forth for objections to be heard. A sliver of hope raced through her for a phantom rescuer, before that too was dashed when the call was left unanswered. 

The vicar pronounced them man and wife without any uproar. Sealing his proclamation with a wet kiss that tasted of sour wine and something foul which Agatha could not place. The same foul smell as the night of her party, only more putrid in taste upon the tongue. It would have made her gag had Mr. Danbury continued on a moment longer. 

The reception held afterward went by in an equal haze. One well-wisher after another congratulating them. As if she had any say in this union. Several rounds of dancing  commenced. Her father was given the honor of twirling her around in his stead when Mr. Danbury made a show of complaining about his gout. 

The cake was cut, several glasses of champagne downed, and then Mrs. Agatha Danbury found herself being ushered away. “Make him happy Agatha.” Her father had whispered into her ear before helping her into Mr. Danbury’s carriage. Waving them off with a plastered grin. 

For Hermain Danbury their wedding night was a success. Agatha had more than made her new husband happy. He had gone to bed with a smile upon his cracked onyx face and slept well into the next morning. Snoring like a babe. All too pleased with himself. His choice. 

Agatha’s own happiness eluded her. His elation came at the expense of hers. Mr. Danbury had not been a gentle lover if one could even call him that. He had broken her in rough. She had been raised to be his wife, a well-bred lady and he took her in the way her father's stallions took his mares.  

She had been warned discreetly by some of the married maids that it would not be pleasant, but the pain would be brief and she would learn to bear her duty. It was not brief. She was stretched apart between her thighs as her husband took his rights and made a woman out of her. Left swore for most of the week that followed. For he would not stop taking his rights at every turn he got. 

Her duty was a hard one to bear. Leaving her raw. Like a used-up rag. Used to clean off the grime. Covered in a layer of something that just wouldn’t wash out. Normally it would be discarded, but its owner was not done with it yet. He was not done with her yet.  

Agatha felt as if she would never be unsoiled again. Her maid, a kind girl named Coral scarcely older than herself, had to bring her a salve during her bath time, the only time she was allowed to herself, but that night there had been no relief. Mr. Danbury had kept himself on top of her after he had finished. She could barely breathe. She was trapped under his weight with no means of escape, not even to relieve herself. Agatha was left to lie there staring up at the ceiling.

Ao3 Link:

Taglist: @dd122004dd @nametoshort @gracienna

[thereadersmuse]

I am losing my mind about Lord Ledger and Lady Danbury tbh. Infidelity has never seemed more empathetic, kind and sad. Wild they are making me feel these emotions with my own ovaries.