#loved this scene peak bridgerton indeed

[jbaileyfansite]

Interview with the Los Angeles Times (2024)

“This is where all the cruising happened.”

Jonathan Bailey and I are standing in Pershing Square on a bright, blustery spring afternoon, nearing the end of a homemade queer history tour of downtown L.A.: One Magazine, Cooper Do-Nuts/Nancy Valverde Square, the Dover bathhouse, the Biltmore Hotel and this, the city’s former Central Park, a haven, since before World War I, for “fairies” and “sissy boys,” servicemen on leave and beatniks on the road.

“Is it still happening now?” he asks.

“Probably not as much,” I venture.

“Well, you let me know if it’s happening,” he teases, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.

Bailey understands the uses of the charm offensive. As Sam, the handsome Lothario of Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s delightful pre-”Fleabag” curio, “Crashing”; Anthony, the romantic hero of “Bridgerton’s” second season; and John, the jerk of a protagonist in Mike Bartlett’s love triangle play “Cock,” the English actor, 36, has swaggered up to the precipice of superstardom. With roles in such studio tentpoles as “Wicked” and “Jurassic World” on the horizon, he may just break through. Yet he delivers career-best work in Showtime’s queer melodrama “Fellow Travelers,” as anti-Communist crusader-turned-gay rights activist Tim Laughlin, by leaving behind the self-assured rakes and tapping a new wellspring: soft power.

Tim may be, as Bailey puts it, “an open nerve,” but as it turns out, the devout Catholic and political naïf — who falls for suave State Department operative Hawkins “Hawk” Fuller (Matt Bomer) just as Sen. Joseph McCarthy tries to purge the federal government of LGBTQ people — is formidable indeed.

Stretching from the Lavender Scare to the depths of the AIDS crisis, in scenes of tenderness, cruelty and toe-curling sex, Bailey’s performance communicates that little-spoken truth of relationships: It takes more strength to submit than it does to control. The former demands discipline, courage, trust; the latter requires only force.

“In ‘Bridgerton,’ [Bailey] is like a Hawkins Fuller character — he is very sexy and has lots of power, has that kind of confident charisma that absolutely is not Tim at all,” says “Fellow Travelers” creator Ron Nyswaner.

But any doubt about Bailey’s ability to mesh with Bomer, who boarded the project early in development, was put to bed with the actors’ virtual rehearsal of a meeting on a park bench in the pilot. “‘Well, that’s a first,’” Nyswaner recalls an executive texting him. “I cried in a chemistry read.”

‘Am I inviting people in?’

Bailey grew up in a musical family in the Oxfordshire countryside outside London, and this, coupled with an appreciation for the morning prayers, choir practice and Mass he attended as a scholarship student at the local Catholic school, fed his precocious talents. (“I loved the performance of it,” he laughs. “Not to diminish the celebration of religious process, but I did love the idea of wearing a gown.”) By age 10, he’d appeared in the West End, playing Gavroche in a production of “Les Misérables,” an experience he now recognizes as an encounter with a queer found family — albeit one shadowed by the toll of the AIDS crisis, which peaked in the U.K. in the mid-1990s.

“When I’m asked about my childhood, there’s so much I don’t remember, and I think that’s true of anyone who’s been in fight or flight for 20 years,” he says. “I would have been in a cast of people whose friends would have died in the last seven years. I think of where I was seven years ago. I had all my gay friends then. It’s only retrospectively that I can retrofit a real gay community around me [in the theater], that I just wasn’t aware of [then].”

During the late 1990s and early 2000s, American and British culture presented queer adolescents with a bewildering array of mixed signals. As beloved celebrities came out in growing numbers, and the battle for marriage equality became a central locus of LGBTQ political organizing, the media continued to propagate harmful stereotypes of gay men as miserable, lonely, perverted or worse — and, Bailey remembers, callously turned George Michael, arrested on suspicion of cruising in a Beverly Hills restroom in 1998, and Irish pop star Stephen Gately, who revealed his sexuality in 1999, fearful he was about to be outed, into tabloid spectacles.

No wonder Bailey, like many LGBTQ people of his generation, should feel the “chemical” thrill of “validation and acceptance” during London Pride at age 18, then embark on a two-year relationship with a woman in his 20s.

“Dangerously, if you’re not exposed to people who can show you other examples of happiness, you think that’s the easiest way to live,” Bailey says. “It’s funny. You look back and you can tell the story in one way, which is that I always knew who I was and my sexuality and my identity within that. But obviously at times, it was really tough. I compromised my own happiness, for sure. And compromised other people’s happiness.”

Disclosures about his personal life have become particularly thorny for the actor since the premiere of “Bridgerton,” the blockbuster bodice-ripper from executive producer Shonda Rhimes.

“The Netflix effect does knock you off center completely,” he says, recalling the experience of finding a paparazzo waiting outside his new flat before he’d even moved in. “Suddenly, you do start having nightmares about people climbing in your windows... Even now, talking about it makes me feel like, ‘Am I inviting people in?’”

He is also critical of the media for churning out headlines about the smallest details of celebrities’ private lives, often detached from their original context. In an interview with the London Evening Standard published in December, Bailey described a harrowing encounter in a Washington, D.C., coffee shop in which a man threatened his life for being queer — and, in recounting the experience, offhandedly mentioned the “lovely man” he’d called, shaken, after it happened. Although Bailey acknowledges that the original story handled the subject with aplomb, he felt dismayed that more attention wasn’t paid to the intended warning about rising anti-LGBTQ sentiment: “The only thing that got syndicated from that story was that I had a boyfriend, and it wasn’t true,” he sighs. “It was kind of depressing, if I’m honest.”

Still, Bailey, who once turned down a role in a queer-themed TV series because it would have required him to speed along revelations about his personal life he wasn’t ready to make, is prepared to embrace the power of vulnerability when it feeds the work. Although a member of his inner circle expressed doubts about “Fellow Travelers’” steamy sex scenes, for instance, the actor intuited that they were what made the project worth doing: “I was like, ‘I’m telling you, they are the reason why this is going to be brilliant.’”

‘He’s changed my trajectory in my own life’

To those who would complain about the state of sex in film and TV, “Fellow Travelers” is the perfect riposte. All of it matters, from Tim’s first flirtation with Hawk to the finale’s closing minutes, because the series, at its core, is about the importance of soft power: the strength required to bend, but not break; to adapt, but not abandon oneself; to survive without shrinking to nothing in the process.And depicting that through sex, specifically gay sex, makes “Fellow Travelers” radical indeed.

Bailey understands that baring so much comes with certain risks. When I tell him that research for the story has filled my algorithmic “For You” feed on X (formerly Twitter) with speculation that his onscreen relationship with Bomer has a real-life element, he notes that “shipping” fictional couples and costars alike has long been part of Hollywood fantasy. But he bristles at the implication that he and Bomer are anything but skilled actors at work.

“I would love for people to know that the success of our chemistry isn’t based on us f—. It’s actually about us leaning into the craft,” he says. “It’s a vulnerable situation to be in, talking about it on record. I don’t want to rob people of their thoughts. But I do have a set of values, and as an artist, you don’t need to be f— to tell that love story.”

Underlying that craft, Bailey adds, is the confidence to speak up, as with one scene in “Fellow Travelers” that was adjusted because he said, “I don’t want to be naked today.” He learned to use his voice the hard way: In his early 20s, he recalls, he was once “bullied” on set when “someone was threatened” by him and vowed to himself, “I’m never going to do that to someone. I’m never going to allow that to happen.”

This impulse to direct his influence in support of others has blossomed further with “Fellow Travelers.” On the day of our interview, Bailey enthuses about an upcoming meeting with legendary gay rights activist Cleve Jones and shares his idea for a docuseries recording the stories of elders in the LGBTQ+ community while they are still here to tell them. He describes lying in a hospital bed on set on World AIDS Day, in character as Tim, surrounded by gay men who had lost friends and lovers during the crisis, and finding himself thinking, “What do I want to leave behind?”

“I think he’s changed my trajectory in my own life,” Bailey says.

This is, perhaps, the most common reaction I know to diving deep into queer history — the understanding that we, like our forerunners, are responsible for shaping the queer future, whether in politics, society or art. No one is going to do it on our behalf.

As we stand on the nondescript corner now named for her, I relate the story of the late queer activist Nancy Valverde, who was arrested repeatedly while a barber school student in the 1950s on suspicion of “masquerading” because of her preference for short hair and men’s clothing, and later successfully challenged her harassment by the police in court.

“What a hero!” Bailey exclaims, wondering at Valverde’s bravery. “The thing that’s so interesting with power battles is, ultimately, identity is the thing that gives you the most strength and power in your life, isn’t it?

“Because that’s one thing people can’t take away from you: who you are and how you express yourself.”

Source

[bisexualfemalemess]

BRIDGERTON SEASON 3 PT 2 SPOILERS

Live reaction episode 5:

I’m a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see Penelope’s answer to colin’s proposal but in my head she just straight up faceplanted outta that carriage. On another note, colin constantly looking back at her to check on her is peak protective husband. Colin ‘my wife’ bridgerton indeed. Also Penelope’s so loved by his family and not him being willing to fight Eloise, his own sister, like hold your horses buddy. El baby she’s loved him since you guys were children. Both are honestly valid and i love them both so much, i just need my peneloise besties back right now. Like so expeditiously. Awww, colin checking up on pen. He’s truly already so far gone. I’M SORRY THE TREE???? What the actual fuck???? Lady tilley arnold needs to get the fuck off my screen. I’ve never read the books but booktok and twitter made me love sophie already, i need her. Not pen listening to her family reading LW Lmaoo she seems so smug about it. EY LADY DANBURY HAPPY ABOUT POLIN THEY’RE SO LOVED BY EVERYONE. KANTHONY MY BABIES. MY PARENTS ARE GONNA BE ACTUAL PARENTS STFU. Anthony’s so feral for her 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 aww hyacinth is so excited to tell them about polin’s new engagement my daughter fr. HYACINTH OMG IJBOL NOT HER SAYING GREGORY’S THE FAMILY PET I’MMA DIE. Eloise baby she did not use you, she loves you and you love her so make up bitches. Cressida is so gay for eloise no one can tell me otherwise. OH MY GOD NOT THE BOOK LINE ABOUT HIS LOVE BEING A THUNDERBOLT FROM THE SKY SOMEONE SEDATE ME (might need to make a part two and i’m only 10 minutes in) they’re not even married yet and Benedicts like “your wives” she’s always been a bridgerton for real. PORTIA I AM INDIFFERENT TOWARDS YOU BUT BACK OFF FROM MY GIRLY AND DON’T MAKE HER DOUBT HER RELATIONSHIP. COLINS SO HOT TELLING PORTIA OFF SOMEONE GET ME SOME HOLY WATER OR SOMETHING JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. HE’S BEEN WITH HER FOR LESS THAN 24 HOURS AND HE’S ALREADY THROWING AROUND THE L-WORD OH HE FELL SO HARD FOR HER IMMA THROW MYSELF IN FRONT OF A MOVING TRUCK. MIRROR SCENE OH MY GOD OH MY GOD ALRIGHT ITS HAPPENING ITS HAPPENING OH HIS SPEECH IMMA KILL MYSELF IM SO SERIOUS. THIS IS PERFECT OH MY GOD, NICOLA COUGHLAN IS A GODESS AND THEIR CHEMISTRY IS SO PALPABLE. “LIE DOWN” THAT WAS SO FUCKING HOT, COLIN BRIDGERTON CAN COMMAND ME AROUND ANY DAY. Sex scene, sex scene, sex scene….TO POV???? Oh, that’s such a beautiful song choice. This is literally so intimate, i feel like I’m intruding. Colin bridgerton is a canon consent man and as a woman i think that’s so sexy. That was the cutest sex scene of my life, cute, hot, awkward, everything a first time is supposed to be (i wouldn’t know🙊) KANTHONY SCENE. HES THE CUTEST ALL KISSING HER STOMACH. Newton and Anthony always beefing. Their so cute 😫😫😫. Awww John and Francesca are so cute as well. Awwww him asking about marriage 😖😖😖. VISCOUNTESS KATE IN ACTION MY BABY GIRL. She’s working overtime being pregnant, viscountess and giving eloise advice. She clocked peneloise’s tea. AWW Post-sex polin is the cutest with the book line too 🥹🥹🥹🥹 and the teasing!!! They’re truly so friends to lovers. NOT HER GETTING INTERRUPTED WHEN SHE WANTS TO TELL HIM SHE’S WHISTLEDOWN. FUCK ASS SERVANTS. Oh poor pen having to listen to her fiancé trash-talk her without knowing he’s taking about her, like i wouldn’t tell him i’m Whistledown either after this, bet. Also they literally have no sense of personal space and it’s too cute. Aww a colin and eloise talk. THEY WERE INSEPARABLE AND THEY NEED TO BE AGAIN SOON OR IMMA DO SOMETHING SO DRASTIC I SWEAR TO GOD. Peneloise as bestie sister-in-law’s is something that i need so bad it’s like not even funny anymore. Penelope’s sister need to leave her the fuck alone and portia needs to leave her ulterior motives at the door even penelope was like what the hell is going on. I don’t really mind will and alice plot honestly they’re just a cute married couple, much like polin will be. OH MY GOD NOT BENEDICT CALLING KATE SISTER IM DYING IM DECEASED. THAT FUCK ASS TOP HAH OH MY LORD. NOT COLIN CALLING PENELOPE HIS BRIDE TO BE 🫠

[fayes-fics]

Congratulations on hitting 1.5k!!! It’s well deserved!

Can I ask, since I’m a sucker for a bath scene

“Is there some space left in that bathtub?”

And Benedict please.

Benedict + Is there some space left in that bathtub?

March 2023 Mini Drabbles Masterpost

HI lovely!

Thank you so much. You are so kind! 🫶

Ooh this was fun. Thank you for this prompt! 😁🧡🧡

As your staff leave the room, you close your eyes with a contented sigh and relax into the large copper tub, finally alone with your thoughts and the hot water.

“Is there some space left in that bathtub?” a low voice rings out, echoing up the walls.

Your eyes shoot open to see one Benedict Bridgerton standing at the far end of the tub, fresh back from hunting, peeling off his overcoat, a smirk on his face.

“That depends. How dirty did you get out there hunting, my love?” you simper, pushing up to allow your nipples to peak over the top of the water line.

“Absolutely filthy,” he replies, his tone predatory, eyes glittering as he tracks your movement, boots clattered heavily onto the wooden floor as he pulls them off.

“Well then, we will have to find a way to get you clean again indeed,” you respond coquettishly, tilting your head to the side as if in deep thought, watching his waistcoat disappear.

“I can think of one solution to this conundrum,” he offers, muffled slightly behind his shirt as he fights it off over his head.

“I'm all ears, Mr Bridgerton,” you smirk, biting your lip as his torso is revealed and his fingers fall to the buttons at his hip.

“How would you feel about cleansing my naked body as it is wrapped around yours, Mrs Bridgerton?” he queries, that crooked smile toying at his handsome face as he roughly unbuttons.

“Sounds awful,” you tease, twisting your legs around and pushing up onto your knees at the far end of the tub, loving how he inhales sharply at the sight of your naked wet body.

He leans over, so his warm breath dusts your cheek, letting his trousers fall away. “What a shame there is no room in that huge bathtub for me, too, then,” he murmurs.

“Such a terrible shame,” you reply, lips hot on his as you grab his neck and pull him in to join you.

Went a bit over 250 words, oops

[ficninja]

A Beautiful Night Indeed

So I did a thing...

I wrote a Penelope and Colin fic! I haven't written anything in so long that I seriously surprised myself. I just couldn't help it, I've become so obsessed with them. I wanted to post it here for anyone interested in reading. It's an extended scene I guess, a wish fulfillment if you will, of what I wanted to happen after their dance at the Vauxhall Ball in episode 01 "Diamond of the first water."

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington Summary: Colin is protective of Penelope after Cressida spills her drink on her. Colin doesn't want to let go of Penelope's hand after their dance. Colin is confused about his feelings and Anthony calls him out on it. Colin wants more than anything for Penelope to trust him

A Beautiful Night Indeed

It was a beautiful night. Penelope had arrived to the Vauxhall ball a half an hour early with her Father and sisters. They were just in time to see the lighting of all the torches surrounding the expansive gardens right as the Sun began to hang low in the ever darkening sky…

Standing near the orchestra dining area, watching the dancing begin, Penelope looked around avoiding being spotted by one of her sisters. She was surprised when she heard Colin say her pet name.

“Pen…” Colin approached Penelope. He never had trouble finding her in a crowd. He was constantly captivated by her stunning red hair. Her hair beckoned him like a glowing fire, his eyes always drawn to the beauty of the permanent sunset. She was standing alone expectantly, he surmised she was looking for someone.

“Colin…” Penelope sighed adorably which made him smile to himself. She had the cutest voice, he had always thought so.

“I did not know you would be here.” Penelope was pleasantly surprised to see him. His height towering as he walked closer, making her feel small and delicate by comparison.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Colin teased, causing her to smile. She was never able to resist this pull he had on her.

“Have you seen Miss Thompson?” He inquired. Miss Thompson had many suitors and Colin supposed he should try to get to know Penelope’s cousin a bit more, lest his interest wane.

“She is ill.” Penelope informed him, a bit dispassionately, her smile faltering. “My mamá had to stay home with her.” She continued. “Papá had to chaperone.”

Colin looked over his shoulder to see Mr. Featherington enjoying a refreshment and in an animated discussion, completely unobservant of his youngest daughter.

Colin turned back to Penelope giving her his complete attention, the inquiry into her cousin’s whereabouts fleeting. He did not like that she was vulnerable without her Father’s gaze on her.

“I’m quite enjoying the fact that he is here.” Penelope’s smile picked back up and Colin recalled that she enjoyed spending time with her father… away from her neglectful mother.

Mrs. Featherington should be there as well, Colin thought to himself. This was Penelope’s debut season. What mother, wouldn’t accompany a daughter as sweet and innocent as Penelope everywhere?

“Mamá would never allow me to wear a dress like this.” Penelope’s smile brightened the darkened garden even more. “Not yellow enough, I think.” She giggled self-deprecatingly.

Colin had taken note of how especially lovely Penelope looked that night. Although it was hard for Penelope to look bad, given her cute face and enchanting hair, her mother seemed to be trying to detract from her looks with every yellow frock she forced on her. He would acknowledge that according to Eloise having a nice face and pleasant hair should not be considered an accomplishment. But given the lack of genteel stock in Penelope’s lineage, it was indeed a glowing accomplishment in contrast to her older sisters, at least according to Colin’s preferences.

Before Colin could genuinely compliment Penelope’s dress, Cressida Cowper appeared and interrupted their conversation. Accompanied by her entourage of ninnies, they pushed between he and Penelope.

“Mr. Bridgerton...” Cressida’s voice really grated on Colin’s nerves. “I believe you owe me a dance this evening. And I only have one more space remaining on my card at present.”

“How convenient.” Penelope observed, her words so softly spoken that Colin almost… almost didn’t hear her. But her tremulous voice carried over to Colin. It was like a melody… a song only for him in contrast to Cressida’s.

Cressida thrust her dance card out to her side and simultaneously spilled her drink on the front of Penelope’s dress. “Penelope, I did not see you there!” Cressida feigned shock.

Penelope gasped in sheer mortification, turning away from them as the blast of cold liquid slid down her chest. She looked down to check her dress, thanking heaven that the drink was clear and would not stain. Penelope felt heat color her cheeks and her eyes began to water. She was so proud of the way she looked that night and to have this happen to her at Cressida’s hands and in the presence of Colin no less, she thought she would pass out from the humiliation.

Colin glared at Cressida. How dare she attempt to injure Penelope’s person with that drink and right in front of him. He thought to himself, if Cressida was not a Lady and barely one at that… His anger peaked at the mental image of what he would do. His nostrils flared at her before he turned his attention back to Penelope.

“I’m afraid I cannot offer you that dance, Miss Cowper.” Colin’s voice barely remained courteous. “I am to escort Miss Featherington, to the floor.” His decided rejection of Cressida caused Penelope to turn around, astonished.

Penelope’s blue eyes, glossy with embarrassment, met his. Colin had a fierce look on his face. Determined he was, not to allow anyone to mistreat her in his presence. He reached for Penelope's gloved hand, slipping her tiny feminine satin-clad fingers through his larger masculine ones, as he glared once again at Cressida before escorting Penelope away and onto the dance floor.

Colin spun Penelope into position just as the spirited dance started. His fingers glided across the brocade material along her upper back. Her soft tresses skimmed across the back of his hand… This was one of Colin’s favorite dances and he smiled down at her excitedly. Penelope was an amazing partner. The embarrassment caused by Cressida eased from her eyes and she matched his enthusiam for the dance. The eager smile on her face as he spun her around caused an ache to invade inside his chest. The protectiveness he felt moments ago seemed to increase ten fold and everything inside of him wanted that smile to remain on her face for the rest of her life.

When the dance ended, Colin found himself irrationally thinking of a reason to keep Penelope's hand in his. An illogical impulse, given it would be improper since he was not officially courting her. The reminder to himself, that he was not in fact courting Penelope Featherington, but had expressed an interest in her distant cousin caused him to be inexplicably confused and annoyed with himself. The annoyance he felt was upsetting to him and he clenched his jaw in vexation. Just as he was about to convince himself to let her go, the announcement began…

“Ladies and Gentleman, a most extraordinary event is about to take place.

Right this way!

Come! Come!”

Colin looked down at Penelope just as she gazed her startled blue eyes up at him. Just looking in her eyes soothed away his baffling aggravation. He smiled at her mischievously as he pulled her along side him continuing to hold her hand. Definitely not letting go of her now.

Penelope was delighted that Colin wanted to continue their time together at the ball. The way he looked at her during their dance… she knew it was just a result of his protective nature. She believed he was genuinely outraged by Cressida’s behavior toward her. But his continued attention made her heart soar, even more than usual, just from being around him. A sort of magic seemed to envelop them, almost as if Colin was finally seeing her as a woman and not like a little sister. Penelope worried that the let down from reality settling around her again would break her heart irreparably.

“Come along, Pen. We must not miss this most extraordinary event!” Colin continued to grin at her as he pulled Penelope along.

Colin spotted an open section near the edge of the crowd and stopped there. It was a bit darker there, secluded away from the torches, and he couldn’t make out everyone around them. He tugged Penelope a bit closer in front of him as more people surrounded them.

He noticed that she trembled a bit, so he leaned down near her ear. “Are you ok, Pen?”

Penelope was looking forward to the show, whatever this would be, but she had never been quite comfortable with the dark or with surprises.

Penelope felt Colin squeeze her hand and she looked up at him. His blue eyes warm with concern. “Yes, I’m ok. It is just a bit scary is all.”

Colin smiled at her then and her heart skipped a beat. “Everything will be ok. I’m right here. I would not let anything bad happen to you.” And she knew, she could feel that Colin meant it.

“Do you trust me, Pen?” He asked, holding her gaze fervently.

Looking into his eyes so close to hers was intoxicating and Penelope began to feel a little unsteady on her feet. She swayed a little as she answered him. “Y- Yes, o-of course I trust you, Colin.”

Colin noticed that she stuttered a bit, but she seemed to get her bearings.

“Good.” Penelope’s assurance that she trusted him, did something to his insides and Colin felt unbalanced.

The announcement picked up again…

“It is with great privilege I present Vauxhall’s newest spectacle of illumination. Feast your eyes above and allow all that is radiant to overwhelm you!”

Penelope squeezed Colin’s hand just as the lights illuminated all at once above them. They were surrounded by the glass bulbs! The brilliance was magnificent. The sudden amazement caused Penelope to step back into Colin. His chest cradled her head and his other hand, that wasn’t holding hers, grabbed her waist to steady her.

The MC continued,

“Wonderful Light! Thank you!”

“Its alright.” Colin murmured softly into her hair. She smelled like orange blossoms. Colin could not keep himself from breathing her in. He wondered if it was just her hair or if she smelled of the fragrant flower all over her body. The hand holding her waist moved unconsciously to the ends of her rosy hair, his fingers delicately caressed the softness of her strawberry locks. Colin’s mind was muddled, he closed his eyes in contentment, memorizing the texture of her hair. He couldn’t think straight. He had to stop himself from dropping a kiss to the top of her head, the need to be a comfort to her began to outweigh his reason.

Penelope thought she imagined Colin’s fingers in her hair. The closeness of his body to hers was heady… She closed her eyes briefly, relishing in the warmth of him behind her. She inhaled at the pleasure of her current situation. She’d never been this close to Colin. The electrifying heat of his body pressed against hers was causing her to be incoherent. She began to breathe in shallow pants, her breaths coming quickly. Unsettled by her reaction to him, she moved away from him, letting go of his hand.

Colin felt the immediate loss of the warmth radiating from Penelope’s body pressed along his front. When she dropped his hand and moved away from him, he felt the grimace on his face and heard the growl in his throat. Desperate to have Penelope near again, he grabbed her hand and turned her to face him.

“Pen…” Colin spoke her name, not knowing what else to say, but also needing to stop her retreat from him.

Penelope looked down at her hand grasped in Colin’s, realizing that her glove had slipped off. “Oh…” was all she could say. The moment felt unmistakably intimate, him holding her hand again, this time bare.

“I’m sorry.” Colin apologized when he realized he’d unintentionally removed Penelope’s satin glove. “Allow me…” He bent down and retrieved her glove from the grass, her bare hand remained cradled in his the entire time.

His expression mischievous again, as he rose to his full height. “I guess I’m to keep it as a favour now.” Colin teased Penelope. He needed to take away the self-consciousness he saw in her eyes.

“Are you going off to battle then?” Penelope teased Colin back, unable to resist his ever present charm. She could think of no other time a lady’s favour was given.

“Well, there seems to be a fight for refreshments. And as a Gentleman, I will gladly enter the fray to procure something to drink for you, Pen.” Colin folded Penelope’s glove and slipped it into his inside jacket pocket finally letting her hand go reluctantly.

Colin looked down at Penelope adoringly. He couldn’t help himself, stepping closer to her, he whispered. “Wish me luck in battle?”

Penelope knew Colin was teasing her again, but he made her breathless. “Good luck.” She smiled and then she bit her bottom lip. “Promise me that you will return it me?” She looked pointedly to his chest where her glove rested inside his pocket.

Colin could only focus on the lushness of her mouth as she bit her full bottom lip, he was beginning to feel dizzy like he was spinning… spinning out of control. “You trust me, don’t you, Penelope?”

“Of course, Colin.” Penelope didn’t recognize her own voice. The huskiness of it, she couldn’t control as Colin inched even closer to her.

Colin bent down, next to her ear and whispered. “Good girl. Stay right here for me. I’ll be back.” He leaned in close enough that he smelled her intoxicating hair once more before he pulled himself away from Penelope and then walked toward the refreshments.

As Penelope watched as Colin walked away, his tall regal form a feast for her eyes, she noticed his brother Anthony walk up to him.

Colin was taking deep breaths to regain his composure as he walked away from Penelope. He felt a hand on his arm and turned to find Anthony with a stern expression on his face. He followed Anthony’s gaze to Penelope.

“She’s so young Colin… you need to try harder to conceal your… baser interests. Stop touching her so much. Don’t forget yourself. Penelope is a proper lady.” Anthony scolded Colin.

“I was not… I did not… for you to imply…” Colin couldn’t even form a sentence in his defense as twisted as his insides felt by his brother’s insinuations.

“Imply?” Anthony continued. “I saw. Your hand on her waist, apart from dancing. Your hand in her hair. The caress of her bare hand… and this could have been in the view of half the Ton. It is a wonder her father did not come looking for her and witness these improprieties or I would be making arrangements for you to court Penelope Featherington properly!" Anthony’s eyebrows raised in admonishment. “… and not expressing interest in her distant cousin.” The distorted expression on Anthony’s face spoke to how he felt about Colin’s fleeting interest in Miss Thompson.

“It will be a miracle if this is not in Whistledown tomorrow and I am not forced to have to make an offer on your behalf myself.” Anthony continued to reprimand Colin.

“Anthony, I would never do anything to scandalize Penelope!” Colin declared passionately. He could not even conceive of hurting her that way. He found that the thought of Anthony having to make an offer for Penelope’s hand on his behalf did not scare him and that lack of apprehension caused him uncertainty.

“I know that you would not, Colin. And I am not suggesting that you are. I am saying that your feelings... unacknowledged... for Penelope are maybe getting in the way of your… sensibilities where she is concerned.” Anthony pointed out.

“My feelings… for Penelope?” Colin was so confused. Penelope was his friend. He had not meant to be improper with her in any way. But he had begun to acknowledge in his mind and body that Penelope was becoming a woman… in every way. His reactions to her may very well be putting her in danger from him.

“Yes, Colin. I have eyes. I see you clear as day. You may not be ready to admit to or are even aware of how you feel about her. You do have feelings for her, not just emotionally, but now physically as well and you need to think about what you really want long term. Penelope has… developed a lush womanly form. Her curves are tempting to you, I see. Miss Thompson may be more mature and more able to handle your… physical interests right now, where as you would have to wait a while for Penelope to be ready for that.”

“Stop! Stop right now, Anthony. Speaking about Penelope in this way is improper and I will not engage with you any further on this.” Colin found his fists were balled up and his anger, at his brother was a tangible thing in his mouth… a vileness that he could taste. Anthony’s criticism of how he had handled Penelope and even more his comments on how her body had developed the curves of a woman, the kind of woman that Colin realized he was irresistibly drawn to, would be his undoing.

“See, you did not even mention Miss Thompson. Your irascible temper with regard to any perceived slight of Penelope…” Anthony spoke to Colin’s unexpressed feelings for Penelope, again. “All of that emotion… that is about Penelope Featherington.”

Colin clenched his jaw tightly and rolled his eyes at the truth of his brother’s perceptions. He balled his fists against his side as well.

“I am not telling you what to do, so do not look at me like that. I am merely pointing out that if you keep carrying on like this over Penelope and you keep finding yourself behaving in the manner in which you have tonight, you will not be in a position to make a decision. It will have been made for you. Does she not deserve for you to truly choose her? And loathe that I am of a match between you and Miss Thompson, I do not want you to have to contend with hurting her either.”

Colin took a deep breath before addressing his brother again. “Penelope is dear to me… so dear that I - I treasure her and our friendship. I would never hurt her intentionally, brother. That is all I’m willing to say on the matter. I do not wish to discuss Penelope with you any further here like she is the topic of some common gossip. I shall escort her back to her father, after the fireworks are over. Colin declared and then walked off, feeling immensely frustrated.

“See that you do, Colin.” Anthony called after him as Colin disappeared.

Colin turned from the refreshment table and spotted Penelope immediately again. His eyes seeking her siren hair. She had remained just as he had asked her to. A good girl for him she was indeed.

When Colin finally returned to her with refreshments, Penelope’s bright expectant blue eyes found his troubled ones.

“Is everything ok, Colin?” Penelope asked softly. “I saw you speaking with your brother…”

Colin smiled at her slightly as she drank her lemonade. He could not help it. She was so sweet, the most kind-hearted person he had ever known aside from his mother. Her concern mollified him. His anxiousness over his conversation with Anthony slipped away easily in her presence.

“Penelope, your dress is lovely tonight. I wanted to tell you that before Cressida showed up.” Colin could not help it, even after being cautioned by Anthony of being improper with her, he inched closer to her and took her bare hand in his again.

“Thank you, Colin.” Penelope sighed. The warmth of his hand surrounding hers made her breathless again. It felt almost as if Colin did not realize what he was doing.

“May I ask, how it came to be this rather fetching shade of pink and not yellow?” Colin teased her again. His eyes sparkling at her. They now looked the exact opposite of when he arrived with their drinks.

“Well, I was allowed to choose the color for myself, rather than mamá.” Penelope admitted. Her cheeks brightened to a beautiful shade of pink.

“You did well, Pen. It looks exquisite against your sun-fire hair and makes your porcelain skin look like the finest silk…” Colin looked down at her feeling inebriated, his voice betraying his ardor. His stomach flipped when he noticed her licking her pink lips before she spoke his name on a melodic sigh, again.

“Colin…” Penelope couldn’t believe he had actually described her that way… passionately… his voice filled with longing.

Colin raised Penelope’s hand to his lips, just as the music started for the next dance. He kissed the back of her fingers of her bare hand and Penelope was startled at the softness of his lips on her. She did not know what to say… She could not form words. All the breath had left her.

“One more dance, Pen? Before the night is over.” Colin requested. His eyes never leaving hers and her hand securely grasped in his. He didn’t have an excuse for his continued behavior with her and he found he didn’t care to continue to contemplate.

“I’ve never danced this one… in public.” Penelope admitted. She was so unnerved by Colin’s continued attention she would have agreed to anything at that point.

Colin smiled down at her, playfully. “Do you trust me, Pen?”

“Of course, Colin.” She assured him again on a sigh. “But this one is… what if I miss a step?” She was doubting herself and her ability to actually move after Colin’s kiss on her fingers.

“Penelope Featherington, you are an amazing dancer. You will be fine. He pulled her closer to the dance floor, but waited for her acquiescence. Colin looked her over as if he couldn’t bear for her to refuse him. "Please do me the honor?”

“Yes, Colin.” She smiled brightly at him. Her smile more luminescent than the globes of artificial light, her eyes sparkled more than the fireworks display. She even rivaled the stars that night as he spun her around and around on the dance floor.

It was a beautiful night indeed.

[hopepaigeturner]

Benophie "I see the way you looked at him when you think he doesn’t notice.”

Part 2 of Anon's requests here. A little (possible) scene for season 4 with peak Benophie angst and Mr Stirling captains of the Bridgerton Piners Club. (Prompt tweaked a little).

22. "I see the way you looked at him when you think he doesn’t notice.”

Sophie watched Benedict leave the drawing room, eyes unable to stop until his coattails had disappeared.

She’d seen the same pain in her eyes reflected in his, as they watched Lord Stirling and Francesca sitting on the sofa, basked in the afternoon sunlight and the glow of their recent engagement. She knew that Benedict, like her, had watched their little touches and entwined hands, the ardency in their gazes shining unabashedly for all the world to see.

And so, she was not shocked to see the yearning gaze in his eyes, a yearning for her, just as she yearned for him; in the moments after a rushed interaction in the shadows; in the moments when they slipped poetry to each other; the moments when they would pass each other in corridors and their hands would instinctively reach out to brush the other—but only find air.

The ofcourse their eyes had lingered, the pair entwined together until their shared feelings swelled, threatening to drown Sophie. So, she cut the line, turned away and moments later he had excused himself with a frown turned upside down.

Now she gave herself a little shake, reprimanding herself, reminding her of all the Bridgerton and Stirlings present.

She took a calming breath and reconstructed herself. She looked up to find Lord Stirling’s cousin, Mr Stirling, peering inquisitively at her.

Sophie’s heart stuttered—and not due to Mr Stirling’s handsome features.

She lent over Eloise’s shoulder and whispered.

“May I be excused; I must do some errands.”

“If you must,” Eloise whispered back, something mournful in her tone that almost made Sophie pause. Instead, she squeezed Eloise’s hand, shot her a final smile then slipped out of the room.

Finally, Sophie rested a little way down the landing, taking deep breaths.

How much longer could she bare this? How much longer until her heart burst from her chest?

“I do not think we have been introduced.”

Sophie looked up to find Mr Stirling towering over her, his handsome smirk directed at her.

While Sophie could admit Mr Stirling was particularly handsome—only Benedict ever made her weak at the knees.

Sophie bobbed demurely.

“How may I assist you Mr Stirling?”

“Ah-uh,” Mr Stirling stepped froward, Sophie stepped back. “See, you know my name, but I have yet to know yours.”

His voice was soft, but when Sophie found his eyes she saw a certain raggedness in them, a raggedness she recognised…

“Sophie Beckett. Now, Mr Stirling, is there anything I may assist you with?”

“Maybe you could…” his finger ran up and down her arm lightly. “Sophie—Sophia? Such a pretty name.”

Sophie stepped away.

“My name is Miss Beckett, and it seems I am unable to assist you. Good day, Mr Stirling.”

With that she walked away until—

“Then it is a pity my name does not end in Bridgerton—or perhaps that it does not start with a B.”

Ice shot down her spine.

“Your loyalty and affection to him—them, I mean, is remarkable,” he continued.

He grinned at her wolfishly as he stepped up and joined her. But still she saw that raggedness in his eyes—the one reflected back at her in her morning mirror.

“And it is indeed remarkable of your loyalty and affection for her—I mean, them, your future in-laws.”

For it was not only Benedict’s yearning she had recognised in that room.

Mr Stirling recoiled and Sophie took her chance.

“Good day, Mr Stirling,” one final customary curtsey and then she walked off.

“I see the way you look at him when you think he doesn’t know.”

Sophie paused again, for Mr Stirling’s voice had softened. She closed her eyes and tried to reassemble herself, paint on the giddy maid.

“Well, a maid can have her crushes can she not?” she replied over her shoulder.

“You love him.”

Sophie whirled around.

“You know nothing.”

“I see it in your eyes,” Mr Stirling started to walk towards her again, tread soft but not predatory. “You yearn for him, you stay up all night dreaming of him, even though you wake up with a piercing ache in your heart and you wonder whether you will always feel like this for the rest of your life.”

Mere steps away they stood both ruminating.

“It seems unfair how the world wends its ways,” she finally said.

“Indeed.”

“It does you credit.” Mr Stirling looked up at her, eyes wide. “To bear that pain and silence your heart for the ones you love. A true act of selflessness.”

“I think greed, coveting and lust would be more apt words in my case.”

His words reminded her of the Benedict at the beginning of their stay at My Cottage, using words as light as feathers to hide the bruised heart.

“Why is it that the most honourable of men cannot see their true merit?”

“A question for the ages.”

Suddenly they heard male voices, and, like a bird, Sophie’s ears identified Benedict’s voice.

“Good day, Mr Stirling. I wish you good fortune.”

“You are the fortunate one Miss Beckett,” Mr Stirling murmured, his brown eyes as soft as his voice, “for I see the way he looks at you when he thinks you do not notice.”

Sophie’s breath hitched and then he spun and walked towards the drawing room, rolling his shoulders like a knight preparing for his final battle. Sophie lingered for one more moment as Benedict and Anthony came into view. Benedict’s eyes drifted over Mr Stirling towards her. Their eyes met and she saw that same look again, that yearning and even at this distance it clogged her throat as palpable as the warmth in her heart when he gave her a sad smile.

Sophie rushed off, closing her eyes to hold back her tears.

*~*~*~*

Ugh these two are going to break our hearts when they shine on the screen...

I think the Francesca and John storyline would be a really great storyline to cover in s4 because I think they could contrast/compliment other;s character's journeys...but that is for another post.

Let me know what you think!

If anyone wants to send more requests, check out the list here.

[miss-bridgerton]

for real l anthony bridgerton x you l part one

word count: 1,887 words

pairing: anthony bridgerton x you

author’s note: part 1 finally! it’s not much going on, but this is just the beginning. 

taglist: @fact-fictionx @alainabooks143 @michael-loves-chickens @misstonybridgerton

summary: Everyone knew that the Viscount was a rake. Except for, apparently, three young women who clung to his every word. Anthony Bridgerton was in fact charming. But he was absolutely terrible at dating three women at once. Some would call him a dunce for doing so. Others might call him a hero. Adelia Byron called him dead when she found out. Set out on revenge, she and the other two young ladies, Bette DuPont and Siena Rosso, decide to transform a lonely bakers girl into someone who can break the heart of the Viscount.

            PART 1: THE SOCIETY PAPER THAT CAUSED A SCENE

YOU HAD NO IDEA that a gossip column would be the cause of a brawl in your family’s tea shop and bakery: The Fancy Teapot.

Overly priced earl grey tea? Oh, absolutely.

Chairs that pinched the bottoms of debutantes and their mammas? Pinched bottoms surely caused nasty sneers a plenty.

But the latest gossip from the squares’ paper? You certainly didn’t see that coming.

It was all because of the Viscount. Lord Anthony Bridgerton was indeed charming. He had that smile that they all seemed to fawn over. His hair was swept in all the right places. And he was a British nobleman.

What more could a young lady want?

You rolled your eyes at the words that frequented that paper. What more could a young lady want? Well, for starters, you wanted freedom. You wanted to bake. You wanted to explore different cities. Eat exotic foods. Tell stories to your future nieces and nephews of your adventures. You didn’t care about marriage, no matter how many times your sister-in-law pushed it on to you. You just simply wanted to. . .experience life.

Unlike the young women who frequented The Fancy Teapot. They were all scouring for eligible unmarried men. It was what they were taught. It was all that they knew, really. 

And two debutantes who enjoyed sipping tea in The Fancy Teapot had no idea that they were both courting the Viscount. Until it came out on paper, that is.

It was a sunny spring morning and the social season had sprung in London. You loved the social season for the money it brought the tea shop, but you absolutely loathed the social season for the debutantes and their snooty behavior. They were all perfect. Beautiful gowns. Rosy pinched cheeks. The stink of wealth swarmed them like bees attracted to honey.

You had none of those things. You came from a working family. You came from two different countries. Your father had travelled to (a country of your choosing) where he met your mother and they fell in love and married within a week of him being there. Your father had convinced your mother to leave everything behind to be with him in London, but her one condition was to open a tea shop and bakery. 

He clung to his part of the condition. Soon after opening the shop, your older brother Jack was born. Five years later, you were born. For a short while, it was the four of you. Kids running through the tea shop, experimenting with teas, you found the love of baking with your mother, and your parents were still so madly in love it was almost embarrassing. Sadly, your mother became ill and passed away two years ago. 

The death was stricken. And hard on you. But it was your father that you and Jack worried after, for it was almost as if he became a different person. As if he lost a part of himself when your mother died. He tried to drink his sorrows away at the pubs, and fancied spending too much money on gambles and bets. 

That morning, he was nowhere near the tea shop, probably somewhere betting on poker chips, when you had to break apart two debutantes from nearly mauling each other.

Adelia Byron was with her friend, Cressida Cowper, at a small table near the colossal windows. She didn’t say thank you or even acknowledged your existence when you set down her steaming chamomile tea and slice of cornish hevva cake. You rolled your eyes at the way she gloated over the attention she received at the Warwick ball. Adelia was still on a thrill from two nights before, where the touch of the Viscount’s hand on her back as they danced was still on her. She dreamt of his gorgeous eyes. And when she saw the bouquets of roses addressed to her that morning, she was in total bliss.

Her friend, Cressida, was jealous. Adelia knew it. And if there was something Adelia Byron was known for, it was that she enjoyed bragging. Her father was a Baron, which made her quite eligible for marriage to a Viscount. She had elegant features: Dark red hair, stormy eyes, high cheek-bones. She had already received three proposals but Adelia knew what she wanted. Who she wanted.

Simply put, nobody else would do. She was going to marry the Viscount. And God help her and anyone who got in her way. 

On the other side of The Fancy Teapot, situated at a round table underneath an elegant painting by your brother Jack, was Elizabeth DuPont and her overbearing mother, Colette. Elizabeth, often called Bette, was the daughter of The Marquess of DuPont. So her marriage to a man of great wealth and a powerful title was extremely vital. To her mother, at least.

Bette was fond of the Viscount. He swept her away with his words, he was impressed with the way she could speak French and German, and the kiss he laid upon her gloved hand sent a thrill through her body. She couldn’t bear to tell her mother that when she went out to the balcony for a quick breath of fresh air during the Warwick Ball, she was accompanied by Lord Anthony Bridgerton.

Her mother would have been furious. She wanted Bette to charm the Prince - not the Viscount. She wanted her daughter to marry a title higher, not a title lower. 

You had just set down two tea cups of herbal tea at their table when one of the young newsie boys stopped by the Fancy Teapot to drop off the new Society Paper. 

“Hey, Sam,” you greeted the ten year old boy. He often was the one who sauntered in here to deliver the paper and he did it eagerly, knowing fully well that you were going to give him some free wrapped biscuits, like always.

“Y/N!” He greeted with a boyish grin. “What’s on the menu today? I hope it's something drowned in sugar!” He said excitedly.

You laughed and grabbed the box of warm treacle tarts from under the front counter. “It’s not drowned in sugar, but I think you’ll still enjoy them,” you told him.

He grinned widely. “You’re a real magician, Miss Y/L/N!”

You smiled warmly as the little boy went off and you were so busy handing over his desserts that you didn’t even notice, Dorothea, your sister-in-law, completely captivated by the latest Lady Whistledown’s writings.

“Bloody Hell,” she muttered, leaning her back against the counter and reading the paper. A mama and her daughter were standing by the counter, awaiting some assistance and looking very peevish. You sighed at how unobservant Dorothea was.

You took care of the customers and then turned to Dorothea, who looked as if she had acquired the most scandalous news.

“Y/N! Have you read this yet? It’s so scandalous!”

“No,” you replied, though you were a bit curious. “Who is it about?”

“The Viscount.”

“Hard pass,” you replied.

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “You are impossible. It’s not just about him but about the women he’s apparently leading on. And,” she took a moment to look around the tea shop and then in a hushed tone continued, “two of them are in here. Right now. Unaware of all of it!”

Well, surely just a peak at the new Society Paper wouldn’t do any harm. You grabbed the paper and took a look:

At the Warwick ball Thursday evening, Viscount Bridgerton was seen dancing with not one eligible young lady, but two. Now, I assume you dear readers know quite the reputation of our charming Viscount, as this behavior isn’t quite unusual. If you are familiar with the season’s doings, dancing with eligible suitors is normal.

Except Lord Anthony Bridgerton was seen with Miss Bette DuPont awfully close on the brink of the balcony and also seen later that evening with a certain opera singer, Siena Rosso, nuzzling her neck in a dark corner of the opera house.

How will the ladies take this embarrassment? Well, this author predicts that Miss Bette DuPont will turn a rather shade red and Miss Adelia Byron’s eyes will flash with a colour quite similar. Miss Siena Rosso will probably be locked up in a bedroom with the Viscount to even notice.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS,16 APRIL 1814

Oh, brother, you thought. This better not cause anything stupid in here -

“HOW DARE YOU!!!!”

You and Dorothea looked up in bewilderment at the sudden outburst. And there it was. Lady Adelia Byron, looking absolutely furious, clutching the society paper, and standing over Lady Bette DuPont who was sitting at her table, looking between a mix of surprise and confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” Bette said to her appalled. 

“You!” Adelia yelled. “You are involved with my suitor! How dare you?! You - you - harlot!”

Bette’s jaw dropped but it was her mother who spoke. “My, I never! That is quite unladylike behavior, young lady. My Elizabeth is not some harlot, clearly you cannot read because you have been thoroughly mistaken.”

Adelia rolled her stormy eyes and handed over the paper. Bette hastily read it before gasping, throwing a pretty gloved hand over her mouth.

“This cannot be true. My Lord would never do such things.” Bette told her.

“My Lord?” Adelia mocked. “He’s not your anything. I am going to marry him. So this little rendezvous is finished.”

Bette raised a brow. “I don’t think so,” she simply replied and took a sip of her tea.

Adelia looked as if she was going to chuck that steaming tea pot at the young lady’s head, so you had no choice - you had to get involved.

“Ladies, please, there is no need to act in such a manner,” you told them. They both looked in your direction, looking at you as if you were just a nobody. As if they were thinking, who the hell are you and who makes you think you have any say in this?

You cleared your throat. “He’s just a man,” you tried to explain.

Adelia snorted. “Idiot,” she said under her breath.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You know, instead of getting mad at each other for something neither of you two were unaware of, you should be mad at him. Instead you are fighting over the tosser. Now that is an idiot.”

Both girls’ jaws dropped at what you said. But both didn’t say anything in retaliation. Instead, Adelia lifted her head high and walked away with what dignity she possessed and Bette went back to her tea, ignoring her mother’s angry stares.

Dorothea was nearly bursting in astonishment and the tea shop, which went quiet during the whole argument, went back to the bustling noise it always had.

All went back to normal. Until later that evening. 

While you were cleaning up and closing down The Fancy Teapot for the day, you found a folded napkin at the same table that Adelia Byron sat with Cressida Cowper. Inside was a perfectly scrawled note addressed to you.

Not many people can inspire me, but you, Miss Bakery girl, did. Visit my estate as soon as you can manage. We have a lot to discuss.

X Miss Adelia Byron

[alj4890]

And Then I Met You

What happens when the one you thought you were meant for turns out to be meant for someone else? 

@krsnlove @walkerinfolkvangr @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @fullbeaumonty @cocomaxley @darley1101 @hopefulmoonobject @littleblossom357 @annekebbphotography @gibbles82 @bella-ca

Masterlist

Part 2

"Professor Hunt! I wish you would let me pick your clothes." Addison eyed her former instructor skeptically.

"Not now Addison." He grumbled while glancing surreptitiously at his clothes. He didn't see what the big deal was. His dark jeans, button up shirt, and blazer was fine. He trusted her completely to dress the actors in his movies. He didn't trust her with his own apparel. He had allowed her one time to dress him and he swore to never allow her free reign again. That unfortunate raspberry beret...

Holly stood by with her tablet. She scrolled with her finger as she spoke. "Since she is a duchess, you must bow and--"

"Bow! I'm not going to bow to her." He snorted as he finished clearing his desk. "If she gets offended then she can fly herself back to her country." He shook his head in exasperation. "Bowing, indeed."

"You should! It would show respect to her station." Holly explained.

"And we have been practicing our curtsies." Addison demonstrated.

Thomas pinched the bridge of his nose. With eyes closed he counted to twenty. He looked at the ladies that he used to enjoy working with. Amanda Bridgerton had not even arrived yet and he was already sick of her. Her title and lifestyle fascinated his assistant and costume designer. He had heard little else this past week.

Holly nudged him. "You should probably get going if you are meeting her plane at Van Nuys." Addison bounced on the balls of her feet. "Are you sure you don't want us to go too?"

"Positive." He grabbed his car keys, wallet, and phone. He looked out the window and frowned. A storm was moving in. He walked out of his study and down the hall.

"I finished redecorating her bedroom. It's a shame that your guesthouse caught fire after that last storm. It was so cute." Addison gathered some of her supplies and placed them in her bag. "Is there anything else you want done before she arrives?"

He shook his head. Holly dogged his steps. "Thomas, don't forget to refer to her as 'your grace' after you greet her."

He stopped and glared at her. She shrugged at him. "It is the proper way to refer to her. Though in Cordonia, I read that some allow 'my lady' to be used."

He walked out to his garage and started his SUV. He groaned when Holly and Addison ran to the passenger window. He lowered it and cocked his eyebrow.

"Duchess Bridgerton or Lady Bridgerton is to be used until she gives you leave to use her first name. Then you must--"

He backed out and left them in the garage. He seriously regretted inviting Amanda Bridgerton to stay at his home. Maybe he should put her in a hotel...one far away from him.

Amanda checked her appearance in the private jet's bathroom mirror. She chewed on her bottom lip as butterflies made her stomach churn. "He's just a man. A man you have admired for years, but still a man." She stared at reflection. "Why couldn't you be glamorous? Sophosticated?" Her phone vibrated with a group text.

Maxwell and Nadia were returning from their honeymoon in a few days. They wanted to get together with everyone for the following weekend. Amanda typed out that she was sorry, but couldn't make it. She then let them know where she was and laughed at their responses. No one could be as overly dramatic as the newlyweds. Her phone immediately rang.

Before she could even finish saying hello, Maxwell's voice yelled into her ear. "You're in Hollywood! When did this happen? Why didn't anyone tell me?" Nadia was in the background echoing his sentiment.

"First off, I got the call after you two went to Paris. Second, I just landed. So third, I have to go and meet Thomas." She smiled at their groans of being the last to know anything.

"Call me later." He demanded. "We have to know everything." Amanda felt a slight pain at that. He and Nadia were truly one. Everything now would be a "we". It was how it was supposed to be and she wouldn't have it any other way. She just wished...she pushed the unfinished thought out of her mind.

She promised to call soon and hung up. She smiled at the flight attendants and thanked them for taking care of her. The pilot and copilot walked out and bowed. After she complimented them all, she stepped out for the first time in California.

She was immediately greeted by rain drops beginning to fall and wind picking up speed. "Hello to you too, sunny California." She let out a laugh. The flight attendant apologized for not having an umbrella. Amanda waved off the concern. "I promise not to melt." She noticed the black SUV sitting a little further down the tarmac.

She immediately recognized Thomas Hunt when he stepped out. He ran a hand through his hair and began to walk toward the plane. She took some of her luggage and carefully descended the steps. The rain began to pick up and Amanda apologized to the copilot who was helping her with the rest of her luggage.

He blushed and told her he didn't mind at all helping her. Thomas overheard it all and wondered at her personality. She seemed nice. Wasn't she supposed to be an entitled brat? He met them halfway and introduced himself. When she smiled at him, he nearly fell back a step. She was even lovelier in person.

She held her hand out to shake his. He cleared his throat and took it. "It is nice to meet you Ms. Bridgerton."

"Please, call me Amanda." She said, thinking that pictures did not do him justice at all. The man oozed sexiness. His intense, dark eyes were studying her curiously. "I will as long as you call me Thomas." He took her bags and watched her, surprised as she took the rest from the copilot, urging him to get inside from the storm. He bowed his head and jogged back to the hangar.

Thunder began to roll, causing them to rush to the car. They threw her bags in the back and ran to get in. She urged him to not be a gentleman right now, and to go directly to his door. He got in and realized she had disappeared. He looked about and saw her pull herself up. She was laughing and checked her rear. She opened her door and asked if he had anything for her to sit on. Between the rain and the puddle she slipped in, she didn't want to mess up his upholstery.

He grinned some as he took his jacket off. He placed it in her seat and watched her get in. "Are you hurt?" He asked as she rubbed her wrist. She shook her head, still smiling. "Just clumsy."

He chuckled and pulled out of the airport. They drove in silence for a few miles. She tried to see the scenery through the pouring rain. He noticed the goosebumps on her skin and turned the heat on. He cleared his throat and nearly jumped when she turned to him.

"I...I hope your flight was pleasant." He really hated small talk, but felt compelled to try.

"It was, thank you." She pushed some wet hair off her face and rubbed her arms. "Oh! Before I forget, I brought some photographs of the places in Cordonia that inspired the scenes in the novel. I also got permission from the King if you decide to film any there." She chewed her lip nervously when he remained silent. "I hope I didn't overstep. I noticed in your movies how the settings you chose seemed to convey a part of the story and I..."

He barely heard her rambling. He was stunned that she had been as proactive as he would have been. To have her purposely do this and help him by bringing actual visuals, he knew then that they would work well together. He shook himself from his thoughts and realized she was apologizing, thinking she had made a mistake.

He reached over and impulsively took her hand. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "Thank you for that. It will help with the screenplay and filming. You surprised me. It's rare to find someone who thinks like I do."

He noticed her relax out of the corner of his eye. They spent the rest of the ride discussing how the next couple of months would hopefully go. He answered her questions about L.A. and his home. She in turn answered his about her duchy and what inspired her story.

He noticed a dimple appeared in her cheek with her smile as she told him about her uncle. "He was the one to inspire the story. Lady Elizabeth is an ancestor of mine and her love story has passed down through my family. I took that history and fleshed out the rest with research and how I thought conversations might have gone. And the clandestine meetings with Lord Arthur are a part of my imagination, though she briefly mentioned a meeting in her journal."

They pulled into his drive and he smiled when she complimented his home. "Think you will be comfortable here?" He asked.

She gave a small laugh. "I think it will be difficult," she teased. "But I will try and find a way to survive such a home."

They were immediately greeted by Holly and Addison. They sank into curtsies. "Your grace, welcome." Holly spoke with a slight British accent. Thomas' eyebrows raised at that change. Amanda told them to please not stand on ceremony and to simply call her by her first name.

They frowned and then gapsed at her wet clothing. "What happened?" Addison exclaimed. He pointed at the storm outside as he hefted her bags. He motioned with his head to follow and mentally groaned when Holly and Addison followed them, tripping over each other to question her.

Amanda smiled at their enthusiasm. She told them about Liam which then led into questions of Drake and Maxwell. Thomas stopped outside the door of the bedroom he had ready for her. It was next to his and he told her it had the best views from the balcony. He opened the door and smiled when she gasped in delight. "This is beautiful!" She dropped her bags and went about the bright, cheery room. She peaked out at the balcony and then went into the spacious bathroom.

Addison nudged Holly and cocked her head to Thomas. He was still smiling as he listened to Amanda exclaim over her room. Their eyes widened. He rarely smiled, much less kept one on his face for an extended amount of time. He noticed them staring at him and immediately wiped the smile off his face. "We will leave you so that you can change. Once you are ready, you can join us downstairs in the kitchen."

He walked out with the two dogging his heels. As soon as they were in the kitchen they pounced on him with their questions. "What do you think of her?" Holly asked him.

"She is a surprise." He pulled out a skillet and frowned as he thought of the lady upstairs. "She is not at all how one would think a noble would act. She seems nice. I actually look forward to getting to know her."

"Shut up!" Addison covered her mouth. "Sorry professor. It's just that you never think anyone's nice when you first meet them. This is big! Huge! Bigger than huge!" She turned to Holly. "What's bigger than huge?"

Holly readjusted her glasses and pointed at the man scowling. "Thomas Hunt liking Amanda Bridgerton." Addison nodded. "Yep, that is definitely bigger than huge."

She then ket out a gasp, causing Holly to jump. "OMG! Do you like her? Both turned to him and he paused.

"Oh no. Stop right there. There will be nothing going on but collaborating and possible friendship. That's it." His voice held an undertone of steel.

"But what if she likes you?" Addison persisted, ignoring the dark look on his face.

"No what ifs, Ms. Sinclaire."

"But--"

"No!"

She slumped in her seat, a small frown puckering her brow. Holly sighed in defeat. She then noticed his sudden stillness and attention directed at the stairs.

She looked over and saw Amanda coming down the stairs. She had taken a quick shower and had thrown her hair up in a messy bun. Her red sundress brushed against her calves with each step. She carried a few notebooks filled with notes and pictures. Her eyes were on Thomas and she was smiling at him.

Holly nudged Addison and realized she was seeing the same thing. "We have to get them together." She whispered to her friend. Addison nodded excitedly.

Amanda placed her items in the living room and joined them in the open kitchen. Her eyes went to the prep work Thomas was doing for dinner. "Anything I can help with?" He audibly swallowed and shook his head. "You should relax." He colored a little with Holly and Addison watching him be flustered.

"Are those the pictures you were telling me about?"

Amanda nodded. "That and my notes." Her eyes crinkled with excitement when he expressed his desire to look through them after dinner. He glanced at the two at his bar. "I take it you are staying also?" They nodded. He rolled his eyes at the sly looks they were giving him.

Dinner was a relaxed affair with more laughter than Thomas had ever experienced. He even chuckled at some of the stories Amanda shared with them. Holly had taken her glasses off to wipe her tears after a particular embarrassing incident at an ambassador's dinner party.

With a smile still playing about his lips, he stood and began to collect the dishes. Addison jumped up and volunteered herself and Holly to take care of that. "You can go look at what she brought for the screenplay."

He cocked his eyebrow at them but followed Amanda into the living room. He felt anticipation build as he looked at the wealth of information she had brought him. They sat in the floor and began to put the pictures in order along with any background notes.

Holly and Addison watched them begin to finish each other's thoughts as they pieced the story together. They decided to leave quietly and plan for another romantic encounter.

After an hour Amanda looked over her shoulder. "Did they leave?" He glanced up and nodded. "They do that when I get focused on a project." He asked where a paticular conversation in the story was to have occurred. Amanda leaned over him and grabbed the picture. He could smell her coconut shampoo and feel the warmth of her skin.

He forced himself to remain still. She was chewing on her bottom lip and the thought of pulling that tortured lip into a kiss hit him. He coughed and got to his feet. He went into the kitchen and poured himself something to drink. He had always adhered to a strict personal policy of no romance with anyone he worked with. He watched her continue to add notes with photographs and felt his self control slip a notch.

He had worried that she might drive him crazy living with him while they worked. She hadn't even been with him twelve hours when he realized what was going to happen. She was going to make him want to never let her go.

[fayes-fics]

Moments: James' Societal Debut

Moments masterpost

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (background), James Darby x OC (beginnings)

Summary: Viscount James Darby is twenty-two years old and entering society for the first time. The problem is, does he really want a wife?

Warnings: none... just fluff

Word Count: 1.0k

Author’s Note: When Moments Epilogue 1 refuses to be finished, my mind moves elsewhere in the Moments-verse. This idea wouldn't leave my head after a few sentences of chat with the wonderful @chaoticcalzoneranchsports. So here, enjoy a little sneak peak into the future of Viscount James Darby. Also, fear not, this spoils nothing of upcoming Epilogues 1 or 2. <3

Viscount James Darby sets tongues wagging as soon as he lands on the London social scene. It’s the spring of 1836, and a twenty-two-year-old James enters the annual Sotherby Ball, heads almost snapping.

Tall, handsome, intelligent and, most importantly to many mamas, titled and extremely rich—he instantly draws a crowd. The season's most eligible bachelor, indeed.

Some older members of the Ton can also be seen whispering behind their hands. Gossip-mongers speculate how the son of the late John Darby can look so very much the spitting image of his step-father, Mr Benedict Bridgerton. Still, in the cutthroat marriage mart, there will always be rumours swirling about the most eligible men, often started by the parents of their rivals. 

“Mother, must we do this?” James grumbles, eyes pinging around the room, assessing everyone with trepidation.

“Yes darling, we must. You have to join society at some point; it might as well be now,” you respond, politely nodding at passing acquaintances.

“Father, you didn’t have to partake in this farce, did you?” He looks over your head at Benedict, standing at the same height.

“No, son, I did not,” he admits, “I met your wonderful mother here at a party actually. A very fun artistic party,” he looks wistful in his recollection, smoothing a hand over his slightly greying temple.

“Well, why can’t I do that? That sounds a darn sight more entertaining than whatever this is,” James opines with disdain.

“Because, James, he was untitled,” you sigh. “As Viscount, sadly, you must be more… particular… in your choice of wife.”

“But he met you, and you are the very picture of grace and elegance,” James fawns.

“Son, attempted flattery will not get you out of this. Still, that charm will take you far,” you concede, picking an imagined piece of lint from his lapel.

He pulls an exasperated face that makes you laugh.

“Now go,” you shoo him, “dance, enjoy, and meet some people. I’m not asking you to get married tomorrow, not even this year. Just, see who is out there.” 

He sighs heavily but acquiesces to your request out of love more than duty.

——

For James, the crux of the problem is not the marriage mart as a ritual; it’s who it involves. Try as he might, given the expectations for a titled man to continue his lineage, James Darby cannot picture himself settling down and having a traditional family. He suspects his father already knows, his mother perhaps less so.

James glances back to see them whispering, arms entwined, heads together, as if in the first flush of love rather than approaching their seventeenth wedding anniversary. Part of him longs to find such a connection for himself, but a larger portion of him suspects he won’t. At least not in a way that society deems acceptable or continues the Darby name.

He takes a deep breath and allows the approach of various mamas, signing dance cards and feigning interest in the various young ladies thrust in front of him.

It’s when he joins the dancefloor for his very first dance that he knows he is in trouble. He catches the glance of the person standing next to him, and time freezes. Gentle hazel eyes and almost cherubic curls frame quite the most beautiful face he has ever seen. He barely notices the girl opposite him, the one he is supposed to be dancing with, even as the music starts.

“My lord?” The girl questions, and James has to physically shake his head to bring himself out of the reverie.

“My apologies Miss,” he rumbles, “this is my first dance, and I fear I am already rusty.” He turns on the smile he sees his father use and watches as the girl almost physically melts, her eyes dilating, her breath quickening. How easy it is to charm a young lady, he thinks to himself, almost disappointed in the lack of challenge.

There is a laugh to his right. “I can’t believe that actually worked,” the beauty opines, voice laced with amusement.

Before James can retort, the dance takes them in different directions. But still, he watches out of the corner of his eye. Occasionally their gazes meet, and he feels something akin to a fire in his belly. The girl he is dancing with barely registers in his regard.

As the music ends, he excuses himself and follows the retreating figure of the enigma who only spoke a handful of words to him.

He finds himself on a torch-lit terrace with a slight breeze in the air.

“I suspect this is not your scene. Would that be accurate?” A cool voice catches him, holding out a cigarette case in a gloved hand.

James smiles. “That would certainly not be inaccurate,” he replies, taking the offer and leaning in to catch a light, his breath catching as he does.

“Hmm, very much the same, Viscount Darby.” 

“How do you know who I am?” James queries, giving a sideways glance to his new companion as he exhales a cloud of smoke, the tobacco calming his nerves.

“Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” the smooth voice teases.

“Well then, I should have your name; 'tis only fair,” James opines, surprised at the low, almost flirtatious register his voice takes.

The pretty face morphs into a smirk. “Granville,” comes the reply, “David Granville.”

“Well, it is most definitely a pleasure to meet you. And call me James.”

“Likewise, James, likewise.” There is a pause as David looks up at the stars, “Tell me, do you paint?”

James’ heart races. “I most certainly do,” he responds, trying to disguise just how breathy he feels.

“Mmm, same. I do believe this could be the start of a beautiful… friendship,” David replies, his hazel eyes dancing.

And right at that moment, James knows his life will never be the same again.

Author’s Note: David Granville is Sir Henry Granville’s nephew :-)

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